Missileman
“Help, help, help! There’s a fire burning at Flushing Meadows in Queens, New York. Call 911. Get the fire department out there to put it out. The Mighty Missileman just fired some missiles while he was serving. His opponent got scared and got the hell out of there. The tennis ball skidded in bounds along the surface of the court so fast, it started a fire.
We can’t let him go any further in the tournament out there. With his 220 MPH pinpoint serves, he will become a liability. The insurance company will refuse to insure us because of him. We can’t let this go on any longer. We’ll make him an offer to let us push him up in the rankings to number one as long as he doesn’t play anymore at the US Open. I’m sure he won’t refuse it. He doesn’t have to do anything but just sit back and enjoy his number one ranking.”
“Right on, dude,” said he. “I’ll take your offer. Now I can sit back on my couch, drink a beer, smoke a joint, and watch my favorite porn movies. If I played in your friggin tournament, I wouldn’t have time to watch them anymore anyway.”
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