The Catholic Church Makes Amends

Father Paul Minnihan stands at a podium before a crowd of people outside of his cathedral.

Father Paul: Today, the people of the world face an uncertain future. The global economy is in recession, our political leaders are divisive, and the moral decay of our families and neighborhoods seems rampant. Now, more than ever, people need The Church to help guide them through these tumultuous times.

But people are not always ready to accept The Church in their lives. They aren't always open to the idea. They aren't always willing.

I understand that We haven't always been perfect in The Church. We have given plenty of people plenty of reasons not to place their trust in Us. And I understand that it may be difficult for those people to embrace The Church back into their lives. But We believe in saving every soul. We believe that you are all Our children.

So, today, it is The Church that asks for forgiveness for Our past transgressions. We are here to present a gift to the victims of those unspeakable acts that took place on the grounds of Our churches. We hope it eases the pain and suffering of all of you, and welcomes you back into the arms of The Church.

A curtain drops to unveil The Church's gift.



The crowd applauds mildly.

There we are. I hope we can all move beyond all the sordid allegations of the past, those both true and fabricated, and walk together, hand in hand, into The Church. Thank you.

Father Paul attempts to step out from behind the podium. A man raises his hand and stands up in the crowd.

Man in the crowd: Uh, I'm sorry. What is that?

Father Paul: Hmm? Oh yes, my child. Did you have a question?

Man: Yeah. Umm. What is that?

Father Paul: Well, you see it's a rock. And it's our gift to you.

Man: Your gift. Is a rock.

Father Paul: Yes.

Father Paul gathers the papers at the podium.

Man: Yeah, sorry, hold on there. Still not quite getting it. Your gift...to myself and all your other victims here and across the world...is a fucking rock?

Father Paul squints disapprovingly.

Father Paul: What is your name, my child?

Man: Okay. Not your child. But my name is Tim Boyd.

Father Paul: Well you did not let me continue, my sweet Timmy Boy. We got something else for you all. Take a look behind the rock in the garden. We got you something extra special.



Tim Boyd: Uh-huh. Right. Sooo...this and the rock?

Father Paul: Yes. Happy now? I mean, that should give you some peace, my son.

Tim Boyd: This says, "Planned by survivors." I don't remember planning any of this. Did any victims really plan this?

Father Paul: Well maybe not technically, but We had your thoughts and feelings in mind, when We planned it.

Another man stands up.

Victim #2: Does that actually say "we remember?" Isn't that kind of weird?

Father Paul: The Church wanted to-

Tim Boyd: Holy shit it does. I didn't even read it at first because I figured, ya know, what the hell are a few sentences going to say to wash away a lifetime of sexual abuse, but my god. They actually admit they remember.

Father Paul: Well yes We remember, of course. We like to think of those times often...in order to dissuade Ourselves from ever doing that again.

Victim #2: I dunno. Still kinda seems like the type of thing you should be forgetting. I mean we remember, ya know? My god, we remember. Hard to forget all those late nights...cold...and alone...ohh god. But, uh, I think it's not really something you guys should be reminiscing about.

Father Paul: Look, We're saying We remember it so that you know that We sympathize with you and We know what you're going through.

Victim #3: Oh DO YOU?

Father Paul: Cheese and crackers! We're trying to extend an olive branch here. I think if you'll give it a chance you may really like it. It's not just the rock and the plaque; it's an entire garden. We even have two benches: one facing The Church and one facing away from The Church if you feel like you still can't just let it go.



Tim Boyd: Wow. There's more. So let me get this straight. Your plan in all this is to get us to come back to The Church where we were sexually molested?

Father Paul: No. Well, there was never a plan, as such, it's just-

Tim Boyd: And presumably bring our families with us?

Father Paul: No, no. Well, yes! I mean, if you have children of course We'd always love to extend-

Tim turns to the crowd.

Tim Boyd: Hey, guys. Anyone here ever go to church again after they were sexually abused? I mean willingly go to church, not like when you were forced to go because you couldn't share the horrible secret that you were molested by your priest.

