It is a Friday night in a posh "green" hotel. (Meaning there are no phone books and the toilet paper scours tender bottoms.) Blogging mega-stars Scott Kaufman and John Holbo convene in the lobby. They come prepared: Holbo wears a leather jacket, Kaufman a corduroy one. They sit pensively and discuss a lecture Kaufman didn't attend. An elevator door opens. Out walks a young man who has also come prepared: it is Adam Kotsko, clad in a jacket made of leather and rage.
Kotsko: (bears his teeth with a growl) Are you ... ?
Kaufman: (politely) Yes. Nice to finally meet you.
Holbo: (unbuttons his shirt to reveal a chest oiled for battle) Likewise. So we were just saying ...
Kaufman: (politely) ... that we didn't think it was going to be any big deal if we ...
Kotsko: (reaches behind his back for a cudgel) Wait, which one is "we," I mean ...
Kaufman: (politely) Sorry. (handsomely) I'm Scott. He's Holbo.
Kotsko: (eyes oozing hatred) Adam, nice to meet you.
Holbo: (with violence in his heart) So we're waiting for Wilczak, right?
Kaufman: (politely) Yep. He's one of Meg's oldest friends, and he has this Ethiopian restaurant he wants to take us to.
Kotsko: (lasers shooting from his eyes) Works for me.
Holbo: (shields holding at ninety percent) Sounds delicious.
Kaufman's cell-phone rings. In the background, Holbo and Kotsko viciously compare jackets. Kaufman motions them to follow, and like two beasts leashed to the same master, they oblige. They walk out of the hotel and under a heating lamp.
Kotsko: (full of lunatic rage) Is that really necessary?
Holbo: (genocide on his mind) I don't understand that.
Kaufman: (politely shivering) It's not like it's c-c-cold out.
Wilczak: (unaware of the lurking violence) So how you been, Scott?
Kaufman: (politely shivering) C-c-can't complain ...
The group makes its way to Wilczak's nifty new Volkswagen Jetta. Kaufman offers the taller Holbo the front seat. Holbo declines. Thoughts of Back-Seat Thunderdome pulse from his and Kotsko's eyes. The car starts and they chat idly for five minutes, until ...
Kotsko: (with a look that would wet Steven Seagal's trousers) ... and then we realized where the loufah came from.
Kaufman: (his polite eyes politely aglow with prophecy) This play sucks. Four people went out for a fun dinner. We laughed with and at each other. It was fun. Emerson's trying to stir shit up because he's bored.
Kotsko: (needle laser pellets firing rapidly from his soulless eyes) What?
Holbo: (fingers threateningly a-crackle with the dark power of The Analytic) What?
Kaufman: (his polite voice thundering with polite portents of future inquiries) I CAN HEAR THE EMERSONIAN. HE SPEAKS IN PLAIN TONGUE BUT MEANS HARM. HE CAN NOT LET THE SHIT SETTLE. WHEN THE RAINS COME TO THE SOUTHERN LANDS HE MUST STIR THEM. HEED MY WORDS. LINK TO THIS POST. DO NOT LET HIS SINGLENESS PERSUADE YOU TO ... (coughing) ... to ... (coughing) ... sorry about that. Got something caught in my throat. So anyway, about House ...