Aren't we supposed to continue the story as it goes, instead of jumping into chosen parts of it?

I need clarification if I am to write a part myself.

Yes, you should pick up where the story left off.

Also, this whole story is definitely getting compiled and posted on the front page when it's finished. This is beyond hilarious and will get us a ridiculous amount of hits.

czaras wrote:


So yeah. I continued on CW's post, then MMALand went off mine, but then AusWolf went back off CW's. Not to hate on the AusWolf effort but I'd agree with DeROK that we should just keep going with whatever the last person did or it will get very very confusing.

Page 115

Time seems to stand still as Glen stares you down. For a moment, you contemplate whether he's thinking up ways to fire you or just admiring your latest sweater from the Bill Cosby collection. Your mind then wanders to this past June when you acquired your snazzy threads. When Pat Riley offered you two bad second-round picks plus a sweater for Mario Chalmers, there was no way you could pass on that deal. Who cares if your team desperately needed a point guard and Super Mario happened to run the point on an NCAA championship team? You're feeling nice and toasty right now!

You quickly snap back to reality when you notice that the vein in Glen Taylor's forehead is pulsating uncontrollably and that his teeth are clenched in a death-snarl. You realize that if you don't say something within the next two seconds you're as good as fired. You hate to throw yet another colleague under the bus, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

"I was thinking Freddy should take over as coach. The fans love him. He was a player himself not that long ago. And he's our team's last link to the days when our franchise wasn't a complete joke".

Before you can pat yourself for simultaneously filling the coaching void and getting rid of the person in line to succeed you, Fred interjects.

"No can do. Doctor said the ol' ticker won't take that kind of stress. I'm medically limited to the front office."

Glen shakes his head in frustration and once again turns to you. You can tell his patience is wearing thin and you may only have one more chance to get this right before he simply cans you along with Randy. As you fumble for the right words, the vision you saw earlier in the porcelain throne inspires you. Without thinking, you blurt out the words "Jeff VanGundy!"

The look on Taylor's face turns to a look of utter disbelief.

"Kevin, we're still paying Dwane Casey to coach this team and if we fire Dim-Wittman, we'll be paying him too! Do you honestly expect me to add a third head coach to this payroll? How do you expect me to pay for this?"



If you suggest a "Pay the Coach" promotion in which fans purchasing lower-level season tickets only pay one dollar per game for every fired coach still on the payroll, turn to page 39.

If you decided to put your name out as a coaching candidate since you're already on the payroll, turn to page 81.

If you think you can talk Flip Saunders into coming back for free since you already paid him two years salary for doing nothing after you fired him, turn to page 105.

pants wrote:


Alright, I think we are good to go again. Don't be mad Auswolf, but I deleted your post to try to avoid confusion for people.

Who's gonna pick up the story? Btw, that's a great idea to put it on the front page DeROK. Hahaha, this is great.

Page 105

They say the world is full of coincidences. They swim around in air, waiting to be found, discovered or more likely - to shock.

One of them just hit you with a force so fierce that you couldn't help to use it against the cruel world that surrounds you. (the fact that Glen had a mancrush on that guy was helpful too)

- Flip! - came the shocking exclamation. Taylor frowned, obviously, but there was no way to go back this time, the word has been said.

- I just talked to him two weeks ago and he was pretty desperate to return to the league! He said he wished he had so many nice guys on the team... Miller, Ollie, Carney. Almost cried into my ear how bitchy and commanding 'Sheed was, he felt totally owned by his own players. Said last time he felt that way was when Spree's kids were hungry.

Turning to Freddie you could only read "You lying bastard" out of his sloppy lip-sync. Yes, despite the obvious success in your bullshit, there were still snakes in the room. But you knew. You knew that one day all those Yoga trainings could pay off. Turning your head towards Taylor, you focused your inner eye on Freddie.

'Now it's your job to convince him to actually coach this lame-ass team, Mr. Assistant GM'

Freddie was pummelled by the fact. Head-shot, you thought. Getting out of poor Hoiberg's head, you decided to use your chance as much as you could. Another opportunity might never come (Glen might actually find the words after what he heard).

- Glen, as Vice-President of Basketball Ops I'd also like to continue my bad-ass mean streak...

The sweater never felt so good.



* If you'd like to trade for Gerald Wallace, turn to page 144

* If you'd like to hire an army of lawyers to get our pick from the Clippers back (US law prohibits sucky teams owning others' picks), turn to page 36

* If you feel like bullshitting through, and ending up with a McCants-for-Felton steal (or a possible Olivier Miller signing), turn to page 101

Page 144

"Why do I feel like I'm not in control"? Taylor quipps.

"Because your'e not" Fred sadly informs him

"Who is then"? Taylor askes, gesticulating wildly with one hand while keep the other firmly on the top on his head.

"The guys over at Twolves Blog" Fred replies, sadly revealing the truth.

For the first time in your life your sweater begins to itch. In fact it begins itching so badly you franticly try to rip it off over your head only to get it stuck half way off rendering the use of your arms and sight useless. You begin running around in circles maoning uncontrolably.