Victim #2: Nooo.

Victim #3: No way!

Victim #4: Are you serious?

Victim #5: Douche chills!

Victim #6: YES.

Tim Boyd: What? You do?

Victim #6: Well, yes. But I'm a pedophile now, sooo. It's just business.

Tim Boyd: Fair enough.

Father Paul: Guys, guys. You don't have to come back to The Church, okay? I don't know what I was saying with that. I think I overshot it a bit. But, look, We gave you the rock, the plaque, the garden. That's gotta be worth something, right? So whattaya say. Can we call it even?

Tim Boyd: Oh yeah. Of course. Even Steven.

Father Paul: Thank the Lord.

Tim Boyd: Sure, sure. So long as that rock can unrape me.

Father Paul: What?

Tim Boyd: Well that rock- that rock you gave us. That can unrape me, right? That can undo the years of sexual abuse I endured, no? I just figure that's what you gave it to us, right? To erase all the physical and mental torture? The rock that has the power to right the wrongs of a thousand priests molesting a thousand children? Even Steven?

Father Paul: Son, I know you're hurting but-

Victim #7: I was raped with a broom. Can it undo that too?

Victim #8: I'm looking for full coverage over here. Kinda don't wanna get into all of the details but...

Father Paul: I really don't think this is the time for a discussion like that. Perhaps tonight we can meet in my rectory and have a more private-

Tim Boyd: Oh my god, are you still angling for that? You guys never learn. I'm like 40 now, pal. Consider me off the market.

Victim #9: I'm sorry I'm still a bit unclear on what that turd is doing in the middle of the garden.

Tim Boyd: What turd?

Father Paul: That's not a turd! Ahem. That's a rock.

Tim Boyd: Big upgrade.

Victim #9: Well, if you were going to give us a rock, then why is it all cracked.

Father Paul shuffles papers on the podium and then peers down through his reading glasses.

Father Paul: The shattered stone represents the shattered lives of the victims.

Victim #9: Seriously?

Father Paul: What. I thought it was nice!

Victim #9: I would have rather had the turd.

Father Paul: How is a turd better than a rock?!

Victim #9: At least a turd takes effort.

Victim #10: Excuse me, I haven't made an observation yet.

Father Paul: Jesus fucking Christ, I've had enough of you people! We try to do something nice and all you do is bitch, bitch, bitch! Goddamnit what do We have to do to get you to stop crying?! We're sorry, okay?!? SORRYYYY!! NOW GO SIT ON YOUR GODDAMN TURD ROCK AND FUCKING FORGIVE US!!!

The crowd sits back in stunned silence. Father Paul clears his throat, adjusts his collar, and walks off stage toward Father O'Hagan.

Father Paul: Ohhh this is bad.

Father O'Hagan: You're goddamn right it is.

Father Paul: Thisisbad. Thisisbad.

Father O'Hagan: We have to go into damage control. The rock didn't work. How else can we buy back their love? What does everyone love?

Father Paul: Ipods? Beer? Cash?

Father O'Hagan: I've got it!

What I Learned On My Vegas Vacation

1. My girlfriend has a gambling problem.

After I graduated college, I was out of work for about two years. During this time, I played poker to make a living. I started off as a mediocre player, but I studied the game as much as I could...when I wasn't drinking heavily. Eventually, I made myself into a pretty good online player and an even better live player. I became quite profitable...or profitable enough to sustain my heavy drinking.

I had friends who were living the same life, both locally and across the country. I had other friends who were betting sports for extra income. I had even other friends who were taking sports bets for extra income. We all talked poker, sports, prop bets, and more all day...while drinking heavily.

I know about gambling.

My girlfriend has a serious-ass gambling problem.

I'm not just saying this because she went off for a big number in Vegas. I'm not just saying this because her vices are house games like blackjack. I'm not just saying this because she decides which NFL teams she is going to bet on before she sees the lines. I'm saying this because I know about these things. If you don't believe me, I will give you one indisputable example to prove it.

