Post by doublefc on Apr 28, 2016 19:26:29 GMT
The French Mime Assassins sat on the green room couch and stared expressionlessly at Francis as he stood and angrily berated them.
Francis Ford Cuppola: You meant to do it, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU? Which one of you mimes thought of that little stunt, huh? Very clever making them think you’re innocent! ‘the difference between Jam and Marmalade’? Do you realize how FOOLISH you made me look? Do you? Why the hell aren’t you saying anything?!
He waited for the answer his assistant, Rodney P standing behind him, knew wasn’t coming. Rodney rubbed his temples and eyed his boss with disbelief. The press conference had came and went disastrously, and Francis had opted to rally the mimes on side after the controversial show he’d just put on.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Are you seeing this, Rodney? Are you? The utter disrespect of these mimes?
Rodney P: Oh, I see it, Francis.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Thank you, Rodney. You mimes realize I can yank you from this tournament in a heartbeat, right? Cause I can, and I will if you two don’t fall in line fast and realize who’s boss here. Understood?
He glared at the mimes who stared blankly back at him. Francis rested his hands on his hips crossly.
Francis Ford Cuppola: We’re not leaving here until you apologize.
Rodney P: *rolls his eys* We’re going to be here all day, Francis.
Francis smirked back at Rodney with a sudden onset of pride.
Francis Ford Cuppola: I know, isn’t it great? I’d hate them if I didn’t love them so much.
He turned back to them with a thumbs up.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Good work, Mimes. Never break character. No mercy, even in the face of an onslaught like the one I just unleashed, sorry by the way, my temper has a way of getting the best of me. It’s a stretch, but I’ve a feeling there’s wrestlers in this tournament that are at least potentially as good as I am, so it’s best to be ready for anything.
Rodney rolled his eyes well out of view of his boss.
Rodney P: Francis, is there a point to all this?
Francis Ford Cuppola: Of course there is, Rodney. You’ve complained that I haven’t been training the mimes, so we all just witnessed my first training exercise. How did it go?
Rodney P: Swimmingly.
Francis doesn’t detect Rodney’s sarcasm.
Rodney P: So… what comes next, oh guru of wrestler management?
Francis thought about it, the mimes watching him callously.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Well, I suppose we could have the mimes cut one of those promos again. It’s bland, but if we’re doing things your way now we can have them stand in front of a camera and just talk about their opponents.
Rodney blinked incredulously at his boss.
Rodney P: Francis… they’re mimes. They don’t. Say. Anything.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Exactly! That’s what makes them the easy favorites to win this tournament, Rodney. Everybody else is saying something, we’ve got a tag-team that’s saying nothing. It can’t miss.
Rodney held his tongue as Francis began to walk the room in lecture mode.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Think about it. Tommy McEnroe and Anatolia Romanoff thinking--
Rodney P: You mean Terry McKenna and.. know what? Nevermind at this point, you do you.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Thank you, Rodney. Like I said, you got these two Tennis playing, footie-watching quasi-Brits thinking they’ve got more of a chance at winning those tag belts than trained assassins? For real? Look at them, Rodney.
Francis gestures to the mimes still stoically seated with white gloves on their knees like they haven’t moved or breathed in days. Francis smiles proudly.
Francis Ford Cuppola: God, I love this team. See that? Didn’t even flinch. These mimes mean business, Rodney.
Francis’ eyes gleam. And then he resumes pacing like he didn’t miss a beat.
Francis Ford Cuppola: And then you got Tiger Mask Red, who I’m still convinced is a woman who won’t go out with me, thinking (s)he and D.C. Wiland can come into the MIME’S house and actually stand a chance against their first round opponents? Please! My mimes are already thinking about the final rounds since we, meaning you, have trained them to last for the long haul. This is what we’re dealing with Rodney. For ordinary tag teams this is a challenge, but it’s a piece of cake for The French Mime Assassins. I'm telling you, nothing but morons entered this tournament.
Rodney P: *Flatly* What are they thinking.
Francis Ford Cuppola: That’s what I said! And if you were paying attention, Rodney, instead of helping our Mimes warm up and do squat thrusts, you’d have already noticed our first round opponents didn’t even bother to open their mouths. THEY’RE STEALING THE MIME’S SHTICK, HAHAH!
Rodney stood away from the wall he’d been leaning on having heard enough. The mimes stood in unison with him. Francis frowned.
Francis Ford Cuppola: What’s going on?
Rodney P: The speech is great, Francis, but the mimes have more training to do if they’re going to be ready.
Francis Ford Cuppola: That’s good thinking, Rodney. I’ll keep thinking of ways to promote our talent. You prep them for the later rounds, and I’ll think four steps ahead in the promotional game, we got this, guys!
He claps the mimes on the back as they pass, following Rodney and completely ignoring Francis. Francis, of course, doesn’t bother to notice.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Go team! Keep up the good work, Rodney.
