Post by Lord Hastings on Nov 5, 2009 18:34:02 GMT -5
Owen Peterson stands behind a shop counter, his back to the counter as he moves something on a shelf. Donovan walks in, carrying a bird cage with a piece of paper in it.
Hastings: ’Ello. I wish to register a complaint.
Owen ignores him.
Hastings: ’Ello? Cracker?
Owen turns around quickly.
Peterson: What do you mean, cracker?
Hastings: I’m sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint!
Peterson: Sorry, we’re closing for lunch.
Hastings: Never mind that, Niglet, I wish to complain about this item that I’ve wasted much of my time watching.
The paper in the cage says “Career of Brandon Brown” written in crayon.
Peterson: Oh, yes, ah, that would be Brandon Brown’s career. What, uh, what’s wrong with it, then?
Hastings: I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it. It’s dead. That’s what’s wrong with it.
Peterson: No, no, he’s, ah, he’s just resting.
Hastings: Look, Niglet, I know a dead career when I’m looking at one, and I’m looking at one right now.
Peterson: No, no, it’s not dead, it’s just taking a break in the undercard.
Hastings: Taking a break in the undercard?
Peterson: Yeah, a break in the undercard. Remarkable career he’s had, isn’t it? Had some great matches.
Hastings: His past matches don’t enter into it. His career now is stone dead!
Peterson: No no no, he’s just restin!
Hastings: Alright then, if he’s resting, let’s give him a jolt.
Donovan holds up the cage and starts yelling at it.
Hastings: Hello, Brandon! Mister Brandon Brown! I’ve got a future title shot for you if you wake up, Mr. Brandon Brown!
Owen turns his head to the side and cups his hands over his mouth.
Peterson: BRAN-DON! BRAN-DON! BRAN-DON!
Hastings: What’s that, then?
Peterson: He’s got fans still!
Hastings: He does not, that was just you chanting in your hands.
Peterson: I never!
Hastings: Yes, you did!
Peterson: I never, never…
Donovan takes the piece of paper out and starts shouting at it.
Hastings: ’ELLO BRANNNNNNNNNDON! WAKEY-WAKEY! BRANDON BROWN! WAKE UP!
Donovan waves the paper around in the air.
Hastings: YOU USED TO BE A WORLD CHAMPION, NOW YOU JUST PAL AROUND WITH THE YELLOW PERIL AND WRESTLE HOMELESS BUMS!
Donovan waves the paper around some more.
Hastings: TESTIIIIING! TESTIIIIIIING! THIS IS YOUR NINE O’CLOCK ALARM CALL!
Donovan rips up the paper and throws the bits into the air.
Hastings: Now that’s what I call a dead career.
Peterson: No, no…no, he’s stunned.
Hastings: STUNNED?
Peterson: Yeah, you stunned him, just as he was getting up! Washed-up wrestlers stun easily, Lord-Chief.
Hastings: Look my lad, I've had just about enough of this. That career is definitely deceased, and when I was scheduled for this match not half an hour ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was due to it being tired and shagged out after a long squawk.
Peterson: Well, ah, he’s probably pining for the fjords.
Hastings: Pining for the fjords? What kind of talk is that? Why is it he’ll be falling right to his knees the moment he gets in the ring with me?
Peterson: Brandon Brown PREFERS being on his knees. Remarkable career, wasn’t it? Had some great matches.
Hastings: Look, I’ve taken the liberty of examining this career, and I’ve discovered that the only reason he’s still been able to continue in GIW is that Alex Kiseragi carries him in all their matches.
Peterson: Well of course he does! If Kiseragi didn’t carry him, he’d climb in that ring, nuzzle up to somebody, and VOOM!
Hastings: VOOM? Look, Niglet, this career couldn’t voom if you put four thousand volts through it. It’s bleedin’ demised.
Peterson: It’s pining!
Hastings: It's not pinin,' it's passed on! This career is no more! It has ceased to be! It's expired and gone to meet its maker! This is a late career! It's a stiff! Bereft of life, it rests in peace! If Kiseragi didn’t carry him his career would be pushing up the daisies! Its metabolical processes are of interest only to historians! It's hopped the twig! It's shuffled off this mortal coil! It's run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible! This.... is an EX-CAREER!
They stare at each other a moment.
Peterson: Well, then…I guess you’re going to win, aren’t you?
Hastings: Damn straight.
They touch fists.
Hastings: Nice having you back, by the way.
Peterson: Thanks. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something.
Hastings: What’s that?
Peterson: It’s about Calypso. I, er, I don’t quite know how to say this.
Hastings: Just spit it out.
Owen hesitates and takes a deep breath.
Peterson: Are you sure you can trust her?
Hastings: Nah, she’s up to trouble of some kind.
Peterson: Well, she…wait, what?
Hastings: Don’t worry about it, Owen.
Peterson: But…how can you let her hang around if she’s causing trouble?
Hastings: You know how long I wanted her back. She’s back. She’s there when I wake up every morning. I have what I want. Does the reason behind it matter?
Peterson: I…it’s…
Hastings: Seriously. Don’t worry about it. C’mon, let’s get something to eat.
