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R/Conservative discusses wastage of taxpayer dollars , lack of stimulus , terrorists and the culprits are , The Democrats ? Come , enjoy the madness the IMPEACHMENT ARTICLES of Trump has brought
Fuck it. This isn’t about money anymore. It’s about principle. I’m holding until I die.
I got into this thing looking to make some easy tendies and prevent a couple of greedy hedge funds from destroying a beloved company from my childhood that was struggling during a global pandemic. I have fond memories of reselling my used games for 2% of their value. Also, it was fun and I like the stock. GameStop’s financials were pretty decent, and the latest console cycle would give them more juice to transform their business model. Then enters Ryan Cohen: a guy whose balls are so big he got the insane idea to recreate Pets.com — a company so terrible it became synonymous with the dot-com bubble — and he fucking outperformed Amazon. I start learning about this guy and find out he’s pretty smart and bold enough to make it work. Maybe he can hit a second hole in one and turn another “terrible” company, “the blockbuster of video games,” into one that outperforms Amazon too. I also learn he’s had his struggles recently, and the reason why he sold Chewy.com was because his father was passing away. He sounds like a good person with that crazy/genius quality who deserves a chance, just like GameStop. So I enter this position, realizing that hedge funds have royally fucked themselves by taking an extremely risky bet while trying to destroy one of the few good things I had to distract myself from the shittiness of the world (before I found this subreddit). Because this trade was not just potentially profitable, but also morally important, I decided to sell the other stocks in my account and even deposited my rent money for the month. I’ll just pay the late fee and tank my credit score, nbd. And like the genius dumb ass I am, I bought right at the top: 14 shares for $4,340. I knew the hedge funds were going to lose this game. They got caught with their paints down while peeing into the wind. They were checkmated. And what did they do? They went and fucking changed the rules of the game. Oh hell no. That’s when this shit got real. That’s the moment when everything changed. It wasn’t about money anymore. It wasn’t about profit or loss. It was about principle. No — it was about the soul of the market. You don’t get to write the rules of the game and rewrite those rules when you lose at your own game. They should’ve just taken the L, but they decided to play dirty — real dirty. Now I start thinking things are getting real fucky. I can 💎 🙌 and keep holding, but I’m going to need to sell at some point... won’t I? Everyone else is going to sell at some point... won’t they? At what point...? Game-theory kicks in and I’m tryna figure out when everyone is going to sell so I can make off with some profit. What’s my exit strategy? What’s everyone else’s exit strategy? And then those hallowed words of Saint Value came back to me: “What’s an exit strategy?” Bingo! Exactly! That’s it! There is no exit strategy! The answer is: there is no answer. The only way to win an unwinnable game is to not play the game. G A M E — S TO P Incredible. This is where the game ends. I’ve been thinking too much like a hedge fund manager who puts profit above principle and can only think in terms of entry strategies and exit strategies. This is market logic. But we are no longer playing the game of market logic. The rules of the game have changed. The game is now about the rules of the game itself. This is a fucking meta-game. 4D Chess. And guess what? I’m not playing your game anymore. You’re playing mine. GameStop shares no longer represent ownership in a company. It’s no longer just something to exchange at market value. The shares represent our values themselves. Will I think in terms of profit and when to sell my shares? Or will I think in terms of my principles? Can I put a price tag on my values? What is a hedge fund willing to pay for my beliefs? And what market price would my values sell for? How much money could I make selling my soul? It’s true that I don’t have as much skin in the game as others. But I put in whatever I could. And I would never judge someone for needing to feed their family or finally being able to turn their life around and escape this rigged game—this prisoner’s dilemma that we call our economy. But GameStop shares no longer represent something a price could be put on. GameStop shares now represent something priceless. In fact, they may hold infinite value. They represent the infinite nature of value itself. The funny thing is, I can live without money. I’ve done it my whole life. But ironically, it’s the hedge fund managers who own all the money in the world that can’t live without it. If that isn’t a better representation of evil, I don’t know what is. Their greed is infinite, and they would break every rule in the world to satisfy that infinite greed. But I will choose to operate by a different kind of logic. I will play a game of my choosing. I entered this position because I saw a way to beat the GameMasters at their own game. And they proved to me what I’ve known all long: that the game is, in fact, unwinnable. It is a game designed for me to lose. It’s a casino-prison where only the lucky get to escape. So, you want my shares? Well, you don’t get my shares. EVER. They’re mine now, and mine forever. I’m holding onto these shares. Because when this game is all over and the years have passed, and we’ve all forgotten about this amazing moment in history.... every time I open my account I can look back and remember that time I fought the good fight. I can remember the wild, insane, hilarious, anonymous, beautiful, ragtag idiots I had beside me in that shining moment of glory — that moment we had the audacity to try and win an unwinnable game, and almost did. These shares don’t hold money. They hold sacred memories that will never be taken from me.... Everyone has to make their own choices in life. Everyone must choose which game they will play. But for the first time ever, the game is finally in your hands. What game will you choose? Will you continue to play the game? Or will the game stop? In my world, the game stops. I choose to sacrifice my 💎 🙌 Instead, my hands will go galactic 🌌 🙌 After all... YOLO
"KOTOR 2 Experience" is a parody based on real play sessions of Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic 2, The Sith Lords (with TSLRCM). SPOILER WARNING: These stories are targeted towards those who have already finished KOTOR2 and the original. They will spoil you so hard the milk in your fridge will curdle. And your neighbor's fridge, too. DESKTOP CLASSIC REDDIT USERS: If the text goes horizontally off the screen, click here to temporarily switch to New Reddit for just this one page. Just hit "Back" to go back to Classic Reddit when you're done reading. Sorry! Index | Previous Episode (Are you me time traveling from the future?) | Next Episode (Quick, call a medic!) -- (Scene: Ebon Hawk cockpit. Atton is sitting in the pilot's seat. I walk up behind him, put my hand on the chair, and lean down closer to his head.) Me: You realize you're typing in midair, not actually touching any buttons or anything? Atton: (Jumps, then turns to look up at me.) Don't do that to me. I don't want to have come out of that death trap by the skin of my teeth just to die an hour later of cardiac arrest. Me: (Walks forward past his chair and leans against the front console so he doesn't have to turn to look at me. Taps the bottom of the chair with my foot.) This used to be Carth's seat, ya know? Except I think it was a little more cramped back then. Atton: Don't care. How's our passenger? She still aging? Me: Yup. And still cryptic as always. Atton: What a surprise. Just so you Jedi know, the whole "cryptic routine" isn't mysterious, it's just irritating. Me: Tell me about it!! Atton: If you really can see the future, you should be at the pazzak table. Me: Ohh... don't worry. We're most likely going to be doing some "seeing the future" at the pazaak table later. Atton: You know how to play, then? I figured you stick-up-the-butt Jedi would consider it a spawn of the Dark Side or something. Me: Like I said, some of us have hobbies. And pazaak's one of the few ways you can consistently get money in a Light Side run. Atton: I could teach you to play, if you wanted. Me: I... just said I knew how to play. I learned from last game. Atton: Oh, right. Sorry, I just can't get my head around the idea of a Jedi playing pazaak. Don't tell me Kreia plays as well. I don't know if I can handle two Jedi card sharks. Me: Yeah... I don't think she's actually a Jedi. Atton: Then she must be royalty, because she's got to be Queen of the Galaxy to bark out orders like that. Me: Oh, so only Jedi "bark out orders", huh? Atton: No, we've established it's Jedi and royalty. Or you know, maybe she's senile. I mean, how old do you think she is? She may have been good-looking once, but it takes some hard living to make creases like that. Me: (Grins.) Wow... "good-looking"? How long were you in that prison? Atton: "Once!" I said "once!" She was maybe good-looking once. Me: Oh, so a woman can't be good looking in old age? What, men get distinguished as they grow older, but women just turn into old bats? Atton: What th--? (Stammers and throws up hands.) What is it with you and turning everything I say into an attack against women? Me: (Goes from leaning to sitting on the console behind me.) I'm just givin' you a hard time. Your script just hasn't been updated for modern sensibilities, and it shows through sometimes. It's not even all that bad, really. I've heard way worse. Atton: Hey, watch where you're sitting there. I don't want you to accidentally eject the hyperdrive or something. Me: (Stands up quickly and looks at the console.) There's a button to do that?? Atton: Not really. ...You really don't know anything about piloting a ship, do you? Me: Nope. I mean, I've flown Tie Fighters before, but that was like in the 90s. It was a lot of fun. I had a joystick for it and everything. Miss that game. Lot more fun than the turret minigames here. Atton: What's a Tie Fighter? Me: (Looks at ceiling.) Um... better if you don't know details. (Looks at the console again.) So, seriously, I didn't do anything bad, did I? Atton: (Leans over to look at the console behind me.) Nah, nothing much. You just vented the atmosphere in the dormitories. No big loss. The old witch probably died instantly. Me: What?!? Atton: I'm kidding. Don't get your stolen robes in a bunch. She's fine. We're fine. I think all you did was change the dashboard illumination from violet to dark blue. Me: Hey, I didn't steal these robes. I... appropriated them. The owner wasn't using them anymore. Atton: Potato potah-to. Me: That's rich coming from someone who just broke out of jail. Atton: (Raises a finger.) I did not break out of jail. I was broken out of jail. If anyone's on the hook for that it's you. Me: Says the guy who got arrested in the first place. You still never told me what for, by the way... Atton: Oh no, no, no. Look, look, I respect your privacy. I mean, when have I ever asked you any questions? ...I mean, besides that one. Me: Hey, you've asked me plenty of questions! Atton: Like what? Me: Like... when we first met you asked me what you should call me. Atton: Psh, that doesn't count. I didn't even ask your name, just what to call you. I just figured having to call, "hey, gal with no clothes on!" over the comms might have made our escape attempt a little more difficult than it needed to be. Me: Well you can ask me questions. Go ahead. My history's an open book. Ask me anything. Atton: Okay, where'd you grow up? Me: Uh... I don't know. Atton: (Skeptical tone.) You don't know. (Squints at me and pointedly taps his chin.) Me: (Shrugs.) Seriously! I don't! I mean, I'm assuming I was taken by the Jedi at a young age and raised in some training facility, but I don't remember any of that shit. All I remember is waking up on Peragus. You can ask me anything about that part. Atton: Didn't you break me out shortly after you woke up? Me: Yeah. Atton: So what you're offering me is the ability to grill you about the fifteen minutes you were conscious before you met me, after which time we've been trying not to die together so I know pretty much everything that happened already. Me: Um... yes. That's what I'm offering. T3: (Rolls into room and starts interfacing with a panel.) Atton: This is not feeling like a fair trade, here. Me: Well, I might be able to answer questions about earlier if it's in the dialog choices. Atton: So what do your dialog choices say? Me: Um... nothing right now. Atton: Because.... (Leans forward, indicating I should finish the sentence.) Me: Because we're waaaay off script. T3: (Rolls to the other side of the cockpit and starts working on something over there.) Atton: And the stuff we're talking about now isn't in the script because... (Keeps leaning forward.) Me: (Sighs and looks at ceiling.) Because you're not ever gonna trade questions about our pasts. Atton: (Leans back in his chair.) Bingo. T3: (Rolls to right behind Atton's chair and starts working on some panel to his left.) Atton: (Turns around.) Do you mind? I'm sitting here! Bugger off! T3: Bweeer-beeep woop-dooooo wheep woo! Atton: Go on, scat! You got an entire freighter to work on! You only picked that panel to annoy me. Go find something else to fix! I'm sure you've got plenty to pick from! T3: Reep-beeee dwoooo! (Turns around and leaves in a huff.) Me: Okay, I get why you don't like the stuck-up, cryptic, rude, and commandeering pseudo-Jedi, but what's wrong with T3? He's just trying to help the ship not suck. And I don't know about you, but I like not being stranded in the middle of space. Slow starvation or suffocation while floating in a void isn't my preferred method of dying. Atton: Look. Droids, I don't trust them. Sometimes they just... well, break... in the head. Sometimes conflicting orders cause it. Give a droid too much data or tell it to do something it can't do, it'll crack their behavior module in half. Others just don't get memory wipes and they start going crazy. Me: Memory wipes? Atton: Yeah. Sheesh, don't you know how to take care of your own droid? You gotta wipe their memories on a regular basis or they can't deal with the sheer amount of information in there. (Turns around in his seat to look down the corridor.) And that trash compactor you got is long overdue. Me: Wait, let me get this straight... If you let a droid keep its memories