Post by Lord Hastings on Jul 27, 2009 14:49:44 GMT -5
Donovan sits on his throne in Owen Peterson's locker room.
Hastings: This vexes me, Niglet. Indeed, I am terribly vexed.
Owen Peterson sits on a bench with his head in his hands.
Peterson: And why is that, Lord-Chief?
Hastings: Sentinel was to be the pinnacle of my ascension to my new throne. I even had two burly men put a throne out there on the stage. They were burly, Niglet!
Peterson: God hates me.
Hastings: No I don't!
Donovan stands and begins pacing.
Hastings: I don't understand where I went wrong. I had the throne placed where I could see all of my Niggadom. I went out among the people. I addressed the peoples across the nation. I even helped you, my loyal subject, in the execution of your Nigga duty.
Peterson: You attacked the competitors of a title match!
Hastings: I had to make sure it was properly officiated! And that's another thing, Niglet. If there is to be a new championship bestowed upon the world, why has it not been placed around the waist of the Lord-Chief Nigga? What possible reason could there be to do that?
Peterson: To punish me.
Hastings: Punishment, yes, that's what I had to bestow upon them all. Especially the false idol champion, Edwards. He is a pretender to this championship, deserving of the hands of fate settling around his throat, choking the last gasps of life from him.
Peterson: That's a little melodramatic.
Hastings: Thank you. Now, we must spread the word of this outrage in a proper fashion. Peasant Salt 'N Vinegar wasn't able to appreciate my pamphlet of proclamation. We need something a little more upscale.
Donovan thinks for a moment.
Hastings: Send for Niglet Dos.
Peterson rolls his eyes and walks out of the locker room.
Hastings: And then there is the other false pretender, this...
Donovan looks around the room.
Hastings: Ah, hell.
He taps his foot on the ground and looks at his watch. Owen Peterson re-enters, with Jason Reeves at his side. Donovan begins to pace again.
Hastings: And then there is the other false pretender, this "Niggarette." Sounds like something you smoke. You know how you stop someone from smoking? You pee on their cigarettes. And then you run.
Reeves looks at Peterson.
Reeves: You brought me here for this?
Hastings: Niglet Dos! I have a job for you.
Reeves: Um...if I do it, can I get exclusive interviews?
Hastings: YOUR LORD-CHIEF WILL TELL YOU WHAT YOU GET.
Reeves takes a step back.
Hastings: You're lucky I don't make you chop down a tree with a herring. Now, the pamphlet I used last week didn't have the proper effect.
Reeves looks at Peterson.
Peterson: He tore a page out of a composition book and scribbled on it with some crayon.
Reeves: Ah.
Hastings: What we need is a proper pamphlet that spreads the word of the Lord-Chief to all the people of my Niggadom. It must tell them of the glory that is the true Lord-Chief, and reveal the lies of the false Niggaette, and all that I've accomplished without Bitch-Whore holding me back. You, Niglet Dos, are a man of media. You can create this pamphlet, and unveil it to the masses.
Reeves: ...what?
Hastings: Niglet! Translate.
Peterson sighs.
Peterson: Da Lord-Chief, da nigga saying ya’ll need ta make a pamphlet an’ spread da truth o’ hiz lordship an’ chiefdom, off da hizzy.
Reeves: Ah.
Hastings: Because next week on Sentinel, the Lord-Chief WILL defeat Moss Edwards and capture the championship that was meant for me from the start, and we'll send him a documentary of his loss afterwards. Yes! That's your second job, Niglet Dos. You're going to document all of this, documet "The Auteur" and his inevitable fall from grace, as the hands of fate close around him. How's that for fucking irony. Ha!
Donovan nods his head as he sits back down on the throne.
Hastings: And when all that is done, and I stand as the true GIW.com Champion, then we deal with the false idol.
Reeves: Which false idol are we talking about now? I think you called them both that.
Donovan glares at him.
Hastings: Gabrielle. A blight that should have been dealt with months ago.
Reeves: Yeah, if only Bitch-Whore had taken care of that for you.
Donovan leaps off the throne and slams Reeves against the wall, pinning him to it by his throat.
Hastings: You...will not...ever...EVER...refer to Calypso that way again. DO. YOU. UNDER. STAND.
Reeves nods his head, his face turning shades. Donovan releases and Reeves falls to his knees, gasping for air.
Hastings: Now go do your fucking job.
Donovan steps away and stands with his arms folding behind him, his back to the other two. Reeves scampers out of the room, as Peterson watches him go. Donovan closes his eyes and scratches his forehead. Peterson starts to leave.
Hastings: I need this, Owen.
Peterson freezes. Donovan looks back at him.
Hastings: I need to beat this man.
