Post by Zevon on Jul 3, 2007 12:12:57 GMT -6
(Stephie Campbell looks radiant as always as she glides through the halls of the arena. Her target for the hour, the Eastern Heavyweight Champion, known from her last tip to be sulking in a lawn chair just outside the loading dock doors. She contemplated purchasing the champ one of those fast food sandwiches he so much enjoys, roast beef from some joint with a funny looking hat for a sign, but she had not the time. The journalism must go on, regardless of the state of mind of the champ. A sulking champ is probably a better find than one in roast beef bliss anyhow. She exists the loading dock to find the champ half asleep in a lawn chair, Eastern Heavyweight Championship around his waist and dressed for action. Stephie approaches with a clamor, as to not jolt the champ into some uncontrollable terror. Zevon opens an eye and sees the lovely Miss Campbell, his voice and facial expression shows a stressed out individual.)
Stephie (whispering): Zevon?
(A few short seconds pass.)
Zevon (whispering): Miss Campbell, why are we whispering?
Stephie (whispering): Because you were napping and looked distressed.
Zevon (whispering): Blasphemy. I am not distressed.
Stephie (whispering): Can we stop whispering now.
Zevon (whispering): If you would so wish.
Stephie (whispering): I would so wish.
Zevon (whispering): Very well then, commence the regular speak.
Stephie (whispering): I will.
Zevon (whispering): Then do so.
Stephie (whispering): Okay, I will.
Zevon (whispering): Okay then.
(An awkward silence takes over. Stephie seats herself in a lawn chair conveniently sitting aside the champs and begins to speak, but her voice cracks.)
Zevon: Miss Campbell, regain your composure. I know the task of interviewing such a great moral being is daunting, but you’ve done it before.
Stephie: My apologies. The whispering…
Zevon: I am aware, such changes in inflection are hard to properly execute when you are not well lubricated by cold refreshing lemonade.
(Zevon reaches under his chair and pulls out a picture of ice cold lemonade and a Winnie the Pooh paper cup. He offers Stephie a drink. She waves it off.)
Stephie: I’m fine thank you.
Zevon: Very well, commence the journalism.
Stephie: I though we could keep this less formal from now on. You know, banter and such.
(A tear comes to Zevon’s eye. His voice is sullen as he mutters.)
Zevon: Banter.
Stephie: I heard you are quite fond.
Zevon: I bantered with Lee. Excuse me Miss Campbell, but I am unable to banter again. Lee…
(Zevon is saddened as he recollects his time with Lee Cash.)
Stephie: I’m sorry if I broached a sore subject.
Zevon: No apologies are necessary, Miss Campbell. If informality is your game, let us engage in witty repartee. You begin with one of your ever so provocative questions.
Stephie: Are you excited to finally defend the Eastern Heavyweight Championship against John Anthony?
Zevon: No.
Stephie: But this has been building for two months, everyone else is excited.
Zevon: Good for them.
Stephie: How can you not be excited?
Zevon: John Anthony isn’t a worthy competitor. Don’t get me wrong, he’s the best New England as to offer but he’s not championship quality. He is a despicable being, and nowhere near the caliber of opponent as requirement by the Zevon rules of championship engagement.
Stephie: Tony Hunter believes so.
Zevon: Tony Hunter… let us not engage in discussion of such a lowly subject.
Stephie: Ill feelings for the new boss?
Zevon: ANGLOPHILE BASTARD FIRED LEE, STEPHIE!
Stephie: Sorry.
Zevon: No need for apologies. Tony Hunter is a scoundrel. Do you know why he kept you around, Stephie?
Stephie: I like to believe because of my talent.
Zevon: But?
Stephie: I know it’s because I’m English?
Zevon: You are a being of immense visual appeal Stephie, and more importantly of immense journalistic skill, but Tony Hunter only sees you as a hot piece of English tail.
(Stephie has become noticeably uncomfortable.)
Zevon: Sorry, Miss Campbell.
Stephie: Can we move back to John Anthony, please?
Zevon: Certainly, shall we continue to insult him.