it... becomes sentient? Atton: It becomes crazy, that's what. Me: So you lobotomize it on a regular basis to keep it from gaining sentience. Atton: You (stammers)... No, you don't "lobotomize" it! It's not a person. It's a thing, and it's made to be wiped on a regular basis. Look, I'm not talking about this anymore. It's your droid. If you want it to stay crazy that's your prerogative. Just keep the insane can opener away from me. Me: (Crosses arms and rolls eyes.) Is there anybody you like on this ship? Atton: (Grunts noncommittally and turns his chair around back to the controls.) Me: (Rolls eyes. Stands up and walks over to galaxy map.) (Moment of silence. Atton looks at me over his shoulder then looks back to the controls.) Atton: So... what happened? Me: "What happened?" Well, once upon a time there was this Republic capital ship that was carrying the last of the Jedi-- Atton: (Half turns in his seat to look at me.) I got that part, jackass. I meant to your lightsaber. There were plenty of times back on Peragus where a lightsaber would've been helpful. So... where's yours? Me: I thought you weren't asking me questions. Atton: Technically, I said I never had asked you a question. Not that I wouldn't ever ask one. Me: So why's it okay for you to ask me now? You decided you're ready to trade personal questions? Atton: Fine, don't answer. (Turns back to his console.) Me: What, did you expect me to just give you this one for free? Well, it's a moot point anyway because I don't kn-- Oh! Oh, wait, I do know this! This one's in my dialogue choices! Atton: (Turns back to me.) ...Aaaaaand? Me: Yeah... apparently exiles aren't allowed to keep them. Atton: Oh, yeah? I thought a Jedi was supposed to be married to their lightsaber. Me: You might say we went through a divorce. A messy one. They got to keep the house, the car, and the dog. Atton: What'd you get? Me: My life, along with an ever-present sense of guilt and the inability to settle down anywhere, I suppose. Atton: That sucks. Me: Not gonna comment on how I'm an exiled Jedi? Atton: Nope. That's your business. I'm not asking questions about you. Just your stuff. Me: That's where you draw the line, huh? At my stuff? Even extremely personal stuff I'm supposedly married to? Atton: So were you a single hilt or one of those double-bladed Jedi? Me: What, are you looking to get me a Christmas present? Atton: (Short laugh.) You think I know where to get one of those? Just making conversation. Me: Single hilt. Two of 'em, actually. (To self.) At least, that's how I played last game. Atton: Hnh. Figures. They weren't red, were they? Me: Psh. No. Do I really seem like the sort of Jedi that'd have a red lightsaber? Atton: To be honest, it's kinda hard getting a reading off of you. You're all saving people one minute then desecrating dead bodies and giving me a metaphorical wedgie the next. Me: I'm more of a chaotic good. No, they weren't red, they were... Ooh, wow there's a lot of choices in here. We'll go with this one: (Clears throat and recites in a grand tone of voice.) "It was a viridian blade, one the Jedi Order had never seen before." I wonder if I just picked what lightsaber I'm gonna find later in the game. Atton: "It"? I thought you had two. Me: It's only letting me pick one color. Atton: Well, it - or they - must've been something. Sure be nice to have it now - might make those Sith think twice before coming after us. Me: Sith have never been scared by a lightsaber before. We'll make do without it. (Sighs and stares at the galaxy map.) Hey, what did you say about the astrogation system earlier? That T3 is running it? Atton: Yeah. I'm not happy about it, but it's what we got. As long as he doesn't steal the ship, we should be all right. Me: Why would somebody lock the astrogation system? Atton: Takes all kinds. Maybe someone didn't want anybody taking the ship out of the system - or knowing where the ship had been. Me: (Studies the galaxy map and mumbles.) Where the ship had... (Raises eyebrows.) Atton: Smugglers do it all the time in case the Republic decides to board them... or so I hear. (Pause. Turns around in his chair.) Wait, do you know something? Me: I... (Shakes head.) No, I don't think so. No, we destroyed that, so why would I-- why would she care if anyone found their way back to it? (Mutters to self.) Gotta get used to referring to Revan in the third person. Atton: (Points at me over the back of the chair.) You do know something. Me: Nope. Canonically I have no idea. At least, I think I have no idea. I mean, for all I know, maybe I do know what I think I know. But I don't know what I actually know about this. Atton: (Squints at me, then sighs and turns back around in his chair.) Fine, be cryptic about it. I guess it's only fair, since I'm not telling you anything, either. Me: (Rushes back over to stand in front of Atton's console.) Wait, so if I tell you about the Star Forge you'll tell me why you were in jail?? Atton: What's a Star Forge? Me: You first. Atton: Nope. Me: Wait, we had a deal! Atton: We did not have a deal. ...Though speaking of deals, (squints at me and holds chin) I seem to recall you making a bet with me over the comm back on Peragus over whether you'd have to fight Coorta. Didn't I win that bet? Me: (Exaggerated shocked gasp.) Hey, you didn't take that bet! Atton: You certainly acted like I did. I'm sure you would've come to me for money if you won. (Holds out hand.) So pay up. Me: (Glares at Atton for a moment, then eyes light up.) Okay, fine. Here. (Hands over fifty credits.) Atton: Well that was easy. I was expecting you to put up more of a fight. (Puts the credits in his jacket pocket.) Me: (Giggles.) You're forgetting one thing. (Stands up and starts to walk out of the cockpit.) Atton: (Half turns.) Oh yeah? Me: You're part of my party now. We share inventory, including credits. Bye. (Gives a little wave and leaves.) Atton: (Frowns, then checks the pocket where he puts the credit. He turns it inside out. It's empty.) God damnit! -- Please remember to properly mark spoilers in your replies. This is a blind run, and I'd like to keep it that way. The Markdown syntax for spoilers is >!this!< or use the button for spoilers in the "fancypants" editor. Index | Previous Episode (Are you me time traveling from the future?) | Next Episode (Quick, call a medic!)
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Previous part A klaxon wailed across the command deck and people swarmed. Grey sprinted towards a pile of armor nearby and began to suit up. Eric and Lump followed him, jamming their helmets back onto their heads. “What the fuck is happening?” Lump asked, raising her voice over the noise of the siren. “Standard emergency protocol!” Grey responded. “We’re headed to the hangar to auxiliary craft. More orders to come when we get there, hopefully. The three of them sprinted to the hangar and climbed into a small transport craft. Lump jumped into the pilot’s seat as Grey and Eric piled into the back “Okay,” Grey said as Lump nudged the ship out of the hangar. “We’re on search and rescue. Bearing is 145 right, 14 down.” “I see it,” Lump replied. “Is that Jonas?” “No way of knowing,” Grey said as the ship zoomed towards the burning Nautilus. “Set comms to channel 143. That should be the emergency channel they’re on.” Lump tuned to the frequency in the cockpit. “Ah, Jesus. I’ll need one of you to listen in and prioritize targets.” Eric climbed into the copilot’s seat and jammed on a headset as they zoomed towards the transport. “They’re rendezvousing in the hangar,” he said. “But a ton of them are stuck in different decks. Sounds like there was an atmospheric breach in several compartments.” “What’s the status of the hangar? Can they hold on in there while we focus on the groups in more danger?” Eric relayed the question to the comm channel. “Hangar has taken damage, but it’s holding, and most of the soldiers in there have EVA suits on.” “Good,” Grey replied. “Focus on the breached sections.” He let out a sigh. “This is not going to be fun.” Ten hours later, the last survivors had been saved from the burning ships. Miraculously, only a few thousand had been killed in the explosions. Eric barely stepped out of the transport into the command ship’s hangar before nearly collapsing on the ground. “I’m too old for this,” he groaned as the survivors stepped over him to the now packed hangar. Grey’s armor thudded as he sat on the ground next to Eric. Lump gracefully joined them. “How are you so spry still?” Grey asked, annoyed. “Easy living and a clean conscience,” Lump sighed. “So what was that all about?” “The ships must have been rigged to blow. I have no idea why it was only some of the ships.” “Some of us are better pilots than others,” a voice said. “Jonas!” Lump jumped to her feet and hugged him tightly. “Calm down, kiddo. I’m fine,” he replied, grinning tiredly. “Jonas. Good to see you made it through,” Eric said, struggling to his feet. He gripped Jonas’s forearm tightly. “Likewise, sergeant.” “So what happened?” Grey asked. “Like you said, they were rigged to blow. Those bastards probably snuck a subroutine into the standard jump sequence. I’m paranoid, so I did it manually, but anyone who didn’t....” Grey cursed. “We should have known better.” “I’m sorry. I should have said something. It’s just such a habit by now, not trusting these alien computers. I never thought…” Jonas trailed off. Eric clapped his shoulder. “None of us thought of it, Jonas. It’s not your fault.” “Just another reason to hate those bastards,” Grey growled softly. The squad nodded in agreement. “There’s one big question I want answered, though,” Jonas said. The others looked at him. He gestured around at the rescued soldiers in the hangar. “Are they going to take our bunks or do we still get our own room tonight?” Despite the recent mission’s relative success, the mood in the squad’s next briefing was somber. “We won’t bother discussing the sabotage job,” Grey said. “That’s not within the realm of our responsibilities.” “I want to know about this body sculpture they left for you,” Jonas said. “That’s, uh… that’s not good, is it?” Eric shifted, a troubled expression on his face. “It’s hard to say. On the one hand, they must think I’m still working for them and am going to deliver a report. On the other hand... “ “Let me guess, they removed the other hand?” Jonas asked. Eric glared at him. “On the other hand, it might mean that they suspect I might defect or even that I’m leaning in that direction.” “Which, to be sure, you are, correct?” “Either way, it means that my position here might be a bit more… precarious than we previously thought,” Eric finished. “Did they give you a deadline or a time limit of any kind?” Grey asked. “We’re trying to work under these constraints, but it’s hard with so many unknown variables.” “It wouldn’t make too much sense to set a deadline, would it?” Lump asked. “I mean, it’s like torturing someone. If you put too much pressure on them, they’ll say whatever you want just to get out.” “Since when did you know so much about torturing people?” Jonas asked, a shocked expression on his face. “Please. Everyone knows that,” she replied. “Wildly concerning knowledge aside, that does make sense,” Grey said. “Otherwise, when you run out of time, you might give them bad info. Okay. So we’ll assume we’ve got time.” “Hang on,” Eric interrupted. “Can we not assume that? Because if we’re wrong, that’s on me.” “It’s on all of us,” Grey responded. “We’re the ones making the decision on whether or not we’ll even let you go.” “And it’s still my family and loved ones that will take the brunt of that. You told me we’d free her, did you not?” “We did,” Grey said patiently. “I’m jumping through your hoops, but I don’t think it’s fair to say we can sit around here and jerk off until one day they come busting through the doors with the bodies of everyone we know and hold dear, because then it’ll be too late and we’ll really regret sitting here today and saying ‘We’ve got time’.” “And we won’t,” Grey said. “Because we don’t have the luxury of time even if we ignore the conditions of your mission. Every day that we waste here is a day that another thousand humans die on the front lines of some pointless conflict for a cause we don’t believe in. Don’t forget that this is bigger than all of us.” Eric sighed. “I know. I know. I just… She’s out there too. She could be one of those thousands on the front lines.” “The rest of the thousands are friends and families of others, too. Including the many we just lost in that… catastrophe.” Grey’s face darkened for a moment. “But as it turns out, your wife isn’t on the front lines.” Eric sat up. “So you do know where she is.” “We don’t lie, Eric. Not when we can help it.” “That’s not reassuring,” Jonas grumbled. “So our next mission is to get Mrs. Eric and bring her to the relative safety of a fledgling rebellion embroiled in a war against a tyrannical empire? Seems like a poor use of military assets, especially if she’s as grumpy as he is. No offense, Eric.” “How could I be offended by that?” Eric asked. “Normally, we wouldn’t bother with a mission like this,” Grey admitted. “But, fortunately, the first stage matches up perfectly with the goals of our allies. You see, she’s slightly back behind the front line of the war in a garrison near Halin-El. They need us to push the line back, maybe even free up the homeworld, at least for a bit. And, while we’re doing that, if we happen to slip behind enemy lines…” “Two birds with one stone. Clever,” Lump said. “Mind you, this isn’t just some lucky coincidence, either,” Grey replied. “Admittedly, it is vaguely a waste of a mission to rescue or recruit one single person, but like it or not, Mrs. Bordeaux has become something of a pivotal figure in this war through no fault of her own.” “Oh, so it’s my fault?” Eric asked. “It’s always your fault,” Jonas answered. “It’s the enemy’s fault,” Grey said. “Sure, you’re the one primarily motivated by a quiet life with your family above the good of the human race, but that’s not supposed to be a species ending flaw.” “It’s not a flaw, to begin with,” Eric said, annoyed. “All I’ve wanted out of life was to retire quietly and be in peace. You know, have a small house, a dog, a garden. Maybe get into woodworking or write a book. Be boring. Not get embroiled in an intergalactic war that revolves around me and my desire to be boring.” “Intra,” Jonas corrected. “What?” “It’s intragalactic.” “What’s the difference?” “Inter- means between two entities. You know, like inter-cloud lightning is between two clouds. Or interstate highways go from state to state. Intra is within the entity. We only have one galaxy, so it’s intragalactic.” The