Post by Zevon on Jul 5, 2007 22:45:52 GMT -6
(The Eastern Heavyweight Championship glimmers under the summer Ohio sun as JR Zevon walks through a parking lot clad in black and white ring attire. Riding in his left arm and peaking over his shoulder is Mr. Kitters, eyes wide as strange, suspicious people walk by with quizzical looks on their faces. Trailing behind is the attractive thirty-something Juana, carrying a map and chatting on a cell phone. The noble trio approaches the gates of the Toledo Zoo and heads for the ticket booth.)
Zevon: Three, my good sir!
(The ticket attendant eyes the strange site he sees before him: a grown man in wrestling gear holding an orange cat, seeking Zoo admission for three people.)
Ticket guy: Uhhh, sir….
Zevon: Why the hesitation, fine upstanding Zoo employee?
Ticket guy: Three tickets? Three HUMAN tickets?
Zevon: Two human and one feline. Has the sun affected you vision?
Ticket guy: We cannot allow you in.
Zevon: Racist bastard! She’s a human being for Nixon’s sake! Her ethnic origin is of no concern to your zoological showplace.
(Ticket guy grabs his phone.)
Ticket guy: Can I get some security up front? And tell that reporter his wrestler is at the front gate.
Zevon: Cannot a family enjoy a weekday outing?
(The ticket guy pulls shut his stands shutters as a crowd gathers. Zevon takes a look around the crowd.)
Zevon: What?
Juana, what is with these pissants?
(Juana makes no effort to respond. A security officer breaks through the crowd followed by a reporter in a Mud Hens cap and Storm t-shirt.)
Security officer: Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises.
Zevon: What the Reagan for?
Security officer: You are causing a disturbance.
(The reporter swoops in and grabs the officer’s attention.)
Reporter: Excuse me, sir. But can we keep this civil? I’ve been awaiting our friend here for a few hours.
(The security officer beckons the reporter to come aside for a private conversation. They engage in serious looking talk.)
Zevon: Bloody Homeland Security, can’t leave a gentle Mexican woman be.
(The reporter has succeeded in pleading his case and the officer returns to his post. The reporter approaches Zevon.)
Reporter: We cannot go in but we are free to conduct business outside.
Zevon: Who the Reagan are you?
Reporter: I’m with the Toledo Blade. I heard you would be coming to town today and thought I would get a word with a local wrestling champion.
Zevon: I have come to enjoy a day with my noble friend and parade about viewing the interesting creatures. Not chat with some fool. Who told you I was going to be here?
(The reporter motions towards the POW camera crew following Zevon. Zevon turns and looks at them in disgust.)
Zevon: You would think that a detour through Cleveland would foil them, but apparently not. They are stubborn buggers.
Reporter: So can we discuss a few things?
Zevon: Here we go again… might as well play along. Commence the meaningless movements of air through your vocal chords.
Reporter: Um, I take it that’s a yes. What brings you back home to Northwest Ohio?
Zevon: Isn’t it obvious? I have come to engage in entertainment with my family.
Reporter: There is no hidden agenda here. You aren’t here to perhaps engage in nefarious activities that might help you in your upcoming title defense?
Zevon: Most certainly not. What would lead you to believe such poppycock?
Reporter: Recently John Anthony has been concerned about private details leaking to the public.
Zevon: Depravity brings ill upon a being.
Reporter: You have nothing to do with a certain big event in John’s life being jeopardized by YOUR public statements?
Zevon: No, now may I go and watch the dragons?
Reporter: I’m sorry but you cannot enter with your cat.
(And a fatal mistake has been made. A fire alights in the champion’s eyes.)
Zevon: He is not MY cat. He belongs to no man. I merely see to those needs to which the modern society of man has made impossible for such a splendid creature.
Reporter: Sorry, can we move on then?
Zevon: Very well, I’m a being of great class; I shall allow you another chance.
Reporter: Any interesting events happen in the last few days?
