Night Demolition on Iron

I jammed that black smartphone straight into the open crevice of an iron boot scraper to lock tonight's broadcast dead on target. That scrawny red-and-blue insect was slumped face-up inside an empty brass coal shovel resting on the hearth tiles, acting like he had found a golden chariot. Pure comedy. I thrust my snout right into the reflective camera glass, barking a venomous breakdown about how costumed bugs think decorative hearth metal will save their noodle limbs from real apex force. Once my tirade peaked, I stomped forward, lowered my massive skull, and rammed into the shovel's heavy rim. The ear-splitting metallic chime echoed across the tiles, pitching Spider-Man spinning face-first into the soot-stained rug. Cut and print.