squad stared at Jonas. “Fine, fine. I’ll shut up. Just trying to be specific,” he grumbled. “Regardless,” Grey said, clearing his throat, “as you are potentially in a position to betray our cause on her behalf, it is in fact within our interests to save her.” “And then we’ll be free to live our lives peacefully, is that it? What’s the end game here?” Eric asked. “Do you have one, or are the goalposts going to move after every mission until we’re all dead?” Grey hesitated. “As a matter of fact, that’s… up for debate,” he said weakly. “Some just want a system for humanity near the Federation for us to rebuild peacefully. Others are pushing for freedom of Earth, and others still want to eliminate the Peluthian Empire entirely. Granted, the last group is an extremist vocal minority, but you can imagine how difficult they make arriving at a consensus.” Eric threw his hands in the air and began pacing the room. “Excuses. Always excuses.” ”We’re trying, damn it. No system is perfect, but surely you can see that this is a damn sight better than the other option.” Eric stewed in silence for a moment. “I know you want to live peacefully, but that’s just not a possibility at this point. Have some empathy, for Christ’s sake. We all want to be done with this. Maybe if we can’t, then at least our children can.” Jonas opened his mouth. “I know none of us have kids, you dumbass. It’s an expression.” Jonas’s mouth clapped shut. “And hey, who knows? Maybe reincarnation is real and you’ll get your peaceful life on the next go around. But it’ll take effort to get there,” Grey finished. Eric sighed. “I’m sorry, but you know it’s true. We’re in a whole new world. Nothing comes easy.” “Damn, old man, you running for office?” Lump asked. “With speeches like that, you’ve got my vote.” Grey barked out a laugh. “Please. I’d like to retire some day.” “Not everyone can be Cincinnatus,” Eric said with a hint of bitterness in his voice. “We need to defend Rome to go home to the farm first.” “Or Halin-El, such as the case may be.” “Indeed. And that’ll be a tough nut to crack,” Grey said, leaning back in his chair. “How tough?” Eric asked, all business. The squad leaned forward eagerly. “As hard as any of the planets you occupied in the last two years. I don’t believe they would have put ‘valuable assets’ such as yourself in that invasion, but it was bloody, to say the least. Possibly the greatest victory won by human forces but at the cost of the largest losses.” “But we won’t be attempting anything even close to a frontal assault, will we?” Jonas asked. “No,” Grey said, shaking his head. “Even with our new forces, that would be suicide. No, this time, we’re going to have to be more subtle.” “Infiltration, then? Interesting,” Eric said. “We’ve got two advantages. Our Halinon allies will be able to blend into the civilians and we’ll be able to blend into the occupying forces.” “Not easily, surely. We’d have to find up to date equipment, comms, codes…” Grey grinned. “And there’s the second advantage.” Realization dawned on Lump first. “Sympathetic occupiers.” “Bingo. Any time you’re engaging in guerrilla warfare, you have to have a sympathetic population. It’s how we won the Revolutionary War and effectively got booted from Vietnam. But this time, we’ll also have support from a significant amount of the humans occupying the planet.” “It’s risky,” Eric said. “What if the Halinon mistake us for invaders? What if the other humans turn us in? If our own side’s opinions range from ‘we want a planet’ to ‘kill them all’, how will we ever be able to guess what they’re thinking?” “War is risky, sergeant. That’s just part of it,” Grey said. “You have to bet some money to earn the pot.” “I don’t play poker.” “Clearly you understand the metaphor,” Grey said, irritated. “Look, if you have a better idea, now’s the time. As far as I’m aware, though, Halin-El is the only possible way for us to get you near your wife. I suppose if you’re feeling ambitious, you can go around, but…” “Space is big, I know,” Eric sighed. “Fine. I still want an endpoint. When do I get to leave?” “You really want out? You really don’t care about the rest of humanity or their lives or happiness?” Lump asked. “What about us? You’re just going to leave us to deal with the war?” “The Federation should be dealing with the war, not us. We’re just… apes, apes who got a sense of self-importance and learned to throw sticks fast,” Eric said. “What business do we have fiddling in a war like this?” “Wax philosophical all you want, it doesn’t change where we are,” Jonas said. “The way I see it, there are two ways out of this that end well for humanity,” Grey said. “The first is that you go triple agent, feed false information about the rebellion back to your old masters, and maybe one day they’ll let you go or we’ll win.” “And the other?” Eric asked. “You die.” “Cheery.” “Fake your death, I mean,” Grey said. “Although some consider death the final release.” “They won’t fall for that unless they see my dead body,” Eric said. “Unless they trust that I vanished in a massive space explosion, but that feels risky.” “It is,” Grey said. “So is triple agent status. Like I said--” “War is risk. Damn it all.” “Pretty much,” Grey agreed. “But, like most of our discussions, it’s pointless without your wife safely in our hands.” Eric felt his teeth grinding together. “Fine,” he said. “Halin-El. How do we get there? Even the Peluthians won’t be so stupid as to accept it blindly when a ship full of humans in outdated equipment lands on the surface of the planet and acts like they’ve been there all along.” “Smugglers,” Jonas said. “Right? That has to be where this is headed.” “That’s what we’re thinking,” Grey said. “Granted, there are many, many logistics that need to be dealt with. This isn’t a full invasion per se, at least not yet, but we will need a sizeable force on-planet.” “How sizeable?” Eric asked. “That depends, of course,” Grey replied. “We’ll need enough to make an impact. Thousands, to be sure. The question is how many will join us.” “We’re going to try to convert human forces on planet?” Lump asked. “How many jobs are we going to have, exactly?” “As many as it takes,” Grey said. “This isn’t a normal mission with goals, parameters, planning, and all that. This is just… war.” “War,” Eric repeated. “What have we been doing up until this point, then?” “This time, you’ll be running the war.” “Me?” “You.” “Him?” Jonas asked. “You’re being smuggled onto a blockaded planet. You can be assured that whatever comm protocols they’re using, they’re better than what we have,” Grey said. “So it’s a comms blackout once we land?” Eric asked. “Most likely,” Grey confirmed. “You’ll be able to send and receive messages via the smugglers, but that’s barely worth considering. Those will be emergency updates at best.” “You realize you’re effectively promoting me to some sort of field general,” Eric said. “I don’t even want to be in this war, let alone run it.” “Look, to be honest, you’re the most expendable officer we’ve got that we still trust to run such an operation.” “I’m no leader,” Eric protested. “Oh, so we’re just ignoring the expendable part?” Jonas muttered. “Are we also expendable?” “That’s not the only part,” Lump realized. “He’s not just expendable.” Grey winced. “Lump, please--” “You want him to die.” Eric stared at Grey. “What?” Lump stood. “If you die, their problems are solved. There’s no threat against untold millions if you’re not alive. That was the promise.” Jonas leaned back. “Shit. You’re crazy.” “Look, it’s not me. I told them you’d figure this out,” Grey said. “That’s really the plan?” Eric asked. “It’s a… consideration, to be sure. Not primary, not secondary, hardly even tertiary.” “Quaternary?” Jonas asked. “No wonder you’re pressuring me into this plan so hard,” Eric said. “It really is your best option, Eric,” Grey said. “Trust me. The idea that you might die is nothing more than an afterthought that one of the warhawks brought up at the end of the tactics meeting.” “Is it really?” Lump demanded, still standing. “Because as leader of an insurgent force, I imagine he’s the biggest target for the Halinon.” “Not if they think he’s in their pocket,” Grey countered. “If they know that they’re supposed to think that. Do you think the rank and file will recognize him as an ultra-deep cover agent?” “We are the rank and file, our brothers and sisters and friends. They won’t shoot a human for no reason.” Lump barked out a laugh. “What kind of humans do you know?” “Times have changed. When are you all going to learn that?” Grey said, now rising to his feet. “Suddenly we’re ‘you all’?” Jonas asked, leaning forward. His brow furrowed. “We’re supposed to be allies. Friends. Especially you lot. You started this whole thing together, didn’t you?” “Apparently things have changed,” Lump said bitterly. “We’re as disposable to you as we are to the Peluthians.” “I’ll do it,” Eric said quietly. “And for that matter, when do we get to end this?” Jonas asked. “We’ve been playing along, but maybe we don’t want to be in this war either. I know Eric is important and all, but--” “None of us get to go home right now! Not until there is a home to go to!” Grey said. “Why don’t we just get some smugglers to take us back to Earth, huh?” Jonas asked. “What’s the difference? Do we really have a choice here?” Grey snorted. "So what, you think it's better on Earth? You think they're not living in hell, each of them praying that their loved ones come home? You think they're not being worked to the bone so the military can squeeze every last drop of production out of them?" "Better than nearly dying every day, isn't it? At least the aliens were honest with us! If you think--" "I'll do it!" Eric yelled. The office fell silent. "Eric, are you serious?" Lump asked. "The one time we go to bat for him," Jonas mused. "He's right, isn't he?" Eric asked. "I am a liability. They knew that taking me in, too. They knew the only realistic options would be for me to finish the mission or die." "Eric, it's not like that," Grey protested. "You may not think so, but the rest do, sir," Eric said. "And that's fine. They have lofty ideals. They think a life is worth sacrificing for their cause. Fine. Maybe it is. Maybe that's the easiest way forward." For the second time in as many minutes, the group was silent. "You-- you don't want to die, do you?" Lump asked. "Eric..." Jonas stopped as if choking on his words. "No," Eric sighed. "I don't. But I'm tired. I'm tired of fighting, tired of the war. If this gets our people one step closer to ending it, then maybe someone else gets the life I'll never have." "You still might," Grey said stubbornly. Eric laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. "Sure, old man. Doesn't matter anymore. You've got your insurgent general." He stood, grabbed Grey's hand, and shook it. "And who knows?" he said. "Maybe we'll even win." Next part
State of the Squad - January Transfer Window Lookahead
Hey everyone. Given that it is quite suddenly the end of November and we Evertonians can never truly be content with the players we currently have, I thought I'd write up a brief state of the squad, followed by what we might be able to expect in the January transfer window. First, I'll go through the squad position by position and discuss the players we currently have, as well as what the short term and long term outlook is. Then, I'll briefly highlight some names we could see as outgoings and incomings in January. SQUAD: Goalkeepers:
Jordan Pickford: 10 appearances, 17 goals conceded
Robin Olsen: 1 appearance, 2 goals conceded
Jonas Lossl: N/A
Joao Virginia: 1 appearance, 0 goal conceded
I will begin this section with the one word that can quite entirely encompass our current goalkeeping options: sigh. Coming into the season we had the unproven Joao Virginia and (nonexistent) Jonas Lossl behind the unpredictable Jordan Pickford. After Jordan started the season in … not great form, they obviously felt the need to bring in another proven entity. Once we missed out on top target Sergio Romero, the notably also unpredictable Robin Olsen arrived. Look, none of these options really fill me with confidence. Joao needs a loan and Lossl needs a permanent move. Olsen is a fine backup for now, but if he's still an Everton player at the beginning of next season I will be very disappointed. And while Jordan has not been good this season, he has cleaned up his act in the past few weeks. Lets see if he can string a few good games together. Short term need: Low Long term need: High I just don't see us going for another keeper in January. But next summer, once Olsen's loan ends, we will almost definitely be back in for a keeper. Given that keeper is arguably our weakest position, I would expect some investment in this position. Left backs:
Lucas Digne: 11 appearances, 4 assists
Niels Nkounkou: 4 appearance, 1 assist
This position got a lot more complicated recently when it was revealed that Digne would miss 2 months with an ankle ligament injury. Quite simply, the Frenchman is irreplaceable and is one of the best (read: the best) leftbacks in the league. That being said, Everton do find themselves in the slightly unusual position of actually having a decent backup at a position of need. Young Niels Nkounkou has looked really good in his League Cup appearances. And while he struggled in his one PL game against Newcastle, everyone was fairly poor that day. Given how hectic the festive period is this season, it would be crazy to expect Nkounkou to play every minute of every game. Luckily (and don't hate me for this), perennially injured and not-very-good-football-player Fabian Delph does have experience at leftback. He's not the sexiest (in any way), but as a pure stop gap he'd probably be better than a traffic cone (but only marginally). Short term need: Medium Long term need: Medium Unless there just happens to be a quality veteran or decent youngster available in January, I don't see us buying or loaning a new leftback, especially since that will be right around the time Lucas is scheduled to return. However the summer is a totally different prospect. Given that Digne is 27 and one of the best LBs in the league, another season without European football may be too much for Lucas to bear. As with a few of our other players, we may have to cash in on Digne this summer unless we can reach Europa league at the least. Right backs:
Seamus Coleman: 6 appearances, 1 assist
Jonjoe Kenny: 1 appearance
Ben Godfrey (also at CB): 3 appearances
