A-Train Celebrates

A jubilant John Amesh bounded to the podium of the A-Train training facility Monday morning to greet reporters. The normally diminutive Amesh was more animated than usual.

"Yeah! I crushed that loser! Yeah!" he bellowed at no one in particular.

The following exchange with the press corp ensued.

R1: Mr. Amesh! How does it feel to unseat the undefeated Stool Compressors?

JA: It actually feels pretty average. He's just another conquest on my way to the championship. They had a good record, so what? My team is better.

R2: John! John!

JA: Yes, you.

R2: You've done a great job this season in a very unpredictable NFL season -

JA: Thank you!

R2: Sure. So are the rumors true that the "A" in "A-Train" stands for "Ass"?

JA: [stunned] What?

R3: I heard it stood for Anus. The Anus Train.

R4: No, it's Avocado. John, you're really into mushy fruits, right?

JA: [more stunned]. No, you're thinking of the other guy -

R5: [to the other reporters] Wait, it's "Adolescent" Train, isn't it? Lots of newly post-pubescent pulling his train - didn't you know that?

R3: No, I'm pretty sure it's Anus. Standing for lots of anus and such.

R5: Could it be both?

R2: [to R5] How could it be both, there's only one A!?!

R4: [to R2] You make a good point.

JA: [despondent now] Hey, what about me?

R1: Oh yeah. John, have you ever probed an adolescent's anus on a train named "Ass"?

JA: [angry and frustrated] No! What the hell is wrong with you people?! Why doesn't anyone ask me questions about my lineup strategy?!?

[Awkward silence for a few moments.]

R2: Do you like avocados?

Before Amesh could explode, the door to the conference room bursts open with Token Chicks owner Karen Jones using a fully-populated, three-child stroller as a battering ram through the crowd.

KJ: Out of the way!! Out of the damn way!!

One of the children says faintly, "Mommy!"

KJ: [while ascending two steps to the podium] Oh, put a sock in it. You're all so damn needy.

JA: [annoyed by everything going on] Hey, this is MY press conference.

KJ: [walks straight over to JA] Wrong, it's mine now. [shoving JA firmly to the ground, tumbling off the stage] Sit down bitch.

Reporters: [eyes wide in amazement]

KJ: Listen dickwads, I have a statement to make. I am the best team in the league. One more game and I will be points and record leader. I've been gaining on this fart-snorting loser who is no longer undefeated every week. It's time for these pee-pee dangling shlubs to get schooled on fantasy football!

R1: Karen, do you have the most offspring of all the league's owners?

KJ: How the hell should I know?

R1: Well, are those unkempt urchins in the steel-reinforced stroller yours?

KJ: Yes. I'm pretty sure that's most of them. What's it to ya? You buying? If not, shut the hell up and talk football. If you are, see me later in the parking lot. I can always make more - I know how it's done.

R4: It would seem that you spend more time making fantasy football moves than with your children. Care to comment on that?

KJ: It would seem that you want me to ram your head into a public toilet for an hour.

R4: Never mind.

JA: [gets back up to his feet and moves in front of the podium] Everyone out! Press conference is over! Out!

KJ: Good idea, jackoff. I need a snack, though.

JA: [turns around and glares at KJ]

R2: [to KJ] I understand Johnny has some avocados.

The scene was less festive at the Stool Compressor facility, where a dismayed Grimisk reportedly entered a darkened room devoid of reporters or any interested parties whatsoever. A janitor blogged later that he ambled into the conference room, flicked on the lights in order to perform the daily emptying of the trash can packed with used condoms, and noticed the pathetic figure of the team's owner draped over a podium. Sobbing softly and without looking up, the figure reportedly mumbled, "Now no one cares about me anymore."

With that, the custodian emptied the trash, switched off the light, and went on about his business.