mike gittleson

This post owes much to Black Heart, Gold Pants and The Big Lebowski. It also contains swears, because the Big Lebowksi does.

I am enjoying this beverage.

 

 

Into the limo, you sonofabitch, no arguments.

 

 

Hey, there's a beverage here!

 

 

INSIDE

Brian is shoved in and awkwardly takes a seat facing the rear. The door is slammed behind him.

Start talking and talk fast, you lousy bum!

 

 

We've been frantically trying to reach you, EBay.

 

 

  Where are my goddamn wins, you bum?

 

 

Well… we, I don't…

 

 

They did not receive the wins, you nitwit! They did not receive the goddamn wins. OUR STREAK WAS IN YOUR HANDS.

 

 

This is our concern, EBay.

 

 

No, man… nothing is fucked here, just…

 

 

NOTHING IS FUCKED? THE GODDAMN PLANE HAS CRASHED INTO THE MOUNTAIN.

 

Come on, man, just give it some time. We'll get the wins, it'll just take some time.

 

WE?

 

 

I—the royal we, you know, the fan we—he'll get the wins, exactly as specified—look, I've got certain information. Certain things have come to light, and, uh, has it ever occurred to you that instead of running around blaming Rich that this whole thing might just be, not, you know just such a simple, but uh—you know?

What in God's holy name are you blathering about?

 

 

I'll tell you what I'm blathering about! I got information—new shit has come to light—and, shit, man… we started a walk-on at quarterback!

 

   … …

 

 

Well, sure, look at it! Ridiculously young offense, gives turnovers all over town, including to known Domers—and that's cool, that's cool—but I'm saying, he needs time, and of course they're going to say he doesn't need any because they gotta feed the monkey—I mean, hasn't that ever occurred to you? Sir?

No. No, Mr. EBays, that had not occurred to me.

 

 

Well, okay, you're not privy to all the new shit, so, uh, you know, that's what you read me for. Speaking of, would it be possible to get some comped Rose Bowl tickets? I'm just worried with the demand and all…

 

Brandt, give him the envelope.

 

 

Well, okay, if you've got them right here.

 

 

We received it this morning.

 

 

Since you have failed to achieve, even on the modest EBay that is your site, since you have stolen my wins, and since you have unrepentantly betrayed my trust…

 

 

[opens envelope, looks inside]

 

DEAR MICHIGAN FOOTBALL PROGRAM,

It is our deepest regret to inform you that you are not qualified to take on the third-place MAC team in Detroit. We are probably going with Wofford instead.

Sincerely,

…I have no choice but to tell these EBay bums that they should do whatever is necessary to recover their bowl streak from you, Brian of EBay. And with Brandt as my witness, tell you this: any further harm visited on my program will be visited tenfold upon your head.

By God, sir, I will not abide another Motor City Bowl rejection letter.

INT. COFFEE SHOP

The EBay and Michael sit at the counter, both staring off into space, both absently stirring their coffee with little clinking noises.

You want a bowl? I can get you a bowl. There are ways, EBay, you don't want to know about it.

 

 

Do they involve eating two large pizzas every night?

 

 

Goddamn right.

 

 

Goodbye, Gittleson.