Tell Me You Love Me

You Disgust Me

"You're right, Frank... I discussed you with everyone I know, and we all find you disgusting." 

- Hawkeye from M*A*S*H

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"This was such a bad idea," Michael muttered under his breath as he paced the length of the conference room. His manager Frank was seated at the sleek mahogany table puffing on a cigar with his feet propped on the tabletop. Michael stopped pacing, faced Frank, and threw his arms up in the air as his tone turned from casual worry to frantic frustration. "How? How could you let me do this?"

Frank took the cigar out of his mouth and waved it in the air as he spoke. "Mike, take it easy. The worst he's gonna do is tell you to shove it up your ass," Frank teased.

Michael pulled at his hair. "Would you please take this seriously?" he demanded. He clenched his teeth and growled as his anger continued to boil. "And would you please put out that stupid cigar and get your elf feet off the table?" He slapped Frank's feet until they dropped to the floor. He then proceeded to wipe the lingering dirt from Frank's shoes off of the table with the side of his hand. Frank did as Michael requested and squashed his cigar in the ashtray extinguishing the glow at the end. Michael watched the smoke rise in wisps from the ashtray until it became a thin, steady stream of gray floating to the ceiling. He dropped his arms to his sides and allowed them to go limp. He let out a heavy sigh.

"Gee, Mike!" Frank interjected firmly but cautiously. "You're really letting this get to you. You should sit and take a minute to calm down."

"Ha, calm down?" Michael scoffed with a smirk as he made his way to the chair next to Frank. He pulled the chair out with unnecessary force and slammed its legs back down on the hardwood floor. He plopped down on the seat and crossed his arms over his chest. "How can I calm down when he is already fifteen minutes late for the meeting? Does this guy not recognize that I have a tight, busy schedule? Or does he just not care? I don't have the time for him to dick around. This almost isn't worth it."

"The fans will love it," Frank says in a calm, reassuring voice. "Just be nice, you know, like you usually are."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Even if he does agree to work with me, it isn't going to be easy."

"Greatness isn't easy." Frank picked up his cigar and lit it once more. Michael ripped the cigar out of Frank's hand, threw it on the floor, and stomped on it until if was flat. "Man, you've really worked yourself into a tizzy."

The next several minutes were endured in complete silence, and Michael's nervousness grew with great intensity. He began to shake his leg and bite his thumbnail to pass the time as they waited well beyond the acceptable amount of time to be late.

As soon as the door handle to the conference room began to move, Michael snapped out of his seat and stood up straight with his hands clasped behind his back. He plastered a fabricated smile on his face and hoped it would pass for genuine. Frank slowly stood up with much less enthusiasm and slouched slightly. When the door swung open, finally the Purple One walked into the room with his manager.