Donovan walks out. Owen shakes his head and follows a few moments later.
Hastings: ’Ello. I wish to register a complaint.
Owen ignores him.
Hastings: ’Ello? Cracker?
Owen turns around quickly.
Peterson: What do you mean, cracker?
Hastings: I’m sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint!
Peterson: Sorry, we’re closing for lunch.
Hastings: Never mind that, Niglet, I wish to complain about this item that I’ve wasted much of my time watching.
The paper in the cage says “Career of Brandon Brown” written in crayon.
Peterson: Oh, yes, ah, that would be Brandon Brown’s career. What, uh, what’s wrong with it, then?
Hastings: I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it. It’s dead. That’s what’s wrong with it.
Peterson: No, no, he’s, ah, he’s just resting.
Hastings: Look, Niglet, I know a dead career when I’m looking at one, and I’m looking at one right now.
Peterson: No, no, it’s not dead, it’s just taking a break in the undercard.
Hastings: Taking a break in the undercard?
Peterson: Yeah, a break in the undercard. Remarkable career he’s had, isn’t it? Had some great matches.
Hastings: His past matches don’t enter into it. His career now is stone dead!
Peterson: No no no, he’s just restin!
Hastings: Alright then, if he’s resting, let’s give him a jolt.
Donovan holds up the cage and starts yelling at it.
Hastings: Hello, Brandon! Mister Brandon Brown! I’ve got a future title shot for you if you wake up, Mr. Brandon Brown!
Owen turns his head to the side and cups his hands over his mouth.
Peterson: BRAN-DON! BRAN-DON! BRAN-DON!
Hastings: What’s that, then?
Peterson: He’s got fans still!
Hastings: He does not, that was just you chanting in your hands.
Peterson: I never!
Hastings: Yes, you did!
Peterson: I never, never…
Donovan takes the piece of paper out and starts shouting at it.
Hastings: ’ELLO BRANNNNNNNNNDON! WAKEY-WAKEY! BRANDON BROWN! WAKE UP!
Donovan waves the paper around in the air.
Hastings: YOU USED TO BE A WORLD CHAMPION, NOW YOU JUST PAL AROUND WITH THE YELLOW PERIL AND WRESTLE HOMELESS BUMS!
Donovan waves the paper around some more.
Hastings: TESTIIIIING! TESTIIIIIIING! THIS IS YOUR NINE O’CLOCK ALARM CALL!
Donovan rips up the paper and throws the bits into the air.
Hastings: Now that’s what I call a dead career.
Peterson: No, no…no, he’s stunned.
Hastings: STUNNED?
Peterson: Yeah, you stunned him, just as he was getting up! Washed-up wrestlers stun easily, Lord-Chief.
Hastings: Look my lad, I've had just about enough of this. That career is definitely deceased, and when I was scheduled for this match not half an hour ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was due to it being tired and shagged out after a long squawk.
Peterson: Well, ah, he’s probably pining for the fjords.
Hastings: Pining for the fjords? What kind of talk is that? Why is it he’ll be falling right to his knees the moment he gets in the ring with me?
Peterson: Brandon Brown PREFERS being on his knees. Remarkable career, wasn’t it? Had some great matches.
Hastings: Look, I’ve taken the liberty of examining this career, and I’ve discovered that the only reason he’s still been able to continue in GIW is that Alex Kiseragi carries him in all their matches.
Peterson: Well of course he does! If Kiseragi didn’t carry him, he’d climb in that ring, nuzzle up to somebody, and VOOM!
Hastings: VOOM? Look, Niglet, this career couldn’t voom if you put four thousand volts through it. It’s bleedin’ demised.
Peterson: It’s pining!
Hastings: It's not pinin,' it's passed on! This career is no more! It has ceased to be! It's expired and gone to meet its maker! This is a late career! It's a stiff! Bereft of life, it rests in peace! If Kiseragi didn’t carry him his career would be pushing up the daisies! Its metabolical processes are of interest only to historians! It's hopped the twig! It's shuffled off this mortal coil! It's run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible! This.... is an EX-CAREER!
They stare at each other a moment.
Peterson: Well, then…I guess you’re going to win, aren’t you?
Hastings: Damn straight.
They touch fists.
Hastings: Nice having you back, by the way.
Peterson: Thanks. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something.
Hastings: What’s that?
Peterson: It’s about Calypso. I, er, I don’t quite know how to say this.
Hastings: Just spit it out.
Owen hesitates and takes a deep breath.
Peterson: Are you sure you can trust her?
Hastings: Nah, she’s up to trouble of some kind.
Peterson: Well, she…wait, what?
Hastings: Don’t worry about it, Owen.
Peterson: But…how can you let her hang around if she’s causing trouble?
Hastings: You know how long I wanted her back. She’s back. She’s there when I wake up every morning. I have what I want. Does the reason behind it matter?
Peterson: I…it’s…
Hastings: Seriously. Don’t worry about it. C’mon, let’s get something to eat.
Donovan walks out. Owen shakes his head and follows a few moments later.
x2
