2chair climbed into the "special van" which is actually a jacked up Hummer limo. 2chair went straight to the wet bar.

"**(&*_)(_#$()_)(#@(*&)*(%)$(#$@&(*!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" he exclaimed. "Katz stole the Maker's Mark again! We're stuck drinking......1858....Croizet Cognac...which costs...$157,000.00 per bottle."

"I guess we'll just have to make do," said caesari.

"I still wish we had a hot tub," said sjurat.

"We better drink this before we get to Whatifway," said 2chair. "Bhaz probably hates cognac anyway."

"Is anybody hungry?" asked caesari. "I want to celebrate my first NC. I'm buying at - " caesari checked his wallet. "2chair, can you lend me 20 bucks? We can take this baby through a Wendy's drive thru."

"Awesome," said sjurat. "Can I get a Frosty?"

"Man, I could use a good cognac right now," I thought.  I stared in disbelief at what was purportedly the actual code to GD 1.0

If $COACH = 'ddingo' OR $COACH = 'nelsonba25' OR $PLAYCALL='100% Run' THEN NC=NC+1

"This can't be right," I said. "What happens if ddingo and nelsonba25 meet in the NC game, and both are running the ball?  It's an endless loop that would generate hundreds of NC's for them!"

The faux Zentmeyer simply looked at me with one eyebrow raised.  "This error in coding, along with allowing Rewards Points to be used to buy Amazon GC's, are what bankrupted this company, and allowed FoxSports to purchase it for 75 cents and a signed photograph of Erin Andrews."

I stumbled back against the wall in shock.  I had finally managed to recover the 'holy grail' - and it was useless!  "But.. but... why not just FIX the code?  Why did you unleash 2.0 on us instead?"

"It was desperation," the redhead interjected. "we had to recover losses, and drive away those coaches who had piled up millions of reward points.  We thought we could make the game bad enough that they would leave, and leave their reward points behind.  This of course backfired on us.  We did too good a job at destroying the game."

"And 3.0?  Surely you didn't think that could recover what you had lost?" I asked.

"How did you know my name was Shirley?  You are far too clever, Mr. Not-Snake_P.  I will tell you, but you must realize it is only because we will never let you leave." She pressed a button on the desk.   Nothing happened.  "Where is oriole?  I told him to fix the lockdown button last week.  He promised he would get it done and post an update in the secret forum."

Katz and Harris stepped off the plane, pulling their sunglasses down and peering over them in a dramatic, intimidating fashion. They were in San Jose, and their mission was clear.

"So... do YOU know where his laboratory is?" Harris asked Katz, drooling a bit as he did so. Katz shook his head no, then pointed at a man wearing a white lab coat with unkempt hair. 

"Yatzr?" They'd ask incredulously as they approached, narrowing their eyes in suspicion. "What are you doing here?"

Yatzr's head snapped up and he looked at them with wild eyes. "JF... JF is here. JF.. he's figured it out. He says he has uncovered the secret to winning, to dominating the engine!"

Harris and Katz gave each other a look of worry. Was Yatzr crazy? But the wily man continued. "Bob didn't know... Bob and I both thought 1.0 was the only answer. We had to re-implement it! He flew to Cincinnati, and... we lost contact. But JF... he knows? He has to know!! He can't be lying about this discovery, can he? Bob and I... our work isn't in vain! JF knows the secret!"

Katz took a swig of the Maker's Mark and passed it to Yatzr. "Here, polish this off... we have a lot of work to do. But first, I have to take a leak." Katz was in the bathroom for 45 minutes.

You guys cracked me up so bad that I just fell out of my wheelchair!! LOL

I believe I may have broken my neck in the fall. It sure wasn't my dick that got broke since I'm so old that it won't go up anymore

While katz did "the technicolor yawn" in the bathroom, and the hot redhead tried to "lock down" BHaz, 2chair, sjurat and caesari were still in the "special van" which was a Hummer limo.

"Did you see that? Did you see that?" exclaimed sjurat. "They act like they've never seen a Hummer limo in their drive thru before."

"They've never seen anyone order 8 large frostys before!!!" exclaimed caesari. "I'm celebrating my first nc with a four piece chicken nuggets!"

"Have you ever tried a Frosty with 1858 Croizet Cognac mixed in?" asked sjurat.

"Seriously?" said 2chair and caesari.

"Try it," said sjurat. He mixed several more and handed them to caesari and 2chair. Each reluctantly took a sip. And another. AAANNNNNDDDD another.

"damn," said caesari. "Wow."

