Bastardous Bastard
Title: Bastardous Bastard
Author: Yours truly
Fandom: The Daily Show
Pairing: Rob Riggle/John Oliver
Rating: PG-13
Warning: None
A/N: I wrote this for the fakenews_fanfic community’s daily open thread. Today’s challenge was to write a Fourth of July drabble! And this is what happened. Of course, this being me, it’s stupid and just a tiny bit cracky. But what else do I write? Oh right... a_certain_sky provoked me to do this. Blame her!
Length: 675
Feedback: Always welcome. Concrit as well.
Summary: Rob needs some help when his holiday plans get ruined.
Bastardous Bastard
I scowl, jabbing my pen into the pad of paper before me.
“It isn’t fair,” I growl (it is a growl, most definitely not a whine), desecrating the pad with even more gusto. “It’s a federal fucking holiday. And we’re working.”
“The election’s only in a few months, mate. We need to be on our game,” comes his clear crisp voice, though he’s facing away from me at the moment. Why is he facing away from me? What’s he doing that I’m not allowed to see? I add this to my mental list of “Things That Are Annoying Right Now.”
“What are you doing?” I again don’t whine… okay, so maybe I was whining just a little bit there.
“None of your business,” he retorts.
“John…” Yeah, that was definitely a whine.
“Robert Riggle, I am trying to work, unlike you.”
I slouch in my chair and scowl at the back of his head. “I fought in a war to get this holiday,” I remark darkly. When this doesn’t elicit a response, I scowl even harder. “I could’ve died!” Still nothing. Pouting mannishly, I sigh. “You’re no fun anymore.”
John graciously throws a smile backwards at me. “Even quoting Python won’t get you anywhere,” he sings, grin evident in his voice. Bastard. Queen-banging, bastardous bastard.
Letting out a frustrated grunt, I decide the best way to spend my time is to continue killing my pad of paper via stabbing. “You’re just glad you’re working so you don’t have to do anything,” I mutter, glaring at the stick figures I’m drawing of John getting impaled by nasty rhinos. “You’re British. You probably hate this holiday.”
“Oh, too true,” John answers sarcastically, his back still to me. “Us poor Brits, being cut off from your wonderful society where you celebrate independence by practising gluttony and blowing shit up.”
Finally he turns around. I’m about to verbally attack him for abusing my homeland when, suddenly, he throws up his hands and the air is filled with tiny bits of paper.
“Ta daaa,” he declares softly, gleefully watching the shredded pieces as they float in the air.
I stare at him as the bits flutter to a resting place in our hair and on our desks. “You just spent three hours making confetti,” I finally state flatly.
He nods happily. “Happy Fourth of July!”
"... You’re an idiot,” is all I say.
He picks up the pieces of paper and continues throwing them, calling out an occasional “Ta da!” and rubbing the paper into my hair. Finally, when he sees that all that he’s accomplished is making my scowl deepen, he sighs in resignation. “Want to watch some porn?” he asks patiently.
Schooling my features, I contemplate this. “Is it American porn?” I murmur after a moment.
He gives me a look but at my imploring gaze he sighs again and pulls out one of our numerous DVD’s. After examining it for a moment, he nods. “Yep. American.”
There’s another pause as I continue to think. “Is it patriotic American porn?” I ask skeptically.
He looks as if he’s about to make a smart comment but stops himself. “What porn isn’t patriotic?” he asks instead, though he still looks highly amused.
Satisfied, I nod. “Alright,” I say, hoping that my enthusiasm isn’t obvious. Apparently, bouncing up and down betrays my excitement because John shoots me a sly grin.
Popping the DVD in, John and I settle back. We’re about five minutes in when the pizza girl starts losing her clothes. John, apparently, finds this the appropriate time to start singing the William Tell Overture.
“John?”
“Yes?”
“…Shut up.”
As the girl gets boned, he starts conducting wildly and yells the crescendo of the song, booming the sounds of the canon loudly. He gets quieter for a moment, though the peace is disturbed again once the guy takes the money shot and John starts humming the National Anthem. I elbow him but he just grins at me.
I guess this isn’t the worst way to spend my holiday.
... Tea-drinking, confetti-making bastard-covered bastard.
END
Endnote: Why does everyone I write have anger issues? I hope to goodness they don’t have to do election coverage this time next year, but seeing as the race has already been psychotic, I wouldn’t be that surprised. Anyway, fellow Americans: happy Independence Day! And nonAmericans: happy… normal week! And to the British: uh… sorry?
Oh, right, as with all of my writing: spot my random references ftw!
Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual persons is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).
Any mention of 'The Daily Show', 'The Colbert Report', 'Viacom', any associated entities, or any copyrighted material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976 and is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material.