My girlfriend, or Xmas Girl, as you know her, once placed a bet on how much Beverly Hills Chihuahua would gross opening weekend. AND SHE LOST.

If that isn't a gambling problem, then I don't know what is. I'm waiting for her to bet on the Washington Generals.




2. My future mother-in-law is blogworthy.

Part of this trip to Vegas was planned so that I could meet Xmas Girl's mom. I had heard quite a few stories about this lovely lady, and I was told to brace myself for anything and everything. So with that in mind, XG and I laid odds on what would happen on the first night that we went to her house for dinner. If your girlfriend is going to have a crippling gambling problem, you may as well have fun with it, right?

A. 3/2 -- She burns dinner.
B. 6/1 -- She gives me a kiss hello...on the mouth.
C. 8/1 -- She falls asleep at the dinner table from too much wine.
D. 22/1 -- She cooks a salad bowl in the oven.
E. 1/5 -- She shows a picture of Xmas Girl wearing leather pants.

Amazingly, more than one of these came through. Can you guess which ones? Go ahead guess. Are you done? Ah, fuck it. You didn't guess did you. The answers are A, D, and E. I lost a lot of money on B.

"D" cashed in early when she turned the oven on and after 15 minutes of playing "What's That Smell?" she realized that she had left the salad bowl in there. Why was there a salad bowl in the oven in the first place? I didn't even have time to ask.

"A" followed shortly thereafter when she put the garlic bread in the oven, set it to broil, and left it in there for "about 20 minutes." I'm a guy who can only cook hot dogs and ramen, and even I know that is retarded. She took the black logs out of the oven and tossed them over the balcony.

"E" came up several times, of course. I'm pretty convinced that every picture of XG from 16 - 23 is in leather pants. And they are everywhere. All over her mom's house, all over her friends' houses. It's like they are proud of it. But believe me, I don't even want to know the reasons why. I only have one question. Is it many different pairs or one pair worn over and over again? For some reason, I have a real problem with the former.

I'm still waiting for "B."




3. Never take a shit in a handicapped bathroom.

Is it "handicapped" bathroom or "handicap" bathroom? Either way, I hate them all.

We were walking from the Hard Rock to Mandalay Bay because we felt disgusted by the fact that we played blackjack for twelve hours the day before. I don't know, it made sense to us at the time. On our way there, I find myself overcome with an urgent shitting emergency. I calmly suggest we stop in for a drink at MGM. I sit her down at the bar, order two drinks, and speedwalk to the bathroom.

Inside there's only three stalls, and the two normal ones were taken. I thought I might be able to find another bathroom in the casino, but my stomach made a horrifying noise that informed me otherwise. I darted into the oversized handicapped stall and locked it behind me, making it just in time.

About two minutes later, I hear a loud whirring sound approaching that stopped in front of my stall. I quickly realize that it's a capper coming right for me. He tugs on the door to no avail. I pray that he doesn't choose to wait me out, since considering what I did to my body the night before, he would be looking at about another twenty-five minutes.

Instead, he starts yanking it harder. And then HARDER. It is clear that his arm is not disabled, as he pulls mightily on the handle, rattling the door and my mancage. I'm not sure if he was angry or also mentally retarded, but he was not giving up on this locked door easily.

Finally, after ten seconds of terror, what sounded like yet another handicapped man informed him that there is indeed another bathroom down the hall. He whirred away, and I could only hope that it wasn't some retarded ruse designed by the two men to coax me out of the stall for a beating outside the bathroom. I took the full twenty-five minutes just to be safe.

But just a heads up to the MGM while we're on the subject. If you're going to have a hotel with 20,000 rooms, you may want to have a bathroom with more than two normal stalls. That's pretty fucking retarded.




4. I know of one person who reads this blog.

He is my friend Danny. And I know he reads this blog because he texted me while I was in Vegas that Pacman got into a dust-up with a team bodyguard. This was obviously a ploy to bait me into writing a Pacman's body retread. And of course, it worked. That type of dedication is appreciated. I expect to see more of that from the rest of you.




