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America’s Most Syndicated Bad Advice Columnist

Dear Emmitt,

I recently married a wonderful woman who has two teenaged children.  My relationship with my wife is amazing, but as hard as I try, these kids just won’t let me into their lives.  I feel like a stranger in my own home.  What do I do?

Stepped-on Stepdad

********

Dear Stepped-on Stepdad:

It can be hard for stepdads who has to work their way into a new family.  It’s like being a new running back on a football team.  Coach say: “Offence be rollin’!” but until you step up and get a running game, red zone going to be empty.  I say, these kids should be happy they got a dad who care about them and get on the winning team.

Dear Emmitt,

Lately, my girlfriend’s interest in sex has diminished almost entirely.  It just seems like she’s never in the mood anymore.  How can I convince her to be more adventurous in the bedroom?

Closet De Sade

*********

Dear Closet De Sade:

Of course you Closet be sad - you ain’t R. Kelly after all! All kiddings to the side, as they say on Dances with Stars, it take two to tango. Your lady need to feel loved before she just lay down and let the sack come through.  Take a page from my man Michael Irvin’s playbook - talk at your lady. A lot.  Communication is the key to a positive relation.  Try that and she’ll reach her climate [sic] in no time!

Dear Emmitt:

My wife and I are buying our first home together and we’re confused about financing options.  Are we better off getting a fixed rate mortgage or an adjustable rate mortgage?

Zero Down

 ***********

Dear Zero Down:

When you got zero down, that mean the offence going nowhere.  Buying a home is a big decision.  I remember when Michael Irvin, Nate Newton and I bought our first safehouse in Dallas.  The bank manager be all “Do you want accelerated bi-weekly mortgage payments?” and Nate say “Ever heard of cash, Motherfucker?” Seem like so long ago now.

Dear Emmitt,

I recently divorced and my wife got custody of our three kids.  Lately, I have begun to suspect that my wife is turning my kids against me.  Is there anything I can do to stop her from poisoning my kids against me?

Sleepless in Bachelor Apartment

 **********

Dear SBA:

Ex-wifes is tricky.  You can love them all you want, but eventually you going to hit them and they going to need cash in their pockets.  It’s that simple.  Hell, that’s why Coach Johnson set up alimony annuities for us players in the first place.  As for the kids, I say sometimes the best love is the kind that doesn’t interfere with a man’s free time. Like Maya Angelou say, if you love somebody, set them free.

If you’re like me, you have an encyclopedic knowledge of Debbie Gibson lyrics, you harbour an as-yet unrequited love for Megan Fox, and you have a relentless passion for Hollywood reproductions of musicals based on the music of aging Swedish quartets. And so, like me, you pretty much fired off a batch when you heard that the world’s 9th most popular musical, Mamma Mia, was being turned into a movie starring James Bond and that chick who played one of the Kramers in Kramer vs. Kramer.

However, it was recently revealed that the world was very nearly deprived of the cinematic wonder that is Mamma Mia. Indeed, as illustrated by the following letter obtained through immoral acts by the Food Court Lunch news & housewares team, director Phyllida  Lloyd’s attempts to bring culture to the world was almost silenced by the Hollywood illuminati (and not just because of her flagrant use of the letter “L”)…

*   *   *

Dear Universal Pictures,

Thank you again for agreeing to hear me out on my proposed film adaptation of the ABBA-inspired classic, Mamma Mia. I could not help but feel as though my initial proposal was not well received during our meeting last week, and I appreciate you keeping an open mind.

First off, let me tell you what I bring to the table. One word, my friends: Gloriana. That’s right - I was the one responsible for the British television masterpiece that rocked the English and Welsh coasts from 1999 to 2000 (spanning two millenia). Accordingly, I think I know a little something about what the North American audience wants. And the answer, dear friends, is more ABBA. A lot more. Now I know what you’re thinking - “What the hell has she been doing for the last half decade?” A good question. Don’t worry about it. Suffice it to say that I have been listening to a lot of Swedish easy listening, waiting for the perfect time to usher forth the ABBA resurgence that the world has been waiting for. And that time is now!

Bjorn, Bennie, Anni-Frid, Agnetha - unite! Take form of “awesome movie”! Picture it - a legion of movie-goers, dancing and singing in the streets to the sweet manufactured sounds of “Voulez-Vous” (everyone loves French) and “Dancing Queen” (everyone loves David Beckham). It’s every music / movie lover’s wet dream come true. Get ready to clean some sheets!