Stephie: We?
Zevon: Ah, sorry Miss Campbell. You must stay impartial.
Stephie: Indeed I must.
Zevon: But you are a big Zevon fan are you not?
(Stephie clams up, she knows it is best to say nothing. Revealing her true opinion of the champ would not be for the best.)
Zevon: Silence is beautiful.
Stephie: So have you studied more of your Buffy footage?
Zevon: Why would I do such a thing?
Stephie: Because John Anthony is a vampire?
Zevon: Have you gone too close to the new hopheads Hunter hired?
Stephie: Last week, your interview?
Zevon: What about it, everyone was off their game and feeling a little loopy.
Stephie: It was an odd, emotion filled week.
Zevon: We were all in mourning, how could we not when that bleeding Anglophile fired Lee?
(Awkward silence. Stephie moves quickly to change the subject yet again.)
Stephie: So John Anthony doesn’t have the moral fiber to carry the Eastern Heavyweight Championship?
Zevon: That is correct. He is a depraved individual and lacks the class to carry the colossal responsibility of being the Champion of Everywhere.
Stephie: Champion of Everywhere?
Zevon: Do you not remember last week?
(Awkward pause my friend, we will meet again.)
Stephie: So, no class.
Zevon: The classiest guy in the whole place is Big Norm, the Foot-Long Midget, for Nixon’s sake. And he cannot compete for obvious reasons.
Stephie: Because he’s too short?
Zevon: Show some respect, Miss Campbell! You are above short jokes. Shame on you.
Stephie: Then why can’t he compete?
Zevon: He’s a foot-long midget for Nixon’s sake. Come on Stephie, open your eyes!
(Stephie and Zevon are again visited by their good friend awkward silence. Much to the dismay of Stephie Campbell, Zevon places his arm around her shoulders.)
Zevon: Miss Campbell, I know this is going to break your heart…I hate to do such a thing to a being so visually appealing, but no more repartee this week, I’m taking a short holiday. You have the week off. Have your mother over for a visit, rent a few movies… I suggest Fargo, a jolly romp of a time. Relax and rest up for Sunday, because I have big plans for us.
Stephie: I don’t think I…
Zevon: Shhh, Miss Campbell, everything will be dandy. Rest my dear. Rest.
(Zevon scuttles off leaving Stephie behind running scenarios through her head. Big plans? Doesn’t sound too promising, but at least Zevon won’t be around. A week off sounds enjoyable, but other POW competitors await her presence.)
Stephie (whispering): Zevon?
(A few short seconds pass.)
Zevon (whispering): Miss Campbell, why are we whispering?
Stephie (whispering): Because you were napping and looked distressed.
Zevon (whispering): Blasphemy. I am not distressed.
Stephie (whispering): Can we stop whispering now.
Zevon (whispering): If you would so wish.
Stephie (whispering): I would so wish.
Zevon (whispering): Very well then, commence the regular speak.
Stephie (whispering): I will.
Zevon (whispering): Then do so.
Stephie (whispering): Okay, I will.
Zevon (whispering): Okay then.
(An awkward silence takes over. Stephie seats herself in a lawn chair conveniently sitting aside the champs and begins to speak, but her voice cracks.)
Zevon: Miss Campbell, regain your composure. I know the task of interviewing such a great moral being is daunting, but you’ve done it before.
Stephie: My apologies. The whispering…
Zevon: I am aware, such changes in inflection are hard to properly execute when you are not well lubricated by cold refreshing lemonade.
(Zevon reaches under his chair and pulls out a picture of ice cold lemonade and a Winnie the Pooh paper cup. He offers Stephie a drink. She waves it off.)
Stephie: I’m fine thank you.
Zevon: Very well, commence the journalism.
Stephie: I though we could keep this less formal from now on. You know, banter and such.
(A tear comes to Zevon’s eye. His voice is sullen as he mutters.)
Zevon: Banter.
Stephie: I heard you are quite fond.
Zevon: I bantered with Lee. Excuse me Miss Campbell, but I am unable to banter again. Lee…
(Zevon is saddened as he recollects his time with Lee Cash.)
