Awesome!

"Parker! Get in here!" Mr. Brown's harsh voice rose above the clickity-clack of computer keys, and the ring of telephones. Lance sat in his cubicle, doodling on his desk calendar. The boobs on the drawing were, if he did say so himself, really something. He added some extra shading in the nipple area and leaned back to admire his work.

"Parker," Mr. Brown called again. Lance's phone rang, startling him out of his soft-core reverie.

"Sports desk," he answered without any degree of passion. "I SAID GET IN HERE!" Mr. Brown screamed.

"Uh, my name isn't 'Parker', sir."

"I know that. But Van Houghten is too much of a mouthful. From now on, you're Parker. Now, get the hell in here!" Lance jumped and dropped the phone. He fumbled with it for a minute, getting his hand caught in the coiled cord, and eventually hung up. He grabbed his steno pad and trotted to Mr. Brown's office, quickly adjusted his bowtie and strutted in. The grizzled old man sat hunched over his desk, sweat reflecting of his enormous bald spot. He tried to cover it with something of a comb-over, but no one was fooled.

"Why don't you just call me Lance, Brown?" Lance griped.

"Sit down and shut up. And it's MISTER Brown to you. Now, you're a sports reporter in a town with no professional sports teams. I've relegated you to high school sports because I don't know what else to do with you. The Board says I can't fire you, no matter how much you bother me."

"No matter how - "

"Quiet," he thundered. "Nancy is out for a few days. Apparently she's sick, or something. I covered a live battle zone in 'Nam with malaria, but whatever." The old man looked off wistfully for a few heartbeats. "Anyway, Nancy is out so I need you to cover the Science and Tech beat at the University. Some woman over there is doing something with gene splicing. Here are her notes. Go finish it."

"Sir, I really don't know if I can."

"I didn't ask if you can," Mr. Brown said between clenched teeth. "I just told you to do it."

"Mr. Brown..."

"If you want to continue to have a job here, Parker," he pointed, "you'll get me this story." Lance stood and nodded once. He turned and walked back to his cubicle. The reporter threw his laptop, steno pad, and a few other things into his leather backpack. He stopped and doubled back toward Mr. Brown's office a half dozen times before finally giving up, adjusting his bow tie again, and making for the elevator.