Ramblings Of The Easily Confused

“Thank you all for coming today. It is good to see you all. It was important that we gather together after recent events, to go over things, to prepare our next step. Given what has happened to one of our own, it’s understandable that we might feel given to despair, but we must rise above that. We must come together and devise a plan.

I’m not often given to making speeches. I’m more often used to thirty second sound bites on camera at the red carpet. In fact, it’s my sister who wrote this for me. But I helped! Really, I did! I told her what I wanted to say, and she wrote things down. So I’m sure she didn’t leave any traps or humiliations in here for me to inadvertently say, because hey, I’m a good brother! And I’m really smart! We’re all smart! Every single one of us here are really, really, really smart. Because, after all, we’re entertainment reporters!

Okay, so the job isn’t quite the same as it was several years ago. We all lost the big names of our industry. Almost every single one of them, languishing away in prison. And for what? Just because they tried to take over the world? Come on! Shouldn’t entertainment reporters naturally be in charge of the world? Of course we should!

Instead we’ve got the United Nations passing resolutions that remove certain protections from all of us. We’ve got scientists going around claiming we’re a distinct subset of humanity- they classify us as homo sapiens moronicus reportious entertainious noxious. What does that even mean? They say we don’t deserve protection as others might.

Protection from what? From him. From the one who took down our beloved founders in the Dark Cabal Of The Infernal Gossip and sent them all to jail. From Ulrich.

Yes, Lars Ulrich. The man who’s beaten the crap out of most of us at one point or another. The drummer from Metallica who keeps insisting he’s not that Lars Ulrich when we come see him about a story that’s in the news. The guy who spends too much time up in Canada when he should be with the band and giving us some attention. You know, he goes out of his way to say there are two Lars Ulrichs- this, before he beats the crap out of us- and then continues to deny that he’s one and the same. At a point like this my sister might tell me, Scooter, has it ever occurred to you that there are indeed two Lars Ulrichs who don’t look a thing alike, and you keep confusing them? That one’s a deaf heavy metal drummer who looks like he’s been hit in the face by an ugly stick, and the other’s a Mountie who’s a lot younger and a lot grouchier and a lot better looking? That’s the sort of thing Maggie would say right about now. But that would be just wrong. Because that would mean we’re wrong.

Wait a minute, was Maggie trying to make a point there?

That’s beside the point. The point is this guy keeps beating us up. And the world keeps letting him do that. I mean, who cares if he’s saved the world repeatedly from tyrants, monsters, super-villains, and mad scientists? That doesn’t give him the right to beat us up just because he thinks he’s a different Lars Ulrich.

But the world disagrees.

The world lets him beat us up and makes it all legal.

Last week, Billy Reese ended up being airlifted out of some god awful place called Widowmaker Canyon. I mean, who names a place like that?

And all Billy did was go up to Alberta and ask Ulrich what the band might have to say about the Fast And The Furious sequel, and why Metallica wasn’t on the soundtrack. And what did he get for his troubles? Six months in traction.

Well, I for one have had it! You hear me! I’ve had it! This guy doesn’t get to keep doing this to us! We’re highly esteemed people!  Nobody does this to us and gets away with it! We’re smart people! We’re so smart that we can’t figure our way out of a wet paper bag.

Um, I’m not quite sure, but I think my sister might have insulted me there. What do you think, Amber? Chip? Is the whole wet paper bag thing an insult?

Where was I? Oh, yes. Getting even with this guy. Well I say we teach this guy some manners. We teach him to show us some respect. Like we deserve. You don’t just put people in traction and just act like it doesn’t matter. You don’t knock us out simply for asking you what you think of Beyonce’s seemingly endless pregnancy. You don’t bloody us for inquiring if Metallica’s going to do a summer tour.

And if it doesn’t work?

If he doesn’t respect us?

Then our path is clear.

We have to kill the Ulrich.

Yes, that’s right. Kill him.

Now someone else might point out to us right about now that it’s a bad idea. Maggie might remind me that every lunatic who’s ever crossed his path has ended up locked up. She might tell me that he’s made giant monsters cry, and single-handedly beat up thousands of people at a time just because he was in a bad mood. She might remind me that there’s a reason my IQ is below thirty... wait a minute! Maggie! I didn’t tell you to put that in the speech!

That’s beside the point. What’s important now is that we take him down a notch or three. Whatever a notch means. We teach him humility, and to bow down and respect the supremacy that make up our profession.

And if he can’t do that, he’s going to have to die.

After all, what’s the worst that can happen?

Aside from all of us in hospital for months to come.

I don’t know why, but Maggie’s written in LOL a dozen times here to finish the speech. You know, there are times I get the odd impression she doesn’t like me. Wait, no, that’s impossible. Everybody likes me, as much as I like everybody. Am I right or am I right?

Wait a minute... does anyone remember why we came here to talk today? I’m drawing a complete blank.”