When last we left, Jeff had been warned by Kip from the other room: "Uh, red alert, guys! We have a visitor ..."
Clark came bounding down the hall from the direction of the Villains Room, a tad flushed and sweaty. "Pizza's here!"
I traded glances with Jeff. I was on my way for my telephone shift but it looked like I wasn't going to get to it. No big deal as it turned out because the more we hurried up and waited for that Zigfried guy to show up the more pointless his rambling, barely threatening telephone calls seemed to be.
"Screw it. Let's eat," I relented. "Zigmond (or whoever) will show when he shows ... if ever he does."
Following Clark's lead into the formal dining area, Kip had already taken in the delivery and laid out the spread. Clark really outdid himself this time around, too. There wasn't just pizza: There was pizza and all the side fixings as well - several pie varieties, chicken wings and onion rings with their accompanying dipping sauces and more. Now, as a general rule, I'm not really partial to pizza. But it's an underlying craving every once in a while, sort of like when you're hankering for a McDonald's Big Mac deep down inside, despite the fact you know there are much better burgers out there in the world. This is exactly how I feel about pizza. I get cravings for it here and there. Today? While I wasn't at all thinking about pizza the thought of it - accompanied by the nice selection before us - was thoroughly working its magic on me.
Of course there was a nice collection of iced cold malt beverages with which to wash down the pies. Jeff grabbed a trio, popped their tops and hand us one each. (A few Unbelieva-Babes even joined us.)
"A toast! To Zigfield ... or Zagfled ... or whatever his name is. May he come out of that tunnel (wherever it may be) and finally meet up with us (whenever that occasion might arise) so we can put a face with a name (whatever name he's going by at the time.) Until then ... SKOAL! Bon appetit!"
The meal was fine, the conversation and camaraderie equal to the meal and we never heard from Zapftig (or whoever he is) the remainder of the day.
For all we know he may still be trying to negotiate that tunnel ...
The question remained: How could someone so deft at infiltrating and causing such a ruckus* at The Academy Awards be so giving with threats to us while not seeing those threats through?
We might never know who true identity of The Zigster ... or whatever his name is.
*As it turned out there was a logical, though sorry, explanation to the Oscar's final award flub as detailed by the news which resulted in the firing of a couple PricewaterhouseCoopers employees for their untimely screw-up with the winning envelope for Best Picture, which pretty much negated anything we'd learned of Zugmott (we think) and any of his claims.