06-30-2018, 12:35 PM
Ron Burgundy sat in his desk and waited for the little light on the camera to flash green.
In the meantime, he tended to the glass of scotch that patiently awaited deliverance into his brilliant, mustachioed mouth. After a short, savory swig, he smirked at the sports anchor. “Still amazes me that you can make scotch this good out of rainbows.”
“I wouldn’t know, Sir,” the reporter muttered as he shuffled his papers.
The light turned green, saving Ron from any more awkward moments of silence. Turning to face the camera, he put on his debonair smile.
“Ron Burgundy here, with your ONN update, Omniverse,” the legendary anchorman glimpsed at the first news article and suppressed an eye roll. “Dante’s Abyss continues to pull high numbers in local venues, and the Dataverse revenue is supposedly reaching record numbers.” Ron paused for effect as he glimpsed at the lens that connected him to his own widespread viewership. “If I didn’t know any better, Mr. Jak, I’d think you’re trying to compete,” at that, Ron did a practiced ‘lighthearted-slash-jovial chuckle’ accompanied with a slight tilt back of his own perfectly styled hair.
“In other news,” Ron cleared his throat with some scotch. “Reports indicate that there’s been a lot of traffic to and from Carrefore in the recent days.” The anchorman smirked. “I know a little dancer who works in a watering hole down there, but I guess this is a ‘loose lips sink ships’ ordeal, and if one thing is certain, there were no loose lips about her.”
Ron took the next pause to refill his scotch. The bottle ran empty and he sighed, because that usually meant the morning shift was nearly at an end. “Princess Guu has been spotted turning herself into Kingdom authorities. Supposedly, the little elastic princess was harboring a weapon of mass destruction in her little forest city. Someone should tell her that WMDs are best stored in one’s pants.”
“The Empire cut ground on a new settlement, just on the other side of the gate in the Vasty Deep. A long-standing militarized zone, the region is now apparently sporting houses and other signs that people other than goons—I mean gentlemen—in white plastic suits will be residing there.” Flipping to the last sheet in the stack of missives, the anchorman nodded his head.
“Murky reports coming out of Fishman Island in the far-away reaches of the Vasty Deep. Denizens of the underwater kingdom have reportedly been picked up by Imperial scouting parties a few hundred miles from their home. Intel on that situation is likewise hush-hush, but we’ll do our best here at ONN to keep you looped in, Omniverse.”
Gently stacking up the papers, Ron rested them on the desk and shifted his gaze to the take-home camera. “From everyone here at ONN, this has been Ron Burgundy with your morning update. From here, we’ll take you to sports and entertainment. Stay Classy, Omniverse.”
In the meantime, he tended to the glass of scotch that patiently awaited deliverance into his brilliant, mustachioed mouth. After a short, savory swig, he smirked at the sports anchor. “Still amazes me that you can make scotch this good out of rainbows.”
“I wouldn’t know, Sir,” the reporter muttered as he shuffled his papers.
The light turned green, saving Ron from any more awkward moments of silence. Turning to face the camera, he put on his debonair smile.
“Ron Burgundy here, with your ONN update, Omniverse,” the legendary anchorman glimpsed at the first news article and suppressed an eye roll. “Dante’s Abyss continues to pull high numbers in local venues, and the Dataverse revenue is supposedly reaching record numbers.” Ron paused for effect as he glimpsed at the lens that connected him to his own widespread viewership. “If I didn’t know any better, Mr. Jak, I’d think you’re trying to compete,” at that, Ron did a practiced ‘lighthearted-slash-jovial chuckle’ accompanied with a slight tilt back of his own perfectly styled hair.
“In other news,” Ron cleared his throat with some scotch. “Reports indicate that there’s been a lot of traffic to and from Carrefore in the recent days.” The anchorman smirked. “I know a little dancer who works in a watering hole down there, but I guess this is a ‘loose lips sink ships’ ordeal, and if one thing is certain, there were no loose lips about her.”
Ron took the next pause to refill his scotch. The bottle ran empty and he sighed, because that usually meant the morning shift was nearly at an end. “Princess Guu has been spotted turning herself into Kingdom authorities. Supposedly, the little elastic princess was harboring a weapon of mass destruction in her little forest city. Someone should tell her that WMDs are best stored in one’s pants.”
“The Empire cut ground on a new settlement, just on the other side of the gate in the Vasty Deep. A long-standing militarized zone, the region is now apparently sporting houses and other signs that people other than goons—I mean gentlemen—in white plastic suits will be residing there.” Flipping to the last sheet in the stack of missives, the anchorman nodded his head.
“Murky reports coming out of Fishman Island in the far-away reaches of the Vasty Deep. Denizens of the underwater kingdom have reportedly been picked up by Imperial scouting parties a few hundred miles from their home. Intel on that situation is likewise hush-hush, but we’ll do our best here at ONN to keep you looped in, Omniverse.”
Gently stacking up the papers, Ron rested them on the desk and shifted his gaze to the take-home camera. “From everyone here at ONN, this has been Ron Burgundy with your morning update. From here, we’ll take you to sports and entertainment. Stay Classy, Omniverse.”