FAQ…Advice for the 21st Century Seattle and Portland
CHAPTER 32
Warren entered the terminal and headed for the American Airlines terminal for the free Internet access to check F.A.Q… Advice For the 21st Century.
Warmed,
I’m a brain surgeon in an Alaskan hospital. My last few operations to correct pinched cranial blood vessels have been a rousing success. My patients were back in their lives, busy walking, talking, and writing within three weeks.
I know I may sound like I think I’m great, but believe me, for a brain surgeon in his late 30’s, I am pretty great! I’ve been operating lately with an intern from Boston College whose accent drives me crazy. He has poor vision and I suspect he sports a nasty case of toe fungus.
The kicker is, he’s my sister’s boy. I’m worried his association with me might alienate my high minded colleagues who are brilliant yet insensitive to lesser lights than theirs.
I planned to send him back to BC next week with a recommendation for a career change and a case of Desenex.
My problem is this:
A week ago my girlfriend Makutoobe (she’s a native Alaskan) and I got tanked and went to his room to break the news to him. Like I said, we were pretty plowed, so we wound up having a meneg a trois instead. Since then I can’t get him off my mind and am thinking of asking him to marry me. How do I tell Makutoobe? And do you know of a cure for foot fungus?
J.L. Lacidolupolous
Hey J.L.
I’ve enclosed the phone number of a plastic surgeon friend of mine who specializes in repairing scalpel wounds. Call before you break the news to your Alaskan sweetie, just in case she’s a touch quicker than you.
Good luck, and keep your Jeep gassed, you nut.
Warcil,
I am currently involved in a project, which will net an expanded range of never before contemplated applications for the standard issue 16 inch blade basic homestyle chainsaw.
I started this project while halfway through a replay of a State of The Economy address on CNBC by some guy who looked like he’d slept in his suit, although his teeth were pretty white.
I’ve got a sizeable trust fund, and recently sold my internet start up for 3.5 million, so I know what I’m talking about when I say these suits don’t know what they’re talking about and they absolutely drive me crazy!
When he began to expound on why Americans should worry about their job skills eroding in a fast paced fast changing lightening quick technological revolution I put down my amber bottle of beer, started my chainsaw, carved my initials into the mantle and sawed my dishwasher in half.
Over the last week, I’ve gone through a number of chainsaw blades, but I’m feeling a lot better about the things that are happening to me.
My IPO goes down, I saw off another piece of the oven.
Another financial speech, and I spend the overnight cutting a hole in the trunk of my Audi 5000.
My Bond yields go down, my downstairs bathroom goes out of service big time.
I’ve completed a list of items that fell victim to the excellent form I’ve displayed with the log mauler the past week, and my question is this:
What natural disaster could possibly have wreaked all this damage? See, I’ve run out of Vicadin, my head has cleared, and I need a good natural disaster story for my insurance company so I can put the house and car back together before my fiancé returns home from her two month sabbatical in Tibet.
Sammy Profittak
Sam,
There is a radar scope on which your behavior appears, but I’m not sure what galaxy it operates in.
So many of my insurance fraud specialist advisers told me the interest in investigating a good house trashing is nil, as the culprit usually turns out to be a relative of the victim, and the counselor of record for the families involved files several appeals and counter lawsuits if the insurance company makes any moves to try and prove criminal activity within the family.
It’s a lot easier to pay the claim, wait six months, and set a mysterious fire to ‘get the bastards back’, their words.
Maybe you should consider taping into you trust fund and calling the whole experience a visionary inward journey rarely experienced by a well fed white boy.
And in the future, send me all your Vicadin. You’re more of a Bayer aspirin kind of guy.
Wardea,
For 27 years I’ve worked with great success in a blue sky lab in Good Judgement, Arkansas. (10 years ago we bought the town and changed it’s name from Husquavana).
We think here.
Think, and think hard.
Think about anything and everything.
I’ve spun thought trails analyzing Jack Nickalauses career, the amount of wheat produced by Littleton farms in Laon, Oklahoma, the proliferation of Off Track Betting parlors in the great northeast, the effect of VO5 on the ozone layer, how the great North Pole glaciers manage to stay together, the design of a standard keyboard, and the effect of laser surgery on the Pearl Vision Center chain of stores.
Anything and everything.
Personally, I stay away from thinking of biochemical weapons, because I feel for prolonged thinking along those lines you have to be a particular kind of sick basterd.
I recently received an e-Mail from the leader of a radical group based in Washington D.C. inviting me to disrupt a major world wide meeting of a worldwide environmental organization (sorry for being so vague, but we deal with a lot of national security issues here).
So I looked up this person using our latest high speed encrypted e-mail spy software, procured the senders home address and contracted with the Global Spy Satellite Company (I got their name out of the Yellow Pages) to do some real research on this person.
I found, upon examining a QuickTime movie provided by GSSC, my recruiter Lily, sitting at her kitchen table discussing the local school board budget atrocities with her husband while he prepared ham and eggs for her 8 and 12 year olds.
The written analysis accompanying the QuickTime file described the routine of Lily as following the general path of a woman living out her life in the comfort of an active, stable, productive family structure.
So, I signed another contract with the Global Sky folks and asked for reports for a different time period.
Midnight to 8 a.m.
I think you see where I’m going with this.
I had to know. My business is to think, ask questions, get answers, and think some more.
When I received the next set of QuickTime files, I found myself attracted to her well maintained vegetable garden with it’s rows of carrots, peas, tomatoes, and artichokes. She often rose around 1am, put on work clothes she kept in the mud room, and spent an hour under the moon and stars on her knees weeding and fertilizing her vegetable garden.
Over the next month, I contracted with the Global Spy System people (who now referred to me as Dean and had assigned me pro spy status, good for 20 free 6×9 stills and a dozen big hotdogs at any area 7-11 store) and received QuickTime files on a regular basis covering entire 24 hour periods.
I was able to put together Lily’s regular routine.
Which I then thought about.
I’ve thought about cab drivers in Manhattan who pass by potential fares of a certain ethnic background while the driver’s themselves have been in possession of their greencard for less than five days.
I have thought about people from the North who can only visualize Southern people with few teeth and bare feet. People who consider a hole in the floor a viable toilet.
Then I thought about Southerners who lose their teeth by the age of twenty-one and consider a hole in the floor a toilet.
I thought about the increased frequency of random sexual encounters in America if every man looked like Fabio.
When I finished thinking of these scenarios I would lay them aside and think of them no more.
Movin’ on!
Lily, however, has me locked up.
I cannot stop thinking of her.
