Comments on: Steve Blow Is Next in Line for the Rogers Ride

By: Bethany

Bethany — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 16:53:46 +0000

If I take five scotches, I won’t be calling you ’til noon at the earliest.

By: Daniel

Daniel — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 16:47:46 +0000

Bethany, have you come down with a nasty case o’ the schizophrenia? I happen to like it; love it. (I’m especially heartened, well, relieved, at all events, that you’re “not even mad.”)

But if you should seek relief from this pesky malady, I advise you to take five Scotches and call me in the morning.

By: Bethany

Bethany — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 15:39:21 +0000

What? You pooped in the refrigerator? And you ate the whole… wheel of cheese? How’d you do that? Heck, I’m not even mad; that’s amazing. How ’bout we get you in your p.j.’s and we hit the hay.

By: brett

brett — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 15:31:53 +0000

Wick has many leather-bound books and his apartment smells of rich mahogany.

By: SLR

SLR — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 15:03:40 +0000

If you want to inject a note of realism, it would be bourbon or whiskey, not scotch. And Tim would be wearing Eric’s gay shirt.

By: Daniel

Daniel — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 14:45:24 +0000

I think you should continue splitting hairs, Tim, day by day, week by week, until Steve Blow’s patience has been so sorely tried that he explodes in rage. I mean, c’mon, it’d be funny — like seeing Mr. (Fred) Rogers shoot the bird in traffic or something.

By: Bethany

Bethany — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 14:09:31 +0000

I love scotch. Scotchy, scotch, scotch. Here it goes down, down into my belly…

By: Tim Rogers

Tim Rogers — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 13:59:02 +0000

@ Bill: I wouldn’t want to come between Blow and buddy Ragland. But the scotch part sounds good.

By: Trey Garrison

Trey Garrison — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 00:41:13 +0000

Thanks for the mental scars, Bill. Now I need brain bleach.

By: Bill Marvel

Bill Marvel — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 00:20:59 +0000

Scene: A balcony overlooking downtown Dallas at night. In the distance the murmur of traffic.
Seated left in an expensive leather chair, Tim Rogers. To his right in a matching chair, Steve Blow. A table stands between them, and on the table a decanter of scotch. They are dressed in pin-stripe suits, holding glasses and really large cigars. Smoke drifts across the scene. From time to time they raise their glasses in a toast.
Tim: Well, Steve, we did it again.
Steve: Yeah. We did.
Tim: I wrote. Then you wrote. Then I wrote again. Smooth as clockwork.
Steve: Or did I write first, then you wrote? I always forget.
Tim: It’s all right, Steve.
Steve: Works every time, though, doesn’t it.
Tim: It does. Let’s drink to that.
Steve: Sleep over?
Tim: I’ll drink to that, too.
Fade out. Roll credits.