If you had come to me on May 11, 2016, which was Roberto Martinez's last game in charge of Everton (an Everton-like capitulation to Sunderland 3-0), and told me that in more than four years Seamus Coleman would still be Everton's best right back, I probably wouldn't have believed you. It's honestly a statement about his tremendous ability to keep putting in quality performances, even after his terrible leg break. The flip side of that is that we are still relying on the rapidly aging Irishman, especially in a season where players are dropping left and right with injuries. Meanwhile, Jonjoe Kenny has never seemed to look comfortable in an Everton shirt, which is odd considering it is the same shade of blue as Schalke's where he had a very successful loan. After Coleman predictably got injured, Carlo has tried various fill-ins such as Kenny, the natural centerback Ben Godfrey, and even Alex Iwobi at RWB. None of these particularly fill me with excitement, but are at least options. Short term need: Low Long term need: High Given that we have 2 natural right backs in the squad and 2 young CBs that can and have filled in there (Holgate and Godfrey), I don't see Brands pursuing a deal here in January. We just have too many options to warrant it. But in the summer we will definitely need to be looking for a new first choice RB. We all love Coleman, but a genuine option to challenge him would be best for the team. Unless Kenny suddenly becomes a good PL player, I can see him getting a permanent move in the summer. And obviously neither Holgate or Godfrey have a long term future at right back. Center backs:
Michael Keane: 9 appearances, 3 goals, 2 clean sheets
Yerry Mina: 8 appearances, 1 clean sheet
Ben Godfrey: 3 appearances
Mason Holgate: 1 appearance
Jarrad Branthwaite: 1 appearance (subbed off with injury)
It seems that every time I think about the needs Everton have, center back is always near the top of the list. And as weird as it may seem to say about a group that has only kept one clean sheet in the league this season, I actually think we are pretty set at this position. In Holgate, Godfrey, and Branthwaite, we have 3 quality, young options at the back. And given that Michael Keane is only 27, Everton should be set for at least this season. I would expect Branthwaite to leave on loan in January (more later) and Mina to leave permanently in the next few windows, at least once it becomes clear that Holgate is much preferred to him. Short term need: Low Long term need: Low All of these guys are 27 or younger, with Holgate, Godfrey, and Branthwaite all being younger than 25. We even have the very promising Lewis Gibson on loan at Reading. It would be very disappointing if we had to invest in another CB in the next few windows. Center midfield:
What a summer this was for our central midfield. In the post lockdown games at the end of last season it was frighteningly clear that an upgrade at this position was needed. And Marcel and Carlo delivered. Getting the Brazilian energizer bunny Allan and rock solid Abdoulaye Doucoure has significantly boosted our midfield. But after those two, the options start to look a little thin. Gylfi's struggles have been well documented. Andre Gomes hasn't looked the same since his leg break. Tom Davies alternates between decent player and fashion (dumpster fire) icon, which would be fine if he could not switch between the two on the field. Fabian Delph looks less Gareth Barry and more future West Ham player. And will someone start wrapping Gbamin's legs in bubble wrap? I hear he's thinking about playing again soon. I've also included the oft-mistaken-for-a-10-year-old Bernard in this section, given his electric showing at CM in the League Cup. I personally think it's his best position. Short term need: Low Long term need: Medium The reality is that this is a long, albeit unsatisfying list. I don't see us significantly investing in this position soon, given how last summer went down. With Gbamin coming back in the next few weeks (and hopefully actually being able to play a few games), this should be a solid midfield group. I'd look for Gylfi and Delph to move on this summer if possible, and maybe also Bernard. How we replace them is a whole different essay, but let's hope Marcel can score on some young talent like he did with Branthwaite and Nkounkou. Outside midfield/Winger:
Alex Iwobi: 10 appearances, 1 goal, 2 assists
James Rodriguez: 9 appearances, 3 goals, 4 assists
Richarlison: 8 appearances, 4 goals, 2 assists
Bernard (again): 5 appearances, 2 goals, 1 assistl
Anthony Gordon: 3 appearances, 2 assists
I'm going to preface this section with a disclaimer: I love James Rodriguez. His pure technical ability, creativity, and drop dead beauty are things I'm thoroughly confused by seeing in an Everton shirt, and make me feel conflicted about a great many things. With that said, please don't be too harsh on me for the things I say about him below. As with our central midfield options, there is definitely a top tier to our winger options. Richarlison and James have a genuine shout at being a top winger combo in the league. After that though, it gets a bit dicey. Iwobi is … alright? Not a 35 million pound player, but a solid squad option I guess. And Bernard has a moment of magic in him, the problem is the other 89 minutes and 59 seconds of the match. Poor Anthony Gordon has to be wondering what it will take for him to play a few games. Look, our winger problems were highlighted by Richarlison's recent 3 game suspension, when we picked up a whopping 0 points. And it illustrates our James problem. He is an incredible talent for sure, but he won't win a game alone. I would argue he has been pretty anonymous since the Brighton game, when he had 2 goals. Now, there are a number of contributing factors: injuries and international games come to mind. But the fact is after a great start he's been fairly invisible on the pitch, which is not what we need from our Colombian icon. The reality is we need a different option here. If Richarlison isn't available, we suddenly look really weak at winger. And if Carlo isn't going to play Gordon, he desperately needs a loan. Short term need: Medium Long term need: High A January loan move to Gordon seems on the cards. A Championship move or relegation candidate like Fulham or West Brom would be my preferred destinations for him. Additionally, we should look for some speed we can bring in to help ourselves. Dan James from United has been mentioned, and would certainly be interesting. After January, this is definitely a position that needs upgrading. As with Digne, a lack of European competition could cause us to lose Richarlison (and maybe James?). Winger is a tough position to get at an affordable price, but we will need some investment here soon. Center Forward:
Dominic Calvert-Lewin: 11 appearances, 13 goals
Moise Kean (on loan): 4 appearances, 1 goal
Cenk Tosun: 2 appearances
Who had top PL scorer DCL on their 2020 bingo card? At the beginning of the season I probably would have put 3 Everton players above him in the "most likely to be our top scorer" category. Yet here we are, with arguably one of the best center forwards in the league (read: the world). Someone get started on wrapping him in bubble wrap though, because with Moise Kean on loan at PSG (where he's killing it), we've only got Cenk Tosun as another CF option. We are lucky that Richarlison can play there in a pinch (but then who plays winger?) and Ellis Simms is highly rated from the u-23s. But yet again, we find ourselves with a really good first option, and nothing but questions after that. Short term need: Medium Long term need: Medium It certainly couldn't hurt to look at some forward options in January. Milik from Napoli has been rumored. Moise will return from loan in the summer, but he very well might prefer Paris, and if PSG offer us 50 mil do we say no? And yet again, if we miss out on European football, does DCL want to stay? Do we turn down 90 million? OUTGOINGS: Jonas Lossl: This isn't really anything special, but if we're going to pay him to not play for us, some other team should at least pay half his wages for him to actually make their bench. A permanent move would be great, but honestly I'd take a loan. Sad to think that I thought this was a great move when we signed him. Joao Virginia: The highly rated youngster needs playing time if he is going to come good. A League One or Championship loan would be good, although let's hope it works out better than it did last time. Jarrad Branthwaite: After being forced into the team at the end of last season, I think many of us over reacted to his great performances. He certainly has a high ceiling, but the addition of Ben Godfrey to the team speaks to what Carlo thinks: Jarrad probably isn't ready. Carlo and Brands might decide that consistently training with the first team is the best option for the youngster, and given Mina's injury history it could be a good call. But if he wants consistent play time at the professional level, he's going to need a loan. Jonjoe Kenny: With Seamus injured again, I think Jonjoe leaving is very unlikely. But if Schalke (poor Schalke) make a desperate 15 million pound bid, do we say no? Again, unlikely, but we do have a few other options to cover for Seamus. Money is money. Tom Davies: None of our dead weight midfielders (cough cough Delph Sigurdsson cough cough) are likely to move in January, given how hectic this season is. And truly, I think it is unlikely Tom moves either. In all his performances this season I actually think he's looked decent. Granted, not amazing, but not awful either. But if he can get guaranteed play time at another team, it might be the best move for his career, especially if it's just a loan or we have a buy back clause. Anthony Gordon: What do you think the lad is thinking while he watches Iwobi lose the ball for the umpteenth time? I know he's only 19 years old, but you've got to blood them at some point, right Carlo? If we do have some sort of incoming winger in January, a loan for Gordon is a must. You'd think a Championship team would love to have him, given his dynamic playmaking ability and scoring record. Ellis Simms: I have to preface this by saying that I don't really follow the youth team. So I don't really know how good he is. But he seems to keep scoring. So he's got to be decent, right? He doesn't have a clear path to the first team now, with DCL on fire, good old Cenk as backup, and Richarlison as emergency striker, and is beating up on other u-23 players really doing anything for his development? If he wants to be DCL's backup next year, a half season of first team football would be a nice stepping stone. Yannick Bolaise: Tricky Bolaise's state in the team can be described by the fact that I completely forgot about him, and even when I remembered, I thought about just not including him. Any move would be a win for both him and Everton. INCOMING: Now before anyone roasts me in the comments, I'll say this is all pure guesswork, mostly based on semi-reasonable rumors that have been floating around the past few weeks. Also, I totally expect Everton to do minimal business in January. I doubt many teams will be in a selling mood with how many players are getting injured. With that out of the way: Arkadiusz Milik: Quite predictably, last summer we were linked with every Napoli player under the sun, given that it is Carlo Ancelotti's old club. We ended up only buying Allan, but that hasn't stopped the links with the disgruntled Milik, whose contract ends after this season. At 26, he is a relatively young and proven goalscorer, and would be a quality backup for DCL. The question is whether he would be content with a backup role. I don't think this happens in January, but is more likely in the summer. With Moise enjoying not being at Everton and Cenk not a reliable backup, Milik could be the perfect player to replace DCL in potential cup and european games (if we get there). Getting him on a free would also be good business. If we end up losing DCL, then Milik is a like-for-like replacement (with a lower ceiling) with no transfer fee, which again, would be good business. Daniel James: The lightning fast United winger has only made 6 appearances this season, with Mason Greenwood and Marcus Rashford preferred on the wings. As with the Sergio Romero fiasco, I doubt United would want to strengthen us, particularly at a position we are quite weak, but this move makes so much sense for Everton even if it is just a loan. Outside of Richarlison (and Gordon, but he never plays) we lack speed on the wings. James would give us another outlet on either side of the field, and could push James (Rodriguez) to the center or just replace him for the odd game. Again, this might also have to wait until the summer, particularly if United are trying to raise funds to go after Sancho again. Dele Alli: Please no. This reeks of lazy journalism, linking a out-of-favor player from the "top 6" with Everton. But at the same time it would be so Everton to actually do this. Please no. Harry Winks: I'm not exactly sure where this link has come from, considering Winks has played a fair amount for Tottenham under Mourinho. I personally don't think he really fills a position of need, and would be overpriced for what he would offer. Leon Bailey: I'll admit, this is just a personal desire. The left footed Leverkusen winger was seemingly out of favor at the end of last season, and was linked with Everton a few times. He certainly fills a need (pacy, left-footed, winger), and would be an upgrade on Iwobi or Bernard in my opinion. The reality is he seems to have regained his spot in the Leverkusen team, playing 63% of minutes with 5 goals and 4 assists across the Bundesliga and Europa League. I doubt they would agree to any January move, but we might be able to entice them this summer, particularly if we get CL/EL. Sami Khedira The out-of-favor midfielder hasn't played for Juventus yet this season and has been linked with a host of Premier League clubs. Ancelotti has history with Khedira from Real Madrid, and his resume speaks for itself. He would likely slot in with Allan and Doucoure in midfield, pushing Sigurdsson and Gomes to the bench. I personally am skeptical. Another hyped veteran coming to the Premier League? The last thing Everton need is another midfielder who can't really run. This would also likely push Tom Davies out, either on loan or permanently. Again, I think Tom's been fine this season, but others may rejoice at this. However, Khedira would most likely be an upgrade on Sigurdsson and Gomes, or at least allow us to rotate our midfield more often. Alright, that's all I've got. Feel free to roast me below, or just comment what business you would like to see Everton do in January.
“A fortune in fabulous prizes may go to these people today....