Zevon: I received telephone correspondence from some gossip rag the American people worship, accusing me of owning slaves. Can you imagine the headline, buried deep under a photograph of Paris Hilton’s midriff? Champion of Everywhere: Slave owner! Absolutely ludicrous! And I have it on good authority that John Anthony is behind all this.
Reporter: There is usually some truth to all rumors.
Zevon: BLASPHEMY! (Kitters jumps from the riled up champ’s loving grasp) Who is the slave owner? The paragon of integrity or the despicable being who specializes in stealing money from pensioned eighty year old women?
(Zevon impatiently awaits a response, and is poised to give the reporter a good poke.)
Zevon: Come on, chap, answer the question.
Reporter: The latter, but I’m not so sure which one of you is the swindler.
Zevon: Where on this green but gritty and deteriorating space mass did you receive your education? The Rupert Murdoch School of Douchebaggery?
Reporter: I hear Rich Morrison is a graduate.
Zevon: Don’t get cute.
Reporter: No need to, I’m already quite handsome.
(Zevon pauses as he tries to control his steam. His finger rises for a good poke to the chest but he restrains himself. There is no need for a lawsuit. As he lowers his hand his eyes twinkle in memory of Lee Cash. Lee Cash, annoying yet pokeable.)
Zevon: Sod off! I came here to view the monkeys and bond with my family!
Reporter: Your family? You mean your cat and Latina slave laborer?
(Zevon can no longer restrain himself and pokes the reported hard in the chest. The reporter stumbles back and bumps into nearby trash receptacle.)
Zevon: Noble companion! I own no cat, and I most certainly do not own a hard-working, Hispanic feline caretaker!
(The reporter shakes off the violence, and is now more enraged than the Eastern Heavyweight Champion.)
Reporter: You’ll be hearing from my attorney, champ!
(The reporter exists in a pretentious huff. Zevon turns to discover that Kitters has made a home for himself on Juana’s lap on a bench in the distance. Zevon approaches his majestic friend and his Latina caretaker.)
Zevon: Juana! Get the telephone digits of one Mr. Cutter Man; I may require the assistance of his sleazeball attorney. He is Jewish, he will treat me well.
(Juana does not move, she is too busy petting Kitters and chatting on her cell phone to bother. Zevon is slightly peeved by her lack of response, until he sites Kitters upon her lap. He sits down on the bench beside the noble pair, giving Kitters a pat on the head.)
Zevon: Family, the backbone of society.
Zevon: Three, my good sir!
(The ticket attendant eyes the strange site he sees before him: a grown man in wrestling gear holding an orange cat, seeking Zoo admission for three people.)
Ticket guy: Uhhh, sir….
Zevon: Why the hesitation, fine upstanding Zoo employee?
Ticket guy: Three tickets? Three HUMAN tickets?
Zevon: Two human and one feline. Has the sun affected you vision?
Ticket guy: We cannot allow you in.
Zevon: Racist bastard! She’s a human being for Nixon’s sake! Her ethnic origin is of no concern to your zoological showplace.
(Ticket guy grabs his phone.)
Ticket guy: Can I get some security up front? And tell that reporter his wrestler is at the front gate.
Zevon: Cannot a family enjoy a weekday outing?
(The ticket guy pulls shut his stands shutters as a crowd gathers. Zevon takes a look around the crowd.)
Zevon: What?
Juana, what is with these pissants?
(Juana makes no effort to respond. A security officer breaks through the crowd followed by a reporter in a Mud Hens cap and Storm t-shirt.)
Security officer: Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises.
Zevon: What the Reagan for?
Security officer: You are causing a disturbance.
(The reporter swoops in and grabs the officer’s attention.)
Reporter: Excuse me, sir. But can we keep this civil? I’ve been awaiting our friend here for a few hours.
(The security officer beckons the reporter to come aside for a private conversation. They engage in serious looking talk.)
Zevon: Bloody Homeland Security, can’t leave a gentle Mexican woman be.
(The reporter has succeeded in pleading his case and the officer returns to his post. The reporter approaches Zevon.)
Reporter: We cannot go in but we are free to conduct business outside.
Zevon: Who the Reagan are you?
