“WHICH ONE OF YOU COLLEGE BOYS GONNA GO GET THE KING A BACON-AND-FLUFFERNUTTER SAN’WICH?”
How long is this press conference?
“THIS HERE’S THE THIRD DAY! ME AND MAH MONGREL DIMWIT DADDY, VERNON, BEEN TELLING STORIES AND AH SANG BRIEFLY. THERE WAS ALSO A KARATE DEMONSTRATION. THERE HAS BEEN SOME RACISM, BUT JUST IN THE STORIES. KARATE CAN’T BE RACIST. KARATE IS FOR EV’RYBODY, EVEN THOUGH AH DO IT THE BEST.”
Wait, I thought you were in Vegas, at the Katy Perry-owned Luxor Hotel where Kim Jong-Un was holed up in the King Tut suite with a nuke.
“GOOD WORK SNEAKIN’ THAT EXPOSITION IN THERE, BOY.”
Why does the sign say that you’re at the New York Hilton?
“AUTO-CORRECT.”
It is not a perfected technology.
“YEAH, AH AM AT THE LUXOR, MAN. THEY GOT ALL TYPES IN HERE. REAL FREAKIE-DEAKIES. AH SAW A FELLA WHO WAS ALSO A HIPPO.”
Oh, that’s Big Ping Pong. He’s Katy’s security.
“NAW, MAN. IT WASN’T NATURAL! AH SENT CHARLIE HODGE TO DEFEAT HIM IN BATTLE.”
How’d that go?
“JUST HOW YOU’D FIGURE.”
Yeah. Even before Big Ping Pong was a hippo-person, he was a 6’5″ defensive end from UF.
“CHARLIE AIN’T NO BIG FELLA. SOMETIMES HE CAN BARELY LIFT MY SCARVES AND WATER, AND MAH DISEASE-RIDDEN, SOUR-FACED, COUSIN-FINGERIN’, FLOPPY-DICKED DADDY–”
Vernon.
“–HAS TO HELP HIM OUT, FOR AH MUST HAVE MAH SCARVES AND WATER.”
Sure. King? You gonna do something about the madman with the bomb in the King Tut suite, or just do karate for journalists?
…
“ARE YOU CHALLENGIN’ MAH MANHOOD, BOY?”
No, King.
“ENTER MAH DOJO!”
No.
“BOY, YOU WRITE IN REGULAR PARAGRAPHS AND DESCRIBE THE ACTION OF ME KICKIN’ YOUR ASS!”
I don’t want to!
“YOUR AUTHORIAL CONCEIT LIMITS YOUR STORYTELLING OPTIONS!”
…
Can you get the hell back into character, please?
“YEAH, OKAY, YEAH. KARATE, PANTIES, ELVIS.”
Better.
“THANK YOU, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.”
Perfect. Now go up to Kim Jong-Un’s suite and chill him out and get the nuclear bomb.
“AH AM GOING, BUT ONLY BECAUSE AH WANT TO.”
…
“Okay, I need a plan B.”
Katy?
“Helloooo.”
Have you been there the entire time?
“I am everywhere. I am all within these pyramidal tracts. Do you know that pyramids have powers?”
Do they?
“Yes. Pyramid powers.”
Sure.
“I am mighty.”
Wow.
“I am Katy Sphinxy.”
That’s lazy.
“You come up with one, then. Only thing I considered was the Skanx, but I’m not a skank.”
No.
“If Taylor Swift was a mythical lion-person, then she would be the Skanx, but not me.”
You hold grudges.
“I’m Egyptian; it’s in our blood. Well, Ancient Egyptian. Same thing.”
Nope.
“Can we get back to the plan? I like being a god and owning a casino.”
I thought you hated owning a casino.
“Running a casino. That’s terrible. But owning one is great. People walk in off the street and just give your their money. I can’t believe I’ve been busting my ass singing.”
Good work if you can get it.
“I’m going to make a call. Excuse me. Or don’t, but I’m still going to make a call.”
Sure.
…
CELL PHONE NOISE
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Yoooooo.”
“Are you kidding me, John? At least the other ones took effort.”
“I’m tired of you bullying me about my phone greetings. I’m a brave and wonderful person, and I put myself out there, and no one has a right to criticize that.”
…
“Have you been drinking your laundry detergent, John?”
“No, but if I did, I would be content in the fact that there were no artificial additives.”
“Are you on your way? Things are not good here. Elvis’ press conference has turned into a hostage situation. He won’t let the reporters leave, John. It’s gotten very downhome in there, and his father is doing things to people. His father is doing things to everyone, John.”
“Vernon?”
“Is that his name? I didn’t catch it.”
“Vernon.”
“John, where are you?”
“Well, that answered my question.”
“Right?”
“John, this is not okay! All I wanted to do was go to Burning Man, and you lured me back here to Vegas! And–and!–that Li’l Kim maniac with the nuke is YOUR friend, John!”
“I’m pretty sure you let him into the White House at one point.”
“He was looking for you! Stop washing your face and live up to your responsibilities, John!”
“FINE! Fine, okay.”
“Elvis is not the man for this job, John. Can you keep a secret?”
“Maybe.”
“I think he might be on drugs, John.”
“Elvis?”
“Yeah.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because I took the drugs with him, John.”
“Sure. Speaking of which: if you want to end this press conference, then get Doctor Gary out of the room.”
“How did you know that Doctor Gary was there?”
“Katy, press conferences don’t turn into three day-long mass kidnappings/hootenannies without Doctor Gary being present.”
“Dr. Nick is there, too.”
…
“Oh, that’s not good.”
“It’s getting weird, John. They’re dueling. Like wizards? But instead of wands and magic, they’re drugging everyone in sight at each other.”
“Wow.”
“It’s sketchy in there.”
“I bet. Are you sure Elvis can’t handle this?”
“John, he’s still talking about how aliens invented white cotton panties or something. He’s not in any shape to…oh no.”
“What?”
“Elvis has left the press conference, John.”
“Where’d he go?”
“Look who I just kidnap!”
“WHAT YOU SAY, FAT BOY?”
“Ninjas! Now!”
BURLAP SACK NOISE!
“Now I got nuke, and I got hillbilly! Only Korea number one! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“Oh, that’s not good.”
Worst possible outcome.
“You have any ideas?
Yeah, but they’ll wait until next time.
“Okay.”
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