Stephie: I’m sorry if I broached a sore subject.
Zevon: No apologies are necessary, Miss Campbell. If informality is your game, let us engage in witty repartee. You begin with one of your ever so provocative questions.
Stephie: Are you excited to finally defend the Eastern Heavyweight Championship against John Anthony?
Zevon: No.
Stephie: But this has been building for two months, everyone else is excited.
Zevon: Good for them.
Stephie: How can you not be excited?
Zevon: John Anthony isn’t a worthy competitor. Don’t get me wrong, he’s the best New England as to offer but he’s not championship quality. He is a despicable being, and nowhere near the caliber of opponent as requirement by the Zevon rules of championship engagement.
Stephie: Tony Hunter believes so.
Zevon: Tony Hunter… let us not engage in discussion of such a lowly subject.
Stephie: Ill feelings for the new boss?
Zevon: ANGLOPHILE BASTARD FIRED LEE, STEPHIE!
Stephie: Sorry.
Zevon: No need for apologies. Tony Hunter is a scoundrel. Do you know why he kept you around, Stephie?
Stephie: I like to believe because of my talent.
Zevon: But?
Stephie: I know it’s because I’m English?
Zevon: You are a being of immense visual appeal Stephie, and more importantly of immense journalistic skill, but Tony Hunter only sees you as a hot piece of English tail.
(Stephie has become noticeably uncomfortable.)
Zevon: Sorry, Miss Campbell.
Stephie: Can we move back to John Anthony, please?
Zevon: Certainly, shall we continue to insult him.
Stephie: We?
Zevon: Ah, sorry Miss Campbell. You must stay impartial.
Stephie: Indeed I must.
Zevon: But you are a big Zevon fan are you not?
(Stephie clams up, she knows it is best to say nothing. Revealing her true opinion of the champ would not be for the best.)
Zevon: Silence is beautiful.
Stephie: So have you studied more of your Buffy footage?
Zevon: Why would I do such a thing?
Stephie: Because John Anthony is a vampire?
Zevon: Have you gone too close to the new hopheads Hunter hired?
Stephie: Last week, your interview?
Zevon: What about it, everyone was off their game and feeling a little loopy.
Stephie: It was an odd, emotion filled week.
Zevon: We were all in mourning, how could we not when that bleeding Anglophile fired Lee?
(Awkward silence. Stephie moves quickly to change the subject yet again.)
Stephie: So John Anthony doesn’t have the moral fiber to carry the Eastern Heavyweight Championship?
Zevon: That is correct. He is a depraved individual and lacks the class to carry the colossal responsibility of being the Champion of Everywhere.
Stephie: Champion of Everywhere?
Zevon: Do you not remember last week?
(Awkward pause my friend, we will meet again.)
Stephie: So, no class.
Zevon: The classiest guy in the whole place is Big Norm, the Foot-Long Midget, for Nixon’s sake. And he cannot compete for obvious reasons.
Stephie: Because he’s too short?
Zevon: Show some respect, Miss Campbell! You are above short jokes. Shame on you.
Stephie: Then why can’t he compete?
Zevon: He’s a foot-long midget for Nixon’s sake. Come on Stephie, open your eyes!
(Stephie and Zevon are again visited by their good friend awkward silence. Much to the dismay of Stephie Campbell, Zevon places his arm around her shoulders.)
Zevon: Miss Campbell, I know this is going to break your heart…I hate to do such a thing to a being so visually appealing, but no more repartee this week, I’m taking a short holiday. You have the week off. Have your mother over for a visit, rent a few movies… I suggest Fargo, a jolly romp of a time. Relax and rest up for Sunday, because I have big plans for us.
Stephie: I don’t think I…
Zevon: Shhh, Miss Campbell, everything will be dandy. Rest my dear. Rest.
(Zevon scuttles off leaving Stephie behind running scenarios through her head. Big plans? Doesn’t sound too promising, but at least Zevon won’t be around. A week off sounds enjoyable, but other POW competitors await her presence.)