Reporter: I’m with the Toledo Blade. I heard you would be coming to town today and thought I would get a word with a local wrestling champion.
Zevon: I have come to enjoy a day with my noble friend and parade about viewing the interesting creatures. Not chat with some fool. Who told you I was going to be here?
(The reporter motions towards the POW camera crew following Zevon. Zevon turns and looks at them in disgust.)
Zevon: You would think that a detour through Cleveland would foil them, but apparently not. They are stubborn buggers.
Reporter: So can we discuss a few things?
Zevon: Here we go again… might as well play along. Commence the meaningless movements of air through your vocal chords.
Reporter: Um, I take it that’s a yes. What brings you back home to Northwest Ohio?
Zevon: Isn’t it obvious? I have come to engage in entertainment with my family.
Reporter: There is no hidden agenda here. You aren’t here to perhaps engage in nefarious activities that might help you in your upcoming title defense?
Zevon: Most certainly not. What would lead you to believe such poppycock?
Reporter: Recently John Anthony has been concerned about private details leaking to the public.
Zevon: Depravity brings ill upon a being.
Reporter: You have nothing to do with a certain big event in John’s life being jeopardized by YOUR public statements?
Zevon: No, now may I go and watch the dragons?
Reporter: I’m sorry but you cannot enter with your cat.
(And a fatal mistake has been made. A fire alights in the champion’s eyes.)
Zevon: He is not MY cat. He belongs to no man. I merely see to those needs to which the modern society of man has made impossible for such a splendid creature.
Reporter: Sorry, can we move on then?
Zevon: Very well, I’m a being of great class; I shall allow you another chance.
Reporter: Any interesting events happen in the last few days?
Zevon: I received telephone correspondence from some gossip rag the American people worship, accusing me of owning slaves. Can you imagine the headline, buried deep under a photograph of Paris Hilton’s midriff? Champion of Everywhere: Slave owner! Absolutely ludicrous! And I have it on good authority that John Anthony is behind all this.
Reporter: There is usually some truth to all rumors.
Zevon: BLASPHEMY! (Kitters jumps from the riled up champ’s loving grasp) Who is the slave owner? The paragon of integrity or the despicable being who specializes in stealing money from pensioned eighty year old women?
(Zevon impatiently awaits a response, and is poised to give the reporter a good poke.)
Zevon: Come on, chap, answer the question.
Reporter: The latter, but I’m not so sure which one of you is the swindler.
Zevon: Where on this green but gritty and deteriorating space mass did you receive your education? The Rupert Murdoch School of Douchebaggery?
Reporter: I hear Rich Morrison is a graduate.
Zevon: Don’t get cute.
Reporter: No need to, I’m already quite handsome.
(Zevon pauses as he tries to control his steam. His finger rises for a good poke to the chest but he restrains himself. There is no need for a lawsuit. As he lowers his hand his eyes twinkle in memory of Lee Cash. Lee Cash, annoying yet pokeable.)
Zevon: Sod off! I came here to view the monkeys and bond with my family!
Reporter: Your family? You mean your cat and Latina slave laborer?
(Zevon can no longer restrain himself and pokes the reported hard in the chest. The reporter stumbles back and bumps into nearby trash receptacle.)
Zevon: Noble companion! I own no cat, and I most certainly do not own a hard-working, Hispanic feline caretaker!
(The reporter shakes off the violence, and is now more enraged than the Eastern Heavyweight Champion.)
Reporter: You’ll be hearing from my attorney, champ!
(The reporter exists in a pretentious huff. Zevon turns to discover that Kitters has made a home for himself on Juana’s lap on a bench in the distance. Zevon approaches his majestic friend and his Latina caretaker.)
Zevon: Juana! Get the telephone digits of one Mr. Cutter Man; I may require the assistance of his sleazeball attorney. He is Jewish, he will treat me well.
(Juana does not move, she is too busy petting Kitters and chatting on her cell phone to bother. Zevon is slightly peeved by her lack of response, until he sites Kitters upon her lap. He sits down on the bench beside the noble pair, giving Kitters a pat on the head.)
Zevon: Family, the backbone of society.
