Stickin' Fawkes in ah Foe Fodder's



Down by the filthy stinkin’ hahbah a salty old fisherman sits in a rustic rocking chair, shifting uneasily on his cancerous prostate, smoking meth out of a whale-boned pipe.  As he looks over the tea'd, tarred and feathered breakers (through the distorted view of his dementia) at the impending tempests brewing from the South and the West.  He reminisces with the memory of someone from the past, a ghost if you will, on the tough times the city has seen and the tougher times ahead.

"Natives extuhminhated, wuhmun taacht  ovuh tha stayke ovuh lieys naht fah frum heh, tha red coahts runnin' amuck, tha pahx, Dukahkis, owah insuffable toff guhy yout' brigayde and our Sawks centuwy of fuhtility.  Whut's naxt?"

The ghost of Crisspus Attucks responds, "Dem Whide Sots ah comin' ta tohwn expwess to woop dat Irush whyte ayss!  Thayts whut suh.  Yo gonna get yo cumupance yet suh"

"Whuht?  Thaat team of bass cloggas!?! Thay doan stahnd a chaance in hale. Thay usta grind in 05' but nawt enny mah"

In the dreary distance, a descendant of Wadsworth puts a solitary lantern in The North Church and at that moment...the ghost of a headless Paul Revere rides a hog past the piazza yelling in the Queen's English, "The Earl of Oz is coming!  The Earl of Oz is coming!  Don't shoot until you see the white's of their sox!"  In his extended arm is the fiery yet frozen head of Ted Williams.  The Splendid Splinter is muttering something about Ken Harrelson trying to bang his wife and about splintering off his 35" narrow-grained, medium-barreled stick in Ben Affleck's pipehole.

"Why all tha fuss abawt a team cotched by un'immahgrint?  Fawking Maxicans!"




***This show is filmed before a live studio audience***

On the otha side ah tonn a monsta kegga is oakahhring onna conna the Sawx impendin' triumphan victory.  Its hahppnin outsida tha bah Cheers.  A gaggle of onary fock frohm Rad Sawks Natiohn ah beatin' each otha opp and swillin' fowl tastin' beah freshly lazahhd fah cobbanayshun.

Ah convahsayshon oakahhs bahtween a pahtty-maathed Pahrt Slot Cahnt of a wahtress anna bald saybamuhtrician geek.

"Here ya go!" as the waitress flings a foul tasting and smelling hangover beer in front of the tall balding geek of a psychiatrist.

"Carla there is no need to be so crass.  I am simply trying to tell you that Luis Tiant's career xFIP was better than Sam's AND Lester's.  As you can clearly see, their WAR and BB/9 leave much to be desired as well."

"I don't cayuh abawt ya new-faygngulled stotts ya chowdahead!"

"Now, Frasier...the Southie's don't talk nitwit.  You're just beating a dead horse." says his uptight lawyer wife.

"Lissen to yah cuhnt ova wife, chowdahead!  Sam was the greatuhst pitcha of ah time.  I know it inmah gut!"

"Yes Carla, perhaps you are correct in your feeble assumptions."

The din raises as a familiar face walks into tha bah.

"NAM!!!"  Everyone blurts concurrently.  A portly gentleman ambles into his regular seat.

"Eeeehhheerrr Nam I thot ya had tickets to tha Sawks-on-Sawks game tonawt?"

"They were in the pockets of my pants from last night.  Vera washed them while I was sleeping one off.  I swear she did it on purpose, I'm gonna divorce that cunt.  It was probably because of Tuesday morning when I accidentally peed all over her when I was blacked out.  So, I have to watch the game with the shittiest postman in the country."

"Wot abawt Manneyehhheerrreherr?  Not spekahn oww Englishehehheeerrr?  He is disrespectonn ah nahshunah heyatadgeeehhhherrrr"

"Norm I can call in a few favors at the park and maybe get us all some tickets."

"Sam they don't even remember who you are over there."

Sam does a dipsy-doo twirl while reaching for the phone and dials a number behind his back, the conversation is quick and successful, he got tickets for all the regulars.

"You coming Woody?"

"Naw Sam, I'm too busy trying to stop the compromising of mother Earth. We are presently in an economic paradigm shift and it's time to get off the grid. We need to stop supporting the beast.  Renewables are the balls"


They all pile in the back of Clavin's post office truck and afta he pahks tha cah they shuffle out and into the feces-laden city dump they call Fenway.  After a decisive Manny homerun in the top of the 9th and a billy goat gruff save, as the White Sox celebrate safely on the field; the severly inebriated Norm exposes ten sticks of dynamite from under his plaid blazer and screams from the top of the Green Monster,  "Someone has to demolish this hellhole and if John Henry ain't gonna do it, I will!  So in the name of Chicago, Mayor Daly and for the love of Danner Gladden...Here's a real Irish Papelbomb and a far more apt Boston Massacre.  Suck on this one instead of Pesky's Pole, for once, sweet Caroline!  Good Bye Forever!"


Aaaaaaaaannnd Scene!


Cast in order of appearance:

Old Sailor - WU

Crispus Attucks - Tdogg

Paul Revere - Scotty Pods v.2.0

Ted Williams Head – KenWo4life

Frasier - Colintj

Carla - homesickalien

Lilith - larry

Norm/George Wendt (Chicago secret agent) - Teahenny Penny

Cliff - Chiburb

Sam - E-Gus

Woody - thatshortkid



 Rebecca – ChiSoxQueen

 Vera – OLD

EDIT: by Southside Expat


Robin Colcord – MarketMaker
Gary’s Olde Towne Taverne – Twinkie Town
Nick Tortelli – billyok

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