Here, fellow co-authors, is your complete SoSG Chain Fiction story. I think you will be amazed at the what the combination of collective creativity and withholding pertinent information can produce. Enjoy!
One night Frank McCourt comes home earlier than expected from a business trip without notifying Jamie. He notices a strange car in the driveway, enters his home and thinks he hears a male voice upstairs in the bedroom. Growing increasingly worried (and angry), he runs upstairs and swings open the bedroom door to find his ever faithful wife Matilda sliding on a Giants cap and jersey. "How could you do this to me?" he exclaimed. "It's not what you think," she replied. It was hard to see, but Frank didn't know there was a perfectly good explanation for what was happening.
You see, he went to a bargain basement clinic to get his lasik eye surgery. I’m not talking about the bargain basement places you see in the backs of phone books - he found this flyer nailed to a telephone pole. And boy howdy did he want to learn the guitar!
"Who is this Dan Smith character and why is he so sure he can teach me guitar? He doesn't even know me!" But he had to try. Lifelong dreams die hard and this man's offer was probably his last chance. He stepped up to the foul line, knowing he only had to sink one free-throw to send the Los Angeles Clippers to the playoffs. A bead of sweat ran down his face.
Mike Dunleavy looked at him with heavy anticipation. The tension in the room was thicker than Pablo Sandoval’s midsection. Finally, Blake turned and said, “fine. Trade me to Philadelphia for a cheesesteak.” Satisfied with his deal-making prowess, Mike knew it was time to enter that arm-wrestling contest. It took him just three seconds to realize he had made a terrible mistake.
Naturally he didn't know what to. School hadn't trained him for it and the internet could only go into so much detail on the matter. He had to ask someone who knew the answer from experience. How about Mr. Durocher?. He was a very kind British man, that lived in a small house at Ebbets St. He banged the curious cowbell on the door.
Mrs. Hilda Durocher welcomed him with a warm smile. He quickly climbed into his dodger pajamas, said his nightly dodger prayers, and hoped for dodger dreams that included a 2009 world series, capped with a Chad Billingsley perfect game.
That dream came true, and perfect the game would be indeed, with 27 strikeouts over those nine innings. If only the dreaded leprechaun would stay away for just one night and let him sleep. But that had been the deal: Billingsley's soul in exchange for one amazing, perfect game. Yet, disappointment in this deal lingered in the air, like the stench of Lasorda’s swelling feet after a day at the pasta bar.
In the meantime, a ragtag group of Dodger bloggers were last seen shuffling down the road, muttering nonsensical limericks about beast modes, parking lots and man-breasts. Their task, to somehow overcome the perceived East Coast bias of major cable sports networks. Sure, the job was formidable, hell, maybe even insurmountable, but these bloggers were up to the challenge.
Led by a man they only know as "Orel," (yes, he's heard all of the off-color jokes that go with the name) the bloggers knew what they had to do and who they had to do it to, even if it meant ending a sentence with a preposition. It wasn't going to be easy. Some of them had posted their last pregame lineup.
"The power of the internet is a great responsibility, and not just for creating lolcats," said the Zombie Billy Mays. "The internets may have started as a means of creating lolcats, but its potential rivals that of oxiclean!" Zombification had not sapped his salespitch prowess.
"Oxiclean... Pour it on stains... add it as detergent... use it to spice up fresh brains... brains..." Succumbing to his undead hunger, Zombie Billy Mays lurched forward, hungry for an open-faced brain sandwich, oxi-clean in hand. Oxi-clean in hand, he polished Barry Bonds' head using a Zorbeez cloth.
Next, he took a big bite out of Barry's glowing dome. With a mouthful of Bonds' brains, Billy Mays turned to Vince Offer and said, "What do you think your old friends at Scientology would think of this?" Vince with his back to Billy, “You think they don’t already know? They have the same subliminal technology you have been using to sell crap to housewives for years, only they use it to lure in fat-pocketed movie stars to give up their cash and make shitty movies!”
Vince looking Billy dead in his eyes, "Now, can you live with another Battlefield Earth?" Billy looked up at Vince in disbelief. He clenched his fist and reared back, ready to flatten him. Just then, however, Delilah burst through the door and yelled, “STOP! In the name of looooooooooooooooooooove”.
Unfortunately for Delilah, no one could hear her scream. She did however manage to text her boyfriend. Unfortunately for her, he was in a different state of mind altogether. Roger was three whiskeys in and when he looked at his phone he nearly fell off his barstool. He hadn't been expecting THIS. Without further hesitation he ran to the edge of the rooftop bar and hurled his cell phone over the railing, watching it spiral into the abyss of Giants fans. He now had to find a way out of the building surrounded by angry San Fransiscans.
He picked up a Willy Mays original bobble head from the table, threw it in the air and made his escape while the Giants fans clamored to prevent the figurine from falling to the ground. But they all trip over their kayaks and the figurine slams against concrete floor. However, to everyone's surprise the figurine doesn't smash into a million pieces but rather bursts into a flame of Dodger blue and lights up the area as bright as the sun!
"Well I guess it's going to be a day game instead", I exclaim as I get to my seat where I am greeted by a squishy sound upon sitting down. I look at my wife, confused, but can't find her, as she is the one that assists me in these situations. Yet, during this whole time, I never bother to get up from my seat. I have no reason to get up. I’m comfortable. The seat has cushions and a cup holder for my beer, so I decide to stay there. The time passes and I reflect on what has happened. I’m more than a little confused, but in the end I know the journey has been worthwhile. I can’t help but smile.
Coming soon: Segment break-down and attribution...