5. Stand-up comedy is not as hard as it looks.

Obviously, it is. But Xmas Girl's mother's husband works at the Riviera, and he got us tickets to a comedy show there. We figured it would be nice to have a break from all the gambling and drink in a new location.

Well apparently the guy that was headlining was just about 50 years older than the Riviera itself. We had the misfortune of being in the front row as a two hundred year old man read out of a joke book.

It was so uncomfortable that after ten minutes, we waited for him to turn his back and darted out of the room. Then we had to weave in and out of the casino crowd like a couple of ninjas so as not to see the man who got us the tickets and have him be offended.

Best decision I ever made to leave that show.




6. I look like everyone else in the world besides myself.

Some of the older readers will be aware of this phenomenom, but let me catch some of the new people up. Acquaintances and strangers alike seem to have no problem, nay, enjoy walking up to me and blurting out "You know who you look like?" Whether I answer their question or not, they always follow with the name of some C-list celebrity that I do not look like. See for yourself.

This time around it was a drunk guy at a blackjack table saw XG and I walk up and exclaimed, "You look like the kid from High School Musical! You look just like Zac Efron!!"

I.

I have no words.

Make your own jokes.




7. The Hard Rock Casino has dealers, strippers, and stripper-dealers.

In the middle of the casino floor, there is a pit of about 8 blackjack tables that has an island in the middle. This island is an elevated platform with 3 stripper poles on it. As luck would have it, these stripper poles have actual strippers on them Thursday through Sunday night. They wear the least amount of clothing that is legally possible and dance provocatively for rows of men who stop to gawk.

If that wasn't enough, the dealers themselves in this pit are wearing tube tops, napkin shirts, and anything else designed to have their tits pouring out. They flirt and joke, and though widely considered some of the worst technical dealers in the casino, they rake in tips as men line up to give their money away.

The Hard Rock might have figured out a couple things about running a casino.




8. If you're a dealer and you're not going to show your tits, you may as well be racist.

During the day, they put the strippers back in the vault and trot out all their "anti-discrimination act" employees. Now, it's not that I have a problem with fat people. Well, that's a lie. I despise fat people. But, in theory, I could tolerate them.

So if you're hoping to be a tolerable fatty, the least you could do is be nice. That's the least that I'm asking. Seriously, it's not like I'm asking you to eat a salad or take the stairs. Just be nice. Doesn't all that weight make you jolly at all?

Apparently, someone on the Hard Rock day shift never got the memo. As I sat down at her empty blackjack table, she asked for my ID. I kindly obliged and as she looked at my license, she said, "New Jersey? You can't be from New Jersey! Where's your mullet?!"

Now I'm fine with anyone ripping on New Jersey. There are many Jersey jokes to be had, some of them true, most of them lame, but you can have at it if that's how you choose to socialize. But mullets? In Jersey? That's not close to true. That's not even a stereotype. What in the FUCK is your fat ass talking about?

She was also cheering on the Phillies, so I assumed this meant she was from PA, which would explain the Jersey hatred. But no, she explained that she was from New Mexico. Oh! Nary a mullet in New Mexico! I guarantee you that there are ten times as many mullets in New Mexico as there are in New Jersey. You hear me? I'm only saying this in my head, but I know you can hear me you fat fuck.

Chubbsy Ubbsy goes on to say, "Ya know sometimes I tell my dad I have a black boyfriend just to mess with him. He's from the South so it really gets him mad! Hahahaha. Hit or stay."

WHAT. What do you think my reaction to that is going to be? You get a lot of high fives after that story? Is that the anecdote that clinched it on your interview? I'm not a sensitive or politically correct person by a longshot, but seriously, fuck that racist cracker.