So I’ve decided to take a sabbatical to join her environmental protest movement in hopes of getting to know her in person. I dream of one day digging in her garden and tending her ripe tomatoes.
My question is his:
Should I shave the hair on my back before I let her see me at the community swimming pool?
I’m trying to think it through, but nothin’s happening!
Ronnie Rumtiuos
Hey Ronbo,
I’ve consulted a good friend of mine who’s also a dermatologist.
She’s formed a group of scientist who performed a study to be published in the New England Journal of Medicine concerning the initial reaction the female of different species have when confronted with a surprising amount of hair in a surprising place on the male body.
Strange someone would focus even a part of their scientific career on the power of hair, but as long as someone pays them to do so, in her words, ‘Follicles are my life…shave me baby!!!’
Which I did.
But I digress.
Apparently you need to examine your collection of photos for altogether shots of her significant other. Whatever he’s sporting in the hair department while he’s in his yacha mighty, you need to go the other way.
I mean if you think abut it…Oh Wait…You Can’t!!!
OK, take my word for it, women always want what they don’t have, no knock on them, hey, variety is the spice of life.
If you find she turns out to be totally devoted to her current situation and won’t let you near her cabbage patch, I recommend going to gethair.com, signing into the chat room and hooking up with some lovely available female with a fetish for what you’re offering.
After all, the core of your problem is not the lock up occurring in your thinking process, but the fact you’ve thought so much you’ve managed to lock up something south of your own personal Mason-Dixon line.
Set it free, brother!!!
Bailey Harper approached Warren and rubbed his shoulders.
“Hey, sweets, you ready to fly?”
Warren finished typing and signed off the computer.
He stood up and followed Bailey, keeping a few feet between them strictly for observation purposes. As they approached a waiting area Bailey looked over her shoulder and said, “Your team is right over there.”
Warren looked in the direction she pointed and walked over to meet the group effort.
“Your producer Mandy Spring is in the hospital with a staff infection. Apparently she was at Juanita’s having a chalupa with extra jalapeños when a honeybee was attracted to some fern sauce that had stuck to her nose ring. He freaked when Mandy waved her hand to shoo him away and took a left turn into her ample left nostril.”
Mad Wolf said, “I told that crazy bitch to get that fixed! I’d even pay for it.”
Bailey continued. “Mandy apparently threw her chalupa in the air and sneezed mightily. Janet, one of her several dinner companions, clapped her on the back just as she sneezed, thinking she was choking. This caused her to bite her tongue. Unfortunately she clamped down on her tongue ring, chipping a tooth and slicing her tongue almost in two. The surgeon was able to repair the tongue but not before the wound became saturated in Juanita’s special Jalapeño sauce. Apparently, Juanita’s batch of special sauce contains some unsavory ingredients, because within minutes her tongue had swollen to the size of a cherry popsicle and she was having trouble breathing.
But no trouble cursing.
So she’s currently being held in the children’s ward of Houston general, as that is the only place that takes her insurance.”
Bailey smiled at the group and turned to a stunning redhead who was wearing a very nifty outfit from DKNY.
“Warren, this is your new producer, Albie Darling.”
“Hi,” said Warren extending his hand. “I hope we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”
Albie smiled and took Warren’s hand. “I don’t talk trash with sports radio talk show hosts.”
“Hey,” said Warren, “Give me some credit. I’ve had some success as a writer.”
Albie squeezed Warren’s hand before letting it go.
“You’re kinda cute, but you smell like jet fuel.” Albie said.
Warren turned and looked over his shoulder. There was a man in an orange suit that stood behind Bailey weaving back and forth. The airport was decorated in blue and black with chrome columns and wide hallways. A people mover carried a column of travelers by at three times foot speed. Flight attendants worked the gates through their computer terminals, barely glancing up to see the passengers. There was a low hum emitting from a mix of the living, breathing traveling public and their paid airline companions. Warren watched the man maneuver the mop back and forth for a long moment, then turned back to face the group.
“Colonial Airlines now boarding flight 103-A4-69 at gate 41.” The intercom phone clattered into it’s cradle making a rattling sound for the entire airport community to appreciate. Warren spoke to Albie.
“That’s cleaning solvent you’re smelling. The guy behind you is on a work release program from the minimum security prison at Abilene. Probably was trading bonds for Texas Central Banking last week. Gets flowers form his wife, along with coded questions about their offshore accounts. Like that.”
Bailey licked her lips and stepped closer to Warren. “Look, I never got to talk to you about my brother and that night at the Brasserie. Or my Uncle Ben.”
Warren met her eyes and said, “Or about that particularly nasty road race.”
Bailey’s face softened and she smiled a bit. “Dole told me you won his respect that day. I think he really appreciates you now.”
Bailey paused and watched the last of Warren’s crew disappear down the jetway. She opened her arms and closed the space between their bodies, taking Warren’s head in her hands and pulling his mouth onto hers in an attempt to turn him into a believer.
The moment played out and Bailey stepped back.
“Don’t hate me,” she said as she extended an envelope with one hand and brushed his sleeve with the other.
Warren grinned, took the envelope, grabbed his carry on, and turned his back on Bailey Harper. He looked over his shoulder as he rounded the last turn on the jetway to wave, but Bailey was gone.
The specially outfitted MD-880 was airborne in the cleared to unfasten seat belts mode when Warren heard a familiar voice addressing him. “Hi, ah Warren. I see you’re following your star path by traveling when Pluto is in retrograde.”
“Theotis Holland, as I live and breath! You need a sawbuck, or have you managed to find some other mark who buys into your star gazing interpretation of ‘put on the brakes, Mars is in retrograde’ view of life.”
Theotis sat his thin six four frame down next to Warren. The flight attendant aproached and asked, “Either one of you gents need a beverage before I crap out on the flight attendants sofa?”
Theotis spoke up. “I see by your pinkie ring you’re a Gemini, and this a very dangerous time for Geminis, until Saturn finishes it’s cycle through the house of Sagittarius. You’re right to take care of yourself and read some books and relax on the couch. I, however, am in a very productive phase, being a Leo and considering that the black man who is a Leo during a prolonged Plutonian journey through the house of Libra can do anything he wants. Could you bring me a Miller Lite?”
Donna, the flight attendant, looked at Theotis for a long minute, and said, “Sure. You want to join me on the couch, slim?”
Theotis smiled and laughed a nervous laugh.”
“I’m a man of the cloth, but I do, uh, appreciate your emotional offer. Now bring me that beer!”
Warren laughed and opened his Powerbook to write his column for the Journal Express.
