The scene opens in Tony's hotel room in Kansas City, Missouri (yes, he's still yet to make it home from his little vacation in San Diego). The back and forth chatter of Liz Hathaway, Luca Arzegotti, Mr. Natural, Olive Pendershore, Ann Thraxx, and someone whose name sounds like a fucking dinner spice, can be heard emanating from Tony's computer. Tony can be seen on his two feet, crouched over as he seems intent on catching something. Tony looks around the room, bug-eyed, his ears at attention. The chatter continues from his laptop. Tony waves his hand at the computer as if he were trying to swat a fly from his face.

Hey! Everyone! Shut up for a second. Seriously, shut up! I've been trying to catch this bugger ever since I dropped my bags down in this god damn rat hole, and I can't let you idiots get in the way! Shhh!

Tony didn't realize that, 1) he was making more noise than the people on his computer, and 2) those same people couldn't hear him.

Tony turns his attention back toward the the walls of his hotel room, looking up and down the drab, beige walls, catching a peek at the leakage stain on the ceiling, the rust on the refrigerator handle, and the cracked tile on the white, kitchenette floor. All of a sudden...

*CREAK*

It's coming from the front door!

Tony leaps in to action! He darts across the room, making a beeline for the door before this "thing" can exit. Tony runs past his computer and hops over the laptop wire!...

Tony's left foot clips said wire, resulting in his immediate taste of gravity's devious ways. Tony's chest drops like a rock, pressing against the floor with the intensity of a grill cover after your mother burns steak on a hot summer's day, subsequently setting the deck on fire and killing your entire family.

Shit! It got away. Son of a bitch!

Tony lifts himself to his feet, brushing himself off (it's a dirty freaking floor) and whipping his hair backwards. Tony walks back around to his computer and stares in to the camera, a look of disappointment on his face.

Folks, it got away! I'd blame it on you, but it's most certainly my blame to endure. What was it, you ask?

Tony pauses, looks away and cracks a smile. However, his smile fades as quickly as it had appeared. Tony turns back toward the camera.

It was any semblance of a fuck that I could've given about any of you, or this conversation. Now shut your god damn mouths and make your way over to Peter Gilmour so he can bait you with some dick sucking taunts, you fucking lemmings.

The scene fades to black.

September 2013 and May 2019 Star of the Month
1x Hart Champion
1x Television Champion
1x Xtreme Champion