9. The Hard Rock Hotel and Casino hosts one giant poser convention.

The downside to #7 is that it brings in droves of doucheclowns and toolboxes. Apparently out West they are trying to start another ill-conceived fashion trend born from their prisons. Half the guys at the Hard Rock were wearing shorts to the knee, floppy tennis shoes, and socks pulled up to mid-calf. They all look like Mexicans in prison...which were impossible to find a picture of, so you'll have to take my word for it.

The other half of the crowd all had bedazzled trucker hats that would make Charles Nelson Reilly blush.

That's right. That's the only rule I have about blogging: shoehorn in a CNR reference whenever possible.




10. You should not take the redeye back from Las Vegas.

Last February I went to Vegas with a few friends. When we booked the trip, we surmised that it was a good idea to take the redeye back to Jersey. "That way we have all day Sunday to keep partying!" For some reason, we didn't seem to put together that we were already going to be in Vegas for six days, and that we would be in no condition to party "all day Sunday."

Well, we soon realized what a grave error in judgment we had made once Sunday came. We packed our bags like zombies and with nowhere else to go, we piled our bodies into a lounge in Planet Hollywood. The four of us sat facing one another, our mullets deflated, tacitly acknowledging that we would not see each other for a month after this trip. After about 8 hours of this, we stood up and went to airport. I haven't talked to them since.

So what did I learn on my Vegas vacation? Nothing, of course. Like the asshole that I am, I did the same thing this time around and booked an 11:45 PM flight home on Sunday night. Obviously, I never learn shit, so who am I to tell Xmas Girl how to gamble. Let's bet the over on the opening weekend of High School Musical 3. I have a feeling I'm gonna be a big hit!

A.J. vs. P.A.C.

Adam Jones' Brain: What did I say..

Adam Jones' Hands: Yo. Aight first off-

Brain: What did I say..

Hands: Yo, I'm sayin'-

Brain: WHAT. DID I. SAY..

Hands: Shiiiit. Aight. You said don't do anything wit'out axin you first.

Brain: Thank you. But did you listen to me? Nooooo. Do you ever listen to me? NOOOOO.

Hands: But yo I'm sayin' it wasn't even my fault!

Brain: Of course it wasn't! It's never your fault! It wasn't your fault when you didn't want to pay the valet so you said, "I'll just hit her." It wasn't your fault when we got pulled over for 75 in a school zone. It wasn't your fault when you wanted to "make it rain" in that strip club in Vegas that coincidentally got shot up after we left. And it certainly wasn't your fault that we got in a drunken fight when we are under a zero tolerance policy from the commissioner of the NFL!

Hands: Exactly. Thank you.

Brain: THEY WERE ALL YOUR FAULT!

Hands: How is the speeding ticket my fault?

Adam Jones' Legs: Don't drag me into this, boy.

Hands: Aight, aight, you wanna blame Hands. Fine. But yo. For real? Shit is going on in the streets, man. Yo niggas is in the grind. Where you be at, man? Niggas be buckin. Why you never buckin? Where you be at, man??

Brain: First of all, I'm a brain, and you are hands. We are a part of the same body. I am always, inherently, in the same place that you are. That's where I "be at." Second of all, if bucking means "shooting a gun," then being that I am a brain, it would be physically impossible for me to shoot a gun. Third of all, those guns are what got us into trouble in the first place. How could you glorify gun violence when that's what essentially cost us our career? Someone almost died behind that!

Legs: Yo, he just stole those lines from a song.

Brain: What?

Legs: Those are lyrics.

Hands: No they aint!

Legs: It's Nas. It's called Destroy and Rebuild.

Brain: Really? What the fuck, Hands. You think this is a joke?

Hands: Nah, man. It's just...I don't know. I don't know what they want from me. It's like the more money we come across, the more problems we see.

Brain: Exactly. That's what I've been saying. All this money and fame can get us into a lot of trouble. Thank you for finally-

Legs: It's another song, Brain.

Hands: Nah, man. I made that up.

Legs: That's BIG man. Everyone know that.

Brain: Seriously? This is what you wanna do all day, Hands?