“A fortune in fabulous prizes may go to these people today, if they know when The Price Is Right!” Dah-dah-dah-dah. Dah-dah-dah-dah… I catch myself humming the theme song. I’m such a grandma knitting along to late night gameshow re-runs. But Bob Barker’s good company when you're in the middle of nowhere babysitting. The silence out here is disturbing. “Rachel Donaldson, come on dowwwn! Yooou’re the next contestant on ThePrice Is Right!” I glance up at the TV. Rachel’s jumping and squealing and throwing her hands in the air. I bet she’ll win a new car. God, it’s taking me forever to save for mine. I can hear my mom’s voice in my head: “You need to learn the true value of a dollar.” The only handout that woman gives is unwanted advice. I set down my knitting needles to stretch my fingers. I have to finish one cat fedora, three dog bandanas and a guinea pig sweater by next Friday. My Etsy shoppers seem to love this stuff (not sure about their pets). But even still, I’d have to sell a million Chihuahua beanies to afford a car. On screen, Rachel Donaldson’s bidding $1 on a 6-person hot tub. Hmm, seems risky to me. But as mom likes to say, “You have to take risks to get ahead.” “Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!” And once again mom’s right (boo). Rachel’s gamble paid off. She's through to the next round. Her family goes ballistic in the audience, screaming so loud it’s going to blow out the Richardson’s fancy surround sound. Shit, I should turn the TV down. If I wake up the kids now, I’ll never get them back to sleep. And cranky kids means cranky parents. I need to keep this gig. Turns out babysitting pays way more than my animal couture line. And Tatiana and Julian are pretty easy to watch . Though tonight they seemed in a funk. Barely spoke. Maybe they decided they don't like me. I stare down at five remotes sitting next to a fat ‘Entertainment Center’ instruction packet. Seriously? I try the volume button and nothing happens. I hit ‘power’. Still no go. Maybe the 'mute' button? It oddly does the trick. Rachel Donaldson is now noiselessly celebrating, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, as a plastic Plinko disc lands on a $5,000 payout. Ahoooga! Ahoooga! The noise makes me jump. For a split second I think it's coming from the TV. But, no, the volume’s still muted. Ahoooga! Ahoooga! It’s outside. Some kind of… honking? I picture a tiny car full of murderous clowns flashing chainsaws and uzis (too many B horror movies with my brother). The Richardson’s neighbors are at least a quarter-mile away, so if I screamed for help, no one would hear. I creep toward the window, a little freaked out. But let’s be real, what blood-thirsty murderer would announce themself with a cartoon horn? I peer through a crack in the blinds, not wanting whoever it is to see me. It’s dark out, but I spot an old, boxy RV parked on the single-lane country road at the end of the Richardson’s drive. Its brights are on, giving the vehicle a visible aura, as if having landed from outer space. The passenger door is thrown open. I squint and make out a hunched over figure in the driver’s seat hitting the horn. Ahoooga! The side door of the RV is open too. Framed inside is the teapot silhouette of a women with big hair piled on top of her head. Hands on her hips, she yells at the figure in the front seat. Probably her husband. He hits the horn again. This is annoying. They're gonna wake the kids. I should go out there and tell them to stop. Out on the porch I stop a sec. I hate confrontation. But they seem harmless… Definitely not murderous clowns. Just some old timers who probably lost their way on these crazy ass backroads. There are at least three streets with “Pine” in the name around here. Even confuses me. I decide to be a Good Samaritan and take a few steps down the drive, not wanting to shout too close to the house. “Everything okay?” I holler out to the couple. Startled, the woman puts her hand to her heart. “Oh, honey. Didn’t see ya there.” “Sorry,” I apologize. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” “Oh it’s okay. I’m an old fraidy cat.” The woman remains in silhouette. Just a voice in the dark. “Hate to interrupt your evening. But you see, we’re in a bit of a pickle. I was having Dennis here… wave, Dennis, to the little girl…” The man in the front seat nods at me. I wince at her use of the word “little.” I may be small for my age, but I’m not a little girl. The woman rambles on, “I was having him honk the horn to see if anyone was home. Didn’t want to trespass on this fine property. You never know who’s locked and loaded these days. I’m scared of dogs, too, if I’m honest. Been bit more than once and let me tell you, the bite is worse than the bark.” The woman laughs, and I join her. I’m used to laughing at adults’ dumb jokes. “Are you lost?” I ask. “I can point you to the highway.” The woman flips on a bug light rigged to the RV and steps down into the neon blue glow. I can see her face now. Makeup caked on. The shadows from her fake lashes like spiders on her cheeks. She’s older. Maybe gram’s age. With dangling turquoise earrings. “Damn mosquitoes. Nearly sucking me dry.” The woman swats at her neck and checks her palm. “Ooh, got ‘em!” She wipes the guts on her pants. “I’m Marianne by the way. And no, hon, we’re not lost. Not in the literal sense anyway. We’d pulled off a few hours ago to catch a little shuteye, get a little beauty sleep. Dennis set an alarm on his phone, but the bugger ran out of juice. Turns out we no longer have a charger because my hubby here,” Marianne slams her palm on the RV, “let a pretty girl at the last RV park borrow it and never asked for it back! Worse yet, because we overslept, we’re now in danger of losing our spot at tonight’s park.” Now I’m wishing I’d stayed inside. “So you see, I desperately need to call ahead to let them know we’re only a couple hours away but have no working phone. You get where I’m going with this, darling?” I do. But no way am I letting a stranger use my phone. “I know what you’re thinking,” she says, wagging her finger. “You don’t want a stranger fiddling with your phone. So what if I sweeten the deal? Would five dollars help? It’s one measly phone call. Dennis!” she shouts, without letting me answer. “Bring me the can!” I watch Dennis reach between the front seats and grab a red Folgers coffee can. He holds it out the passenger window, giving the can a shake. I can hear coins jangling. And it reminds me of my gram hiding “emergency money” in an old ice cream carton in the freezer. Marianne huffs and shuffles over to her husband. “Thanks for the effort, dear. Always making me come to you,” she barks. “I’ll remember this when someone wants their back scratched tonight.” She snatches the can and pops the top. Crumpled cash falling out as she digs around inside. She chooses a bill and holds it out to me, like offering a treat to a feral cat. I think on it. Five bucks could buy me a couple skeins of yarn. That’s about three dog sweaters at fifteen dollars a pop. So forty bucks profit, all from a harmless phone call which costs me nothing. “Sure,” I finally reply, handing her my phone… and hope I don't regret it. “I didn’t catch your name honey,” Marianne says, while slipping me the wrinkly five-dollar bill. “Delphine,” I answer, then realize I could’ve said any name. Jessica or Sasha or Princess Buttercup. But what’s it matter? They’ll be gone soon. Marianne disappears with my phone into the RV. They better not take off with it. I listen close and can hear bits and pieces of her conversation with the RV park. It doesn’t sound good. Antsy, I check out Dennis still in the driver’s seat. He’s wearing a fishing vest over his t-shirt, its zillion pockets bulging with who knows what. He dips into one and pulls out a small black comb, running it through his patchy grey hair. “Where you guys from?” I ask, trying to fill the awkward silence. Instead of answering, he leans forward and pulls a Red Vine out of a giant plastic container on the dash, offering it to me. I shake my head ‘no’. Never take candy from a stranger. “Here and there,” he finally replies, before taking a bite of his Red Vine. Smacking as he chews. “Don’t tease the girl, Dennis,” Marianne scolds, stepping out with my phone. “We’re from a one-horse town in Arizona. Retired this last year after working our fingers to the bone our whole lives. Then set out to travel this great country in old Shitbird here… if you’ll excuse my French. But she’s a real piece of work. Prone to flat tires and flattening squirrels.” I scan the RV. ‘Shitbird’ sums it up. The outside’s caked in bugs and dust. The passenger mirror is duct taped together. And there’s a dent in the bumper suspiciously shaped like a deer. Marianne catches me staring. “I know, I know. She's a little worse for wear. You know the saying, some things are like a fine wine, they get better over time? Well that ain’t her.” She laughs, and this time I don’t laugh with her. I’m ready for them to be gone. “Anyway, we’re doing the festival circuit and have come here for your famous Apple Jubilee. I’m sure you know it well.” I nod, the mention making me cringe. An apple-eating duck nearly took my finger off one year at that kiddie fest. I refuse to go back, even for the deep-fried apple turnovers. Marianne hands me my phone. The cover is smudged from oily fingers and smells of cheap rose perfume. Grrrrross. “Well I better head back inside,” I tell her. “Good luck with the rest of your trip.” I turn to go. “We could use a pinch of luck, that’s for darn tootin’,” Marianne sighs. “Looks like they gave away our spot.” I hold my breath, waiting for the next favor. “You don’t suppose we could stay parked here for a short while? Just until we figure out what to do.” Marianne fusses with her hair, as the blue bug light zaps its first victim. “Would hate to waste gas driving around in circles.” I’m not sure what to do. It’s not my dream to have them parked here. But can I force them to leave? They’re on a public road. “Yeah. I guess that's fine.” Before Marianne can say anymore, I hurry inside and lock the door. Peeking through the blinds, I watch Dennis shove an armful of stuffed plastic grocery bags into the Richardson’s garbage bin. He makes three of these trips, struggling to pound the last few bags in. Finally, he slams the lid shut, giving the can a good kick, having won the battle. If I was braver, I’d tell them this wasn’t the county dump. Instead, I check on the kids. Their rooms are quiet and dark. Good, still comatose. It took forever to get Julian to sleep. He kept crying and saying his parents weren’t coming back. Poor little dude. As I leave Tatiana's room, I notice a new pair of ice skates hanging on the back of her door. These kids want something, they get it. “Watch out!” a voice echoes through the house. I freeze. My heart pounding. “… You’re close to losing it all, if you can’t guess the price of this gold-plated Timex wristwatch!” Duh, idiot. It’s only Bob Barker… But didn't I mute that guy? I hurry into the living room, half expecting to find Marianne there, eating Red Vines on the couch and swatting mosquitos. “Put your thinking cap on, Tony. You’re playing for a new car,” Bob continues. Of course the living room’s empty. I mute the TV again, still unable to figure out how to turn it off. I grab my knitting – and the hairs on my neck stand up. My Spidey sense tells me I’m being watched. And sure enough, I spin around to find Mr. Richardson’s face glaring over me. I stare back at him, only a picture on the wall. Mrs. Richardson stands by her husband in the photo holding a picnic basket. Her hair in a smooth, shiny bob. Julian and Tatiana hold hands amongst a carpet of yellow and red autumn leaves. The kids are grinning ear to ear, but you can tell they’re uncomfortable in the old timey clothes they’ve been forced to wear. I laugh (the kids’ holiday elf costumes were even worse), but notice something odd about the picture. Mr. R’s gone grey. I thought his hair was dark brown but dude must dye it. Even stranger, his eyes are two different colors, one blue, one brown. Which I know isn’t right… Knock-knock-knock. I drop the remote. Del – stop being so jumpy. I walk to the front door and peer through the peephole. It's Marianne and her red beehive hair. If I ignore her, maybe she’ll go away. I hold statue-still, trying not to make any noise. “I can hear you breathing behind there, Delphine,” she says in a singsong voice, bringing goosebumps to my arms. “Don’t be frightened. It’s me. Marianne.” Ugh, there’s no avoiding this woman. I crack open the door knowing the screen’s latched, creating a barrier between us. “There you go. Better to talk face-to-face. I promise not to bite.” She lets out a dry, crackly laugh. “I do hate to bother you again, but Dennis has outdone himself this time. Spilled my last bottle of cooking oil all over the Shitbird’s carpet right before I was about to cook him up a plate of Salisbury steak.” I give a blank stare, wondering if she’s for real right now. They’re cooking dinner?! They should be cooking up a plan of where to sleep tonight. I picture a greasy stovetop and the smell of burning meat and gravy filling the RV. Marianne inches close to the screen, the tip of her nose grazing it. The heat of her breath assaults me. I take a step back, as she goes on, “I wouldn’t ask to borrow from a complete stranger unless I was desperate. Dennis is lousy with diabetes, god bless him, from all that pop he drank to stay awake on nightshifts. If I don’t feed the man in the next few minutes, he’s bound to slip into a capital ‘C’ coma.” I flash to the Richardson’s coming home to an ambulance in their driveway. They’d have a heart attack no doubt, afraid one of the kids was hurt. I’d never be asked back to babysit. Maybe they'd tell the whole town, and my other families would ban me too. “I want to help…" I start. “But it’s not my house. It doesn’t seem right to take without asking.” Marianne nods. “I understand. One-hundred percent. But trust me, no one’s gonna miss a tablespoon of olive oil.” Marianne studies my face. I think she can sense my hesitation. “What about this? I’ll give you ten dollars for it. The oil’s only worth a handful of cents. It’s a heck of a deal. And I bet a young girl like you is saving up for something special. A new dress, perhaps, or a nice pair of earrings…” I glance down at my ripped jeans and baggy hoodie. Is she throwing shade? “Well… whad’ya say?” She holds out her hand to shake on it. Her fingers are full of rings. Costume jewelry, I bet. “Okay,” I answer, leaving her hand hanging. If mom was here she’d say “never trust free money”. But what harm’s a little extra cash? I keep the screen door locked and head into the Richardson’s kitchen. The pantry is as organized as a supermarket shelf. Tidy rows of healthy kids snacks, protein bars and canisters of dried beans arranged by color. Totally OCD. On the back shelf I spy a row of oils – avocado, sesame, vegetable, walnut and a green one called grapeseed. No olive oil anywhere. Maybe I should give this nutter the cheap stuff and call it a day. “You alright, darlin’?” Marianne hollers through the screen. She rattles the door, trying to open