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Lisa the Temp:
Welcome the Peeps Republic of Lisa with your host, Jackety Jane.
Lisa the Temp:
Oh, yes, peeps, Lisa the Temp
knows all.
Lisa the Temp:
For instance, Lisa knows that earlier this year an internet sex tape somehow surfaced starring everybody's favorite blue blood and trust fund bon vivant.
Lisa the Temp:
Of course, in this day and age, the sudden net appearance of a youthful indiscretion is fairly common, right?
Lisa the Temp:
I mean an amateur double-penetration gang bang? Big friggin whoop.
Lisa the Temp:
Am I right or am I right?
Lisa the Temp:
Talk about a donkey punch. Even a Red Sox agnostic like Lisa knows that would be seen as sacrilege in this town.
Lisa the Temp:
So what's a Back Bay bimbo to do?
Lisa the Temp:
You know, grainy footage, poor lighting and it's all "It caaaan't be me, Duncstah, as you know, I have no tatoos. No where did you hide the caviaaaah, daahling."
Lisa the Temp:
And let this be a lesson to you, peeps. Don't fuck with Lisa.
Susan/Circle:
What the frig is a "Lisa the Temp"?
Mike:
Aw, c'mon, Circ, you pass right by her all the time, end of the hall, near the elevatah?
Susan/Circle:
Do you mean the always smiling bitch with the silicon jobbies and the freakish, cartoon hands?
Susan/Circle:
Nah, nevah heard of her.
Mike:
Rrrrr-rrrrrr-rrrrr-owwwwwhhhh catfight!
Susan/Circle:
Wouldn't be much of a fight. I'd knock Jackety Jane back to whatevah Blandchestah she came from.
Mike:
See, this is what happens when we don't have enough Red Sox talk to occupy our minds — we turn on each othah.
Susan/Circle:
Each othah? Dude, she's a friggin temp.
Lisa the Temp:
OK, here's another Lisaism for you, peeps.
Lisa the Temp:
When I was in temp training...
Lisa the Temp:
Yes, temp training, peeps. They have schools for strippers so why wouldn't they have training for temps?
Lisa the Temp:
Now as I was saying, when I was in temp training they told us that a good way to ingratiate ourselves as a temp in an office of strangers is to bring a bowl of candy and set it out on our desk.
Lisa the Temp:
However, I've found that is far more interesting to bring a bowl of condoms and assorted lubes and set that on the corner of my desk.
Lisa the Temp:
Wouldn't you agree?
Lisa the Temp:
But enough about me, let's talk about you.
Lisa the Temp:
Yes, you. Because even afer all this time there is so much you don't know about Lisa.
Lisa the Temp:
For instance, did you know that Lisa is actually my middle name?
Lisa the Temp:
It's true.
Lisa the Temp:
My first name is Mona.
Lisa the Temp:
Doesn't that just send a shiver up your Dan Brown hole, peeps?
Unknown Yankees fan:
And this morning a whole world is grateful...
Unknown Yankees fan:
For a World Series without the Yankees is not really much of a thing at all, is it?
Unknown Yankees fan:
So to the entire world, we say, you're welcome.
Unknown Yankees fan:
Even Gaia, Mother Earth herself, roots for the Pinstripes, for a New York to Philly series leaves a very small carbon footprint.
Unknown Yankees fan:
So shines a good deed in a weary world.
Unknown Yankees fan:
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in the Yankees.
Unknown Yankees fan:
27 Rings to cower them all.
Unknown Yankees fan:
One team to rule them.
Unknown Yankees fan:
Bwahahahaaa!
In a group of Soxaholix, a woman speaks:
So is this the hiatus?
In a group of Soxaholix, a woman speaks:
Or just a Friday off?
In a group of Soxaholix, a woman speaks:
You know what I think?
In a group of Soxaholix, a woman speaks:
Mysteries are for pussies.
Bill:
Are you ready for a hiatus, guy?
Doug:
Are you friggin kidding me? I'm gonna bogaht all the high in hiatus.
Bill:
But nobody is going anywhere until we find Bob.
Doug:
Meh. If I've said it once I've said it a thousand times —
Doug:
I cannot respect any sport that does not permit the use of the hands.
Doug:
I mean, c'mon, opposable thumbs, people? You know, what sets us apaht from lowly beasts?
Bill:
For me, the actual sport involved is beside the point.
Bill:
Is there no end of pimping out of Fenway?
Doug:
Seriously, when's the last time you've seen a rock concert at Notre Dame or some exhibition sporting even at the Vatican?
Doug:
Fenway's a motherfucking shrine, people, treat it as such.
Lisa the Temp:
He did it his way!
Lisa the Temp:
But Lisa prefers to take her philosophical wisdom from murderers who practice their craft on a, let's say, less grandiose scale.
Lisa the Temp:
Is that deep or what, peeps? And talk about compassion. We all could really learn a lot from a guy like Berk.
Lisa the Temp:
It is about your choices and your own paths. Whatever is right for you, homies.
Lisa the Temp:
Wait, what's that?
Lisa the Temp:
OK. Stop your goddamn barking at me!
Doug:
So it just took the Angels a bit longah than usual to fold into an origami shaped like crippled rally monkey.
Al:
Hey, they could come back.
Al:
Well, I'll continue to hope somebody will knock 'em down before then.
Mike:
Yeah, or something, Go H1N1.
Doug:
That friggin balloon boy had the right idea.
Doug:
Time to hide in the attic until this bitch blows ovah.
Doug:
Ah, at long last our Red Sox Nation nightmare is ovah, the prodigal Steinberg returns.
Doug:
So what are you saying, that he's Luchinno and Henry's Mr. Nelson?
Bill:
Hey, if the little shoe fits...
