Two years ago today ...

5 Feet High & Rising​

[Act 1: The official SportsJournalists.com banquet hall is filling up. At least 75 people are in attendance, most seeking out familiar faces among the crowd. The banner streaming above the entrance reads, "Thanks For Not Quitting." The guest of honor has not arrived. The door swings open, and in walks a young woman wearing a baggy No. 8 Minnesota Twins jersey atop a long black dress. She's greeted by a woman in a colorful skirt and an older gentleman who was way overdressed for the occasion.]

21: So how was BYH's thing? Sorry we couldn't make it.
imjustagirl: Don't even fucking bother. The asshole isn't dead, he just went missing. Had the nerve to show up at his own memorial service.
Frank_Ridgeway: Dickhead.
imjustagirl: On top of that, the dickhead said he couldn't come to this. Where the fuck is 'Sote?
21: I have no idea.
Frank_Ridgeway: Mizzou said he heard on the Republican Radio Service that MisterCreosote would be a little late. Should be here soon.
imjustagirl: Sounds about right.
21: Well, you look great, Jagger. I'm going to go find Boom and make out or something.

[21 leaves Frank_Ridgeway and imjustagirl alone to a conversation about shoes, then three young men with shit-eating grins stop over. Frank_Ridgeway's Scotch is empty, so he leaves.]

Uncle.Ruckus: I can't even figure out why we're here.
Zeke12: Right. Two years ain't shit.
imjustagirl: How do you not grasp 'Sote's commitment problems?
dreunc1542: I hear he's a habitual quitter.
Zeke12: Is that why he never called me, maybe?
imjustagirl: You guys are idiots. I'm leaving.
Uncle.Ruckus: She must be on her period, like Dr. Pepper.

[imjustagirl extends her middle finger as she leaves the men, who are joined by an old fellow with a habitual scowl and a younger one drinking an Old Style.]

RickStain: Parties for anniversaries are illogical.
Uncle.Ruckus: I don't know. Seems like a good way to celebrate something important. I just don't find this asshole all that important.
RickStain: But there's always a next year, really even a next day. And we arbitrarily decided round numbers are important.
dreunc1542: Does it hurt, thinking that hard, Stain?
Starman: I don't even know why anyone would give a shit about that shitheaded Republican dickwad.
Zeke12: Honestly, Starman, I only came to see you get drunk and fight YankeeFan.
Starman: That dickwad is here? I didn't smell coffee.

[Another older man approaches the group, and Uncle.Ruckus, Zeke12 and dreunc1542 depart to their own little corner.]

Moderator1: Calm down, Starman. Let's save the politics talk for another day.
Starman: Fucking cockmongers.
[Starman exits left]
Moderator1: So, Rick. Maybe you'd like to explain why the Cubs are a bunch of assholes now, aye?
RickStain: It's probably because the Nationals rub their good luck in the draft in everyone's faces in such an insufferable way. You didn't hear the Cubs making a big deal about shutting down Jeff Samardzija, did you?
Moderator1: Who?
RickStain: I can't wait till your team gets rocked in the first round by the Braves or Dodgers and that smug smile is wiped off every Nats fan's face.
[A young man with a plate of half-eaten sandwiches joins the conversation.]
RickStain (pointing): Especially this asshole.
JackReacher: Always a pleasure, Stain. Gio Gonzalez is great, isn't he, Moddy?
Moderator1: Sure is. I'm just giddy about this whole thing!

[RickStain leaves the Nats fans, then Moderator1 notices Frank_Ridgeway's shoes and feels compelled to compliment them. JackReacher stands around for a bit, sipping his 7 and 7, before a couple takes pity on him and comes over to talk.]

YGBFKM: Sonner, you look like a dick. Who wears a Redskins jersey in public?
JackReacher: Your shirt doesn't even have sleeves!
Care Bear: You do look like a dick, though, Sonner. Besides, you're definitely rooting for Kirk Cousins.
JackReacher: How's Brokeneck Manning doing?
Care Bear (being restrained by YGBFKM): I fucking swear, Sonner.
JackReacher: Ha! Great to see you guys, though. Baby say anything disparaging about me lately?
YGBFKM: We try to ignore your existence, mostly.
Care Bear: But he does think 'Sote's a dick for showing up late to his own party. Besides, who the fuck throws himself an anniversary party?
JackReacher: 'Sote's head is so far up his own ass that his shit don't stink anymore.
Care Bear: I bet his fiancée pegs him with the metal dildo from American Psycho.
YGBFKM: I heard he played punter in high school, but then quit.

[The door creeks open. A woman peeks her head in to tell everyone to be quiet. MisterCreosote has arrived.]

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(Please, feel free to continue if you're so inspired.)

 

NTTAWW the other way

 

I forgot to add the accented e before sending. My tactic is copying from Wikipedia, aka Hoppesing.

 

Hop Sing not happy. "NO STEW FOR YOU."

 

Jesus Christ, that's inspired.

Though I don't have a Punto jersey, just a Punto bracelet. And a lock of his hair. Don't ask.

 

It seems as though an SportsJournalists.com Secret Santa should have filled that void years ago.

 

Holy shit.

Holy

fucking

shit.

 

I'm just here for the Kate Upon pics.

 

I'm kind of disappointed that no one picked up the play. Maybe I'll write Act 2 tomorrow.

