Dale Quincy Emerick, Late 2019
Eckbjorn, Engellachia State
Sycophants surrounded Dale Emerick in the Liberty Bunker, the large basement he had converted into a broadcasting studio high and deep in the heart of Engellachia State. Denim jeans hugging his wide hips, Dale sashayed towards a glass desk being coverd with news stories from across the globe and within the Fiannian Free states.
"Don't let any Sylvanian callers in today, eh guys?" Dale half ordered and half pleaded, "I mean, it's open lines, but . ." Dale shrugged awkwardly as a make up artist began applying base to his sweaty brow for the web broadcast.
"Got you covered, big D!" a board operator named Leo offered, a swarthy Pelasgian with a cigar in his craw, "You need a water, I can get you a water, you thirsty?" the radio professional offered.
"Leo!" Dale exclaimed with a smile, "Tell me true, I go to air in 30 seconds, what makes you a Fiannian?" the host asked.
Leo squinted, adjusted a few knobs and levers, then turned back to Dale: "I don't wanna pay'a the taxes, what do you want me to say? Do you need a water?"
"No Lee that's alright, I heard'ya!" Dale answered with a grimace, hardening that anger into layer upon layer as a countdown fell closer and closer to the live broadcast. By the time his introduction music began he had turned as red as a tamale, an was clenching his fists with Friulian stories clenched between.
"I could get to the Friulians, but heck I won't, I'm talking to all of Fiannia this morning - and yeah I am looking at you Sylvanian spies in the studio here with me . ." Dale declared and accused, his staff gasping and looking to their left and right for the potential spy within.
"I, me, the professional broadcaster known as Dale Emerick is announcing his candidacy for the Presidency of the following Fiannian States: Engellachia, Cantignia, Eisgarten, and the Collective Desert Outposts!" Emerick declared with an adjustment or two of his emerald green tie. "Patch in a call or two, I need to talk to the people!" Dale ordered with a special jab of his fat finger, hoping that they remembered to block the Sylvanian trolls.
The name Tyler from Evenbrook, Engellachia appeared on his screen, Dale nodded: "Tyler you're on the air, are you with me?".
"Dale," Tyler began through a tired voice, "I've been listening to this program for ten years, it's my drug, but I need to ask you before I answer that question: are you ready for that onslaught from the Pohjan, the Sylvanians, and the anklebiters in Cantignia?"
Dale Emerick formed his hand into a blade towards the camera, pointing it directly and furrowing his brow, "This isn't just about me Tyler, and I thank you for your concern, but . . Lord God I am indebted unto thee, I struggle upon this frontier with thy family hoping only to serve thee!"
"The Lord God is with us, Dale!" Tyler agreed, "President Sharpe is not right with Jesus Christ, and that will be his undoing!"
Eckbjorn, Engellachia State
Sycophants surrounded Dale Emerick in the Liberty Bunker, the large basement he had converted into a broadcasting studio high and deep in the heart of Engellachia State. Denim jeans hugging his wide hips, Dale sashayed towards a glass desk being coverd with news stories from across the globe and within the Fiannian Free states.
"Don't let any Sylvanian callers in today, eh guys?" Dale half ordered and half pleaded, "I mean, it's open lines, but . ." Dale shrugged awkwardly as a make up artist began applying base to his sweaty brow for the web broadcast.
"Got you covered, big D!" a board operator named Leo offered, a swarthy Pelasgian with a cigar in his craw, "You need a water, I can get you a water, you thirsty?" the radio professional offered.
"Leo!" Dale exclaimed with a smile, "Tell me true, I go to air in 30 seconds, what makes you a Fiannian?" the host asked.
Leo squinted, adjusted a few knobs and levers, then turned back to Dale: "I don't wanna pay'a the taxes, what do you want me to say? Do you need a water?"
"No Lee that's alright, I heard'ya!" Dale answered with a grimace, hardening that anger into layer upon layer as a countdown fell closer and closer to the live broadcast. By the time his introduction music began he had turned as red as a tamale, an was clenching his fists with Friulian stories clenched between.
"I could get to the Friulians, but heck I won't, I'm talking to all of Fiannia this morning - and yeah I am looking at you Sylvanian spies in the studio here with me . ." Dale declared and accused, his staff gasping and looking to their left and right for the potential spy within.
"I, me, the professional broadcaster known as Dale Emerick is announcing his candidacy for the Presidency of the following Fiannian States: Engellachia, Cantignia, Eisgarten, and the Collective Desert Outposts!" Emerick declared with an adjustment or two of his emerald green tie. "Patch in a call or two, I need to talk to the people!" Dale ordered with a special jab of his fat finger, hoping that they remembered to block the Sylvanian trolls.
The name Tyler from Evenbrook, Engellachia appeared on his screen, Dale nodded: "Tyler you're on the air, are you with me?".
"Dale," Tyler began through a tired voice, "I've been listening to this program for ten years, it's my drug, but I need to ask you before I answer that question: are you ready for that onslaught from the Pohjan, the Sylvanians, and the anklebiters in Cantignia?"
Dale Emerick formed his hand into a blade towards the camera, pointing it directly and furrowing his brow, "This isn't just about me Tyler, and I thank you for your concern, but . . Lord God I am indebted unto thee, I struggle upon this frontier with thy family hoping only to serve thee!"
"The Lord God is with us, Dale!" Tyler agreed, "President Sharpe is not right with Jesus Christ, and that will be his undoing!"