"Dibs on the last one," said 2 chair as he chugged both of his Frostys. 2chair's phone rang. "This better be important," he barked.

"Well, yes," said Yatzr over the phone. "It's about BHaz. He has what is allegedly the code to 1.0. But we have to extract him before WIS locks down the building and takes BHaz hostage."

"Did you say WIS is responsible for locking down their own building?" said 2chair.

"Yes."

"So we have a couple of days then," said 2chair.

"At least...especially with today being Sunday..." said Yatzr. "But BHaz probably wants you to get there as soon as possible."

"Wait," said 2chair as he finished chugging his third frosty. "First, we need to go back to Wendy's. Secondly, that code is a fake. That is not the real code! Repeat! That is not the real code!"

"What!" yelled Yatzr.

"I just remembered the code that I put in julius caesari - WIS is going to try and fake us out with a fake 1.0 code. Tell BHaz - "

"Why didn't you tell us that before we put you in the special van loaded with expensive cognac?" demanded Yatzr. "We are on a budget you know."

"What's that? You're breaking up! You're breaking up! Get word to BHaz," 2chair hung up.

"So why didn't you tell us," asked sjurat. He had just finished knocking caesari unconscious to get the last Frosty.

"To create drama," said 2chair. "To create excitement and drama. And get a ride in this sweet limo." 2chair ordered the driver to return to Wendy's and order 30 more Frosty's.

"What's this about a secret code," said caesari groggily.

"You know how BHaz likes to do the triple fake on WIS?" sjurat and caesari stared blankly at 2chair. "You know," continued 2chair, "The triple fake JConte, the triple fake Oriole, all that?" 2chair watched as caesari said "look over there" to sjurat and then stole the last Frosty when sjurat looked. "What am I looking for," said sjurat.

"ANYWAY - " said 2chair, "WIS did have one trick up their sleeve. It's - " 2chair reached over and flipped on some dramatic music on the stereo system, for dramatic effect, then turned the stereo off. "WIS is using the QUADRUPLE fake WIS 1.0 code and passing it off as the code to BHaz."

"My gosh!" yelled caesari. "Those bastards! Driver! Get us to Whatifway asap! After the Wendy's drive thru."

"We better go in quiet," said sjurat. "You know, stealthy. Silent. Deadly. Seal Team Six style. Hey, can we play Led Zeppelin on that stereo?"

With only days to save BHaz from a lockdown at WIS, the special van, which is actually a jacked up Hummer Limo, sped towards Whatifway from the Wendy's drive thru - with "The Immigrant Song" playing at 90 decibels and caesari leaning out the windows and bellowing "ONE TIME NATIONAL CHAMPION! ONE TIME NATIONAL CHAMPION!"

The driver rolled his eyes.

Meanwhile, back at Whatifway, the beautiful redhead knew that she had to keep BHaz occupied until WIS technical support got to work on Monday and figured out how to lock down the building. Shirley stared straight into BHaz's eyes and seductively ran her tongue over her lips. "Do you know what makes me hot?" she said in a sexy stage whisper. "Clicking on the ad banners at Guess Reports. I do that until I... until I...oooohhhhhwwweehhhewww" she purred. Shirley leaned back seductively and crossed her legs.

"I'm in trouble now," thought BHaz. "She's doing the QUINTUPLE fake sexual turn-on routine. But where was the QUADRUPLE? Where was the QUADRUPLE?"

Fox Sports president Eric Shanks walked into his office early that morning.  As usual, his secretary, a stunning red-head named Shirley Sirius (for which she took all manner of kidding) looked at him with concern.  "Sir, are you alright?  Not to be rude, but you look like hell."

"I'll be alright," said Shanks.  "I couldn't sleep last night - kept having these crazy dreams.  None of it made any sense.... say, can you check and see if we own that made up sports company still?"

"The NFL?" Shirley asked, obviously confused.  "We still have some broadcast rights..."

"Sorry, no" interrupted Shanks. "That other one.  Whatchamacallit Sports or something like that."

"I think I know which one you are talking about," said Shirley.  "I believe we do, but I'll confirm that."

"Great, thank you."  Shanks paused for a moment.  "If we still own it....  sell it.  Right away.  I have a feeling that place is nothing but trouble."

Katz and Harris strode into the sleazy biker bar, dragging a babbling Yatzr by his lab coat. They tossed him to the side and moved towards a man in the back, wearing nothing but studded leather chaps and a cowboy hat. "JF?" They'd ask in a low tone.

JF would tilt his head back. "Some people call me that- what's it to you?"

"We've been sent by the Coalition Of Coaching Kin, seeking to restore GD to it's once great power- a coalition you once were included in."