Put the lime in the coconut and call me in the morning.
by
Warren Piece
As you may or may not know, I’ve embarked on a city by city tour to search for today’s ZBA. This extravaganza is underwritten by KSPORT Radio, Studson Cowboy hats, Desert Foot Powder, Putzoil motor oil, and Pepitone skin creme, for those rashes you’d rather not have to explain.
The nicest surprise so far has been the inclusion of Jamal Deadburn on my broadcasting tour group. I would never have guessed the guy who just months ago was accused of murder in an ugly early morning incident at The Houston Crockett’s publicist’s house would turn out to be such a sweetheart. He listens when you speak to him, wears nice shoes, and no longer pulls at his crotch once every five minutes.
The magic of the drugs that cure ADD my friends.
Mary Ellen, his viral technician, diagnosed Jamal with ADD after some court ordered tests came back indicating abnormalities usually associated with someone who is a member in good standing of the United States senate.
Jamal began taking drugs.
The right drugs.
I‘m pretty sure this is the beginning of a trend.
Imagine! The punk kids of the ZBA running clean, free and easy, just as if they’re all wearing black Keds and waiting for the Hale Bop Comet.
Of course the games would be different with all of the players ability to focus on one play for more than five seconds enhanced. The after game press conferences would no longer be interrupted by a sudden vacant stare into space, a 180, and a sprint to the locker room.
Jamal wants to start a support group for Houston kids. He would include free testing and help purchase the appropriate medications should that measure be deemed necessary.
The Houston Crockets Psychologist described Jamal’s testing and diagnosis and admission of suffering from ADD as just another attempt to put the spotlight on himself, something his frustrating rookie year was not successful doing.
But from my experience in the here and now, Jamal deserves nothing but accolades. He’s even started talking to me about doing a radiothon.
My friend Harry, who went to the Home just last year, once expressed an unpopular social theory which went something like this: Every one should have several tests done on them after the hormones of the teenage years have receded. These tests would determine which brain chemicals were either not in sufficient supply or were being churned out in a flood like fashion. Then an appropriate drug treatment would be prescribed to make every day as smooth as a presidential denial.
Personally, I like the peaks and valleys, but some of the people in the back of the room might prefer to stop the Titanic and ride the good ship Lollipop.
Hey, it’s working for Deadburn.
The pilot has just told me to shut off my laptop or risk being locked in the toilet with an oversized flight attendant with a penchant for full nelsons.
Next stop, Seattle.
“Hello Texas, you’re listening to the KSPORT simulcast with Warren Piece from the home of the Seattle Supercronics, Flea Arena, and by the way we’d like to thank Seattle’s sport station, KAFFINE, for the use of their facilities and Randell and the Mad Dog for the use of their afternoon drive slot.
Let’s take some calls, see what’s on the mind of sports fans today. Jan from Uvalde, Texas, you’re on the air.”
“Hi Warren. I’d like to know why you’re in Seattle when they aren’t even in the playoffs?”
“Busted! I’m actually here on the station’s nickel to find out what happened to my Internet stocks. First stop, Microsoft.”
“I’m surprised you’re not broadcasting from Capitol Hill.”
“Jan, you’d be referring to the alternative life style section of Seattle. Hey, Mad Wolf, you’re of questionable sexual orientation, what do you make of Jan’s comment?”
Mad Wolf threw his copy of Playboy at Warren’s head.
“Jan, what do you do for a living?”
“I run a mail order flower business from my home.”
“Well I’ll order forty bouquets, stay on the line and Albie Darling will get your information. Questioning Mad Wolf’s sexual orientation on the air makes me so happy I’d like to lick you on the ear.”
“Danny from Capitol Hill, you’re on KSPORT and Kaffine.”
“Hi guys, welcome to Seattle.”
“Thanks Dan.”
“Dan.”
“I don’t live by the rules of society, so I support all the ZBA players who live alternative lifestyles. I’m really excited about this next season. We have a young team, big strapping guys, and I’m actually hoping they don’t win. Nothing’s cuter than a pouting six foot nine European athlete.”
Warren said, “Ok, Dan, thanks for your call. I’m thinking you’ve just hit on the marketing plan for next year’s team. We have on the line now, from his offices here in the Flea arena, general manager Dick Sand. Dick, how are you today?”
“I’m good. Many more calls like the one you just had and you’ll be talking me down off the space needle.”
“Hey Dick, this is Mad Wolf Sherman. After the job you’ve done assembling this ballclub, there’s no guarantee anybody would talk you down.”
“You haven’t seen us play yet, big guy.”
Mad Wolf said, “I was a big fan of the 1997 Supercronics. You didn’t have as many gun happy players as most franchises, but I always managed to sell an automatic weapon or two when your boys blew through town.”
“Dick, Warren Piece. Are you bringing in any specialist to help your Eastern Bloc players adapt to American society? You’ve got four new guys, all new to this ball game in the U.S.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve asked the ZBA for help on this issue, and they’ve recommended a bond issue. After all, the taxpayers of this area will be enriched by the cross cultural exposure these fine young European gentlemen will bring to Pike Place, Pioneer Square, and the local A & P. The public should pay for their tutors and psychiatrists.”
“Dick, Mad Wolf. You interested in a Smith and Wesson 32 automatic? It would fit in your purse, and I’ll even include a box of ammo.”
“Dick, Warren Piece. One more question, because I know you have a hair appointment. I notice the European part of your team is on the floor practicing. I thought your season was over.”
“Well, we haven’t had the heart to tell them yet. We’re bringing in the cheerleaders later to break it to them over martini’s at the Alibi Room.”
Warren said, “Dick Sand, general manager of the Seattle Supercronics. We’ll be back, after this break.”
Warren waved his finger in the air, and Albie Darling rolled a commercial.
Theotis Holland entered the control room and took a seat at a microphone across from Warren.
Four minutes passed while Theotis flipped through some Tara cards, Warren flipped through ‘The Guide To Seattle night life’, and Mad Wolf thumbed through the latest edition of Soldier of Fortune.
Albie gave Warren the high sign.
“Hello Seattle and Houston, you’re listening to a simulcast on KSPORT and KAFINE. Theotis Holland, a noted astrologer and legend in his own time has some astrological information on the Seattle franchise.”
“Ah, yes, ah, Warren. The Seattle franchise was conceived under the sign of Sagittarius, a positive mutable fire sign, meaning the team can be very aggressive and exciting, but will give up the ball at the drop of a hat. The rising sign of the Seattle Supercronics is Scorpio, as the franchise was born after an all night drinking party on a yacht moored in Elliott Bay near the site of the Seattle Aquarium.