Hands: Yo. We out there every day and people be throwin' dirt on our name. They be testin' us. They be talkin' shit 'bout Pacman.

Brain: You mean "Adam."

Hands: Nah, fuck that, man! We Pacman! We always been Pacman and we always gon' be Pacman! And when people disrespect Pacman, Hands is on the front line! That big ol' bouncer tried to talk shit and I did what I's 'posed to! I popped that fat bitch in the side of his head!

Legs: Man, you only waited until people were around to separate you.

Brain: Legs, I saw you kicking him too!

Legs: Well, hey, man. You know what they say. Bitches get kick-es.

Brain: That is not an expression.

Hands: Why you so mad, Brain? You act like you surprised.

Brain: I know, I know. I shouldn't be. But it was all going so well. We started out 3-0. Everyone said we were the best team in football. Fans were screaming our name...

Legs: It aint that bad, man.

Brain: ...we led the team in tackles against Green Bay, we recovered a fumble...

Hands: It'll be aight.

Brain: ...it was almost as if everyone forgot. It was all going just as I planned. And now, Jerry Jones is going to kill us.

Legs: Nah, man. JJ loves us.

Brain: That's just for the press! He told me that if we messed up, even once, he would give us a Texas Funeral. And we'd never see it coming.

Legs: You really think he'd do that?

Brain: We were standing at the grave of Frank Cornish when he told me.

Legs: Fuckin shit.

Hands: Nah, man. We good. How he gon' kill family? JJ won't do that. You can't kill family.

Brain: What are you talking about? What is he talking about?

Legs: "Jones."

Brain: Jesus Christ.

Legs: Look, we can't just sit here cryin' all day.

Brain: Well we got four weeks off now. Maybe even more. So what do we do now? What the fuck do we do now?

Adam Jones' Dick: ...Wanna go to the strip club?

Threat Level: Purple

I don't want to alarm anyone, but our country is in grave danger. You may or may not be aware of it, but it stands to threaten each and every person in America. We need to band together in a bipartisan effort to fight this evil before we are all subject to the most dire of consequences.

In case you haven't seen it already, a California Raisin is on NFL Countdown.

If they've already infiltrated ESPN, how much longer before they infiltrate a main network? And then perhaps, our government? What if it becomes mayor? Governor? Or even Vice President? Stranger things have happened.

But maybe that won't be so bad. Who am I to argue with God's plan?

Revenga!

Willie Randolph walks up to an unlit house reading a piece of paper. He knocks on the door.



Willie Randolph: Hello? Umm...I got a letter that said I should come here? Is- is anyone there?

Willie slowly opens the door and the lights go on.

Everyone: SURPRISE!!!

Willie: "Surprise?" But it's not my birthday.

Bill Buckner walks forward.



Bill Buckner: See, guys, I told you "surprise" was stupid. Hey, Willie. Remember me? It's Bill Buckner. And I'm still alive!

Willie: Hey, Bill. 'Course I remember. But what- what is all this?

An old man holding his goat dives out in between Bill and Willie.



Old Man: IT'S THE REVENGE CLUB! YA IN ER AIN'T YE?!

Goat: Whoa, hey. Slow down, Old Man. Give him a chance, huh?

Bill: Willie, he's right. This is a Revenge Club. Everyone here has been wronged by someone or something and we have vowed that we would take our revenge. And we tortured souls rely on each other to make sure our revenge is complete. No matter what it takes. No matter how long it takes.

Goat: But we don't do curses.

Bill: Oh, that's right. We don't do curses.

Goat: Old Man was gonna make a sign, you know, for your first night. "Revenge Club: We Don't Do Curses." But, uh, he got fuckin' piss-drunk out of his mind again and, uh, well, Willie, I'd just like to say welcome.

Old Man: SHUT UP, GOAT, BEFORE I SHOVE MY HICKORY STICK UP YOUR SMELLY GOAT ASS!

Goat: Ahh that's right. Again with the hickory stick. We get it, Old Man.

Willie: I'm sorry, Bill. Who exactly is this Old Man and his Goat?