Now some of you may be thinking to yourselves, “ABBA? Really? Haven’t we had enough of them? In fact, didn’t we have enough of them by about 1975? Actually, didn’t 1975 just call and ask for its musical taste back? And didn’t we agree? Come to think of it, didn’t we vow to kill everyone responsible for unleashing ABBA on the world in an orgy of justified violence? And isn’t everything Swedish tainted with evil anyway? And who the hell is this Phyllida person?”

All valid points. That’s why you folks are where you are today. Kudos. But let’s remember something - the customer is always right. If a tone-deaf public clamours for over-dubbed Swedish musical abortions, who are you to resist? This isn’t Euro Itchy & Scratchy Land, people. The fact remains that ABBA is recognized as the 2nd greatest band of all time (behind Boney-M). That’s just science. It’s no accident that they won the Eurovision Song Contest in 1974! How many other bands can claim that? Not one. There was only one winner that year. I checked. Admittedly there have been 24 winners since then, but their days in Hollywood will come. For now, it’s ABBA’s turn. 

So let’s make this happen, team! We toss a few washed-up Brits on a soundstage, we pump in a little Swedish disco, throw together a loosely constructed plot, and we have ourselves a guaranteed hit. By my calculations, we should aim for the summer of 2008 - I cannot imagine that we’ll be competing against any summer blockbusters at that time.

I look forward to hearing from you as soon as possible,

Phyllida 

PS - great news!! Bjorn and Bennie have both signed on to the project! I can’t believe they found the time, but who am I to look a gift Swedish horse in the mouth?! Bjorn has even put together some drawings of the time machine that will feature prominently in the script re-write…

 

Some randomly bizarre news from the world of advertising - Robert Norman Smith, who “starred” in a “popular” series of beer ads as an angry Scottish “person”, was sentenced to 21 months in prison yesterday for possession of child pornography.  I wasn’t even aware that he had been charged, and I pride myself on keeping up-to-date on the depravity of all minor Canadian celebrities (you’ve failed me for the last time, Google alerts!).

For those unfamiliar with the commercials, grant me the indulgence of a mouse button click and thirty seconds of your time, hmm?

Get it?  He’s angry, he loves alcohol, and he’s cheap (implied)!

Smith’s impression of Mike Myers’ impression of a Scottish person landed him the starring role in at least five of these ads, which at one point were played on a constant loop during Canadian broadcasts of NFL games.  This proved annoying, as I was sick of watching them the first time through.  And speaking of sick watching, seems ol’ Robbie had quite the nasty off-screen obsession - his extensive collection of images and video was described by the sentencing judge as “particularly graphic and vile”. 

Naturally, this begs the question - what, if anything, did his signature character contribute to his sordid addiction? 

Stay with me: often times truly talented actors can get lost in the characters they portray. We’ve all heard the rumours that Heath Ledger’s intense preparation for his part as an unhinged sociopath in 10 Things I Hate About You The Dark Knight contributed to his supposed fragile emotional condition prior to his mysterious death.  Smith was equally convincing in his role - based on sideburns and sweater alone, he was virtually indistinguishable from an actual Scotsman.  Perhaps, then, it wasn’t just us, the viewer, but Smith himself who could not tell reality from fantasy. Because if there is one thing The Simpsons has taught us, it’s that all Scottish people are voyeuristic sickos.

Rowdy Roddy Peeper, indeed.

This flimsy premise got me to thinking: what about the other actors who have played poorly drawn ethnic caricatures in terrible t.v. spots?  What if they followed suit and began to act out their respective stereotype’s signature socially destructive behaviour, thereby threatening the health and safety of our kids?

For instance, what about the “two jobs” guy?

How long before this Jamaican “candy” peddler is selling ganja on our playgrounds, or seducing our daughters with his carefree Caribbean charms?

And what about Jello baby?

By this point, he almost certainly owns a factory that puts lead in your kid’s toys. 

And what of the prototypical Japanese auto magnate? 

What if he does…whatever it is we are supposed to be afraid of Japanese people for these days? 

Finally, I don’t think I need to tell you what scares me about this McDonald’s ad:

Parents, if a whole bunch of young barbecue enthusiasts start teaching your children poor nutritional habits, I think you know who to blame.

Basically, what I’m trying to say is, read to your children.

[Beijing, China. Offices of Chinese Gymnastics Association]

[Knocking at the office door.]

