T.J. Simers was sitting at his desk typing up another article with his singular brand of journalism. He was so engrossed in his own writing that when his cell phone rang he automatically answered it without even bothering to check the Caller ID.
“Simers speaking, go ahead.”, he said.
“Mr. Simers, I see you continue to write disgusting nonsense that you call baseball articles in the L.A. Times.”
“Calcaterra,” said Simers, sitting up in his chair. “We seem to do this every year. Just write your little blog post in your insignificant site and try to learn the craft from real professionals.”
“I’m doing far more than typing a post this year Mr. Simers,” answered Craig. “You see, that Matt Kemp bobblehead on your desk has a GPS tracker. And you’ve made the mistake of leaving your window open.”
T.J. had a confused look on his face and when he lifted the Matt Kemp bobblehead on his desk, a white chalky X was scribbled under it. “Oh…f-”, was all he had time to say as a 100mph+ baseball smashed into his forehead through his window at his study. If you were to follow the trajectory of said baseball backwards in time it would go out the window, across Los Angeles, go out over Las Vegas between two aircraft, through the mid-west all the way to Ohio and enter a small window into the tube of a super-cannon within a very specific Lair, where said cannon was being held by a man in a Braves Bathrobe, spectacles and chewing on a bubble pipe as he depressed the trigger.
“So, what the frak have you been doing lately?”, said Craig, as he calmly took the bubble pipe out of his mouth and polished it on the arm of his bathrobe.
I’m sure Craig fantasizes doing something like this to T.J. Simers on an annual basis.