Bill: Well in 1945-

Old Man: IN 1945 WE GOT KICKED OUT OF WRIGLEY FIELD DURING GAME 4 OF THE WORLD SERIES. I brought ol' Goat here fer good luck. "We got yer Goat" I told Detroit. They didn't seem to appreciate the joke.

Goat: I tried telling him it was a terrible joke.

Old Man bludgeons Goat over the head with his hickory stick.

Old Man: When'and the rain came, the Cubs owner forced me and mah goat out of the stadium. They said we stunk! Since that day I've vowed that the Cubs and their stinkin' fans won't never see another championship ag'in.

Willie: ...Could that possibly be true?

Old Man: YOU CALLIN' ME A LIAR, BOY?!? YOU THINK I'M SOME URBAN LEGEND?! YOU MUST BE READIN' THAT WIKIPEDIA TOO!

Goat: Easy, Old Man, Easy.

Willie: Fine, I believe you. Jeez. So how do you guys get revenge?

Old Man: Every year if they get close, I make'n sure they don't get too close. Heh heh.

Goat: Yeah 'cause we fuckin' rig the games!

Old Man: Shut up, GOAT!

Willie: Oh my god. Did you cause them to lose in 2003?

Old Man: Heh heh. Some of my best work. Ya see, I kidnapped that Steve boy about a month before the playoffs. I had him in my basement tied up right next to the goat, listening to hypnotic mind-control tapes for 24 hours a day! Then when Game 6 came and them Cubs was gittin' too close, I unleashed my Bartman zombie into the game, and planted him real close to the field. He had those tapes playin' his headphones, makin' him listen to mah every word. And when the time was right- BAM!

Willie: Oh my god!!!

Bill: Just like Naked Gun!!

Old Man: NO FOUL BALL FOR YOU MR. ALOU! HAHAHAHA, GAME OVER! CUBS LOSE!!!!!

Willie: That's amazing! You made Steve Bartman interfere with that foul ball through hypnosis?!

Goat: Nah, man, we just paid Alex Gonzalez to tank that ground ball. Mark Prior too. It barely cost anything, man. I almost felt bad doin' it.

Old Man kicks Goat in the ribs.

Old Man: SHUT UP, GOAT! YOU KNOW IT WAS THE BARTMAN ZOMBIE!!

Goat: Fackin SHIT. Ahh, god damn. Okay, okay, fine you're right. It was your zombie with the cassette tapes or whatever.

Willie: What was your revenge Bill?

Bill lowers his head and casts a devilish smile.

Bill: I'm glad you asked, Willie. As you may know, I had this tiny little error in Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. Some people seem to think I cost Boston the World Series and that I perpetuated some kind of curse. For about the next 18 years after that, I got my house egged every weekend. I'm not sure if it was related to the error, but just to be safe, I joined the Revenge Club.

Willie: Oh god, Bill, I remember. I'm so sorry you had to go through that. It's just that I was with these guys, and they were like, "Hey we have these eggs." And I was like "But I really like Bill." But they were like, "Well, are you cool or aren't you?" And they were my ride home so..

Bill: It's fine, Willie. It's fine. Because I exacted my revenge in most spectacular fashion. Muahahaha.

Willie: What did you do?

Bill: I'll tell you Willie, but you are sworn to secrecy. I saved up every penny I had, and I paid Mariano Rivera to take a dive and blow the 2004 ALCS! Then the Red Sox rolled over the Cardinals with ease and they were champions for the first time since 1918!

Willie: But, um, where is the revenge?

Bill: Don't you see?! By making the Red Sox win I convinced everyone that there is no curse! They wouldn't be mad at me anymore for blowing the '86 Series because they finally won one! Hahaha! Revenge is mine! How sweet it is!

Willie: How exactly does-

Goat: Don't even try, Willie. We've all told him. That plan doesn't make any fucking sense.