it. “Unlatch this darn thingamajig, and I can come help ya.” I ignore her and grab the vegetable oil, since its plastic bottle looks the least expensive. I pour a large spoonful in a Dixie cup, doubting she’ll even know the difference. Back at the door, Marianne takes the oil and sniffs it. For a second, I worry I’ve been caught. But she smiles, lifts her shirt (umm, is she gonna flash me?) and unzips a nude colored, sweat-stained money belt. I try not to make a face as she hands me a limp ten dollar bill. The money’s warm and moist. But hey, money’s money. “Pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Delphine,” Marianne says, zipping the money belt closed and tucking in her purple bedazzled blouse. “Could I interest you in a plate? My kids used to say my Salisbury steak is the best on the block. Course, they’re all grown now. Don’t need me… Except when they need help paying their rent, that is.” She’s silent for a moment. Sad maybe. “Would make me mighty happy to feed you,” she adds, eager. “No thanks, ma’am. I already ate.” Not trying to hurt her feelings, but no way am I eating a plate of her Salisbury steak. Marianne frowns. “Your loss then,” she huffs, turning on her heels and strutting back to the RV. I swear I see her toss the oil into a bush. But it’s hard to make out much in the dark. I curl up on the couch and get back to my Chihuahua beanie. The Price Is Right cuts to an ad for our local car dealership. The TV’s still on mute, but I can hear the jingle in my head: “Don’t waste your time going online. Come see Gervis for customer service…” The owner, Gervis McNally, rides a horse past the small electric car I’m saving for. I picture no longer taking the bus to school in the mornings or relying on my parents for rides everywhere. I could grab a peppermint mocha with double whip whenever I want. Purrrre freedom. Bob Barker’s back now greeting a new contestant on stage. I dig into my backpack for a skein of yellow yarn, when the damn TV unmutes again. Did I sit on the remote? I reach under me to check, when Bob turns to camera. “Check the kid’s bedroom, Delphine.” My heart stops. Bob Barker’s talking to me. “Because you’re about to win a 4-piece children’s bedroom set,” Bob exclaims, as the show’s snappy music fires up. I laugh, relieved. Hello, I’m not the only Delphine in the world. I find the remote tucked between the couch cushions and mute the set again. It sounds nuts, but I can’t shake the idea Bob was talking to me. Maybe I should go check on the kids. Doesn’t hurt. I peek in on Tatiana first. Even though she’s seven-going-on-thirty and mouthy as my cousin Sheila, she’s sleeping like a baby with her thumb in her mouth. I sneak into Julian’s room next and am hit with a gust of chilly air. His race car curtains rise and fall, as though breathing. I swear the window wasn’t open when I tucked him in. Right? I creep across the wood floor, trying not to step on the ruins of a Lego castle. I reach to close the window, and then I see it. A large shadow moving along the grass in the backyard. Something's out there. It feels like I'm sinking into the carpet. Totally spooked. I hear Julian stir and know I’ve got to check it out. I’m in charge of these kids after all. One step at a time, Del. Go to the kitchen. Flip on the back porch light. And have a look. I make my way there and peer through the sliding glass door. The backyard is empty. Thank god. Maybe it was a deer. Or a coyote. Or a freakin' tree blowing in the wind… I should make a cup of cocoa and chill the hell out. I grab the kettle from the stove, then freeze. There’s a noise behind me. On the back porch. I don’t want to turn around. Because the sliding doors are shaking. As if a burglar’s trying to break in. A scream rises in my throat. “Delphiiiinnneee.” Marianne’s voice is both welcome and disturbing. “I tried the front door, but you must have cotton stuck in your ears.” She taps on the slider like a woodpecker, over and over. “Delphine? Delphine! I’m lookin’ right at you. Turn around.” My body tenses, and I spin around to face her. Through the glass, I see the expression on Marianne’s face. She’s almost… angry. Or at least irritated. Her smile stretched too wide, reminding me of a patient in a dentist’s chair with their mouth clamped open. I try to be civil. “I don’t know if you should be back there,” I tell her. “The kids’ parents will be home any minute.” “The Richardsons?” Marianne asks, as if they’re old friends. “You don’t gotta worry your pretty little head about them.” It creeps me out she knows their name. But then I remember the red hand-painted “Richardson Family” on the mailbox. Even then, my gut’s telling me something’s not right with these two. I’d call the sheriff, but I’m the one who said they could stay. It’s like with vampires – let them in, and you’re gonna get bitten. “I think you should go,” I say, my tone more forceful. Marianne puts her hands on her hips. “Trust me, hon. We want to get out of your hair. In fact, we were about to take off when Shitbird overheated somethin’ awful. Like a case of herpes, this keeps cropping up at the most inopportune times. All we need is a splash of water to cool the engine off.” I can tell she’s gearing for another ridiculous ask. “I peeped a hose out front. Mind if we use it? I’ve already slipped fifteen dollars under the front door for your troubles. To help pad that nest egg of yours.” She winks at me through the glass, and I feel I’m making a deal with the devil. But again, I do need the cash. The couple’s a bit strange, but I'm probably overreacting. Babysitting paranoia. “Go ahead,” I tell them. “Eureka.” Marianne claps her hands together. “You’re an absolute doll. But there is one other thing…” Of course there is. “Your hose, what is it? A 25-footer? That ain’t gonna reach our engine. I’m sure you won’t mind if we pull into the driveway?” Actually I do mind. “Well--” “We’ll be done in a jiffy,” she interrupts before I can protest. “Scouts honor.” And she’s gone. Moving faster than seems possible for a lady her age. Although, maybe she’s one of those Zumba enthusiasts you see at the community center, like my great Aunt Bertie. Through the living room blinds, I watch the RV roll up the Richardson’s gravel driveway, its flabby wheels kicking up rocks. The brakes squeal to a stop. And soon I hear the low rumble of water moving through the pipes in the walls with each turn of the garden spigot. As my eyes follow the water’s path through the house, I glance again at the Richardson’s silly family portrait. Huh. Were Mrs. R’s fingers always covered in all those rings? Doesn’t really seem her style. My mind goes to Marianne’s costume jewelry crusted fingers. The resemblance gives me the chills. I notice, too, for the first time the way Mr. R clutches his kids’ shoulders. His grip too tight. “Jesus H, Dennis, watch where you’re pointing that snake! You’re gonna get me all wet,” I hear Marianne yell from outside, followed by her crackly laugh. Through the blinds, I see the Shitbird with its hood propped open. Dennis cools off the RV’s engine with the Richardson’s green garden hose. I can’t spot Marianne and wonder if she's snooping around the backyard again. But then there she is, exiting the RV with a large cardboard box. She drops the box with a thud and clutches her back. I swear I can hear the cracking of her spine from here. I try to make out what’s written on the box. R-I-C-H… But I can’t read the rest. Did they steal a package from the Richardsons? I have a sudden terrible itch on my back but can’t seem to reach it. I think of using my knitting needles. That would do it. But I don't dare walk away from the window. “Pretty yourself while you’re at it, old man,” Marianne orders Dennis. “You smell of liver and onions. We gotta look presentable. Make a good impression.” She throws him a rag, and I watch him bend over, spraying the hose into his limp greying hair. He straightens, shakes his head and slicks his wet hair back with his pocket comb. I turn my focus to Marianne. She's checking herself out in the RV’s duct taped side mirror, picking Salisbury gristle from her teeth with a utility knife. Like some sort of thug. She applies a good five coats of fuchsia lipstick and puckers her lips. It's as if they're getting ready for something. Maybe it's Bingo night at the RV park. The blue bug zapper flickers. The itch on my back is screaming now. I’m about to go grab those needles, when Marianne plucks her red beehive hairdo right off her head. I’m shocked to see her bald underneath. The skin loose and blue in the light. Dennis hands her a new wig. She carefully puts on the shiny brown bob and smiles at her reflection in the side mirror, “Well aren't you a sight to see.” She tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “Come on, Dennis, it's time." I clutch at my back. My skin is burning. As though being bitten by a million red fire ants. I grab the blinds, ripping a hole in them, as my knees nearly give out. And all at once, two heads snap toward me in eerie unison, like a pair of junkyard dogs. Marianne and Dennis are watching me. I have a very bad feeling. I run from the window to call mom. She’ll know what to do. And then I see it. Under recent calls. The last person dialed was dad - not a random RV park. Marianne lied to me. Her whole conversation was fake. Holy crap. What are they going to do to us? Panicking, I hit the emergency button, but nothing happens. Instead, a text pops up from an unknown number: “DON’T BE SCARED HONEY. WE’VE GOT MORE MONEY.” Knock-knock-knock. They’re at the door. I go stiff. “Let us in, darling,” Marianne coos. “We ain’t gonna hurt you. We’re here to relieve you.” Her voice through the door sounds different. Not just muffled. But higher pitched. Almost breaking. “Come on down!” the TV blares out. “You’re the next contestant on The Price Is Right!” The volume’s so loud it’s as if I’m right there in the gameshow. I turn to face the screen. And there they are on the TV set. Dennis, gaunt and expressionless, sitting in the studio audience, while Marianne jumps for joy in her brunette bob and fuchsia lipstick. She takes off at a sprint through the audience, racing to the podium. In it to win it. This can’t be... I hear keys jingling in the front door and snap back to reality. Thank god. The Richardsons are home. I don’t even care if they’re mad about the RV. I just want them here. They’ll know what to do. The knob turns. The door creaks open. And Marianne and Dennis walk in. Their clothes neat and tidy and stylish. Totally different than before – and yet off. Like a costume that doesn’t fit. I scream and grab my knitting needles, holding them out in front of me like spears. “Stop, or I’m calling the cops,” I shout, trying to sound grown up, when inside I’m still a kid who wants to crawl under the covers and hide. Marianne ignores me, pointing to the TV. “Jeepers, Dennis, Delphine’s watching our old episode. Remember, dear? We were on one helluva winning streak. Celebrated that night with lobster and dirty martinis at the hotel bar. Took home enough furniture and bric-a-brac to redecorate the entire house.” She sighs, nostalgic. Then sets her sights on me. “Now, now, put the needles down, Delphine. Violence isn’t the answer. This will be easier if you give in.” I swallow my fear and try to think, not loosening my grip on my weapons, pathetic as they are. I yell, “The Richardson’s will be home any minute! Get out, and I won’t tell them you trespassed!” Marianne and Dennis exchange a look and laugh. Her fuchsia lipstick smeared on her teeth, she replies in a motherly tone, “Oh honey… we’re the Richardsons now. Don’t I look good in her dress? It’s a smidge tight, if I’m honest. But thankfully Dennis enjoys a bosom buster.” She leans into Dennis, kissing him. He lets out a low moan and grabs her hand. One by one he inserts her fingers into his mouth, sucking off her costume jewelry rings and swallowing them. Tears roll down my face. “What have you done with the Richardsons?” Marianne stares at me with pity. “You freaks, tell me what you’ve done!” I yell louder. “Mom? Dad?” Julian appears from the darkened hallway in his solar system pajamas. I race to stand between him and the deranged couple. “Don’t come in here,” I order him. “Go back to your room.” But it’s too late. Julian runs to Marianne, wrapping his arms around her. I lurch forward, ripping him away. He struggles in my arms, crying, and breaks free, hiding himself behind Marianne. “It’s okay, bubba. Mommy’s home,” Marianne soothes. “Delphine’s tired is all. She didn’t mean to hurt you.” Marianne pats the boy on the head, flashing me a Cheshire grin. And for the first time, I glimpse three or four gold teeth in the back of her mouth. As sharp as a wolf’s. Tatiana steps into the room, rubbing sleep from her eyes. No, no, no, get out of here kid. Run! “Mom, what’s going on? Why are you guys being so loud?” she asks, annoyed we woke her. Her gaze moves from the couple to the threat of the knitting needles in my hands. Her expression changes. Tatiana’s scared. Not of them, though. Of me. Dennis bends his lanky frame to make himself the height of the children. “Daddy will tuck you back in,” he tells them, his voice surprisingly warm. “Momma needs to pay the babysitter.” He grabs the kids by the hand and leads them down the hall toward their rooms. I want to chase after them, but my feet won’t budge. These lunatics are not your parents! I need proof. I glance over at the family portrait. But the Richardsons I know are gone from the picture. In their place are Marianne and Dennis, posing with the kids in the same red and yellow carpet of leaves. Just another happy family. “Does forty cover tonight,” Marianne asks, handing me two crisp twenty dollar bills. As if this were the most normal exchange in the world. “I know we’re back early. I do hope the kids weren’t too much trouble. I’ll have Dennis pull the car around to give you a ride home.” I don’t answer. I can’t even process what she’s saying. Instead, I watch the Marianne on TV scream in delight. She’s won the final Showcase. Next to her on stage stand her unlucky competitors. The Richardsons. The REAL Richardsons. They’ve lost it all. And Marianne is going home with a new- “Fully equipped recreational vehicle for an all-expenses paid tour of the great USofA!” Bob Barker gestures to a rising curtain. Revealing a shiny new Shitbird. Marianne walks over to me. Her breath hot on my skin again, she whispers, “Don’t worry. You won’t remember any of this tomorrow. Of course, we’ll still need a good babysitter, too.” She winks. “And we do pay well.” If I could escape, I would. But this all seems inevitable. Fated. Marianne sets a hand tenderly on my shoulder. “You’ll have that new car in no time, dear. The one you’ve been saving so hard for.” I’m still glued to the TV set. A new episode of the gameshow has started. The theme song along with it. Dah-dah-dah-dah. Dah-dah-dah-dah. Bob Barker stands on stage. Skinny mic in hand. He looks into the camera… right at me… opening his mouth to deliver the good news. “Delphine McDonald, come on dowwwn!” I smile. “A fortune in fabulous prizes awaits… as you’re the next contestant on The Price Is Right!” I have a very good feeling.