JF knew who they were, but simply lit a cigarette and took a long drag. "Yeah, and I've left it. I got no interest in working with you boneheads." He'd wave at the waitress to get him another bourbon.

"What? You left? But.. why?"

With a nonchalant shrug, JF replied, "I don't like C.O.C.K."

Harris held up his hands. "That was quite a setup for a joke, don't you think?" He looks around. "We bought a roundtrip ticket to SAN JOSE so you could make that joke?"

JF nodded, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "Pretty much. And to pick me up. You can't beat WIS without me."

The 186 inch screen went blank and the man leaned back in the soft Moroccan leather chair, a soft smile on his face. 'That JConte is a flat-out goof if you ask me,' he thought. ' But he was able to engineer the game just as I hoped. The subliminal messages in the code, wrapped into the recruiting and the need to offer multiple campus visits was . . . inspirational. They always end up wanting more and more campus visits . . . moving up in the divisions . . . and when that happens ... They are mine!"'

He opened a drawer and pulled a bottle of Maker's Mark out from 11 others in the drawer.

'Best move I could've made, getting those goons hooked on this stuff. Little do they know, that these bottles are the only true and unaltered bottles left in the real world. The rest are chemically designed to draw the imbiber to GD and then hold them there forever!'

'They longer they play, the more they drink and the less control they have. They think its in the code and only in the code.' He popped the bottle open and gave a long slow sniff. He looked on the bottom of the bottle to make sure. The mark was still there. This was a real bottle. He poured a finger full and resealed the bottle. He savored the taste in a long sip and swallow proceedure. 'They don't make it like this anymore he thought.'

JConte slowly closed the heavy door to the video room and slowly withdrew. He went back down to his dark room and poured a glass of the dark amber liquid from an Ocean Spray Cranberry bottle. "Yes, they don't make it like this anymore!" he stated, and gave a short laugh.

Up in the ornate study, the 186 inch screen kicked on again. 'I wonder what it is like to play this GD game?' the man thought and hit the PLAY NOW button the screen.

I think it's better if this thread never ends. It can be like a soap opera where some plot lines get wrapped up, but the story never really ends. 

Meanwhile, BHaz was staring goggly eyed at the seductive redhead who had just done her quintuple fake sexually turned on routine. Or had she?

"I had my triple fake interviews," thought Bhaz, "and she did the quintuple fake sexually turned on routine, but there has been no quadruple. Where is the quadruple?" The redhead had gone to Guess Reports on the internet and was clicking on the ad banner. She moaned softly with each click. 

"There are two possibilities," thought BHaz. "One is that she is pretending to be turned on by me, to keep me here until the WIS programmers get the building shut down. But the six men in business suits at the table could do that job. The other possibility is that she is doing - a Quadruple turned on for real routine times four! And I know which one it is." 

BHaz turned to one of the men in suits. "Give me one of your cigarettes," he growled. "And a lighter. No, not that cheap Bic lighter, that gold one."

BHaz lit the cigarette. He sucked. He sucked some more. He inhaled. He double, triple, quadruple, quintuple inhaled.

"It helps if you put the butt of the cigarette in your mouth and light the other end," said the redhead in her sexiest voice. 

"I knew that," said BHaz. "And I know what you're doing. You're trying to seduce me." BHaz moved over and leaned over the redhead from behind. He put the cigarette in his mouth. "Have I ever shown you my - special - ad campaign?" he whispered in her ear. 

"Oh!" exclaimed the redhead as she jumped out of her chair. "I never could fool you computer geeks with my fake sexual turn on routine. You're too smart. Surely, you can't possibly think I would - "

"Oh!," said BHaz whose face was redder than a ripe tomato. "Well, um, first of all, you're Shirley. Not me. And, uh, of course, I knew that. I just thought my, uh, special ad campaign might, you know, help WIS marketing and then maybe I could get the 1.0 formula."

BHaz inhaled his cigarette and began coughing. One of the men in suits got up and handed BHaz a bottle in a brown paper bag. "At least I finally get a decent  drink," thought BHaz. He pulled the bottle out of the bag. 

"Really?" barked BHaz at the man. "Really? I mean, were they sold out of Boone's Farm?"

"No," growled the man, "Boone's Farm is too expensive. I think you will find that Old Traveler's Vodka from Cincinnati, Ohio is one of the finest vodkas in the world. Now shutup and drink." 

This was starting to feel like one of those soap operas, where the story never ends but some plotlines get resolved.  And where past history is conveniently ignored, so that the current story could be told.  After all, here I was holding a cigarette, even though I don't smoke, and was being offered what appeared to be the worst vodka known to humanity, even though I don't drink.