Author: Yours truly
Fandom: The Daily Show
Pairing: Rob Riggle/John Oliver
Rating: PG-13
Warning: None
A/N: I wrote this for the fakenews_fanfic community’s daily open thread. Today’s challenge was to write a Fourth of July drabble! And this is what happened. Of course, this being me, it’s stupid and just a tiny bit cracky. But what else do I write? Oh right... a_certain_sky provoked me to do this. Blame her!
Length: 675
Feedback: Always welcome. Concrit as well.
Summary: Rob needs some help when his holiday plans get ruined.
Bastardous Bastard
I scowl, jabbing my pen into the pad of paper before me.
“It isn’t fair,” I growl (it is a growl, most definitely not a whine), desecrating the pad with even more gusto. “It’s a federal fucking holiday. And we’re working.”
“The election’s only in a few months, mate. We need to be on our game,” comes his clear crisp voice, though he’s facing away from me at the moment. Why is he facing away from me? What’s he doing that I’m not allowed to see? I add this to my mental list of “Things That Are Annoying Right Now.”
“What are you doing?” I again don’t whine… okay, so maybe I was whining just a little bit there.
“None of your business,” he retorts.
“John…” Yeah, that was definitely a whine.
“Robert Riggle, I am trying to work, unlike you.”
I slouch in my chair and scowl at the back of his head. “I fought in a war to get this holiday,” I remark darkly. When this doesn’t elicit a response, I scowl even harder. “I could’ve died!” Still nothing. Pouting mannishly, I sigh. “You’re no fun anymore.”
John graciously throws a smile backwards at me. “Even quoting Python won’t get you anywhere,” he sings, grin evident in his voice. Bastard. Queen-banging, bastardous bastard.
Letting out a frustrated grunt, I decide the best way to spend my time is to continue killing my pad of paper via stabbing. “You’re just glad you’re working so you don’t have to do anything,” I mutter, glaring at the stick figures I’m drawing of John getting impaled by nasty rhinos. “You’re British. You probably hate this holiday.”
“Oh, too true,” John answers sarcastically, his back still to me. “Us poor Brits, being cut off from your wonderful society where you celebrate independence by practising gluttony and blowing shit up.”
Finally he turns around. I’m about to verbally attack him for abusing my homeland when, suddenly, he throws up his hands and the air is filled with tiny bits of paper.
“Ta daaa,” he declares softly, gleefully watching the shredded pieces as they float in the air.
I stare at him as the bits flutter to a resting place in our hair and on our desks. “You just spent three hours making confetti,” I finally state flatly.
He nods happily. “Happy Fourth of July!”
"... You’re an idiot,” is all I say.
He picks up the pieces of paper and continues throwing them, calling out an occasional “Ta da!” and rubbing the paper into my hair. Finally, when he sees that all that he’s accomplished is making my scowl deepen, he sighs in resignation. “Want to watch some porn?” he asks patiently.
Schooling my features, I contemplate this. “Is it American porn?” I murmur after a moment.
He gives me a look but at my imploring gaze he sighs again and pulls out one of our numerous DVD’s. After examining it for a moment, he nods. “Yep. American.”
There’s another pause as I continue to think. “Is it patriotic American porn?” I ask skeptically.
He looks as if he’s about to make a smart comment but stops himself. “What porn isn’t patriotic?” he asks instead, though he still looks highly amused.
Satisfied, I nod. “Alright,” I say, hoping that my enthusiasm isn’t obvious. Apparently, bouncing up and down betrays my excitement because John shoots me a sly grin.
Popping the DVD in, John and I settle back. We’re about five minutes in when the pizza girl starts losing her clothes. John, apparently, finds this the appropriate time to start singing the William Tell Overture.
“John?”
“Yes?”
“…Shut up.”
As the girl gets boned, he starts conducting wildly and yells the crescendo of the song, booming the sounds of the canon loudly. He gets quieter for a moment, though the peace is disturbed again once the guy takes the money shot and John starts humming the National Anthem. I elbow him but he just grins at me.
I guess this isn’t the worst way to spend my holiday.
... Tea-drinking, confetti-making bastard-covered bastard.
END
Endnote: Why does everyone I write have anger issues? I hope to goodness they don’t have to do election coverage this time next year, but seeing as the race has already been psychotic, I wouldn’t be that surprised. Anyway, fellow Americans: happy Independence Day! And nonAmericans: happy… normal week! And to the British: uh… sorry?
Oh, right, as with all of my writing: spot my random references ftw!
Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual persons is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).
Any mention of 'The Daily Show', 'The Colbert Report', 'Viacom', any associated entities, or any copyrighted material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976 and is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material.