Peterson swallows, and lowers his eyes and nods his head. Peterson leaves, and Donovan walks to the throne and sits on it, his head in his hands.
Hastings: This vexes me, Niglet. Indeed, I am terribly vexed.
Owen Peterson sits on a bench with his head in his hands.
Peterson: And why is that, Lord-Chief?
Hastings: Sentinel was to be the pinnacle of my ascension to my new throne. I even had two burly men put a throne out there on the stage. They were burly, Niglet!
Peterson: God hates me.
Hastings: No I don't!
Donovan stands and begins pacing.
Hastings: I don't understand where I went wrong. I had the throne placed where I could see all of my Niggadom. I went out among the people. I addressed the peoples across the nation. I even helped you, my loyal subject, in the execution of your Nigga duty.
Peterson: You attacked the competitors of a title match!
Hastings: I had to make sure it was properly officiated! And that's another thing, Niglet. If there is to be a new championship bestowed upon the world, why has it not been placed around the waist of the Lord-Chief Nigga? What possible reason could there be to do that?
Peterson: To punish me.
Hastings: Punishment, yes, that's what I had to bestow upon them all. Especially the false idol champion, Edwards. He is a pretender to this championship, deserving of the hands of fate settling around his throat, choking the last gasps of life from him.
Peterson: That's a little melodramatic.
Hastings: Thank you. Now, we must spread the word of this outrage in a proper fashion. Peasant Salt 'N Vinegar wasn't able to appreciate my pamphlet of proclamation. We need something a little more upscale.
Donovan thinks for a moment.
Hastings: Send for Niglet Dos.
Peterson rolls his eyes and walks out of the locker room.
Hastings: And then there is the other false pretender, this...
Donovan looks around the room.
Hastings: Ah, hell.
He taps his foot on the ground and looks at his watch. Owen Peterson re-enters, with Jason Reeves at his side. Donovan begins to pace again.
Hastings: And then there is the other false pretender, this "Niggarette." Sounds like something you smoke. You know how you stop someone from smoking? You pee on their cigarettes. And then you run.
Reeves looks at Peterson.
Reeves: You brought me here for this?
Hastings: Niglet Dos! I have a job for you.
Reeves: Um...if I do it, can I get exclusive interviews?
Hastings: YOUR LORD-CHIEF WILL TELL YOU WHAT YOU GET.
Reeves takes a step back.
Hastings: You're lucky I don't make you chop down a tree with a herring. Now, the pamphlet I used last week didn't have the proper effect.
Reeves looks at Peterson.
Peterson: He tore a page out of a composition book and scribbled on it with some crayon.
Reeves: Ah.
Hastings: What we need is a proper pamphlet that spreads the word of the Lord-Chief to all the people of my Niggadom. It must tell them of the glory that is the true Lord-Chief, and reveal the lies of the false Niggaette, and all that I've accomplished without Bitch-Whore holding me back. You, Niglet Dos, are a man of media. You can create this pamphlet, and unveil it to the masses.
Reeves: ...what?
Hastings: Niglet! Translate.
Peterson sighs.
Peterson: Da Lord-Chief, da nigga saying ya’ll need ta make a pamphlet an’ spread da truth o’ hiz lordship an’ chiefdom, off da hizzy.
Reeves: Ah.
Hastings: Because next week on Sentinel, the Lord-Chief WILL defeat Moss Edwards and capture the championship that was meant for me from the start, and we'll send him a documentary of his loss afterwards. Yes! That's your second job, Niglet Dos. You're going to document all of this, documet "The Auteur" and his inevitable fall from grace, as the hands of fate close around him. How's that for fucking irony. Ha!
Donovan nods his head as he sits back down on the throne.
Hastings: And when all that is done, and I stand as the true GIW.com Champion, then we deal with the false idol.
Reeves: Which false idol are we talking about now? I think you called them both that.
Donovan glares at him.
Hastings: Gabrielle. A blight that should have been dealt with months ago.
Reeves: Yeah, if only Bitch-Whore had taken care of that for you.
Donovan leaps off the throne and slams Reeves against the wall, pinning him to it by his throat.
Hastings: You...will not...ever...EVER...refer to Calypso that way again. DO. YOU. UNDER. STAND.
Reeves nods his head, his face turning shades. Donovan releases and Reeves falls to his knees, gasping for air.
Hastings: Now go do your fucking job.
Donovan steps away and stands with his arms folding behind him, his back to the other two. Reeves scampers out of the room, as Peterson watches him go. Donovan closes his eyes and scratches his forehead. Peterson starts to leave.
Hastings: I need this, Owen.
Peterson freezes. Donovan looks back at him.
Hastings: I need to beat this man.
Peterson swallows, and lowers his eyes and nods his head. Peterson leaves, and Donovan walks to the throne and sits on it, his head in his hands.