The planetary aspects for the upcoming, ah, season, indicate that Mars will be in retrograde for the first half of the season, making three point shooting difficult, although drives to the left side of the lane will be favored. This franchise could benefit, from December 24th to January thirtieth, from running a pure college zone defense.
I drank a little too much green tea this afternoon at lunch, so I have to go the little astrologer’s room, but I will finish with this: Although Seattle will lead the league in steals this year, due to Taurus the bull being on the cusp of the second house, the February new moon will see three major trades that will generate new off court problems for someone of the management level, probably a Virgo. A good afternoon to you and yours.”
“Thanks a heap, Theotis. We’ll be back after this break.”
Albie took the show to commercial. Mad Wolf, Theotis, and Warren stood up, stretched, and exchanged newspapers.
When Albie gave Warren the count, Lily Creamer was in the third chair.
“Don from the Green Tortoise, you’re on KSPORT and KAFFINE.”
“Hi fellows, I’m just in town for a little while…”
Mad Wolf asked, “What do you do, pard?”
“I’m a coffee grower from South Carolina, here on vacation with my family.”
“Need any weapons?”
“No thanks, I’ve got my Rambo knife with the shoulder sheath, and I’ve gotten pretty good with it practicing slicing up coffee bags, plus, I’ve ingested so much caffeine today I can hear a pin drop down in Tacoma. A little too shakey for firearms. But maybe you can help me with something. I came up this way last year and bought a buttload of hi definition digital televisions on spec. I’ve finally found a buyer for them in Buenos Aries, but I’ve got to ship them today, before he finds out what the rest of us know, there is no digital hi definition revolution in broadcast television.
Thing is Wolf, I’ve forgotten the combination to my Masterlock at the Mini-Storage facility. Could you spare a round or two to pop that sucker open? I’ll pay you, and we can bs about southern girls and roundball when I’ve seen the semi loaded and on it’s way.”
Mad Wolf looked over at Warren, then glanced at Lily.
Warren said, “What do you think Lily, can we trust Wolf to meet us in time for the flight to Portland?”
“For the improvement in studio air quality alone, I think we should give Mad Wolf early release.”
“OK Wolf, meet you on the tarmac, and good hunting.
Albie, it’s time for another break already?”
Albie said, “Yes, then Jamal wants to come in.”
“OK, Houston Crockett Jamal Deadburn joins us after this to preview the Crocketts against the Supercronics, and Lily Creamer rates the sex appeal of the current roster.”
Warren stood up and left the studio to find a place for a quiet moment and to take another look at the inspirational features of Albie Darling.
“We’re back on KSPORT, Houston, and KAFFINE, Seattle. Jamal Deadburn, outstanding rookie for the Houston Crocketts and a familiar figure at the 23rd precinct police station house in the big town, Houston, joins us.”
“Thank you, Mr. Piece. I’d like to talk about the main playmaker for the Seattle Supercronics, Gray Claymation.
First of all, you gotta deal with the hands of Gray Claymation. The brother has hands the size of a palm frond. He has to have special made gloves from some damn place in the Bronx, New York. And fast, he could blow out his hair, button his shirt and tie his And Ones in the time it takes the rock to hit the hoop from thirty feet.
Second, that man has a mean temper. I think it’s something in the shellfish at Pike Place Market, I mean last year he was teed up a Seattle record 102 times. That’s record for technical fouls for the Seattle Supercronics.
I don’t have any deep seated fear of any man, woman, child or albino dog on the court, so if I can put the hoodoo on his ass and get him up to 103 T’s this year, I would do it. But we only play the boys four times next year.
I tried to call the brother and arrange a little one on one so I could talk trash about his game based on recent experiences, but his aunt said he couldn’t come to the phone every time I called.”
Albie keyed in.
“Jamal, Gray Claymation is on line three.”
“What?”
“Good afternoon Mr. Claymation, this is Warren Piece.”
“Hey.”
“What?”
“Deadburn. University of Washington Gym. Bring extra underwear, cause I’m taking you’re jock strap home to the Ave and using it for a coffee cup coaster.”
The line went dead.
“What?”
“We’ll be back with the sex appeal report on the Supercronics and more of your calls.”
Albie took the show to break. Warren stood up and stretched, took Jamal by the arm, and went to get a cappuccino.
“Louis from Houston, you’re on KSPORT and KAFFINE.”
“Hi guys, I’m sitting by the pool eating goldfish crackers and watching my third wife, last year’s Miss Austin, do laps in the nude. This last season, I made fifty thousand dollars betting against the Crocketts.
All from offshore internet operations.”
“Is there a question here?”
“Yeah, I wanted to get a bet down on the Claymation Deadburn one on one. Who do I call?”
“We never thought about laying odds, but now that you mention it, maybe we should have. Can you meet us in Portland? We’ll see if Deadburn can maintain his sensational achievement of putting his sneaker in his mouth in Portland.”
“Hey, honey, get out of the pool and put your Mia Ham sports bra on…we’re going to Portland.”
“Later, Louie. Lily, you ready?”
“Good afternoon, Warren.”
“Good afternoon, Lily.”
“Good afternoon, everyone. I’ve been going over the media guide, perusing the Internet, and collecting high school yearbook photos when available to ascertain the sex appeal quotient of this year’s Supercronics.
The problem with this group, their average is brought down by one guy who looks like he could star in Son Of Flubber and one guy who could star in On Golden Pond.
Also, according to my spycam located in the locker room, there are only four sets of cut abs in the whole squad.
There are 4 bald spots, twenty four ugly moles. One guy has six toes, six guys have bad dental work.
I would rate this year’s Supercronics a mere three propolaptics.”
“Thanks Lily. Lily Creamer, sports reporter for A Piece of the Afternoon Sports Talk Show. That will do it for our one day stint in Seattle. I’d like to thank the station management for the use of their facilities, and the Seattle sports fans for supporting Kaffine, a damn fine sports radio talk station. Later, Gators.”
Albie met Warren in the station newsroom.
She said, “What time do we leave for Portland?”
“Everyone’s meeting at the airport at six a.m. for fried eggs and story swapping. You know what you’re doing tonight?”
“Creating high anxiety and much drama among the single Yuppie guys around Capitol Hill. And you?”
“I’m going to the Lake Washington Fish Canal to see the big fish jump the fish ladder, then mosey over to Ballard to meet with the salt of the Seattle’s earth.”
“In other words, you’re ordering in Chinese and calling an escort service.”
Warren laughed.
“See you at the airport.”