Al:
Well, so that is that. Now we must dismantle our Red Sox shrines, putting the miniature bats, signed balls and bobbleheads away.
Mike:
As in previous years we have seen the actual vision and failed to do more than entertain it as an agreeable possibility.
Mike:
And here we all are. Back in the moderate Aristotelian city of chowdah and the brutalist inspired City Hall, where Euclid's geometry and Newton's mechanics would account for our experience, smashing the spirit of onlookers into a thin pulp.
Al:
And beer exists because I drink it.
Doug:
The streets are much narrowah than we remembered; we had forgotten the office was as depressing as this.
Doug:
We look round for something, no mattah what, to inhibit our self-reflection, and the obvious thing for that purpose would be some great suffering.
Al:
In the meantime there are bills to be paid, rostahs to fix and repair, irregular verbs to learn, and the time being to redeem from insignificance.
Mike:
The time when the Spirit must practice his scales of rejoicing without even a hostile audience.
Mike:
The dusk waits for no one.
Mike:
It's become something of a cliche now, but Giamatti's "soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone." is still the most eloquent capturing of the end of the season feeling for fans.
Susan/Circle:
The "the game is meant to stop, and betray precisely what it promised."
Susan/Circle:
And we have been betrayed alright. Sigh.
Mike:
Damn you Dame Mutability, damn you.
Susan/Circle:
Are we meant to drift away with the wrappahs, the programs, the Coke cups and peanut shells …?
Mike:
Or do we live on forevah in the green fields of the mind?
Al:
Well, that game yestahaday pretty much symbolized the whole season — things are humming along pretty good and then, bam, a playah you've come to count on just implodes.
Al:
Well, Theo's got an entiah offseason to staht fixing it up.
Doug:
Maybe this year we could have a few fewah reclamation project FAs and maybe a couple honest to goodness real deal FAs?
Al:
Meanwhile, it's Go Angels, I guess.
Mike:
Yeah. I guess. More like go Wintah. The thought of next Spring does a whole lot more for me than Angels ovah Yanks
Doug:
Seriously. Eventhough I want the Yankees to go out with a whimpah, the Angels don't put a whole lot of thundah in my stick, so to speak.
Al:
So do I buy the sunset now, or just continue to rent?
Al:
Seriously. Was he auditioning for a new job in the NFL — "If you like the way I blow these calls at first, way 'til you see what I can do with pass interference."
Mike:
Meanwhile, I don't think I've ever this blasé about a Red Sox playoff loss before.
Al:
That's the upside to low expectations.
Doug:
Yeah, this is the Kim Zolciak of Red Sox seasons.
Bill:
Of course, you are, Mahty, because there is nothing you want more in this world than redemption.
Marty:
No, there's nothing I want more than to see the Sux fans get their hopes up by winning the ALDS only to have those hopes crushed, snuffed out, and ground to pulp under the boot heel of the Yankee Conquerors of Sux Nation.
Bill:
I know, guy, and I feel for you.
Bill:
I, too, have been in that dahk place where a mere sports rivalry becomes a non-stop, nightmare of an obsession.
Marty:
You know because you're still there. You hate the Yankees as much as you ever did.
Bill:
Yes, Mahty, I do indeed hate the Yankees. But now it's a hatred rooted in the tradition and history of the Boston/New York rivalry rathah than psychosis.
Bill:
Unlike you, Mahts, I hate because I choose to, not because I have to. Big difference.
Marty:
You're one smug, bitch, you know that, Callaghan?
Marty:
You act like one, solitary ALCS victory over the Yankees can erase 26 Championships and 80 odd years of Yankees dominance over the BoSux.
Bill:
Jeez, Mahty, if you projected any widah you could staht your own drive-in theatre.
Marty:
If I'm projecting, Bill, you know what's showing on the big screen? A documentary of 100 years of Yankee greatness.
Bill:
Wait, wait... hold on... I think I can almost visualize it... yep, there it is!
Bill:
It's a slappah film!
Marty:
Callaghan you're so stupid. You mean "slasher" film.
Bill:
No, Mahts, trust me. I mean slappah.
Your omniscient author in absentia:
Like Game One of the ALDS, the next strip is T.B.A.
Figure I may as well take a breather on the off chance that well, you know, we continue to have plenty to yak about in the postseason.
Bill:
Time to lube up your monkeys and thundahsticks Angels fans, 'cause here come the Red Sox.
Bill:
Bettah bring a broom to sweep up the debris.
a
Mike:
Hey, long time no see, Circle.
Susan/Circle:
Yeah, you know how it is. I've been been busy with my second job.
Mike:
Ah, the perfect stocking stuffah!
Susan/Circle:
Oh, I believe so. The new dedication could go something like this:
"For the othah greatest gift God has given me, for my precious little bastard..."
Mike:
Hey, they don't call him A-Fraud for nothing.
Mike:
What do you think they're talking about?
Susan/Circle:
"Hey, little fellah in the velvet brown jacket, I have these gatherings at my pad, you know, just a few guys hanging around the man cave …"
Mike:
"Say, you don't mind you mind if I call you, Jetes, do you?"
Doug:
Yeah, Theo's "proud."
Doug:
And by proud he of course means "move along people there is nothing to see here such as the Yankees being on pace to have the greatest numbah of regulah season wins evah because they ponied up for a Teixeira and we didn't."
Mike:
C'mon, it's like Theo says, the whole thing is a crapshoot. You just want to make sure you have the right process in place and then trust the process.
Mike:
Besides I doubt even the Yankees knew beforehand that Teixeira would be the missing link.
Doug:
Wait, Teixeira is the missing link? I thought Johnny Scopes Monkey Trial Damon was the missing link?
Mike:
A cave man, a fruit bat, Joba the Hut, Godzilla...
Mike:
It's a regulah fucking Galapagos down there.