"You see" Fred continues," that because of a forum game they made up, our future is at the whim of a bunch of watercooler jockeys trying to be creative"

You then run smack dab into Glens aquarium knocking it over and spewing neon tetras all over the floor. The result of your sweater becoming wet and stretched enables you to finally remove it completely, revealing a T shirt that says "one in the oven" on the front with an arrow pointing down.

"Gerald Wallace" You scream at the top of your voice. "Gerald Wallace"

"What"? Fred and Glen say in almost perfect harmony.

"Let's trade Rashad McCants for Gerald Wallace" You blurt emphatically.

If you want to further pursue trading for Gerald Wallace turn to page 1009

If you get directed back to the subject of Wittman turn to page 95

If you want to pursue moving the franchise to Vegas turn to page 106

1009.

"Gerald Wallace would be perfect" you shout, finally regaining balance and composure after a rough fight with the tetras. Your sweater is ruined and you have no idea what to do.

Taylor and Hoiberg seemingly stare in awe at your t-shirt, but you ignore their concern. The scent of Hoiberg's ndudi lingers, and you quickly offer him some of the pages of the hunting guide you brought for reading material to finish the wiping job. He accepts with thanks before turning his ear to you, wiping cautiously through his Dockers.

All the excitment is interrupted by a vibration from your pocket. It's your cell phone, and lo and behold it just so happens to be Charlotte Bobcats general manager Rod Higgins.

"Mr. McHale! I've an offer you cannot refuse here to discuss. I've got a great kid I want to send your way for that McCants guy. Former top 3 pick, Adam Morrison. I'm thinking if you take the deal it will be just as if you add another top 3 pick level player to your team. Not to mention him and Kevin Ollie could share porn 'stache stories. a ha ha ha. ha. Well, what do you think? We'd need a pick too in case McCants bolts after this year, I'm thinkin you can help us there too with all those firsts you have this year!"

Shocked, put on the spot, soaked, and reeking of human feces, you debate your next decision,

To accept this offer, contingent on cash considerations being involved in the deal, turn to page 35

To decline and work out a counter offer for Gerald Wallace, turn to page 178

To postpone the call and walk to Macy's in the skyway to buy a new sweater and see what adventure a skyway trip produces, turn to the next page.

Hahahaha this is getting great!

I am very sad that I have to leave for the bus, like, right now.

reading this stuff is the only reason I still follow the Wolves...This is funny stuff fellas...

Page 178...


"Are you kidding ME?!?!" you yell into the phone.

"That's ALL that we'd have to give up for Pornstache Morrison? Why by golly you've got yourself a..."

"WAIT!!!" Glen Taylor and Fred Hoiberg shout in unison.

Fred approaches you and quickly hangs up your phone. "Now Kev, are you sure you don't want to think this through? Trading McCants AND one of our precious first round picks for Adam Morrison? What has he done in his career? I mean, he's coming back from a horrific injury after missing ALL of last season! Are you sure this is a trade we'd want to do?"

You silently mull his thoughts over in your mind and say "You're right. That makes sense. We should give him TWO of our first round picks, because we won't have space on our roster for all these draft picks anyways! Especially if we get Adam. With his mustache, he could easily be a 35 minute per game player. He'll make it rain from deep like Mr. Pacman in Vegas. And then, we could probably ask for a future second round pick in return so that we can draft this big man I scouted last year from the Maldives... I think he has a lot of raw potential. We could stash him overseas for a while and we won't even have to sign him for a few years! Great idea Freddi-o!"

You hear an audible groan coming from the corner where Taylor is sitting, but figure it is best to not acknowledge him.

Fred is starting to look visibly perturbed and says "Kevin, no. Honestly man... that's not what I meant. At all. What I mean was that Adam Morrison sucks. I know he's white and all which gets you giddy, but he's just a flatout terrible player. Under no circumstances should we trade for him."

You are crushed. You sit there and imagine the possibilities of a roster with Big Al surrounded by players such as Mike Miller, Randy Foye, and Adam Morrison. The floor spacing possabilities are endless you think!

Fred snaps you back to reality by saying "I think we should trade for Gerald Wallace, he's precisely the athletic SF that can defend and rebound. He's exactly what our roster needs. Here, give me your phone and I'll call Rod Huggins back to work out some sort of deal."

You hesitate. You don't want to give Freddy your precious cell phone, nor do you want to relinquish your GM powers and sit by idly while Fred Hoiberg works out a deal with a rival GM. You two stare at each other for what seems like hours and suddenly Glen Taylor says "Give him the damn phone already so we can make this trade happen! I hate McCants and like that Wallace cat. I demand you to trade."

If you give Fred your cellphone so that he can call Rod Huggins, turn to page 122

If you try convincing Fred and Glen that you can work out the trade yourself, turn to page 135

Ok, sorry to ruin all the fun, but if this is going to be a front-page post, then we've got to wrap it up. I'll bring this story to a close, but don't think for a second that we can't start another "Choose Your Own Adventure" thread with a new story.

Page 122

Begrudingly, you hand Freddie your cell phone...

