Two years ago today ...

[dooley_womack1]

What cyclingwriter said in full. But for the record, I've never had a bloody mary.

 

[Lieslntx]

That is pretty awesome stuff, I must say.

 

[Beaker]

That was hilarious.

 

[imjustagirl]

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. bricks.
Double Down: fork you Norrin you forking cockmunching troll. Couldn't find any friends to talk to at this thing? Big forking surprise.
3OctaveFart: He-Man Writers So Tough. fork you all.

Short of a couple of DD's birthday posts, this right here might most perfectly capture the caricatures of some of my favorite people. Well done.

 

[Buck]

This part was my favorite.

Evil biscuit (aka Chris_L): Light that shirt, 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 fork yourself.

If you change the names of two of the characters involved, I have lived through that exact scene in real life.
Complete with verbatim dialogue.

 

[dooley_womack1]

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. bricks.
Double Down: fork you Norrin you forking cockmunching troll. Couldn't find any friends to talk to at this thing? Big forking surprise.
3OctaveFart: He-Man Writers So Tough. fork you all.

Short of a couple of DD's birthday posts, this right here might most perfectly capture the caricatures of some of my favorite people. Well done.

Indeed.

 

[Versatile]

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

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.

Freqposter spent the night making visits to the lonely wives of the SportsJournalists.com men in attendance at the party.

 

[proudpittsburgher]

That is pretty awesome stuff, I must say.

This, but I just can't imagine anyone with the time to put this together. That's not a slap at anyone, it just looks like it took time.

 

[cyclingwriter]

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

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.

Freqposter spent the night making visits to the lonely wives of the SportsJournalists.com men in attendance at the party.

I will take that line as part of an Arrested Development vignette between shows and still wait for Act III

 

[3OctaveFart]

I wanted to be like Kenny Loggins in the We Are The World video, taking his turn and blowing away the combined talent on stage.
To the point they are all embarrassed to be there after he solos.
And I get a single line of dialogue that is attributable to another poster.

 

[Uncle.Ruckus]

I'm Dan Aykroyd. Just happy to be there.

 

[Versatile]

5 Feet High & Rising​

[Act 3: 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. Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, a discussion of baseball has struck up between a younger man in an Atlanta Braves jacket, an older man wearing a beat-up New York Yankees cap and a man whose face is painted orange and black.]

buckweaver: The Orioles don't make sense. We've been waiting for them to regress all year.
Cosmo: Standings, benches!
buckweaver: Right. What I'm saying is the measurables don't equate to the results. They're playing 10 games worse than their results. But I'm at the point where I don't even question it.
Cosmo, jumping up and down: Standings, benches!
Gehrig: It's all about WAR. They can't maintain this. These are fake gains.
Cosmo, standing on his hands: Standings, benches!

[Two more join the conversation: a man dressed entirely in black and gold, and a man in his middle age with a furrowed brow.]

LongTimeListener: It shows the way baseball works. The reason baseball works.
buckweaver: It's really the most random of games.
Cosmo, doing pushups: Standings, benches!
outofplace: It's random in that one of the 20 teams without money can have a good year once in a while. It's random in that the Pirates can have a few months of quality baseball because the right players get hot. That's how random it is. But when you look down the league, you see that the Yankees buy wins. That's all there is to it. forking Selig lets the Yankees buy wins and no one stands up to him because they like packing their wallets. Meanwhile, the poor owners reap the gains of the luxury tax and box office reve--
LongTimeListener: Do you have to troll here, too?
outofplace: Nice retort, clown. Have any real thoughts on how the Orioles represent anything more than an anomoly?
Cosmo, in falsetto: Standings, benches!
LongTimeListener: Have any new thoughts on anything? Baseball works.

[buckweaver and Gehrig slide away from the conversation.]

outofplace, face red with anger: What did you say?
Cosmo: Standings, benches?
LongTimeListener: Base. Ball. Works.
outofplace: GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

[The scream echos across the room. outofplace grabs his Steel Reserve and smashes it against the bar, splattering malt liquor everywhere. He attacks. The chaos begins.]

LongTimeListener: What the fork?
outofplace: I'm sick of this shirt!

[A small man dressed as a mail clerk leaps onto outofplace's back. A woman in a little black dress takes out her pepper spray. A man wearing a Kansas Jayhawks T-shirt angles closer to the fight. A man with long hair and a lit marijuana joint grabs two bottles of Jack Daniels and readies himself.]

outofplace: Get the fork off me, deck!
deck Whitman: Leave him alone!
Tom Petty, wielding whiskey bottles like nunchucks: fork YOU ALL.
LongTimeListener: Baseball is better off without a cap! The players get paid market value!
outofplace: Gaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

[outofplace flips deck Whitman's 104-pound frame off his back, then curls into a ball. Suddenly, giant metal limbs sprout from his body and a crowned, metal, purple helmet covers his face.]

G1 outofplace: Now you've done it, AutoSJbots!

[No one moves. Tom Petty drops the Jack Daniels bottles, which shatter, causing a man from a directional school to flinch. G1 outofplace moves toward the crowd, pointing his arm cannon around the room menacingly.]

G1 outofplace: Now that we know who is boss, we shall use our scope of influence in sports journalism to finally rid Major League Baseball of its evil capitalist system! Bwahahahahahaha!
Lugnuts, tightly grasping her pepper spray: Don't you think you're maybe overreacting?
LongTimeListener: Have you met Oop?
G1 outofplace: Gahhhhhhh!

[G1 outofplace fires a blast from his arm cannon toward LongTimeListener, who swiftly escapes its fire. The blast hits the man in the Kansas shirt. A man in an Alabama Crimson Tide hat and Army fatigues runs to his rescue.]

Chef2: MY TOES!
three_bags_full: I'll fix it if you change your avatar to Saban again.
Chef2: MY forkING TOES!
G1 outofplace: Insignificant damage. Now, to the matter at hand. Who among us will help liberate baseball, and who among us will die?!

[The door to the official SportsJournalists.com banquet hall swings open. A man appears, tossing aside his Fresca can and spinning his Hofstra Pride baseball cap's bill to the back.]

BYH: Not so fast, Oop.
G1 outofplace: Bwahahahahaha. You are too late, dickhead. Too late to save your friends or your league. The NFL's salary cap system will be in place soon, and the Pirates will be baseball's greatest franchise, just as the Steelers rule the NFL.
BYH: Salary caps are stupid, and I'm not going to let you get away with this, Oop. Besides, looky what I've got.
G1 outofplace: It can't be ...

[BYH removes a six-sided hunk of metal from his backpack. It glows brightly. G1 outofplace fires a cannon shot at BYH, who ducks and throws the cube across the room. A woman with curly black hair and a Ramones T-shirt grabs it.]

G1 outofplace: Give it to me.
waterytart: I don't think so.
G1 outofplace: Give it to me, NOW!
waterytart: That's no way to speak to a lady.

[waterytart makes a run toward G1 outofplace, daring him to fire on her. He swings and connects with her midsection, but she tosses the cube into the air as she falls. Out of nowhere appears a man who catches the cube and slams it into G1 outofplace's chest. An explosion leaves outofplace, de-Transformed, and the man whom no one had seen at the party earlier lying on the ground.]

outofplace, barely breathing: No. No. No. No. No.
Pete, whimpering: Nice to see you folks again.

--------------------------

Act Four, the finale, comes tomorrow.