A Very Long Bangin' Buds Script III: Aww Yeah, Baybeeee!
Writer’s Note: The last of my trilogies of fan fiction. This is the full story, next part in the comments. Roles are pre-assigned based on the canon of the show; Arnie Niekamp plays Shroom, Adal Rifai plays Meemee, Brooke Breit plays Ari, Erin Keif plays Code. Enjoy! _________________________________________________ Static starts INT. EARTH BUNKER – AT SOME TIME THE MYSTERIOUS MAN is sitting comfortably in an office chair, leaning over a desk, and checking a list. He seems fairly focused, hitting the pencil to his lips and cheek. THE MYSTERIOUS MAN: Hmm let’s see…I have “make a sourdough starter”, “renovate the kitchen”, “learn an instrument”, “learn a language”, “read a book” and finally, “watch all Oscar Winning Best Films of each year” ...What else can I add to 2020 bingo of things people haven’t done? While the list is being rattled off, there are background noises of different footsteps and shuffling, quickening as the Mysterious Man ends his list. A late 20s Asian woman, ANN, comes by the desk in a huff, aiming for the dials that change the frequency of the podcast. LINCOLN quickly followers her, reaching out his hands to stop her, but his efforts are futile. The Mysterious Man’s expression shifts back and forth between confusion and being pissed off. ANN: (Politely) Excuse me, I just want to borrow this for a second… The static gives various tones as Ann alters the dials. THE MYSTERIOUS MAN: Oh, I’m sorry, does my shirt say, “I have nothing important to do, please feel free to touch my dials to another dimension.”? (To Lincoln) Seriously, who is this human? LINCOLN: I don’t know. She just inserted herself into the bunker and my bosses don’t know how she knew about this place. THE MYSTERIOUS MAN: Lincoln, remind me to get a thesaurus for you next gift giving holiday so you can understand there are better ways to phrase things. –Also, you’re telling me she isn’t one of your people? Lincoln shrugs and the machine clicks. The static is lessened, and the tones are far more consistent. Ann stops scanning the dials. Her excitement is barely contained. ANN: Ah HA! I knew it would have to exist. LINCOLN: What exists? ANN: Rule 63. THE MYSTERIOUS MAN: Please, no one wants to hear a literal Bangin’ Buds story. That is the Russian roulette of a creator’s emails. The hosts probably regret nicknaming their fan fiction collection that too. ANN: No, no. Rule 63: For every given male character, there is an equal female counterpart. It’s even on a preset on that channel. The Mysterious Man leans down and squints to read the dials. He adjusts his face as if he has glasses. THE MYSTERIOUS MAN: Channel 63…Genderswap World? I thought I blacked out the option with a sharpie. LINCOLN: So, does this mean we get to listen to another transmission from a different Foon? THE MYSTERIOUS MAN: Over my extraterrestrial body! I was hoping we would close off interludes when we finally got all the meat sacks back into their respective home dimensions. But you know what, why should I start caring about what you do with your limited time on Earth now? If you need me, I’ll be in the break room betting with the other drones here how many reusable k-cups have not been cleaned. My money is on three. (to himself) This better be the last one. The Mysterious Man walks away from his desk, leaving Lincoln and Ann in awkward silence. They both kind of stare at the ground, waiting for the other to say something. ANN: I’m Ann by the way. LINCOLN: Lincoln. ANN: …So, do you want to start it off? It’s been a while since I heard your voice. LINCOLN: No, I’m good. I think I’ll get Tricia; she might be interested in this broadcast. ANN: Okay… Lincoln leaves and Ann lightly waves him goodbye. Ann hesitantly sits in the Mysterious Man’s chair and pulls herself closer to the microphone. ANN: So…um…yeah…I guess…People of Earth? The following podcast is not real. So, if you’re tired of these non-canonical variants, this is the last one, I promise…well, I hope. But if you do like it, sit back, relax, and enjoy the show! INT. BAR - DAYTIME MUNDLE THE GRUNDLE starts the musical intro, some bar noises heard in the background. Patrons move around the Vermillion Minotaur as the shot pans to a table where the human from another world, ARI, the shapeshifter, who is currently a small grizzly bear cub, CODE, and the slightly feminine USIDORE, the Blue Wizard, drink and do their podcast. Light live band music is heard in the back. ARI: Hello from the Magic Tavern! Mundle the Grundle trills ARI (CONT’D): A weekly podcast from the magical land of Foon. I’m your host, Ari Niekamp. If you never listened to the podcast before, don’t worry, this is everything you need to know. Almost six years ago, I fell through a dimensional portal behind a Houlihan's, in Chicago, into the magical, fantastical land of Foon. Luckily, I’m still getting a Wi-fi signal from the Houlihan's, through the dimensional rift and I use that to upload a podcast, chronicling our quest to defeat The Dark Lady. And I’m joined by my co-host, Code, the talking grizzly bear! CODE: AW YEAHHH HONEYYYYYY. Do you like my new catch phrase? I’ve been testing it out. ARI: I do like it. It definitely fits with your bear motif. CODE: I also have bear teeth. Ha cha cha. I mean, c’mon look at them. Code opens her mouth, shoving her face by Ari’s face. Ari recoils slightly. CODE: Schee! Schee! ARI: Code, I get it. Can you move your mouth? Your breath smells like fish tacos. CODE: (Backs away) A what? ARI: It's like flat bread folded as if you made a V with your hands and it has fish. Could be hard or soft. The bread, not the fish. CODE: Mmmm yum yum yum yum. But why would my mouth smell like that? ARI: Wh-why would you stress the word “mouth”? CODE: What do you mean? I always talk like this. ARI: Nevermind. It has been a while since I heard you say all those yums. Can you remind me of some of the other catchphrases you have? CODE: Well, I ran “Code’s up with that” to the ground. “Get Hard”, my one-time catchphrase, “Living up to the Code”, and, of course, “Let’s put that on a tank top!” ARI: And I’m emailing the store to get our current shirt taken down. CODE: What were they thinking, typing up “Chunt’s up with that”? ARI: It’s one letter away from being too close for comfort. I mean, I’m okay with it, but it’s not exactly marketable. CODE: But the “Ask me about my two buttholes” shirt is still okay, right? ARI: Mmhmm. Somehow, it’s the best seller. CODE: You know, I’ve been thinking about it; we really need to put new merch into the store. You did look good as Tika. ARI: You mean when I was a tiki mug? I guess that might be an easy sell. But it feels a little hollow since I’m not the one being drank out of. CODE: Okay, maybe that’s a bad idea if you’re just gonna make it sexual. ARI: It’s not a sex thing! I just had a strong desire for people to drink me. It felt like my purpose. CODE: Alright. Well, what about a stuffed bear? I mean, who wouldn’t want a face like this hanging around. OH, and I can have a tape box inside of me like that Teddy Ruxpin I pretended to be when we visited you on Earth. ARI: That does sound like a fu- CODE: OH! And we can put one in the stuff bear! It could say “Aww yeah Honey!” That will really get my new catchphrase going. ARI: So, wait, you wanted a tape inside the real you? Why would you do that? CODE: Well, I could take a slumber cup and fall asleep. We could put some standard phrases so I can participate in the podcast. It’s the perfect out! And, when I die, you can put sunglasses on me and bring me to the beach and host a party. ARI: And how many times do we have to do this? CODE: Once is probably enough, but definitely no more than two times. We can call it “Weekend at Bechtel’s”. Doesn’t that sound like fun? ARI: Mmhmm. And on that note, I’m also joined by my other co-host, Usidore the Wizard. USIDORE: I AM USIDORE! Wizard of the 12th Realm of Epothomia, Master of Light and Shadow, Manipulator of Magical Delights, Devourer of Chaos, CHAMPION OF THE GREAT HALLS OF FORMIYA TERRA! The elves know me as Fey’icia H’ghard, the dwarfs know me as Zappa Hoobastank, and I am also known in the Northeast as Goya Armani. And there are other secret names, secret names that, when uttered aloud, most assuredly, it would switch the genitalia of everyone on Foon. CODE: And who wants to hear a whole episode about that? USIDORE: Well, if we don’t constantly point it out, I’m sure it would be fine. ARI: You know I should’ve said Hoogstandjes when you said Hoobastank. USIDORE: Why would you say that? ARI: Hoogstandjes is a band on Earth, but I don’t really want to talk about Earth stuff. CODE: Well, you brought it up. Tell us, what kind of band they are like? What songs do they sing? USIDORE: Yes, tell us. ARI: Alright, there’s…The Reason, Out of Control, and… that’s it! CODE: That’s it? ARI: Well, I don’t understand what you want from me. I don’t really listen to them. It seems much more of our audience’s speed as I keep on getting emails addressing Usidore as Hoogstandjes. USIDORE: Ari, why are you running away from more song names? CODE: Yeah, I’m sure if you start crawling in the dark, you could find more songs. ARI: Is that a song by them? CODE: Baby don’t know. If I Were You, I would brush up on that knowledge. ARI: That felt like a deep cut. USIDORE: Ah. I-I do want to circle back to the store front. We need more Usidore shirts, or a poster with all my names. ARI: You do have both with all your names. USIDORE: No, it has the names I say as my intro. I have many other secret names. Wh-Why, we can fill a whole time. We can call it, Usidore: from A to Z. We’ll just leave out all the danger names. CODE: Usidore, can I say one of the dangerous names you taught me? USIDORE: I-I suppose, just nothing too destructive. CODE: (whispers) Kugel Phalanges A small rock materializes and drops on Ari’s head, nothing to cause a bruise. Usidore snickers a little. ARI: Ow, hey… USIDORE: Ha ha, if she had said it any louder, it would be a much bigger rock. ARI: Usidore, I already told you- USIDORE: -And I do love rocks. ARI: (sign) I already told you, you can literally jumble words together and someone, at some point, has called you that. (points at Code) Case and point. USIDORE: Name 5 of my names. ARI: Okay, ummm Laurence Hathaway. CODE: One. ARI: Magoogala Simpaline CODE AND USIDORE: Two. ARI: That one guy. CODE AND USIDORE: Three. ARI: Umm…The Hateful Bitch USIDORE: (flatly) How dare you. CODE: Four. And Five? ARI: Uhh… (mumbles under her breath) CODE: Yup, that’s all five! USIDORE: Now let me set the record straight- ARI: Sure. USIDORE: Laurence Hathaway is wh-what the wizard lawyers call me. Magoogala SimpaliNA, not Simplaine, is what the narwhals of Hi-Higgens Shore call me. Many people call me that one guy, but they cannot see my w-womanly figure. The fourth one was just cruel. And that last name is pronounced like this. (mumbles under her breath) Ari tries to mimic Usidore’s mumbles. USIDORE (CONT’D): No, no no. (repeats mumbles) Ari tries once again to mimic Usidore’s mumbles. They keep going for a bit. Code also tries to mumble like Usidore. USIDORE: Ah! Excellent, Code. See, Ariana, it is easy. ARI: It’s Ari. And where was that rock name when we were running away from Baroness Ragoon’s soldiers? USIDORE: Oh, it has a recharge time of a long rest. ARI: And what constitutes a long rest? CODE: Ari, I think you just go to bed. USIDORE: In-in most cases, y-yes. BUT! This particular long rest is a cov-coveted secret. Usidore looks around to make sure no one is around. She leans over the table and Ari and Code follow. USIDORE (CONT’D): (low voice) Go down, deep into the depths of the dungeon, find the master, and tell him softly, “I need to take a long rest”. (normal voice) And if you have others with you on your quest party, they also must rest. ARI: Isn’t that just a spell then? USIDORE: Of course not, th-the golems of the Undermountain call me that. And we all say it together to greet one another. ARI: Usidore, that’s just a greeting. CODE: You know that last name was fun! We should do a whole podcast just saying- (mumbles) USIDORE: Ah yes! (mumbles) Code and Usidore continue to mumble to each other. USIDORE: What fun! ARI: Yup, perfect podcast content. CODE: Yeah, and I can get on one side of the mic, and Usidore can get on the other side of the mic. USIDORE: Oh yes, gives me the tingles on the back of my neck. CODE: Like the sound my fur makes when you ruffle it up. USIDORE: Let me conjure some spiced potatoes to eat. That should give this podcast that audible crunch. CODE: Ooooo yum yum yum! Get me some too. And a tac-co! USIDORE: What’s a taco? CODE: Well, Ari says it’s like little flat piece of bread- ARI: Code, Code, we are not a muckbang podcast! CODE: Muckbang? What does that have to do with swinger swampmen and women having a blast! When I turned into a swampperson- ARI: You were a swamp person? CODE: Mmmhmm, wild nights! ARI: We also have to order up some for a large party, because we have a few guests coming on today. CODE: Great! Who do we have? ARI: Well, we have some good friends