...But not before you deftly remove the sample of fishing line that was included as promotional insert on the inner front cover of your 1993 Minnesota DNR Hunting and Fishing Regulation handbook. As Hoiberg reaches for the phone, you grab his arm, spin him around, and proceed to tightly wrap the fishing line around his neck. As Freddies eyes buldge and his face turns puple, Glen Taylor leaps over his desk and attempts to break your death grasp on the Mayor.

"Kevin! What are you doing?!?"

"You are not taking my job from me, Freddie! I've spent the last fourteen years running this franchise into the ground! I've botched nearly every draft pick! I've let every promising free agent we've had walk! I've signed all our mediocre players to fat contracts! I've signed other teams' free-agents to to even more bloated deals and threw in first round draft picks in sign-and-trades just for kicks..."

Glen desperately tries to free Freddy, and even bites your hand in an attempt to make you let go. You however, will have none of it and your diatribe continues.

"I will not be denied! I'm the man who tried to overpay Ricky Davis when he first became a free agent. When Cleveland matched the offer sheet, I scoured the trade wire every day until finally I not only acquired him and his fat deal from Boston, but Mark Blount's massive contract as well - and I got to toss in a draft pick as icing on the cake! That is what you call dedication!!!"

As the adrenaline surges through you, your pull on the fishing line grows even stronger, causing it to snap. Freddie collapses on the floor, gasping for breath. Glen Taylor leaps off your back and runs to Freddie's aid. He gives you a look of contempt and defiantly utters the words "You're fired!"

"Fired? You can't fire me, Glen! You didn't fire me after I signed Joe Smith to an illegal contract and cost the team five draft picks, you didn't fire me when I traded Rookie of the Year Brandon Roy straight-up for that shoint guard Foye, and you didn't fire me when I traded away the only player putting butts in the seats for the Boston Celtics' pu pu platter! Face it Glen, if you haven't fired me already, you never will. You need me, Glen. Without me screwing up your basketball team, your life would be too perfect and boring. You'd be a multi-billionaire with everything you could ever want. I'm the one that keeps you from being satisfied with life! It may be a sick and masochistic need, but you need me nonetheless."

Your words cut deep to the soul of Glen Taylor, who for the first time realizes the truths which you have just spoken. As tears well in his eyes, he rises up from Freddie's side, puts one hand on your belly, one hand on your shoulder, and speaks the beautiful precious words that you've been waiting so long to hear.

"You complete me, Kevin."

You stare at each other for what could have been an eternity. For at this moment, as your eyes penetrate deep within each other, as you feel the gentle pulses of each other's firm grasp, as you smell the manly musk as it slowly rises from each others aching bodies, and your lips quiver with desire, you realize that this was the moment you had spent the last fourteen years of your life working for. Every Ndudi Ebi was now suddenly and utterly worth it.

"Are you guys alright in here? I was sitting at my desk trying to figure out how I could simultaneously play Kevin Love, Sebastian Telfair, and Corey Brewer as little as possible without resorting to bringing in Calvin Booth, when I heard all this commotion!"

Dim-Wittman strikes again! Uncontrollable anger wells up from within you as you realized this buffoon has just spoiled your magical moment of intimacy with Glen Taylor. Before you can even begin to react, Glen interjects.

"Randy, you're fired. I don't know if you're missing a chromosome or just ate too many paint chips as a kid, but you have got to be the most inept head coach this league has ever seen. We're replacing you with that Bill Biese guy who holds the newspaper. It's about time he got his chance and it's not like he could do any worse. Now pack your things, take your two years of guaranteed money, and get lost!"

You expected Randy to take this news pretty hard, but instead his face is beaming. You can't help but ask him why.

"Um, Randy? You did hear Glen say that you're fired, right? You do realize that with your 0.241 winning percentage, your chances of ever getting another NBA Head coaching job are about as good as Antoine Walker sticking with the NutraSystem diet, don't you? Your career in this league is as good as over. Why do you look so happy?"

"Well you see Kev, I just got a call from this Greek team, Olympiakaki-sumthin-or-other, and they just offered me $40 million dollars to coach the team for the next two years. They already have that afro kid and they're probably going to offer Kobe $200 million to jump on next season and spend $300 million to lure LeBron the next! When everything's said and done, we're pretty much going to take over Europe together."

"Um, wow, Randy. I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything Kevin! If anything, I should be saying thanks to you! I mean, if you hadn't clearly used me as a pawn to throw Dwane Casey under the bus, none of this would've ever happened. And you know what the best part is, I hear the women over in Greece don't wear tops when they go to the beach OR shave their arm pits! See you later fellas!"

Wittman walks out the door of Taylor's office. For a moment you feel the pangs of jealousy at Randy's good fortune. But then you glance down at the multi-billionaire who's resting ever so gently in your arms and all seems right again with the world. After all, you've potentially got four first-round draft picks to screw up this summer, tons of future cap space to throw at Andra Bargnani, and all the time in the world to concoct your latest dream trade and send Al Jefferson back to Boston.

THE END.

Hahaha that's a pretty good way to end it lol!

we may need to start a new one before too long!

WallyWorld wrote:


Definitely agree.

Pants... what is the next story topic???