Monday, June 18, 2007

DINNERTIME.

MG: “I sold the tickets today.”
TBF: “That’s great.”
“I’ll put it straight into the playoffs fund.”
“Exactly.” *pause* “Except we may not need a playoffs fund...”
“The way we’re playing now.”
“That’s about right. It’s bad.”
“How bad?”
“The worst I’ve seen in a long time.”
“How long?”
“2003 bad.”
*pause*
“So I had an idea today.”
“Hmm?”
“We could rent a truck, or a van, with those loudspeakers on the roof?”
“Um-hmm.”
“And we could drive around Long Island City.”
“What would we be saying through the loudspeakers?”
“I hadn’t gotten that far in the plan yet.”
“We could also drive it around Sands Point.”
“And down into Flatiron. Although I had a better idea on that front.”
“Yes?”
“How much do you think it would cost us to bribe David Wright’s doorman to tell us what floor he lives on?”
“At least $500.”
“What if we sent a little girlie-girl in to get that info?”
“Still looking at at least $500.”
“Well, anyway, we get that info, and then we go across the street and bribe the neighbors who face him.”
“And do what?”
“Put up a sign. You know, like the SAVE DOMINO sign?”
“What would the sign say?”
“I hadn’t gotten that far in the plan yet.”

*later*

*sounds of “Thank You (falettinme be mice elf agin)” waft through the apartment*
*TBF appears in the doorway*
MG: “Don’t play this.”
TBF: “The Mets won.”
“They don’t deserve it.”
“It doesn’t matter. The Mets win, I play the song.”
He moonwalks back into the living room.

Right now, he’s playing “New York Groove”. Clearly, someone is no longer angry at the Mets.

It’ll take me a little while longer.