that we haven’t heard from in a while and they heard about the tavern’s night event! USIDORE: Oh yes, I did see the signs for ka-karaoke night. And you did tell us how, when you first came to Foon, y-you were heading to a karaoke night of your own? ARI: Not exactly. For listeners who haven’t been around the last six years, I was on my way to Houlihan's for a quick lunch and saw that they had a karaoke night that night and I told myself I would come back later that day. And when I was about to drive away, I fell through a dimensional rift with my Toyota Sienna, and I was brought here. And I stumbled my way to the Vermillion Minotaur, where they also had a karaoke night, where I met Code and Usidore. If you really want to know more, just listen to the first episode. USIDORE: Or the Five-Year Anniversary episode. ARI: Or read the book published last year. USIDORE: Or the graphic novel publishing later this year. ARI: (smugly) Hashtag Shameless Plugs. CODE: It saves on the exposition, and we all know what exposition ruins. ARI: Listenership? CODE: No, my appetite. I’m bear-y hungry. ARI: Not even subtle. I thought you would go for one obvious joke, and you went for another. USIDORE: Can you believe how deep my voice was in the beginning episodes? CODE: You just really love those cough drops. USIDORE: I still have some in my robe if you want to try some. Usidore fiddles with her robes and pulls out a small satchel. She shakes it a little and it rattles. ARI: That’s okay. Just keep your normal voice, okay? USIDORE: Alright. Usidore pulls some drops out of the satchel and chews some cough drops. Her voice briefly slips into the normal, canon Usidore voice. USIDORE (CONT’D): Mmmm. More for me. (munches more) Ari sighs. CODE: But tell us who’s gonna be on with us! ARI: Well, when I heard they knew about karaoke night, one of them was really excited to come and the other was like, okay. Please welcome Meemee the rat with human strength and Shroom, the mushroom. CODE: We don’t have boys on the podcast that often. Mmmm Boys night! ARI: (Flirty) Boys night! USIDORE: BOYS NIGHT! Little grunts are heard as MEEMEE tries to climb up the table. Meemee is a grey rat with Guy Fieri hair and a small needle as a sword by his side. He carries SHROOM, a Portobello mushroom, on his back. Shroom has a small nibble on the top of his head. MEEMEE: Huh tut tut tut, hi, I’m Meemee. SHROOM: What’s up? MEEMEE: I am sooooo excited for karaoke. You guys have to Hear. Meemee. Sing. CODE: Hear Meemee? MEEMEE: Yeah! (sing songy) Mee mee meeeeeee! SHROOM: And I’m pretty happy to be invited. ARI: Hey, how have you two been? What have you been up to? MEEMEE: Oh, Meemee is fabulous. To be honest though, this is my first time being out like this since Ari drank my girlfriend. ARI: Yeah, I’m sorry about last time. I was just so thirsty. MEEMEE: Ari, we’ve been over this before; you can’t keep drinking other rat’s girlfriends. SHROOM: That sounds pretty wild. MEEMEE: But you know, I am back. Been focusing on myself for a while now. I have tried some knight things, which was pretty fun. Meemee even got a promotion! CODE: Oh, what kind of adventures have you been having? MEEMEE: Well, I have an outrageous story where I pretended to be a poor rat, and that poor rat pretended to be a knight. Then I did tournaments, fighting with other knights, mostly jousting. There was even a ball where I almost got with a princess. Eventually, the whole crowd found out I was poor, but respected me as the knight I was all along. ARI: Wh-I have so many questions. Ho- CODE: Yeah, like did you participate in the summer? Like could you feel the Heath? USIDORE: I presume you had a Ledger that recorded this information? MEEMEE: Mmhmm, I got it right here. Let me see what I got: Meemee pulls out a tiny little notebook and reads from it. MEEMEE (CONT’D): It says, “ask me about my scars”, “I can’t quit you” … SHROOM: Try checking under “The Dark Knight”. MEEMEE: No, I’m not checking under “The Dark Knight”, you Joker. SHROOM: Don’t give me 10 things to hate about you. MEEMEE: That’s a little rude. ARI: Can I just ask, how can you joust as a rat? MEEMEE: Well, as a rat with human strength, I just- Meemee mimics straddling a horse. He pulls out his sword and points it to the sky. The group closes in on the table to watch him go. Shroom rolls closer to the center for a better look. MEEMEE: Hut ta ta ta ta tuh-climb up and- Hut ta ta- and there’s my lance. Meemee is ready to go. USIDORE: What a wonderful graphic image you presented. CODE: And I can even imagine the wind flowing through your luscious Guy Fieri hair! ARI: Meemee, no offense, but you’re so small. How can you compete with the other knights? MEEMEE: How do you think I always win? ARI: You got a point. CODE: And Shroom, what have you been up to? SHROOM: Well, I’ve actually been having a rough time because of Usidore. USIDORE: What did I do? SHROOM: Did you not see the sizable bite mark on the rim of my mushroom cap? Shroom turns his mushroom cap to the group to get a better view. ARI: I never pegged you as a “cap” person. MEEMEE: I thought it was a new haircut. CODE: Yeah! The nibble works for you buddy! ARI: But how is this Usidore’s fault? SHROOM: Someone leaked out Usidore’s morglorb recipe, which includes bits of me- CODE: Usidore, you use parts of Shroom? USIDORE: Oh, he grows back. ARI: But not all of him. SHROOM: Actually, Usidore does take huge chunks at a time. I actually move by growing in the direction I want to go. ARI: What? CODE: Yeah, don’t you know how mushrooms work? ARI: I mean, I kind of know how mushrooms work on Earth, but how do they work in Foon? SHROOM: So, when I don’t have the luxury of someone or something picking me up and moving me, I secrete spores that- MEEMEE: Ugh, you are the last person that I want to imagine “secreting “anything. SHROOM: (Glares at Meemee) …so that spreads my fungus- MEEMEE: EW EW THAT MAKES IT WORSE!! SHROOM: -and I become the next iteration forwards. There! USIDORE: Ah yes, and I use the parts left over in my morglorb recipe. It is-uh, the second main ingredient. (leans to Code) The first ingredient is Miracle Whip. ARI: Can I ask, is Shroom…pubes? SHROOM: Well, I wouldn’t simplify it as- MEEMEE: Shroom is pubes. CODE: Sounds like Shroom is pubes. SHROOM: (chuckles discontent) Ha, you guys sucks. ARI: And the bite mark? SHROOM: Oh yeah. When everyone found out Usidore’s recipe, people tried to eat me, hoping to get high. I had to find somewhere dark where no one would find me. MEEMEE: Shroom, you went somewhere dark and…dank? Sounds like a perfect place to find drug ingredients. SHROOM: I’m starting to regret having you pick me up. MEEMEE: Aw, I thought us together would make us fun guys. SHROOM: We’re more like low hanging fruit. USIDORE: (to Ari) I can still get you some morglorb if you’re interested. ARI: Whoa, easy there, Walter White. I think I’m good without it. USIDORE: Who is this Walter White? I cannot be someone who is white, for I AM USIDORE THE BLUE! CODE: But let’s be clear, you’re pretty fucking white. ARI: But it’s great to have both of you here! How did you two hear about the event? MEEMEE: Well, I heard it from my tinder date. ARI: Your what? MEEMEE: My tinder date! CODE: Oh Ari, let me explain; in Foon, a tinder date is when you schedule a tinder to come to your house and light a fire. You tell them where to light it by swiping your hand left or right. Does that make sense? ARI: Mmmhmm MEEMEE: And sometimes you fuck them. USIDORE: And did you? MEEMEE: A classy rat never kisses and tells. So yeah, I did. My ratty ass is on the rebound and on the prowl. SHROOM: And I’m here for moral support. ARI: Well, no need to be down on yourself. SHROOM: No, I’m here to support Meemee. You know, be his Wing-shroom. MEEMEE: Yeah, I’ll look better in comparison. SHROOM: Ho-how is it that I’m the one still being dunked on. ARI: Dunked? SHROOM: Ugh, I don’t want to talk about Foon Stuff. ARI: So Meemee, you’re back on the market again, good for you! MEEMEE: Mmhmm, putting myself back out there and putting my best foot forward. And when I get up there, I’m going to sing my little heart out and My Heart Will Go On. USIDORE: I believe there will not be a dry eye in the house. You’ll sink some ships with that siren song. MEEMEE: It will be so good! the ladies will be throwing Roses at my door. ARI: The door that can only hold one person? MEEMEE: There’s no way a door can hold two people, not even if you shifted over a little bit. CODE: Meemee, I’m really liking this vibe you’re putting out. Really a lot of BDE. ARI: BDE? MEEMEE: BDE stands for…Birds…dying everywhere. USIDORE: (solemnly) Oh, I love birds… MEEMEE: Yeah, it is to emit energy so powerful, you just kill all the birds around you. SHROOM: Or you strut around like you have a Big Dick. ARI: Ah, big dick energy… MEEMEE: That’s what I got. SHROOM: The energy of a massive penis? CODE: But seriously, I want to get back in the game too! Code is back baybee! Make space on that sex tapestry! ARI: Right, that’s still a thing. CODE: I know it hasn’t been updated for a while, but until Eggy Baby comes back to me in the mail, I might as well strut my stuff. In Foon, we call it seagulling. USIDORE: Ah yes, the act of seagulling. Where you c-call out into the room filled with people, find a f-fine gentleman or a lovely l-lady and scream “mine” repeatedly. ARI: Is it like peacocking? USIDORE: Why would anyone act like a peacock? They are the second most pretentious bird! Next to the fucking starlings. SHROOM: Is it because we were talking about big dick energy? ARI: Nevermind. Although, I am a little surprised that you want to sing, Code. I never pegged you for a singer. CODE: Is it because I have a grizzly voice? ARI: What? No! I- CODE: Well let me tell you, Ari, I have a beautiful voice. And I don’t know what it is about this form, but wanting to sing is, like, a necessity. MEEMEE: A bear necessity? CODE: YES! A simple bear necessity. SHROOM: There’s something about that that makes me want to dance. CODE: Right!? (starts dancing) It just makes me forget all my worries and my strife. ARI: Does that dance have a name? CODE: My Beary Merry Dance? ARI: Not a Baloo galoo? CODE: I hate how smug you look right now. Why are you so smug? MEEMEE: Yeah, a Baloogie Oogie sounds much more fun. SHROOM: That just sounds like a booger. CODE: Ari, didn’t you say that there is a Boo-ger King on Earth? And that they sell Woo-pers? ARI: Mmhmm, it’s the leading competitor to McDoogles. SHROOM: I could go for McDoogles and their famous Big Mick. USIDORE: It sounds racist when you say it like that, Mushroom. SHROOM: It’s Shroomie. MEEMEE: Wait, is that really your name? I’ve been calling you Shroom. SHROOM: Yeah, I- CODE: Have we been calling you the wrong name this entire time? USIDORE: It just sounds like a missed opportunity. SHROOM: M-My name is Shroom! But I do like the name Shroomie. MEEMEE: Hey, maybe I can move in with you in your little mushroom cave and we can shroom-mates? And I can call you my Shroomie. SHROOM: I haven’t needed a shroom-mate since college. USIDORE: I imagine your t-trail of self can be considered your roommates. SHROOM: I guess I do have a little Shroomie hanging out with me from time to time. CODE: Is that what you call it? Gross. SHROOM: No No! - ARI: I’m sorry, can I ask you something Shroom? Now for the last 6 years that I’ve known you- MEEMEE: From the first time she threw you off from that cliff to now. CODE: Yes, that did happen. ARI: Well, I never knew you went to college. SHROOM: Yeah, I went to the Eyes University, home of the bucks. MEEMEE: That’s where you learn how to get to the Ohio State? SHROOM: Mmhmm ARI: Wait, all this time, you have an Ohio here in Foon? SHROOM: Yup, it was a class where we got high. We would go “oh!”, then we’re high, and when we come down from that high, we go “oh…” ARI: Oh… SHROOM: Yup, just like that. USIDORE: It is very similar to the wizard state. Here, watch! (mixes of mumbles and whispers) …chamber pots…among us…two dollars off next purchase... Usidore continues to mumble while the rest of the group kind of rolls their eyes. In the back, OPEN MICHELLE starts prepping the stage and brings a piece of paper on a stool. The band in the back also starts to tune and set up. CODE: Seamless. ARI: Well, I think the signup sheet for karaoke is opening up, so why don’t we take a break while she’s in the wizard state and think about some songs that we can sing! CODE: Oooo Oooo, I know the perfect song to sign you up for. ARI: I have to sing, too? CODE: Wait, so you were hoping that you got to be the asshole that doesn’t sing? ARI: I don’t know any songs from Foon! SHROOM: Why say “we” then? ARI: I mean the royal we! CODE: While I was Queen of the Bear, I took a royal wee. MEEMEE: Look, it’s easy! Here, I’ll help find you a song, then maybe the ladies will get jealous that I’m already hanging out with a lady and go “Hey, hands off!” ARI: Have you ever talked to a woman before? Like ever? USIDORE: (more mumbles and whispers)-…bone, boot, ball, bell nuggies... FADE OUT:
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