"You don't drink?  You don't smoke?  What do you do?" purred Shirley the red-haired faux seductress, as she faux-clicked on ads.  (I could tell they weren't real clicks, because the the ad click counter app that yatrzr had written for my smart phone wasn't incrementing.)  Subtle innuendo followed.  "It must be something... inside."

Thinking quickly, I grabbed the vodka bottle from Taxi Driver Clone #4 (he had "4" tattooed to his forehead) and smashed to bottle to make an impromptu weapon.  "Dammit!  This crap comes in PLASTIC bottles?"   I looked around, and spotted what I needed - a "Clutch Racing" do-rag, tucked away in the leaves of a potted plastic palm.  Grabbing the do-rag, I stuffed it down the neck of the bottle of world's worst vodka, flipped open the gold cigarette lighter, and lit the rag on fire.  I tossed my molotov cocktail at the framed portrait of Pedro Borbon behind the reception desk, and started for the front door.  Unfortunately, since the bottle was plastic, instead of shattering, it bounced off the picture.  Luckily it was STILL enough of a distraction for me to escape.

I ran to the sidewalk, where a bright red Lamborghini Aventador pulled up.  "Get in bhaz!" yelled the man behind the wheel.  I noticed he was wearing a Baltimore Orioles cap, and was wearing a t-shirt that said "C++ is SO 1990's". 

"Oriole_fan?" I asked.  "Weren't you like 10 years old just an hour ago?"

"Yeah, so what?" he smirked.  "Like that matters to stories like this."  I hopped in the car, and we sped off into the night.

Traveling was always such a hassle, and with these two clowns, JF knew it would be damn near impossible. His flight cross country to San Jose had been nearly insufferable, but with these two dolt brains, it would be unbearable.

"One ticket to Cincinnati, please, and two on whichever plane leaves out of the terminal furthest away from it," he'd murmur in a low voice to the lady behind the counter. The duo behind him was debating whether Wishbone was the "coolest" offense in the 2.0 engine- not that it mattered in the slightest.

"One for Cincinnati, and two for.... Boise? Are you sure that's right?"

"Positive." JF would smile, oozing with sarcastic pleasantries, before turning. "You two- here are your tickets. Unfortunately, all the straight shots to Cincy were booked, but luckily I got you a connecting flight through Boise. I'll meet you fellas there, alright?" He'd clap them both on the back and give them a push forward, then dash away.

"Wait... Harris, didn't we purchase round trip tickets?" Katz asked, knitting his eyebrows together and thinking extra hard, like he did when he was trying to solve the triangle peg game at Cracker Barrel.

"Well... yeah. But you heard him! The flight's been booked! We won't be able to find a seat!"

"Oh, right... well, I guess we'll fly through Boise, then." They began to make their way towards the security check, both accepting the fact that Boise was to be their destination- at least until an officer pulled them to one side. 

The uni addressed both of them. "Excuse me, sirs- it appears you are going to have to come in for questioning. We've found reason to believe you men may be domestic terrorists- why are you flying to Boise."

Harris widened his eyes. "Terrorists? NO! We are on our way to Cincinnati to detonate a nuclear bomb in the mayor's office!"

As they were being tackled and detained for strip searching, Katz looked to Harris. "That's not what we're doing, is it?"

"I don't think so... JF told me to say that if we got hassled by TSA." 

Meanwhile, JF sat between the only two empty seats on the plane, dozing blissfully.

The Cincinnati plane left San Jose airspace and just as quickly, little buzzing noises in Katz' and Harris' heads began to subside.

"Whoa!" can you hear that?" Katz said.

"I don't hear anything," Harris replied, his fingers positioned on the desk in a three running back wishbone pattern as if figuring out a new play scheme.

"Exactly!' replied Katz. "This is the first time since we found JF that I don't have that buzzing in my ears. I also feel amazingly refreshed!"

Harris picked his hand up and wiggled his fingers, essentially making the wishbone RB's disappear. "I feel pretty good myself."

Harris called over one of the TSA agents and flashed him his C.O.C.K. badge. The TSA agent raised his palms in front of him and called to the head TSA agent in charge. One look at Katz' and Harris' badges and they were released.

"Well, we missed our flight to Boise," Harris stated. "But I don't think that is where we really needed to go."

"JF pulled that one on us to clear his way for something more dastardly!' Katz snapped. "We need to get to Cinncinnati, ASAP!"

"Should we check in with 2chair to let him know we aren't AWOL?" Harris queried.

