What Happens At The Blueshirts Monthly Meetings, Part II

Jim McIsaac

That's right. This again.

We did one, erm, three of these last month, and I kind of thought they were hilarious. So I'm going to do another one this month. This is it. It's also a really good way to remind all of you knuckleheads that haven't registered for the newsletter yet (seriously, what's wrong with you monsters) to do so. So enjoy this, and then subscribe if you haven't. It's free and it's easy. FREE/EASY. The best of the best.

Joe, Tony and Mike sit in the bowels of Blueshirts Monthly. They sit at a large, polished mahogany table staring at the papers in front of them. They look disturbed. Many stacks of pink "warning" papers sit on the table. Joe sifts through them one by one, getting more annoyed with each passing paper.

Joe [sighing]: How have we not paid the bills to this place yet? Tony, you're supposed to be in charge of the money stuff!

Tony: What money? You run this place like a warlord. You have me and Mike do everything and the little money we do make you spend on things we don't need! Look at this [Tony pulls a gigantic painting of Wombo with the words "Always Remembered, Never Forgotten" painted onto a pure gold frame]. What the hell would we ever use this for?

Joe [slamming his fist into the table]: That's Wombo you bastard!

Tony [now standing]: No one knows who Wombo is but you and Mike. I barley know who he is. And where were you going to hang this monstrosity, on the side of the Empire State Building?

Joe [jumping out of his chair]: THAT'S IT!

Mike: ENOUGH!! Everybody love everybody.

[Joe and Tony both sit down slowly while eyeing each other. Mike waits until both are seated before sitting himself]

Joe: Anyway. Who has ideas for this edition?

Tony: I'm going to be doing a Tony's Tales about what following the Rangers was like back in the day. When people weren't so knee-jerk, you know? A time when everyone knew who to respect and who to look up to. A time when the masses would fill The Garden knowing who to cheer for and who to love. A time when we all knew who was the best and who was the worst. A time when everyone was respectful of older men who flood message boards with their insane opinions.

Mike [squinting his eyes]: Okaaaaaay. What are you driving at?

Tony [continuing as though Mike didn't say anything]: A time when Henrik Lundqvist was THE GUY.

Joe: Heeeeeerrrrre we go.

Mike: Oh no.

Tony [raising his voice]: That's right! A time when people knew Hank was the best. How dare, how DARE, they play Talbot those two games in a row like a month ago. And how dare some of the posters on that confounded webinite or whatever on that machine in my basement even THINK Talbot should play over the King EVER!

Joe: Tony, Blueshirt Banter is a webSITE and it's on a COMPUTER.

Tony: Don't you think I know that? I've been using a confuster for years.

Joe: Computer. Com-put-er.

Tony: I get it. A conjuser.

Mike: Let's move on.

Joe: OK, we need to think of a way to make some money. We can't keep putting off these bills.

Mike: I can become a pirate. Roam the seven seas, run around my ship, gather a crew and then start robbing other pirates. I wouldn't rob the oil tankers or anything, those are nice people. OR, OR, OR, I can make videos using my action figures, sell them on the black marker - it exists for homemade movies ya know - and make money that way.

Tony: Or maybe the people reading the newsletter can actually buy some of the ads they read?

[Joe, Mike and Tony look right at you. Right into your soul. Yes, you.]

Joe: Anyway, let's just work on some story ideas. We can't control the masses. Mike, any story ideas?

Mike: Oh I've got a bunch! For my padded corner I want to do a story about ... [trailing off]

Joe: What's wrong Mike?

Mike [putting his hands on his head]: I sense a disturbance on the Banter.

[Mike pulls a laptop out of his briefcase and starts furiously typing into the computer]

Mike [staring at Tony suspiciously]: Tony, did you create an account on Blueshirt Banter just to rec all of your own posts?

Tony [defiantly]: No!

Joe [looking over Mike's shoulder]: Tony the account handle is "This is definitely not Tony."

Tony: See, there you go. The person knows he isn't me.

Joe: So you wouldn't care if I banned this person?

Tony: Nope, not at all.

Joe: OK good, I'll remove all their recs, too, just to be safe.

Tony [lunging across the table and breaking the laptop]: Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Mike: You broke my laptop!

Tony [in mocking tones]: Oh don't worry, Joe can pay for it with the money he gets from selling that dreadful painting of a friggin' wombat!

Joe [angrily]: It's Wombo! WOMBO! AND HE'S A HERO.

Mike: ENOUGH!

[Joe and Tony, once again, eye each other as they slowly sit down]

Mike: Tony, you can't just rec yourself over and over again. Life doesn't work that way.

Joe: Also, Tony, you've been posting a bunch of one word comments recently. Are you intentionally padding your stats?

Mike: We're worried, Tony. We want to put you into overposting anonymous.

Tony: I don't have a problem.

Joe: You do have a problem Tony. Recently it's gotten so bad that you've been asking people to rec your posts with more posts. It's a vicious cycle. You've been flagged more times than a NASCAR driver in the Indy 500.

Tony: I'm not going.

Mike: Tony you have to go. You created a twitter account last week to try and promote your own comments but then deleted it once you figured out you were actually linking to the stories and not your comments.

Tony: Please! I've had a Fritter account for 10 years.

Joe: Twitter only came out like five years ago, Tony.

Mike: We just want to help you.

Tony: I don't need your help! I'm on the top! The best of the best! Maybe you should worry about doing the work for this month's edition, Mike, since Joe has done nothing. As usual.

Joe: I've had about enough of your insults, old man. If you want to throw hands I'll throw hands.

Tony: Let's go.

Mike [throwing a huge foam bar with the words "You've Been Warned" on it]: WARNING!

[The bar hits Joe and Tony but does nothing. Both look at it and then to Mike.]

Joe: Mike that didn't do anything. Neither of us are going to stop.

Mike: Story of my life ...

[Mike slowly walks out of the room as Joe and Tony continue to yell at each other. Tony, in a final act of desperation, attacks the painting on Wombo. Mike doesn't see what happens next as he goes into his small office to finish the newsletter.]

Fin.

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