Warren entered the Colonial Airlines Terminal at the Windows International Airport in Seattle, searched out the NetZero Terminal, and signed onto F.A.Q… Advice for the 21st Century.
Dear Wardale,
I’m an Indian man from Bopal who can run an extremely fast quarter mile.
I’m a sought after Decatholoner for this skill which I posses.
If you please, I’m probably the fastest man in Atlanta, Georgia, where I’m training for the next Olympics.
My phone rings every twenty minutes with a different female desiring my attention. I’m thinking of disabling my phone service, but am hoping to avoid such a catastrophic step.
I’ve tried eating too much curry, bathing in garlic, garlic scented bath oil beads, taking my dates out when we were sure to get stuck in traffic for the duration of our time together while driving with my left foot on the brake pedal and insisting on playing the old song ‘Vehicle’ over and over, none of this detours my Atlanta peaches from wanting to go out with me.
I realize there are 10 men to every woman in this town, but I must train!!!
What am I to do???
Archibald Dimija
Hey Dij,
I had an idea, but I checked the Atlanta population stats myself, and turning gay won’t help you AT ALL in Atlanta.
I called the number of Dr.Tealou, an Atlanta physician known for his remedies, and I’ve been instructed to send you the formula for a Big Black Cow.
All the pros use this concoction when training to achieve that Conquistador mentality.
I was going to send you a big stick to solve your female problem, but since an old southern expression explicitly contains the words, ‘couldn’t beat them off with a stick’, I changed my mind.
I’m also arranging for a line of credit at Amazon.com so you can buy several good books. Remember, the only thing better than reading a good book is sleeping with someone who has. Cheers.
My dearest Warren,
This means war! C’est le quere!
Three weeks ago, my very experienced creator decided to sheath her pen and began taking photographs, following the stock market and practicing for a planned drum solo in Times Square.
That’s perfect, that’s all fine.
I love a good coffee table book, money makes the world go ‘round, I truly ADORE street magicians. However, as a fictional character I need her to write because unless she interacts with me I can’t have mood swings, night sweats, lose my center in a soul searching examination of my past, none of it!
That’s right, I’m a fictional character in a romance novel series.
Don’t laugh!
I’m as real as the Red Sox curse, Freud’s theory of dreams, and George Foreman’s diet.
All writers know the power their imaginary characters hold over their lives.
We can reek some real havoc.
So we don’t mind the occasional sabbatical, the once every two year drug clinic, things of this nature.
However, enough is enough!
I’m partially paralyzed, but occasionally I pop into her consciousness long enough to pass along some bogus information so her life goes sideways for a few minutes and she begins to feel guilty about hiding her laptop under some ugly sweaters in the back of the downstairs cedar closet.
The only problem is, when I apply too much pressure for her to write she gets bombed and goes home with the nearest golf pro.
This doesn’t do a lot for her credibility.
My problem is this:
How do I get my writer to get back in her groove, so I can get back into mine?
signed,
Rip Courtley
Hey Rip,
I read your last episode. Did you really have a fake birthmark put on your left buttcheek so Stephanie, your twin brother’s beautiful voluptuous forever scantily clad girlfriend would mistake you for your more handsome, extremely talented and great Parcheesi playing twin brother?
When you two were together in your Colorado cabin watching ZBA highlights on ESPN over your Dish Network satellite and you slipped in that comment about diving for loose balls, I nearly fell out of my chair!
I’m dying to know what happens next!
I know a man who knows a man who knows a man who knows a man who knows a golf pro. We’ll work together to put him in position the 15th of next month. You begin the pressure thing on the 14th.
The golf pro will talk you up while he’s showing her how to use a putter off the golf course. I’ve arranged for her agent to appear on the practice green. Then, five very attractive male groupies wiil show up five minutes later with books for her to sign. One of the men will break down in sobs when she puts her pen to his book, fall to his knees, and say, ‘She’s writing again.’
The golf pro, her agent, and the paid for groupies will congratulate her with hugs and handshakes, and her agent will use the momentum to carry her home, dig her laptop out of the closet, fix her a steaming cup of Bigelow tea, and there you are!
And watch out for a new friend who doesn’t have your best interests at heart, you good looking devil!
Theotis Holland spoke.
“Good morning, ah, Warren, your stars are aligned with the computer this morning, I see.”
“Good morning Theotis,” Warren said, standing. “Where did you disappear to last night?”
“I went to Last Exit in Brooklyn to do some impromptu readings, just to stay sharp. The counterculture can be very generous with a man of my talents.”
“Free food, drink, and lots of perfumed purloins?”
“The Virgo in you is showing through, uh, Warren.”
Warren and Theotis laughed and began their walk to the gate.
Lily Creamer arrived, wearing a Stone Temple Pilots T-Shirt and a new set of earrings.
Jamal Deadburn appeared, sunglasses on, left hand in an Ace Bandage.
Mad Wolf Sherman showed, carrying four newspapers, a 24 ounce coffee, a large leather bound notebook, and a bag full of muffins from the Still Life in Freemont Coffeehouse.
Five minutes passed.
No Albie Darling.
“Please stand by for flight 234 to Portland.”
Lily began to snore from her prone position on the floor.
“Now boarding, all rows, flight 234 to Portland. Please pick up a breakfast bag at the entrance to the jetway.”
Mad Wolf said, “Well, boy, you got a few thousand pounds of air transportation idling at the curb and a filly still loose in the pasture. You better flip you’re lucky coin or consult your astrologer, because they’re about to call Check! on flight 234.”
Warren looked toward the jetway.
Jamal had joined Lily on the floor.
“Now calling final boarding Flight 234 to Portland, final call.”
Jamal rolled onto Lily, who made the necessary adjustments.
Mad Wolf picked up his bag of muffins, papers, and the handle to his roll about carry on.
“I’ll make a deal with ya’ boy. If you can get to the studio in Portland by air time I’ll give you my latest acquisition, a Remington sniper rifle with a brand new, just calibrated night scope. If you don’t make the start of the show, you take this dog and pony show back to Houston and I reclaim my rightful place in the history of Texas radio.”
“I’ll make a deal with you, Wolf. You put your load down right now. You’re not going anywhere, unless it’s to a bail hearing or a plea bargain.”
“Ow.”
Jamal and Lily had begun to make embarrassing noises.
Warren’s Nokia rang.
“Hello.”
“Hi, I’m outside the airport and can’t convince the cab driver to take my Diner’s Club Card. Can you come help me?”
