PK Editor*: Forbes, we need more content. What's on deck?
Sparkness Monster: Um, not a whole lot, to be honest.
PKE: C'mon, you can practically squeeze blood from a stone. Think harder. Maybe a YouTube video of seagulls? You know, a think piece.
SM: Well, I was contemplating commenting on game 1 of the NBA Finals, but I decided to save myself the headache. That shit was worse than adult circumcision.
PKE: You can do better than that. "That shit was worse than a lawnmower blowjob," maybe?
Spark Messier: Eh. No one cares about my ersatz critique of the NBA. That's what Free Darko is for. Although if I did write about game 1 I'd probably bemoan the Magic's reluctance to shoot threes and the unconscionable decision to play Jameer Nelson. That shit was New Coke-level stupidity.
PKE: I think I can start the car!
SM: Nah. I thought about it for much of this afternoon until I realized it's a dead end. I want that game wiped from my mind. Preferably with the help of Tom Wilkenson, definitely with the help of some Tennessee sipping whisky.
PKE: I hope you haven't forgotten our deal. You want to keep those boyish features of yours (from the neck up, as we agreed upon), you supply me with fresh posts that I can use to command my army of transdimensional dwarfs.
Stan Mikita: And the Burger King. Don't forget that.
PKE: Yeah, that too. So you better bring the heat.
SM: Tell you the truth, I'm exhausted like tailpipes. I got this knot in my shoulder. I think it's from stress.
PKE: Things are tough all over, honey. Now give me what I crave.
Sergei Molotov: I had a kickass meal at the California Pizza Kitchen the other night. Jamaican jerk chicken pizza and avocado egg rolls to die in a Bangkok hotel room from auto-erotic asphyxiation for. I almost threw up I ate so much.
PKE: You have my ear.
SM: Neon Bible is the best album of the past 10 years. It's absolutely perfect.
PKE: I'm not saying you're wrong.
Super Mario: You know what?
PKE: Chicken butt. Can't fool me.
Eoin Alexander Forbes: I'm pretty tired. I think I'll go to bed now. Write that on my epitaph.
* What, you thought I made all these bad decisions myself?