Receptionist: Please come in.

[A strange older-looking gentlemen carrying a ’80’s ghetto blaster playing “Rock and Roll Part II” enters]

Receptionist: Can I…can I help you, sir?

Gentleman: ‘Ello, Gorgeous. You’re a right wee stunner. ‘Ow old are you exactly?

Receptionist: Twenty-three, sir, but I don’t see how…

Gentleman: Twenty-free?  You don’t look a day over twelve. Christ, twenty-free. That’s no ‘elp. You Oriental girls are quite deceptive…(to self) and talkative. Can’t keep your damn mouffs shut.

Receptionist: Excuse me?  

Gentleman: Nuffing, nuffing. And if I’m not going to speak to the Vietnamese police, I am certainly not going to speak wiff you, am I?

Receptionist: … I do not understand anything that you are saying.

Gentleman: Can’t ‘ear me, then? I’ll turn down this stereo.

Receptionist: Can I help you with something, sir?

Gentleman: Oh, yes. Right. You most certainly can. I am ‘ere about the job.

Receptionist: The job?

Gentleman: Yes, the job. Wiff the girls. The small ones. Really agile. Limber. Mmmm.

Receptionist: ….

Gentleman: Mmmm.

Receptionist: Sir?

Gentleman: Mmmm. What? Oh, gymnastics. Ladies’ gymnastics.

Receptionist: Sir, all of our officials are currently attending the individual events at the arena.

Gentleman: Oh. Oh….Well, er, um, that’s no problem because I already ‘ave a job ‘ere. Umm, I got ‘ired last week.

Receptionist: You did?

Gentleman: Yes…er, um…as musical coordinator.

Receptionist: Really? That’s a job?

Gentleman: Really! I am very famous in England and parts of Soufeast Asia. Wait, no, forget I ever said that — I was never in Soufeast Asia.

Receptionist: I have no records of anyone here hiring a music coordinator. What did you say your name was?

Gentleman: Gary. Gary Gritter.

Receptionist: Hmm. Very easy to pronounce. Well, Mr. Gritter, I don’t know what to tell you. What was it again that you were supposedly hired for?

Gentleman: Er…musical coordinator for the Sexy Girls’, sorry, Women’s Gymnastic team.

Receptionist: Why would we need a musical coordinator?

Gentleman: Why? I don’t know why? I’m not the one who ‘ired me. It’s for the floor routine — I don’t know. All I want to know is, do all of those gymnasts have documentary identification that can prove that they are sixteen? It’s quite important to me.

Receptionist: Are you a reporter?

Gentleman: No, I am a pedophile. Is that better than being a reporter? Wait, no…(to himself) c’mon, Glitter, you’re blowing it…much like that angel-faced girl in Burma…as I said before, I am a musical coordinator. Never mind what I just admitted, and if you tell the Cambodian police I will ‘ave you killed. The important part is that I was distinctly told by your organization that I could ‘ave a job around twelve year olds that can pass as sixteen year olds. ‘Ow could I turn down a job like that?

Receptionist: Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave.

Gentleman: Look, sweetie, I don’t know if you know this, but I wrote “I Love You Love Me Love”. I’m quite famous. I know people. Successful people. Dangerous people. I wouldn’t go making any rash decisions…(to himself) like I did that fateful night in a Vietnamese hotel room.

Receptionist: Security will be here immediately.

Gentleman: Oh, come on! Do you at least have a few photographs I could have? An old warmup suit from one of the girls? A clipping of hair?

[Security appears]

Gentleman: Well, then. Back to the airport it is. [Turns on “Rock and Roll Part II” again]

[Los Angeles, California. A non-descript commercial building.]

Gay Porn Producer: Man, our product just isn’t selling like it used to. I don’t know what it is.

Gay Porn Director: I’ll tell you what it is. We are turning out the same old crappy movies every single year. Guys are just getting sick of them.

Gay Porn Producer: You think so?

Gay Porn Director: I know so. Same actors, same positions, same stupid settings — locker room, teacher-student, casual gang-bang…it’s getting tired. We need something new.

Gay Porn Producer: Like what? It’s all been done before. We can’t reinvent the wheel here. It’s gay porn.

Gay Porn Director: That’s not true. We can go back to basics — two dicks, that’s all you need for a good film.

Gay Porn Producer: Are you kidding me? Two dicks? You are telling me that a couple of dongs are all I need? How in the hell is that original?