Francis calls after his assistant with a thumb's up. Rodney's already exited with the mimes, leaving Francis by himself to dream of dollar signs and mime sponsorship deals.
Francis Ford Cuppola: You meant to do it, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU? Which one of you mimes thought of that little stunt, huh? Very clever making them think you’re innocent! ‘the difference between Jam and Marmalade’? Do you realize how FOOLISH you made me look? Do you? Why the hell aren’t you saying anything?!
He waited for the answer his assistant, Rodney P standing behind him, knew wasn’t coming. Rodney rubbed his temples and eyed his boss with disbelief. The press conference had came and went disastrously, and Francis had opted to rally the mimes on side after the controversial show he’d just put on.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Are you seeing this, Rodney? Are you? The utter disrespect of these mimes?
Rodney P: Oh, I see it, Francis.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Thank you, Rodney. You mimes realize I can yank you from this tournament in a heartbeat, right? Cause I can, and I will if you two don’t fall in line fast and realize who’s boss here. Understood?
He glared at the mimes who stared blankly back at him. Francis rested his hands on his hips crossly.
Francis Ford Cuppola: We’re not leaving here until you apologize.
Rodney P: *rolls his eys* We’re going to be here all day, Francis.
Francis smirked back at Rodney with a sudden onset of pride.
Francis Ford Cuppola: I know, isn’t it great? I’d hate them if I didn’t love them so much.
He turned back to them with a thumbs up.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Good work, Mimes. Never break character. No mercy, even in the face of an onslaught like the one I just unleashed, sorry by the way, my temper has a way of getting the best of me. It’s a stretch, but I’ve a feeling there’s wrestlers in this tournament that are at least potentially as good as I am, so it’s best to be ready for anything.
Rodney rolled his eyes well out of view of his boss.
Rodney P: Francis, is there a point to all this?
Francis Ford Cuppola: Of course there is, Rodney. You’ve complained that I haven’t been training the mimes, so we all just witnessed my first training exercise. How did it go?
Rodney P: Swimmingly.
Francis doesn’t detect Rodney’s sarcasm.
Rodney P: So… what comes next, oh guru of wrestler management?
Francis thought about it, the mimes watching him callously.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Well, I suppose we could have the mimes cut one of those promos again. It’s bland, but if we’re doing things your way now we can have them stand in front of a camera and just talk about their opponents.
Rodney blinked incredulously at his boss.
Rodney P: Francis… they’re mimes. They don’t. Say. Anything.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Exactly! That’s what makes them the easy favorites to win this tournament, Rodney. Everybody else is saying something, we’ve got a tag-team that’s saying nothing. It can’t miss.
Rodney held his tongue as Francis began to walk the room in lecture mode.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Think about it. Tommy McEnroe and Anatolia Romanoff thinking--
Rodney P: You mean Terry McKenna and.. know what? Nevermind at this point, you do you.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Thank you, Rodney. Like I said, you got these two Tennis playing, footie-watching quasi-Brits thinking they’ve got more of a chance at winning those tag belts than trained assassins? For real? Look at them, Rodney.
Francis gestures to the mimes still stoically seated with white gloves on their knees like they haven’t moved or breathed in days. Francis smiles proudly.
Francis Ford Cuppola: God, I love this team. See that? Didn’t even flinch. These mimes mean business, Rodney.
Francis’ eyes gleam. And then he resumes pacing like he didn’t miss a beat.
Francis Ford Cuppola: And then you got Tiger Mask Red, who I’m still convinced is a woman who won’t go out with me, thinking (s)he and D.C. Wiland can come into the MIME’S house and actually stand a chance against their first round opponents? Please! My mimes are already thinking about the final rounds since we, meaning you, have trained them to last for the long haul. This is what we’re dealing with Rodney. For ordinary tag teams this is a challenge, but it’s a piece of cake for The French Mime Assassins. I'm telling you, nothing but morons entered this tournament.
Rodney P: *Flatly* What are they thinking.
Francis Ford Cuppola: That’s what I said! And if you were paying attention, Rodney, instead of helping our Mimes warm up and do squat thrusts, you’d have already noticed our first round opponents didn’t even bother to open their mouths. THEY’RE STEALING THE MIME’S SHTICK, HAHAH!
Rodney stood away from the wall he’d been leaning on having heard enough. The mimes stood in unison with him. Francis frowned.
Francis Ford Cuppola: What’s going on?
Rodney P: The speech is great, Francis, but the mimes have more training to do if they’re going to be ready.
Francis Ford Cuppola: That’s good thinking, Rodney. I’ll keep thinking of ways to promote our talent. You prep them for the later rounds, and I’ll think four steps ahead in the promotional game, we got this, guys!
He claps the mimes on the back as they pass, following Rodney and completely ignoring Francis. Francis, of course, doesn’t bother to notice.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Go team! Keep up the good work, Rodney.
Francis calls after his assistant with a thumb's up. Rodney's already exited with the mimes, leaving Francis by himself to dream of dollar signs and mime sponsorship deals.