Bill: Hey! Shut up, Goat! I didn't criticize your creepy hey-let's-kidnap-a-kid-and-make-him-a-zombie-who-catches-a-routine-foul-ball-alou-will-have-no-shot-at-anyway plan!

Goat: Fuck me. For the hundreth time that was just the Old Man's Jim Beam talking!

Bill taps Willie on the side of his arm over his windbreaker.

Bill: Cmon, Willie. It's a good plan, right? Pretty cool, right??

Willie: Yeahhh, Bill. Cooool. You got 'em good.

Bill: Thanks, pal. So now you know what we are capable of Willie. And that's why we sent you that letter to meet us here. We want you to join our club.

Willie: But why me?

Bill: We saw what happened to you this season. The way they fired you in the middle of the season? On a road trip? Via email? That's just awful.

Willie: Yeah that was pretty rough.

Old Man: YER GOD DAMN RIGHT IT WAS ROUGH! THOSE SONS A BITCHES-

Bill: Alright, Old Man. We got it.

Willie rubs the back of his own neck.

Willie: Well. I. I dunno...

A baby comes up and yanks on Willie's pant leg.



John Moynahan: Are you fuckin' in or not.

Willie: Good god! That baby can talk!

Goat: Really? The talking baby shocks you?

Willie: Who are you?

John: I'm Tom Brady's son. I joined this club 8 months ago. And I'm serious as a fucking heart attack about exacting revenge against my dad.

Willie: Against your own father? But why?

John: Because that motherfucker left Mommy for some tarted-up glassy-eyed Brazilian slut who isn't even that hot.

Everyone: Whoa, whoa, whoa!

John: Okay, look. I'm not saying she's not hot. I'm just saying, not my type.

Goat: Gorgeous Brazilian models with perfect bodies aren't your type?

Old Man: THAT BITCH IS A DIME!!!

John: Fine, she's really hot, alright? I know that. That's obvious. I'm just saying. Overrated, okay?

Bill: I can live with that.

John: My dad just up and left us for some piece of ass. So now, I plan on making him feel the pain that I feel every day. That's why before the Super Bowl I paid the Patriots offensive line to dog their blocking assignments. That's why I paid Peyton Manning to wear Eli's uniform for the Giants. And that's why I paid Bernard Pollard to destroy Dad's knee.

Goat: That's a lot of money to be paying out.

John: Well, that's the one nice thing about being Tom Brady's kid. So. William. I ask you again. You in?

Willie: Gee it's just that-

Old Man: JUST FUCKIN' JOIN OUR CREW OR I'LL SHOVE MY HICKORY STI-

Willie: Alright, alright, with the hickory stick. Boys. I will join the Revenge Club. I'm in!

Bill shakes Willie's hand heartily.

Bill: That's great, Willie! Welcome. Now let's get down to business. We've got a lot of work to do if we're gonna screw those Mets and keep them out of the playoffs!

Willie: What?

Old Man: Tonight we gon' beat those Mets like a red-headed step-goat!

Willie: Are you guys serious? That wasn't you?

Bill: What wasn't?

Willie: You guys didn't pay Schoeneweis to give up that homerun? You didn't have the Marlins steal the signs for Helms? The guy has 68 career homeruns in 9 seasons!

Bill kicks at the carpet beneath him with his hands in his pockets.

Bill: Shoot. We thought the game was tonight.

Goat: I tried telling them, Willie. It's no use once they get an idea in 'em. It's like working with a bunch of animals.

Willie: Wow. So...they did it all themselves.

Bill: Damn they really fucked up!

Goat: Yeah, Bill. Someone should really egg their houses.

John: I guess the Mets really just suck.

Old Man bursts into the middle of the group.

Old Man: HOLD ON! WAIT. HOLD! ON! YOU TELLIN' ME THE PLAYOFFS ALREADY DONE STARTED??

Goat: Yes, Old Man.

Old Man scrambles out of the house.

Old Man: AW FER FUCK'S SAKE! I GOTTA GET MAH BARTMAN ZOMBIE! STEVIE BOY, I'MA COMIN'!