In a room filled with press agents, Conan the Governor approaches the podium.
Conan reaches for a drumstick from the banquet, tears into it and slowly chews as grease drips down his glistening forearm. Conan eyes the foray of anticipating reporters. He throws the drumstick at one of them and grunts, “You. What iz your qwestion?”
A bit dazed, the reporter recovers quickly and asks, “Conan, what is your position on Federal Health Care Reform?”
Conan glares at the reporter and raises his broadsword. “Steel.”
Under the gaze of Conan, the reporter tries to avoid wetting himself. He clears his throat nervously, “Excuse me?”
Conan roars, “Steel!!” The room is silent. Conan sighs and begins, “Fire and wind come from the sky, from the gods of the sky. But Crom is my god, Crom and he lives in the earth. Once, giants lived in the Earth. And in the darkness of chaos, they fooled Crom, and they took from him the enigma of steel. Crom was angered. And the Earth shook. Fire and wind struck down these giants, and they threw their bodies into the waters, but in their rage, the gods forgot the secret of steel and left it on the battlefield. We who found it are just men. Not gods. Not giants. Just men. The secret of steel has always carried with it a mystery. You must learn its riddle. You must learn its discipline. For no one - no one in this world can you trust. Not men, not women, not beasts.”
Blank faces surround Conan. Conan kicks the podium away and charges toward the reporter whom asked the question. Conan thrusts his sword into the man and raises him above the onlookers. “You are weak. This iz what iz done to the weak.”
Conan drops the limp body of the reporter to the ground, turns and heads back to the stage. He grabs another slab of meat, “Next qwestion.”
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