(Here's the post that started the holovids...)
"Larsen E. Whipsnade" <email@example.com> said:
>>I would be amiss if I didn't point out that my role in that series of posts was that of the "straight man". <<
(Scene: a holovision studio, during the Fifth Frontier War. A large poster of Duke Norris, in full Navy uniform and looking surprisingly like Lord Kitchener, dominates the back wall. Smaller posters show jitterbugging Glisten belters and bear the legend, "Buy War Bonds."
(In the center of the room, WHIPSNADE is warming up with a holographic orchestra, set on semi-transparent to be less distracting. He has barely launched into the first notes of "Porlozo Troop-Ship" when the door to one of the dressing rooms [stage right] burst open. A pastry sails through the air, trailing powdered sugar like the arm of a spiral galaxy, followed in short order by a smallish Vargr.)
RAMEN emerges in the doorway, eyes bloodshot and clutching a bottle of Azurrian Blue tequila. "I said a cocoanut donut, you mangy idiot," he bellows. He is about to go back into the dressing room when Larsen speaks up.
W: (whispering) Fred?
W: (almost inaudible) Shouldn't we do that promo now?
R: (Clutching his ears, as if in pain) You don't have to YELL! Can't we put it off a day?
W: Well, our esteemed producer--that nice Mr. Ayers--came by while you were, er, indisposed. He happened to mention that this was still a MYMINES production. Certain hints were dropped about "defaulting" and "penalty clauses."
R: Did he bring his lawyer?
W: Mr. Goffin? Yes, he was here. I think they mean business.
W: Maybe it was the way Mr. Goffin clutched his plasma rifle and cackled.
R: (Groans) All right, all right, let me get into costume.
(He ducks into the dressing room and emerges moments later, wearing a tattered bathrobe, with a towel draped nonchalently over his shoulders. He holds a putter in one hand.) Ready?
W: Yes. Cambot!
(A spherical holo-imaging robot floats into range. WHIPSNADE and RAMEN ready themselves.)
R: (Takes a loose swing with the putter, then rests it on his shoulder. Larsen adjusts his boater.) Hi, this is Fred "What am I doing on Mora?" Ramen. Hmm...MORE-uh...MO-Rah...MORRRRa...Larsen, which is funnier?
W: None of them. Can you just do the lines?
R: Sheesh. Ok, from "Mora."...and boy are we in a pickle, huh Larsen?
W: That's right, chum. We're here with some of the loveliest ladies in His Grace's service (gesturing at where the semi-clad ladies of the fictional Moran Matriarchial Defense League will be holocomposited in later.)
R: They're the only privates in the Imperium who aren't called dogfaces, rowrrr.
W: If you want to know how we make out, be sure to see "The Road to Zhodane," our new feature.
R: I think you read my mind!
W: Maybe I did. But friends, if you want to make sure that nobody but old Larsen does, be sure to support our boys and girls at the front. Buy War Bonds!
R: And see "The Road to Zhodane," starring the two of us and Dorthi Lemuurr.
Coming soon to a Naasirka-affiliated theater near you.
(The holobot beeps. WHIPSNADE and RAMEN slump visibly.)
R: What's next?
W: A promo for the AuricTech Golden Carp Grav Ball team.
R: Computer, display the script...huh? "Who's on grav-neutral-corner, What's the left retriever?" Hey, who writes this stuff, anyway?