Gay Porn Director: Hear me out. We add a new sexual element that’s never been used before.

Gay Porn Producer: Like what?

Gay Porn Director: Like…I don’t know. Umm, the trampoline?

Gay Porn Producer: The trampoline?…..That’s perfect. Think of the penetration!

Gay Porn Director: I know, I’m thinking about it already! Oh, and we can cast Asian guys! They are very hot right now!

Gay Porn Producer: Fantastic! Are you sure this hasn’t been done before?

Gay Porn Director: Well, let’s check. [Goes to computer.] Let’s just type these things in and…

 

Gay Porn Director and Gay Porn Producer: Fuck.

Gay Porn Director: Back to the drawing board.

***

 

(Ricky Williams and Ernest Wilford sit on the couch in Williams’s living room, watching television.  There is a knock at the door.) 

Williams: Hmm.  Wonder who that is?

(Williams opens door.  Chad Pennington stands on the porch.)

Williams: Oh, hey Chad.

Pennington: Hi Ricky.  I hope I’m not disturbing you.

Williams: Not at all.  Come on in.

Pennington: Thanks.  Oh, hi Ernie.

Wilford: What’s up, Chad?

Williams: So, what brings you by?

Pennington: Well, I was just down the street at Chad Henne’s place playing badminton, and I thought that I should stop in and say howdy.  You know, get to know some of my new teammates a little bit better.

Williams: Cool, man, glad you did.

Pennington: Thanks!  So what are you fellas up to?

Williams: Oh, just hanging out, watching t.v.

Pennington: That sounds neat.  Say, this is a swell place you’ve got here!  Is this linoleum flooring?

Williams: Yep.  Thanks. (Chime sounds from kitchen) Alright, food’s ready.

(Williams walks over to the stove, and pulls out a tray of brownies.)

 

Williams: Perfect.

Wilford: Mmm.  Can’t wait to tuck into those.

Williams: (cutting brownies) Chad, you want one of these?

Pennington: (startled) W-would I like one of what?

Williams: You know.  A brownie.

Pennington: (gulps) A b-brownie?

Williams: Yeah.  I made them with my own “secret ingredient”.  You in?

Pennington: Jeez, I don’t know.  I’ve never had one of these before…

Williams: What?  Then you don’t know what you’re missing, man.  And mine are the best.  Jake Delhomme couldn’t get enough of them back when we were in New Orleans.

Pennington: Really?  Jake ate them?

Williams: Are you kidding me?  He made me make a pan before every game.

Pennington: Well…(taps fingers nervously on counter)…sure!  Why the heck not?

Williams: Alright.  Dig in.

Pennington: (rubs hands together) This is going to be fun!

*** 

(One hour later.  Williams and Wilford sit on the couch.  Pennington is sprawled out on the floor.)

Pennington: …and they just totally changed her, and they didn’t say anything!  Like, one minute she was this skinny, really dark lady, who is like, a ballerina.  And the next minute, she’s this bigger, lighter skinned lady with poofy hair!  I mean…(laughing hysterically)…how crazy is that!  Like Uncle Phil isn’t going to notice he’s sleeping with a totally different person?

Williams: That’s funny.

Wilford: Yeah, that’s crazy, Chad.

Pennington: (laughing hysterically) And Carlton…that dance…

Williams: Anybody want some tea or something?

Pennington: (suddenly on couch, scrolling through Williams’s iTunes) OOH!  I know this tune!  Can I put this on?  PLEASE?

Williams: Sure, man, go nuts.

(En Vogue’s ‘Free Your Mind’ begins to play.)

Pennington: Turn this up! (stands up, eyes closed, white man’s overbite) Mmm…yeah…(off-key)…wear tight clothing…high heel shoes….(angrily pointing)…DOESN’T MEAN THAT I’M A PROSTITUTE!

Wilford: Heh heh. 

Williams: You tell ‘em, Chad.

Pennington: Say, Ricky, are there any more of those brownies?

Williams: Naw, man, you finished off the whole pan.

Pennington: (rubs stomach) Shoot, I am starving.  Must be the darn ‘munchies’!  Is there anything in the fridge?

Williams: Help yourself.

Pennington: (stumbles trying to slide on linoleum) Whoa.  (opens fridge) Alright, let’s see what we’ve…oh!  Kalamata olives!  Can I have some?

Williams: They’re all yours.

