Two years ago today ...

Bring it! You wear your Cutler jersey. I'll wear my Cooley jersey. Which means you'll tap out just minutes into it and I'll .....hell, I don't know. I'll get kicked off the team or some stupid shit. Then days later, I'll watch as my divorced is reported in the Post.

FUCK!!!!

 

Is your jersey pink, too?

 

I see what you did there.

 

Took me a minute (and reading this last post), but I, too, saw what was done there.

 

Lugnuts is a woman??

 

imagine just stumbling upon this thread at this point.
fucking wow.

 

Yeah, definitely taken a turn in another direction.

 

our boy should sell his shit, move to hollywood and start writing scripts.
god, reminds me of a song i can't quite put my finger on.

 

Someone had to save this shitty thread.

 

to be honest, i read the first post and almost closed it. ; )

 

Yeah, I keep forgetting to come back to this thread, and them am so happy when I do. My favorite part was probably Cosmo. I imagined him as Jesse from Breaking Bad when he was yelling his one line.

 

5 Feet High & Rising​

[Act 4: They leave the official SportsJournalists.com banquet hall in groups. Shortly after the last ambulance pulled out, they take their coats, find their friends and, still buzzing from adrenaline, discuss the night's events. They leave in groups, first the veterans ...]

Captain_Kirk: Weird night, huh?
Boom_70: These nu membars r ruffians.
Ben_Hecht: I don't know. I remember crazier parties at the early outings.

[... then the Canadians ...]

Huggy: Well, that was just aboot my favourite thing.
JR: Best fight I seen since the punch-up in Piestany.
HC: Ehh, Americans are too violent, don't cha know.

[... then the intellectuals ...]

Azrael:


As Eliot said, "Anger and jealousy can no more bear to lose sight of their objects than love."
Alma: Firewater and fury become them.
friend of the friendless: Sirs, madams, twas a lovely evening. 'Til next time. YHS, etc.

[... then the wrestling fans ...]

KYSportsWriter: Oh man, that was like the best show since like I don't know like WrestleMania X-Seven.
Tommy_Dreamer: Nah, deeper than that, youngster. Best show since Michaels-Ramon at WrestleMania 10.
schiezainc: I'm sending that story line to VKM. Great chance for a heel turn.

[... then the night shift ...]

I Should Coco: Still have seven hours until bedtime. I'm going to listen to Rush's collective works.
spikechiquet: Seven hours? That's a lot of masturbating.
HanSenSE: That's why I keep old tapes of the '89 Giants.

[... then the cleanup crew ...]

Rosie: These damn kids never pick up after themselves.
TrooperBari: I'm thinking we should ban salary cap discussions.
MileHigh: No shit.

[They leave the short man to himself. He sits on the steps outside the doorway, swirling what remains of his watered-down rum and Coke. The woman in the long black dress and baggy Twins jersey approaches, sitting next to him and staring into the parking lot.]

imjustagirl, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her purse: I just heard from Moddy at the hospital. Pete is going to be out of commission for about six months, but he should be fine. Oop actually needed steroids to rehabilitate. I guess that whole transforming thing took a lot out of him. Now we get Oop on steroids for two months. Oh, and Chef is down to four toes. Three on the right foot, one on the left.
MisterCreosote, lighting and taking a long drag: Man. What a night.
imjustagirl: Ain't no party like an SportsJournalists.com party.
MisterCreosote: I don't get why people have to ruin things.
imjustagirl: Ruin? I kind of thought that was awesome.
MisterCreosote: You don't get it.
imjustagirl: Enlighten me, jackass.
MisterCreosote, standing up: Tonight wasn't supposed to be just about me.
imjustagirl: Yes, it was.
MisterCreosote, pacing: Would you let me finish? Christ. Interrupting me like we've been married or something.
imjustagirl: Then spit it out already.
MisterCreosote: Tonight wasn't supposed to be just about me. Tonight was supposed to bring the board together. I bought into typefitter's theory, that we're not actually assholes, we just play them on the Internet. I thought getting everyone together, throwing this party, getting drunk, possibly getting laid, I thought that would unify us. Maybe make us more civil. Maybe open the door to discussions of politics and Josh Hamilton. Maybe renew our spirits. But what happens? We damn near kill each other. Maybe there's no hope for this place after all. Maybe the others were right to get out when they could. Maybe it's time to nuke, for real. I don't know anymore. I don't know what to think about anything.
imjustagirl: Jesus Christ. I liked you better when you just posted dumb gifs.
MisterCreosote: Let's get out of here, though.
imjustagirl: I'd say.

[As the pair walks down the stairs, a man with a long, black coat and a determined stride breaks past them. He walks to the doors, flinging them open with great gusto. He clears his throat.]

Deeper_Background: Guys, guys! Oop is a robot and Pete died trying to kill him!

[The End]