Warren hung up and walked away from Mad Wolf, who was now consuming muffins and coffee while watching Airport CNN, Theotis, who had assumed a lotus position and was humming age of Aquarius in falsetto, and Lily and Jamal, who were under a blanket made from Jamal’s oversized sweatpants, getting their morning exercise.
Albie Darling stood at the curb, holding her bags and speaking Japanese to a well dressed black man.
There was no cab in sight.
“Albie?”
“Warren, this gentleman bailed me out! We owe him seventy five dollars.”
Warren pulled out his money clip and peeled off four twentys, handed them to the man, took Albie by the elbow, and turned her toward the airport without a word.
“Don’t be mad,” Albie said as they ran toward the gate. “I would have been on time, but I met this fabulous man last night who plays violin for the Seattle Symphony orchestra and is a player in the bumbershoot festival. Shaving all his body hair this morning took longer than I thought it would.”
Warren and Albie stopped at the gate.
The airline check in desk was abandoned.
Theotis, Jamal, Lily, and Mad Wolf were standing in a group playing rock, paper, scissors.
“Well, looks like you folks could use a lift to Portland.”
They all turned and found Dole Harper grinning at them around a plastic coffee stirrer in a cup from McDonalds.
“Ya’ll don’t need to be flyin’ commercial anyway, a classy bunch such as yourselves.”
The Gulfstream V-SP lifted into the Seattle sky just 45 minutes after their commercial flight would have departed.
The Gulfstream V-SP had two full sized beds, two leather couches, five fully reclinable captain’s chairs, four wireless internet connections, two 14 point bucks heads mounted over the entrance to the bar area, three big screen TVs with Sony DVD payers, Emerson VCRS, Sony Playstations, Nintendo, X-Box and digital cameras with 40 feet of firewire attached for roaming around the cabin during playtime.
The Gulfstream had just flown through storm clouds and was now cruising through brilliant blue skies on the way to Portland, Oregon.
Warren sat across from Dole, writing an E-mail to Frank W. Coleman.
Boss!!! The Playoffs!!! The Playoffs!!!
by
Warren Piece
Last night in the ZBA we began to color in the playoff paint by numbers picture.
In Salt Lake City it’s pass the Rogaine and let’s give the Dallas Plowhorses a coupla shots in the foreleg just to get their attention.
Utah star John Shocky: “We have to give them credit. They’re a young team, they played hard, and they didn’t complain when Karl smeared Rogain on the ball during time outs.”
The playoff pressure is evident even in this, the first game of the first series. Dallas coach Don Bellboy: “Those *^%! officials blow worse than a twenty dollar date from Buffalo. You can put this down! If I ever see one of those guys on the street I’m going to kick the %^&$ out of him!”
The rest of Coach Bellboys quote is unintelligible, apparently distorted by the quarts of saliva he began to expoliate as he worked himself into a lather answering a question about his third quarter ejection.
Dallas forward Dork Novacaneski: “I put the ball on the floor a lot and tried to cross the Utah guys up by going to my left, which is your right if your facing me, unless you’re facing me backwards, which puts you back on the left, unless you’re in the paint…”
Assistant coach Danny Bellboy: “Dork took the rock to the hole tonight, just what we wanted him to accomplish. We’ll play these geezers again in three days, and there isn’t enough Advil in the world to get them ready for the onslaught our young guys are going to bring to the Quadrant Arena and the Utah Jacuzzis.”
The technicians at the Quadrant Arena tried their best to confuse the time issue by unplugging the shot clock above the Utah basket.
ZBA traveling technical supervisor Adam Nudelman: “The Jacuzzis roster is loaded with guys who can count to twenty, run, dribble, and chew gum at the same time. Dallas, on the other hand, seemed confused without a backwards counting digital display. Luckily we were able to pay a guy from ESPN the magazine to hold the shorted out wires together so when we reset the breaker and he was shocked into unconsciousness, we didn’t lose much.”
The Utah Jacuzzis lead the Dallas Plowhorses 1-0 in the best of five.
In Miami at the United Eagles Arena the Miami Crepe Suzzettes made Coach putt Roadkill want to substitute the cheerleaders for the players as the Charlotte Crumpettes did everything but dribble the ball off the head of Suzzette Center Fonzie Cloaking.
Charlotte Coach Pall Stylus: “This year this team has been up and down more than Kurt Cobain at the height of his mercurial run to the top of the grunge heap. I’m trying to keep these guys on a natural high long enough to kick Miami’s ass two more times. Anybody got any spare Nomi Juice?”
Miami Crepe Suzettes head coach Putt Roadkill: “We didn’t defend our home court very well, did we guys? This kind of thing makes it difficult to keep my dinner down. If I hadn’t had my ‘Vette detailed earlier today I’d really be down about this loss. Luckily we have another game at home day after tomorrow so I’ve got two days to give speeches, run drills, and drink heavily. We’ll be ready!”
The Charlotte Crumpetts lead the Miami Crepe Suzettes 1-0 in the best of five series.
Last night in Philadelphia at the Colony Hangout Arena the Philadelphia Tallboys let Indiana Lace Rudy Mulliner bury another three at the buzzer to enhance his clutch playoff play resume.
Philadelphia point guard Adam Diverman: “We played excellent. It’s stupid to lose a game we had won. I’m just trying to figure out which of my teammates I can use my pearl handle switchblade on. Just to make a point.”
Indiana Lace three point expert Rudy Mulliner: “I knew I was going to take the final shot. The crowd knew I was going to take the final shot. The Friggin’ Man in the Moon knew I was going to take the final shot. I love the fact The Tallboys seemed clueless. If the game clock hadn’t expired I’d have mooned ‘em, but I only show my ass during regulation play.”
Philadelphia coach Lonnie Williams: “We took too many shots too early. I’ve told these guys to pass, pass, pass, then shoot. They’ll have to do better if they want to beat this experienced Indiana team, and I think they will. Unless they don’t. In which case they won’t, which means they didn’t.”
ZBA Technical supervisor Adam Nudelman: “We know the game clock had a problem after a Diverman layup in the first quarter, but honestly, my guy was mesmerized by the movement of the playboy bunny tattooed on Divermen’s bicep. Hey, he recovered and restarted the clock, and we only lost thirty seconds. The fact Indiana won on a last second shot only means the Lace team president owes me a check, preferably made out to cash.
The Indiana Lace led the Philadelphia Tallboys 1-0 in the best of five.
The other game in the ZBA last night played out in the San Antonio’s Dukedome. The San Antonio Rhinestones and the Minnesota Woodies both claimed victory.