Pennington: (runs and sits cross-legged on floor, furiously munching olives)  Wow, I feel so loose right now.  Hey!  You guys want to go see Wall-E?

Wilford: I’m cool right here, man.

Pennington: Comeoncomeonecomeon!  You’ll love it!  I’ve seen it twice already, it’s great!

Williams: Maybe later, Chad.

Pennington: Oh, you guys are no f…oh, shoot.  It’s already 7:30.

Williams: What’s at 7:30?

Pennington: I promised Robin I’d tape Grey’s Anatomy tonight.  And I forgot to set the darn TiVo.

Wilford: Bummer.

Pennington: I should probably get going.  (gasps) But I shouldn’t be driving right now, should I?

Williams: S’alright, I’ll call you a cab.

Pennington: No, that’s okay.  I’ll just walk.

Williams: Don’t you live, like, fifteen miles from here?

Pennington: I just feel like being outside.  Close to nature.

Williams: Whatever you say, man.

Pennington: Come here, you guys. (hugs Wilford) Love you, man.  This season is going to be the best!

Wilford: You know it, Chad.

Pennington: Ricky. (hugs Williams) We gotta hang out more often.  Maybe have some more (points to nose) “brownies”.

Williams: Anytime, Chad.

Pennington: (jogs down front steps) Before you can read me, (something) learn how to see me!

Wilford: (closes door, smiles) Are you ever going to tell him there was nothing in the brownies?

Williams: What?  And break his little heart?

Wilford: “Secret ingredient”.  He nearly fainted.

Williams: (mock innocence) You didn’t taste the crushed Oreos? (looks through blinds)  Check out this crazy little altar boy.

Pennington: (standing on sidewalk with arms spread, staring at sunset) I GET IT!  I GEEETTTTTT ITTTTTTTT!

Wilford: Wow.  (shakes head) Come on.  Double or nothing on Madden.

Williams: Hey, it’s your twenty grand.

_______________________________________________

UPDATE: Damn you, Christmas Ape.  Damn you straight to hell.

By now, most of you have likely seen the footage of old Cleetus from Miami attempting to kite surf in the meteorological bitch that is “Fay”. If you haven’t, you clearly haven’t been checking your local CBS4 newswatch, people!

As a pillar of the media community and a local celebrity, my first reaction upon witnessing the bone-crushing glory of the video that has been dubbed by some (i.e., me) as “Biopic of a Misunderstood Genius” was to organize a charity event for Cleetus’ face-replacement surgery. Upon further reflection, however, it struck me that Cleetus did not deserve my pity, or my money. Not because he is a tremendous douche who effectively spat in the face of God, but rather because his so-called incident didn’t even compare to my recent trip to Miami. If anyone should be pitied, it is me. My mother was right. So was yours.

Allow me to set the scene: Me and my “bros” decided to hit the Florida coast for the annual Kite Surfing and Needlepoint Invitational - that’s just how we roll. As always, I had my videographer Lance (Chilton) along for the ride, whose sole mission in life is to document the unparalleled accomplishments of the Food Court Lunch quad. Upon arrival at the beach, I scoped the scene and hit the water for my first run. And guess what, Cleetus - it sucked way worse than yours: 

Not one to be put off my game by a minor setback like “death by shark maul”, I persevered. And this happened:

And then this:

And finally, this:

So you know what, Cleetus? Your antics don’t impress me. Now give me some money.

Fuck, am I ever fat. I mean real fat. Jiggly fat. Heavy-breathing-while-eating fat. Cellulite so plentiful that each skin divot can be considered an orifice. Just fucking fat.

But do you know what? I want to be fatter. Sure, I can’t see my toes now, but I want it so my neck fat prevents me from even looking down. I want so many fat rolls that I look like Bibendum.

 What can I do about this? I eat tonnes of garbage already. I make Morgan Spurlock look like a pussy (although, truth be told, that’s not hard). Pizza, burgers, ice cream, bacon, soda pop, bacon dipped in soda pop (”bacon dippers”, I like to call it) – bad food is my greasy and sugary lifeblood (deathblood?). If only there was some new type of food that would help me in my quest for hyper-morbid obesity. If only….

Fried chicken for breakfast. Genius. Thanks, McDonalds. That should do it. I’ll be dead by the end of the year, but that should do it. I’d write you a personal thank-you note, but my fat fingers can’t properly grip a pen.

