Black, White, Blue, Black And White

See, now, this is the type of company you should be keeping, John.

“I didn’t ask your opinion.”

Sooooo much better than your fashion friends.

“My fashion friends are great.”

They deserve a bullet apiece, John. All of your fashion friends should be executed for heterodoxical leanings and crimes against the state.

“When did you become a Bolshevik?”

I read a book about The Weavers and BOOM: Communist.

“Wow. The American government was right to be worried.”

Apparently.

STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT RING-TONE NOISE

“Is that your phone?”

Nope.

“Goddammit.”

…

“You’re on with John.”

“Hi, John. This is Ronan Farrow.”

“My God, it’s like you were born to wear that tux.”

“You…you can see me?”

“Don’t worry about it. What can I do for you, Ronan?”

“I have several questions about the things you’ve been doing with your penis.”

“Oh, sure. Can you hold on a sec?”

“Mm-hmm.”

…

“Hey!”

Dude, you’re fucked.

“Is he prettier than me?”

THAT’S what you’re worried about?

“A little.”

You’re such a mess of a man.

“I got him beat on the chin. My chin is clearly more chiseled. But, Christ, those eyes. Should I do the colored contacts thing?”

Dammit, I can’t believe you’re making me do this. Gimme the phone.

POP STAR HANDING PHONE TO IDIOT NOISE

Ronan the Barbarian!

“Very original. Never heard that before. Is this the asshole who zapped dinosaurs into my apartment?”

Yes, it is.

“Well, I got rid of them and now I’m back on the Grateful Dead story.”

Sure, cool.

“FORE!”

“What the hell was that?”

CLONK!

“Did a golf ball just hit me?”

“Hell of a shot, Gleason. Right off his pretty little noggin.”

“Ten bucks says you can break his nose with your five-iron, Mr. President.”

“I will, uh, take that wager.”

…

“Hey!”

Mr. Farrow?

“This is just fucking weird, man.”

This is nothing. This is the skin; we haven’t even gotten to the pudding. It gets so much worse.

“I’ll do a different story.”

Ooh, how about outing Lindsey Graham?

“That’s not a story. The story would be if he were straight.”

You’re good, Ronan Farrow. Now go away.