Greggggggg Easterbrook: Oh no! The Patriots have won! Evil has prevailed! TMQ can barely finish his daily game of bridge, he is so disturbed! It’s clear what will happen now: Satan’s Minions shall arrive to join forces with the Jews and enslave us all. Horrors!
I may never see another episode of “Deep Space Nine” again! Nor will I be able to boast of being able to solve the Times Of London crossword puzzle to anyone within earshot! Did you know it's the world's hardest crossword? Did you know Number 5 across was “Maupassant”? TMQ knew that before he even finished reading the clue! Spenser?
Spenser: Yes, father?
Greggggggg: The time is upon us. We must retreat to the family cave. That’s pronounced KAHV, like a wine cave, because I am a fucking douchebag.
Spenser: Very well, father! But what shall we bring with us?
Greggggggg: Good thinking, boy. We must pack judiciously. We shall require food, water, and fresh apple tobacco in order to survive. Plus all my ascots and tweed vests! But we must also bring enough reading materials and intellectual artifacts to keep us properly smug, and so we can masturbate to our own new ideas from the incredibly profound dialogue that flows henceforth.
Spenser: I’m assuming you’d like me to include all your books, father.
Greggggggg: Oh, yes. Bring the books. And my papers as well.
Spenser: Volumes 1 through 1,345,987,098, Subset Q, father?
Greggggggg: No, I think we’ll need ALL my papers, son. Including my early treatise on Jews and the power of Invisibility. Remember, son: All Jews and all science fiction plot elements are linked together somehow. And I will not rest until I discover the connection. Leave nary a sheaf behind! And don't forget my Peter Paul Rubens tracings. They're the best visual representation the world has of my dedication to the Lord.
Spenser: Very well, father. And shall I bring more, shall I say, textured materials?
Greggggggg: Why, whatever do you mean? Oh! Oh yes, the pornography! Well, forget about the cheerleader pictures. They were never my thing. A fine cover for my more curious indulgences.
Spenser: What about this poster of Marie Curie’s head photoshopped onto the naked body of a small Cambodian boy?
Greggggggg: Oh yes. That’s an old favorite. But don’t forget the clown porn as well. And the refugee snuff films. And the he-females! Everyone loves she-males. But I just adore the occasional he-female. They really get my bassoon tooting.
Spenser: Will do. And what of football artifacts?
Greggggggg: Just bring that football that Rich Kotite signed for me. Do you know why I loved Rich Kotite, Spenser? Because he never ran up the score. Oh, how I miss him.
Spenser: Father! What of the DVD’s?
Greggggggg: Bring them all. I like turning down the sound and offering my OWN commentary, which is superior to that of any shallow, vulgar Hollywood filmmaker. Do the men behind “Grandma’s Boy” understand the Crimean War? No, they do not.
Spenser: Shall we bring your brother as well?
Greggggggg: Oh, yes. I need him to remain alive so I can continue to appear stately and intelligent by mere association. Also, bring that foot locker.
Spenser: It is very heavy, father. What is it?
Greggggggg: It’s the body of Louis Aguiar. Sometimes, when a team launches a mincing fraidy-cat punt, I take out the corpse and stroke it to soothe myself.
Spenser: Very well. I have packed everything, father. Is the combination to the cave door still “Vivaldi”?
Greggggggg: Oh no, son. It’s Sibelius. You know Vivaldi is far too pedestrian for me.
Spenser: I am sorry, father.
Greggggggg: That reminds me, son. I’m afraid you will not be able to join me.
Spenser: But why?
Greggggggg: I’m afraid there is only enough Camembert and Madeira for two in the cave, my son. And you know what O. Henry said about geniuses producing mediocre offspring, do you not? My brainchildren are far more important to society than my actual children.
Spenser: But father! How could you betray me so?
Greggggggg: I’m sorry, son. My preservation is for the greater good. You would merely be a garnish to our new and glorious civilization once the Antichrist and his filthy urchin friend Bill Belichick have been vanquished. Goodbye, my son. I will miss having you as a sounding board for my impromptu 75-minute lectures.
(takes out gun)
Spenser: No Dad! Wait!
(shoots Spenser dead, writes “Game Over” in notebook)
Greggggggg: Now to go hear myself think!