----Prologue----
"You know damn good and well you'll never get married Andy."
"Well Conan, my dad always said, 'Andy, you don't marry the whores, you just buy them.'"
"Sad thing is, they'd never get their money's worth. Thank God time's up, tomorrow we have Andy Dick, Sarah Michelle Gellar and Beck, buh buh bye now y'all..."
As the Max Weinburg 7 ended out, Conan O'Brien stood up from his desk and stretched. He would be so glad when he could go home and take a nap. His lanky 6'4" frame was sore and tired, and he retired to his dressing room to get him makeup removed. He stared coldly in the mirror, criticizing his facial features. Hundreds of little freckles and bright red hair was a dead giveaway of his Irish heritage. He always wished there was some way to get rid of his beauty marks, but somehow, he managed to survive. He glanced quickly at his bright blue eyes, but, as usual, couldn't look into their reflection.
"Allright Conan, you're good to go. How about you take a nice hot shower when you get home, kiddo?" Said his stylist, Marie. She was a plain woman, but conan's all-time favourite.
"Sounds great sweetie, I'll see ya tomorrow." He plastered the ever-present faux smile on his face and kissed her cheek while he stood up. She grinned, and he walked out of the dressing room. Walking through well-known corridors and long NBC hallways, he finally found the vast parking lot where he normally parked his car. He didn't like long walks, so he got away with using the Handicapped spot. No one ever used it, so why not? He finally spotted the deep red Suburban, and began to walk twards it. Almost there, he tripped over a stepping stone that was kicked out onto the pavement.
"Damnit, my foot!" He cursed, muttering under his breath about rocks, and stones and what not. Fumbling for his keys, he realized there was a yellow slip of paper hooked under his windshield wiper. He frowned, and grabbed the paper out of it's make-shift paperweight. He groaned when he saw what it was.
"A parking ticket? For what?! Parking in a Handicapped spot? Oh who gives a damn if I do or don't! Stupid cops, always finding something wrong..." Mumbling as he got in his car, turned it on, and sped off. Not paying attention to his driving, he turned up the radio as loud as it would go, blasting whatever station it was on through the speakers. His mind wasn't on the music, it was on other things. Woman, booze, anything to drown out his ever-present anger. Suddenly, he swerved off the road, and heard a loud thud. Only then, did he realize it was storming. Pulling his car into a position where it was managable, he turned on the emergency lights, and went to see what he ran over. Feeling around the back of his car for his umbrella, and realizing he left it at home, he got out and went looking for some kind of log, or tree branch. It was so dark, he couldn't see much of anything. Untill he tripped over a big, bulky...something. He fell flat on his face, in the mud. When he leaned up, and crawled over to what he tripped over, and ran over, he just about had a heart attack.
It was a person.
"You know damn good and well you'll never get married Andy."
"Well Conan, my dad always said, 'Andy, you don't marry the whores, you just buy them.'"
"Sad thing is, they'd never get their money's worth. Thank God time's up, tomorrow we have Andy Dick, Sarah Michelle Gellar and Beck, buh buh bye now y'all..."
As the Max Weinburg 7 ended out, Conan O'Brien stood up from his desk and stretched. He would be so glad when he could go home and take a nap. His lanky 6'4" frame was sore and tired, and he retired to his dressing room to get him makeup removed. He stared coldly in the mirror, criticizing his facial features. Hundreds of little freckles and bright red hair was a dead giveaway of his Irish heritage. He always wished there was some way to get rid of his beauty marks, but somehow, he managed to survive. He glanced quickly at his bright blue eyes, but, as usual, couldn't look into their reflection.
"Allright Conan, you're good to go. How about you take a nice hot shower when you get home, kiddo?" Said his stylist, Marie. She was a plain woman, but conan's all-time favourite.
"Sounds great sweetie, I'll see ya tomorrow." He plastered the ever-present faux smile on his face and kissed her cheek while he stood up. She grinned, and he walked out of the dressing room. Walking through well-known corridors and long NBC hallways, he finally found the vast parking lot where he normally parked his car. He didn't like long walks, so he got away with using the Handicapped spot. No one ever used it, so why not? He finally spotted the deep red Suburban, and began to walk twards it. Almost there, he tripped over a stepping stone that was kicked out onto the pavement.
"Damnit, my foot!" He cursed, muttering under his breath about rocks, and stones and what not. Fumbling for his keys, he realized there was a yellow slip of paper hooked under his windshield wiper. He frowned, and grabbed the paper out of it's make-shift paperweight. He groaned when he saw what it was.
"A parking ticket? For what?! Parking in a Handicapped spot? Oh who gives a damn if I do or don't! Stupid cops, always finding something wrong..." Mumbling as he got in his car, turned it on, and sped off. Not paying attention to his driving, he turned up the radio as loud as it would go, blasting whatever station it was on through the speakers. His mind wasn't on the music, it was on other things. Woman, booze, anything to drown out his ever-present anger. Suddenly, he swerved off the road, and heard a loud thud. Only then, did he realize it was storming. Pulling his car into a position where it was managable, he turned on the emergency lights, and went to see what he ran over. Feeling around the back of his car for his umbrella, and realizing he left it at home, he got out and went looking for some kind of log, or tree branch. It was so dark, he couldn't see much of anything. Untill he tripped over a big, bulky...something. He fell flat on his face, in the mud. When he leaned up, and crawled over to what he tripped over, and ran over, he just about had a heart attack.
It was a person.