SCENE: The Gardenhire home office. It's 11:03 PM on a Thursday night. RON GARDENHIRE is sitting in front of his typewriter. He cracks his kunckles and begins typing.
Gardenhire sits back for a moment, looking at the page. There is a faint sound of his cell phone vibrating on a wooden table in the other room, but he doesn't care. He slightly rubs his chin in thought before he continues typing.
I was recently informed that you only treat your chickens very baddly.
GARDENHIRE (underneath his breath): Goddamn it.
He yanks the piece of paper out of the typewriter, balls it up, and throws it at the trash can. He actually manages to get the ball of paper into the can.
GARENDHIRE (loudly): "WHOOP!"
Gardenhire suddenly realizes how late it is and that CARROLL GARDENHIRE is upstairs trying to sleep. He waits for a second and then gets another piece of white paper and loads it into his type-writer.
I was recently informed that you treat your chickens very badly. You contend that keeping fore hens in an 11x7 cage is somehow more humane than letting them be cage-free. I am writing to tell you that is complete and utter bullsh...
SCENE: RON GARDENHIRE is sitting in a row boat on an unidentified lake somewhere in the USA, by himself, fishing line in the water. There are four empty cans of Coors Light on the floor of the boat, and 20 full ones still in the cooler. Gardy's been out on the lake for about five hours already with no bite.
GARDENHIRE (to no one in particular): Doesn't get much better than this!
Ron looks around before cracking open another beer. He pours a little out into the lake and takes a sip. He isn't paying much attention to his fishing line as he looks out into the woods. His Samsung flip cell phone, on "silent", vibrates at the bottom of the boat, but Gardy pays it no mind.
SCENE: Gardenhire family kitchen. RON GARDENHIRE sits at the end of the table eating some pancakes with strawberry jam instead of syrup. CAROLL GARDENHIRE is wiping down the kitchen counters, after cooking said pancakes.
RON GARDENHIRE: Honey, can I ask you something important?
CARROLL GARDENHIRE: Of course. What is it?
RON GARDENHIRE: Is Paul Molitor better than me?
CARROLL GARDENHIRE: Oh honey. You're a great manager. Stop being silly!
RON GARDENHIRE: But... is he?
CARROLL GARDENHIRE: Well, ask me in 12 and a half years from now. That's all I, or anyone else really, can tell you.
Ron Gardenhire looks down at the half eaten pancake still left on his plate. The butter is sort of sitting on top of the jam, and it actually looks pretty cool. Even though he wishes it was maple syrup, Ron smiles and nods to himself.
RON GARDENHIRE: Do we have any bacon?
CARROLL GARDENHIRE: I bought a huge pack at CostCo a few weeks ago but it got all burnt up in my iron skillet that night Nick slept over. Don't you remember that?
Ron Gardenhire slowly shakes his head and then looks into the distance outside the kitchen window.
RON GARDENHIRE: Oh, right...