Minnesota forward Kennie Corbett: “If we hadn’t made a few crucial mistakes in this game in the final five minutes we’d have sent these boys to their Playstations, because the video gaming world is the only place they can keep up with our team.”
Minnesota guard Tyco Branding: “Kennie didn’t take enough fluids before the game and he cramped up in the last five minutes. Otherwise, we would have sent these San Antonio guys searching for a high school team to play to boost their confidence before the next game.”
Minnesota coach Fritz Flop: “I want to now why Tyco wore those ugly damn shoes. He just pissed off the San Antonio team, which by the way, has a great fashion sense.”
San Antonio Center Goliath Robertson: “Tan Toucan came out tonight and shot lights out. Guns blazing. On fire. Swishin’ and dishin’. He almost made me cramp up just watching him.”
San Antonio Forward Tan Toucan: “I felt good. Kenny Corbett kept saying something to me every time he made a dunk, but I don’t understand sentences without proper nouns, so I guess I’ll never know what was on his mind.”
The San Antonio Rhinestones lead the Minnesota Woodies 1-0 in the best of five.
The Houston Crocketts spent the first night of the playoffs having a pajama party at Rudy Tomjohnabitch’s ranch. I talked to several players on the CuSeeMe hookup on KSPORT co-owner Dole Harper’s Gulfstream V-SP. They had watched all the games on three flat screens positioned around Rudy’s outdoor pool Jacuzzi entertainment center and are now all waiting for the next games of the playoffs at Rudy’s ranch, when the Crockett coach promises to break out the hard liquor and the fully automatic weapons.
Houston coach Rudy Tomjohnabitch: “I know it seems odd, having a party after missing the playoffs. But I like my squad, and some of them have really cute girlfriends and wives. I know all my players won’t be back next year, so I thought, what the hell, let’s follow the playoffs together. Maybe some of the free agents will hear about what a player’s coach I am and sign with Houston, enabling us to kick some serious ass next year, even of we do lose the world’s best center, Aheem Parthenon, to free agency. I’ve talked so much I’ve made myself thirsty, plus I think the cheerleading squad has arrived. Can’t stay, gotta go!”
The Gulfstream pulled into a private hanger at Portland’s Wheels Up international airport.
Albie Darling, standing in front of the KSPORT crew, finished her logistics speech. “We have reservations at the Heathman Hotel. We won’t need to rent cars, just keep your cab receipts, and turn them into me tomorrow. We go on the air at three o’clock. We meet in the lobby of the Heathman at 2:30. Please be ready on time. Tomorrow’s flight leaves at 6 am, we meet in the lobby of the Heathman at 5 o’clock, and don’t expect Mr. Harper to bail us out this time, and I know I’m mainly talking to myself there.”
The cockpit door opened and the pilot’s voice boomed, “OK folks, we’ll be slipping out of Portland as soon as we refuel and do a quick maintenance check, so if you’d be so kind as to disembark by this door here, I’d sure appreciate it. Ya’ll have a good show.”
“Good afternoon everyone. This is Warren Piece on KBEV, The Beaver, Portland, and KSPORT, Houston. I’d like to thank Mad Dog Weiser and his partner Map National for graciously letting us borrow their time slot for a day. We’re here to talk basketball! With me is Mad Wolf Sherman, my Houston radio partner, Theotis Holland, our astrologer, Lily Creamer, our sports reporter and sex appeal expert, and Houston Crockett Jamal Deadburn, last years rookie sensation and our team analysist. Good afternoon, ya’ll.”
“Hi…Yo…Pard…uh everyone…”
“Dan from Nike Town, you’re on The Beaver and KSPORT.”
“Hi, welcome to Portland.”
“Thanks.”
“I wanted to get in a plug in on the Beaver for the best sneaker company in the world since Map and the Mad Dog won’t put me on the air anymore. Something about my sneakers causing them bunions or some damn thing.”
“What do you think of Portland’s chances against L.A. tonight?”
“We’ve already planned a memorial for the season. I mean who’s kiddin’ whom? Our locker room resembles an action scene from a Jackie Chan movie. Everybody was Kung Fu fighting.”
“Dan, Mad Wolf Sherman here. I just ran a simulation game on my Nintendo, and believe or not, Portland won on a last minute shot by Reed Alabama.”
“Yeah, after he kicked and bit his way to the basket and shoved a referee for his record setting 102nd technical. 102 is the name of an airborne division, not the number of technicals you should get in a season.”
“Thanks for the call Dan, this is a Piece of the Afternoon Sport Talk Show, and Jill from Galveston, you’re on the Beaver and KSPORT.”
“Good afternoon everybody. Have you seen the new Houston magazine? Albie is on the cover wearing nothing but a bikini made of microphone windscreens,”
“Jill, Jamal Deadburn here. Can you scan that cover and send it as an attachment to me at Jdeadburn@home.com.”
“Sure. Hey, why are ya’ll in Portland when the game tonight is in L.A.”
“Hey, we’re just following the example of the Crocketts. They missed the playoffs. We’re missing the playoffs. Thanks Jill. Now on the line our pin-up girl producer tells me we have the marketing chief for the Portland Fire Trails, Martha Graham. Good morning Martha.”
“Good afternoon Mr. Piece. Let me start by saying that I’m happy to report at this moment every game at our home arena, The House of Thorns, is sold out! God Bless America.”
“You guys always say that.”
“Hey, Martha, this is Jamal Deadburn.”
“Good afternoon Mr. Deadburn.”
“You know Scampy Dickens looks as good as in did in Chicago. The dude looks like an Adonis, but plays like a statue. Are you guys still going to feature him on the media guide, or give some play to the young bloods?”
“Our media guide this year is great! And on our web site, best seen if you set your monitor set to thousands of colors, we have a QuickTime movie of Skampy’s best moves from last year.”
“Yeah, I saw that. Kinda short, wasn’t it?”
“There are so many positive aspects of our team, we thought we’d keep each player’s exposure to a minimum.”
“Martha, Mad Wolf Sherman. Are you married?”
“I’m on the market.”
“Is that a real picture of you on page 35 of Portland magazine?”
“That was taken right after I returned from Brazil. There’s the most wonderful doctor there. I left 15 percent of my body in his operating room, and I’m much happier, mentally and physically. Now I can even take after game showers with the cheerleaders without breaking into tears.”
“What are you doing for dinner?”
Warren signaled to Albie. “I can see we’ve strayed from the subject a bit here, but I’ve never been one to stand in the way of romance, so we’ll taken this break and come back with Theotis Holland’s astrological chart for the Portland franchise.”
Albie took control and the show went to break. Warren stood up and went to speak to Albie.
