Scene: inside the production studio of The Paul Finebaum Show, a camera tracks down a hallway into Finebaum’s office 30 minutes prior to the opening of the day’s show.
Finebaum is relaxing in a chair, reading a dog-eared copy of Sartre’s Being and Nothingness, a half-drunk glass of Cognac and a smoldering Cohiba cigar by his side. He puts down the book, sighs and looks outside his room.
FINEBAUM: Hey! Anybody out there? What have we got planned for the rubes today?
Anonymous smug staffer strolls in, bemused.
ASS: No worries, boss. Some of us were banging a few ideas around and came up with this to post on social media while your show is on.
FINEBAUM: Excellent. The Mullen pounding has run its course for now. Getting the Saban and Smart groupies worked up is good timing. Let ‘er rip.
ASS: Thought you’d like it, boss.
FINEBAUM: You still here? Did I invite you to stay? And close the door behind you.
ASS: Er, sorry, boss.
ASS backs out of room, leaving Finebaum to reach for a sip, a drag and his book. Fin.