 

5 Feet High & Rising​

[Act 2: No one says a word as the short man walks through the door. The muted reply simmers in the air, no one quite sure when the joke has come to its end. Then the DJ hits play. The short man begins to dance, flailing his arms around, first in front of him as though riding a horse crossarmed, then over his head. The short man dances worse than Carlton Banks. Several watch on in horror as he approaches a comely woman.]

MisterCreosote, shouting: Ayyyyyyyyyyyye, sexy lady!
Lieslntx: Douche, what the fuck are you doing?
MisterCreosote, still shouting: We do it Gangnam style!
Lieslntx: I really don't understand you, ever.
MisterCreosote, yes, still shouting: Oppan Gangnam style!

[As the confusion remains unclear in the middle of the dance floor, a squirrelly man with a black and yellow baseball cap on backward approaches.]

Lieslntx: Dools, not right now.
dooley_womack1, winking: Save me a dance, gorgeous.
[dooley_womack1 returns to the bar to order another Bloody Mary.]
Lieslntx: Maybe if they ever play a song I've heard of.
MisterCreosote, still shouting, now pointing: See, some people get it!

[An older man dances, worse even than the short man, as he stuffs his face with copious amounts of chewy bacon.]

MisterCreosote, shouting: Do it Gangnam style!
The Big Ragu: Ayyyyyyyyyyye, sexy lady!
Lieslntx: Where'd you get that bacon?
The Big Ragu: Mine! All mine!

[The Big Ragu exits, hoisting his bacon slabs to the sky as the song changes. Giving The Big Ragu an awkward eye, a wobbly, skinny fellow approaches.]

TigerVols: I can't believe anyone would eat that crap. Straight to the thighs.
MisterCreosote, no longer shouting: I hear Mustang convinced him to try one piece, and then ...
TigerVols: Obesity is controlling this country. No wonder. Look at our pin-up models. Whither Twiggy?
Lieslntx: Oh, go fuck yourself, TV.
MisterCreosote: Twiggy's plenty withered. Anyway, I'm going to go mingle with my adoring public. I'll catch you later, Douchette.
Lieslntx: Hook'em.

[The short man wanders over to a bar on the right side of the room, where he sees a middle aged man with a urine-colored drink in a martini glass talking to a hairy man drinking a rum and coke.]

YankeeFan: Great party, even if this bartender couldn't mix a lavendar daquiri to save his life.
Mizzougrad96, grumbling: Jackoff.
YankeeFan: I heard that.
Mizzougrad96, grinning: I was talking about 'Sote!
MisterCreosote: Everyone's just so nice to me.
Mizzougrad96: I do like the tuxedo T-shirt. It's a good touch.
YankeeFan: We were just discussing the Romney campaign.
MisterCreosote: Meh, I'm sticking with Starman.
Mizzougrad96: I knew a guy who would tell this awesome story about write-in ballots, wh--
MisterCreosote: I think I just saw someone wave for me. Talk to you guys later.

[The short man approached a group of three men who most certainly had not waved him over. The trio, old friends, was surrounded by empty mugs and glasses and working on what appeared to be a marijuana pipe made out of newspaper.]

Buck: We gotta get a better seal on it, man. I read this in Popular Science.
Bubbler: Fuck this shit and fuck this party. I need a fucking hair--
MisterCreosote: Hey, guys. Thanks for coming.
Evil Bastard (aka Chris_L): Who are you again?
Bubbler: 'Sote, when you'd get here?
MisterCreosote: You didn't hear?
Buck: That's not the loudest thing I haven't heard. The 80s were interesting.
Bubbler: Robin Yount.
Evil Bastard (aka Chris_L): Light that shit, Buck!
MisterCreosote: Try not to burn the place down.
Buck, falling out of his chair as he digs for a lighter: Try not to go fuck yourself.
MisterCreosote: I've heard that a lot today.

[As the short man leaves the drunken trio to join another group, a 12-year-old with pimples covering his face is carted off by two large men.]

Doodah: But I'll be good! I promise!
Flying Headbutt: Fuck you.
Doodah: Please let me stay! Please, let me stay!
Gutter: Don't think so, kid. Now shut up and maybe you'll be invited back at 'Sote's fifth anniversary.
MisterCreosote: Don't lie to the kid, Gutter.

[The short man shakes his head and passes another group, seated around a small table. He stops to listen but doesn't join. An expensive bottle of bourbon sits in the middle of the table. A hairy man in his 30s, sitting on the back of his chair, has the attention of the group.]

typefitter: It's not that Zanesville breeds crazy, I don't think, as much as crazy lived in Zanesville.
brandonsneed: The story is wild. I don't recall any like it. And you wrote it so well.
Ace: I could work in Zanesville. How far is that from Cleveland? I'm totally good enough for Zanesville.
typefitter: Thanks, brandon. I remember exactly how long a drive it was: 2 hours, 33 minutes, 43 seconds. Three Van Morrison albums, in full.
Norrin Radd: Because time can only be measured in Van Morrison albums. Pricks.
Double Down: Fuck you Norrin you fucking cockmunching troll. Couldn't find any friends to talk to at this thing? Big fucking surprise.
3OctaveFart: He-Man Writers So Tough.

[The short man quickens his pace, eager to join a pair discussing basketball. That's when the scream came, off on the other side of the room. That's when the bottle broke.]

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Act 3 comes tomorrow, guys.

 

Holy shit, that is awesome.

 

no one picked it up because no one can top it.

But if there is no freqposter sighting in Act III, I refuse to read any more.