A critical look at the headlines that shape our world

Pull Out or Else, Taliban Warns Canada Before Post-Prom Interlude

I remember the first time I had Taliban sex.  “Infidel! Infidel!” she kept yelling.  But all I could hear was Bob Seger singing “Night Moves”.  “I was a little too tall, could have used a few pounds…”

Man Shot to Death at Mall Shooting Range; Alanis Morrissette Scrambles to Compose New Verse for “Ironic”

They really should clarify the wording on those signs.

Endorsements Pure Gold for Phelps; Expected to Join Jared in Subway’s ‘For Christ’s Sake, Eat a Sandwich Already!’ Campaign

How long until Michael Phelps gets his guest spot on “Two and a Half Men”?

Mayor of Australian Outback Town: ‘We Want Ugly Women’; Cleveland Expected to Oblige

Note to self: Lean closer towards computer screen before googling for “ugly women” next time.  Also: buy flowers for assistant.

Lost Baby Whale Thinks Yacht is Mom; Dan Goodman Dad

Just to review: Dan Goodman = fat.

World’s Tallest Woman Dies Attempting First WNBA Dunk

Yes, I know there have been dunks in WNBA games already.  But gigantism is so much more funny.

Ellen DeGeneres ‘Marries’ Portia De Rossi; America ‘Cares’

I enjoy how the headline writer uses quotation marks to convey subtle homophobic sarcasm here.

Kim Kardashian Thinks Reggie Bush May be ‘The One’; Cue Career-Ending Injury for Bush

Could Kim be expecting Deuce McAllister to take over half of Reggie’s duties in the bedroom?

One Can of Red Bull May Increase Risk of Heart Damage, Study Says; Five Vodka-RedBulls May Increase Sensation of Invincibility, Las Vegas Tourism Board Says

This one goes out to all those brave souls who have sweated through their sheets while trying to sleep off the effects of heart palpitations before catching the last flight out of Las Vegas.  Okay, fine. Reno.

 

(Raptors General Manager Bryan Colangelo and Jose Calderon sit behind table at press conference.  Calderon leans into microphone.)

Calderon: (reading from statement) Ladies and gentlemen of Toronto.  I speak at you today with a great heaviness in my heart.  As you surely now know, Jose and his friends of the Spanish basketball team were involved in taking a picture that has hurt the feelings of many, many people.  There is no excuse for what Jose has done. 

Colangelo: (nodding in support) 

Calderon: It gives me great sadness to know the pain that I have caused.  (looks up) Please to believe that Jose would never on purpose do anything to offend anyone.  Especially people as friendly and helpful as the Chinese…

Colangelo: AHEM! (leans over, whispers into Calderon’s ear)

Calderon: (clears throat) Excuse me.  (reading from statement) What I mean to say is, Toronto is a city of so many wonderful cultures, and the Chinese culture is one of the most….(squints at paper)…one of the most wonderful.  Since this unfortunate incident, I have been happy to learn there are over 350,000 persons of Chinese descent in Toronto, and many of them are great fans of the Toronto Raptors.  I see many coming to our games and cheering on us. (looks up) Of course, it may just be the same few people that come to every game.  Is very hard to tell, because so many Chinese people look the…

Colangelo: (pounds table)

Calderon: (wide-eyed, shuffling paper) Ummm…I am very sorry for what I may have just said.  Jose does not mean to offend, truly he does not.  It is just that I feel we do not take racism so seriously in Spain as you do here.   These…(whispers to Colangelo) how you say estereotipo… yes, these stereotypes are something that we think of as harmless, and in good fun.  And if there is one thing I know that the Spanish and Chinese share, it is our great senses of humour.

Colangelo: (ponders, then nods)

Calderon: (big smile) Why, I remember this one time, we were visiting the Hoo-ston Rockets, and my friend Jorge and I were in a very silly mood.  We asked our friend Yao Ming if he wanted to go and eat a meal with us after the game.  He said yes, so…

Colangelo: Jose…

Calderon: …we went out and caught a stray dog, covered him in noodles, and…

Media: (gasps)

Colangelo: JOSE!!!

Calderon: Um…(looks around panicky) Um…in conclusion…thank you for supporting Toronto Raptors basketball.  Please drive carefully to your homes.

(Leaves podium, walks behind stage with Colangelo.)

Calderon: Well, Mis-ter Colan-yelo, I think that went okay?

Colangelo: …

Calderon: Yen-eral Mana-yer?

Colangelo: Get in the god damn van.