“Hey, Albie, we haven’t really talked, you know, we were just kind of thrown together, and I just wanted to know how you’re doin’?”
“I’m good.”
“If you need anything, I could help. I know Deadburn keeps an extra set of earrings, Mad Wolf always has plenty of cash and spare ammo, and Theotis, well, he’s always looking for a roast beef sandwich on the arm, sooooo. I’ve really been impressed with your work and just wanted to tell you thanks, and I appreciate you stepping in for Mandy Spring at the last minute.”
“No matter how mushy you get, I’m not going to kiss you.”
Albie looked up at Warren and smiled.
Warren said, “You’re listening to A Piece of the Afternoon radio show on The Beaver, Portland, and KSPORT, Houston. Now, our astrologer, Theotis Holland, with the planetary aspects for the Portland Firetrails franchise.
“Uh, ah Warren and listeners, I perceive a problem with dribbling for Portland in the coming season. Specifically, is there a phrase in this a-game called ‘being broken down off the dribble’? I believe that is the correct characterization of the problem the Portland Fire Trails will experience, because Venus is causing havoc with the players relationship with the ball, making it spin away from them.
The Portland Firetrails were parachuted upon the planet in 1970, under the sign of Sagittarius, and this has been a problem for the franchise, as they have suffered restriction after restriction. They have a lot of talent, but because of their encounters with the voids of the moon, they find themselves at a disadvantage. I understand one of there most talented players has trouble with authority. That is because his sign is running counter to the cusp of the birth sign of the franchise, causing a restriction on his talent, which manifests itself in his difficulty with the officials.
I see a stop at the Bridgeport Ale House in my immediate future. God Bless America, and good luck to the Portland Fire Trails, especially during the cycle of the new moon.”
“Thank You, Theotis. This is A Piece of the Afternoon Sports Talk Radio Show on The Beaver, Portland, and KSPORT, Houston. We’ll be back after this word from Stetson Hats, proud sponsor of the Piece of the Afternoon road show.”
Warren waited a moment, and keyed Albie on the intercom. “Hey, Albie, is Jamal out there?”
“Yeah, he’s showing an intern how to balance a spinning ball on her index finger without damaging her manicure.”
“Tell him he’s up in five minutes, please.”
Warren leaned back in his five way adjustable chair, locked his hands behind his head, and took a powernap.
“Warren, yo, what it is? I want to shout out to everyone listening on KSPORT and The Beaver, and thank ya’ll for listening. This is Jamal Deadburn, Houston Crocketts point guard of the future.
Since the Firetrails are in L.A. for their playoff game tonight their cars are all in the parking lot, so I’ve taken the opportunity to take a good look at the wheels of the Firetrails squad. I must say, at first look I saw a lot of fire and desire. There were seven black Porsche 911’s, 3 Lincoln Navigators, black, 2 black BMW roadsters, and two Chrysler LeBarons, which either belong to the rookies, or somebody is going to get towed.
But when I looked closer I saw a problem. I counted thirteen dented doors, five mangled bumpers, three cracked rear windows, and taking advantage of an aerial view, four severely dented roofs.
These guys can’t drive!
They’ve got a new coach this year that had a penchant for onions, peppers, and defense.
They lost their European Center who could make a blind behind the back eyes shut underhanded shovel pass to a speeding high flying dunkmaster such as myself.
Their living legend, Scampy Dickens, looks like an ad for Reebok Sports Clubs, but the last time he came up big in a meaningful game The Cheers was the number one television show. ‘My back! My hammy! Hip Pointer!! Who raised the basket?’
“Hey, Jamal, the guy does have six rings.”
“Yeah, I know, Piece, but I still say he plays like he’s got leg irons on and doesn’t plan on losing any more back vertebrae caused by a collision in the paint in an off season operation.
My point is, you are what your drive, especially if you can’t drive to the basket. The Portland Fire Trails are a collection of fancy sports cars with a lot of dings, dangs, scartches, and many miles on the odometer.
“Well Jamal, ole Mad Wolf might have to come down on your side of the fence with this Portland deal. These boys have access to a ton of funds, what with one of their owners being a co-founder of the biggest software company in the world, but they can’t seem to stop squaking over who the lead rooster is.”
This is A Piece of the Afternoon on KSPORT and The Beaver. Lily Creamer and your calls, when we return.”
Albie took the show to break and Warren picked up the phone, called The Cobalt Lounge, and asked for directions.
“Good afternoon Jane from Hood River, you’re of KSPORT and The Beaver.”
“Hi guys, I’m about to take a night mountain biking tour through Columbia Gorge. My new boyfriend came down with a case of the altitude sickness, and he accidentally took Tylenol p.m. instead of his Demerol. He’s out for the count, and since you guys are on the road anyway, I wondered if one of you would like to take a night bike ride. I can fax you a picture and directions to the hotel.”
“Why not? We’ll all come. Albie, can you get directions? Hang on for Albie Darling, our lovely producer, Jane. Lily, how do rate the sex appeal of the Portland Firetrails?”
“Well Warren, I agree with Jamal that Scampy is built like Fabio. But unfortunately for him, the teams physical attraction average is brought down by an overweight fresh out of rehab Shemp Tillman, whose stomach flops like an apron. Just gross!!! I fast forwarded through that particularly disgusting section of my locker room spy cam DV tape and encountered the usual collection of hard bodies and ZBA style big men.
Their only legitimate superstar with the prerequisite tattoos loses points because he wears a headband and sings the theme from ‘Billy Jack’ in the shower.
The Supercronics aren’t washed up, but 6 out of ten lockers contained packs of Grecian Formula in easily accessible places, because reaching for youth is hard on the joints.
I rate this team, on a scale of one to ten, five condoms.”
“Thank you Lily. That’s going to wrap it up for our trip through the airwaves of Portland. I’d like to once again thank Mad Dog Weiser and his partner Map National for taking the day off. Good luck in the playoffs, Portland, and we’ll see you next year in Houston.”
Albie took control of the show. Warren, Lily, Jamal, and Mad Wolf picked up their papers and headed to the newsroom.
In five minutes, Albie joined them.
“I’ve got the directions to Hood River. There’s a car waiting for us at the curb. Warren, you wanted to stop by The Cobalt Lounge?”
“Yeah we’ve got to pick up Theotis. He’s an excellent biker, and a human compass, just in case we get disoriented.”
“Great,” said Mad Wolf. “Let’s kick her in the ass.”
Jamal said, “Let me see that fax.”
Lily put on her sweater. “This is so cool.”
Be the first to comment.