"No, if JF thinks we're DOA, we can follow-him in the shadows."

They ran down the corridor, Harris on the phone to the Gulf Stream. "We're wheels up in 10," he said. "We should get to Cincy just about the time JF does."

In the meantime, JF was speaking to a flight attendant. "Sir," said the flight attendant, "you will have to wear clothes. You cannot sit on this plane wearing nothing but chaps and a hat." 

"But I'm not wearing a hat," said JF. "I took it off and put it in the overhead compartment. And they let me through security." 

"The fact remains that we have a no shirt/no shoes/no pants/no service policy on this airline," replied the flight attendant. "Perhaps you could, at least, put your hat over your, you know," the flight attendant blushed. 

"Do you have any clothes I could borrow?" asked JF. Just to get the situation resolved, the flight attendant brought JF to the back of the plane where he was allowed to put on her spare dress and high heels. "Oooooohhhhhh, I look HOT in red," he declared as he flounced back down the aisle. 

While this unnecessary and visually hideous plotline was being resolved, Oriole was peppering BHaz with questions. 

"Did you get the 1.0 code?" asked Oriole. 

"Whoops," said BHaz. 

"What about the vodka? Did you get the Old Travelers Vodka?" 

"Shoot man, are you crazy? Incidentally, besides not smoking or drinking, I do not curse."

Oriole slammed on the brakes with both feet. "WHAT?" he yelled. "How am I going to party tonight?" 

"Shoot. Since you can afford a goshdarn Lamborghini Aventar, perhaps you could afford better vodka than that Old Travelers." 

"Do you have any idea what it costs to maintain a Lamborghini? We're going back!!!!!!" Oriole spun the car three times, turned on Barry Manilow, braked, stood on his head, drank New Coke while upside down, and put on his Ryan Leaf jersey. Then he headed back to Whatifway. 

"Goshdarnit it all to heck. Shoot," groaned BHaz. "This is hogwash." Then he thought for a minute. "Hey," he said to himself. "How come Oriole didn't turn off the lights of his Lamborghini Aventar when he came to a complete stop to stand on his head and drink New Coke upside down? I wonder if something odd is happening here?" 

As the Gulf Stream neared approach at the private jetway, Harris pointed the North-by-Northwest Airlines flight that JF was on.
"Made it just in time Katz! Let's hustle over to the main termainal and head him off!"

They landed and a waiting car sped them away. They were inside the terminal as the passengers started off the plane.

"Keep looking Harris, I know he was on this plane."

They looked over each passenger as they exited.

"I don't see him Katz! Where could he be?!"

The tall, skinny passenger, with the high heels, cowboy chaps, red dress and cowboy hat smirked as he walked out past the security checkpoint.

Oriole and BHaz pulled up to the Cincinnati airport in Oriole's Mercedes S63AMG sedan. 

"Wait," said BHaz as he looked around with consternation written all over his face. "Weren't we going to the WIS HQ? In a Lambhorgini?"

"Bob," said Oriole in a condescending tone. "Haven't you learned anything from v2.0 and v3.0? EXPECT! The unexpected! You didn't see that coming!"

BHaz paused. "I guess this explains why you are now wearing a three piece suit, and you're 34 years old."

"Now, you're getting it."

"Could you change into Heidi Klum in a bikini?"

"The engine is functioning as intended," growled Oriole. "Let's find JF. I have intel that he's planning to run the ball out of the Wishbone offense. That plan has me faked out. Keep your eyes open." 

An overwhelming sense of dread overcame BHaz. "My Ad Clicking Sense is tingling," he muttered under his breath in a cheap Spiderman ripoff. 

Back in the limo, sjurat, caesari, and 2chair were just going through their 6th Wendy's drive thru in the last two hours. They had opened another case of the 1858 Croizet Cognac. They had more expensive cognac than John Wayne has bullets in a gunfight. The limo driver passed back the 36 Frostys, and a garden salad, "I want to eat a balanced diet," sjurat had said, and rolled up the privacy window. 

"Wait a minute," said 2chair. "You know how it's really hot outside? Sticky hot? Fry an egg on the pavement hot?"

"Shaddup," growled caesari. "Hand me a Frosty." 

"OK, I will stop with the film noir cliches. But doesn't it seem odd," said 2chair, "that our limo driver is wearing a fur coat when it's hot outside?"

"Looking at our Frostys is making him cold," explained sjurat.

"Ah, that would explain it," said 2chair.

"But I should have a fur coat," said caesari. "I'm a one time national champion." He began pounding on the privacy window and demanding the limo driver's fur coat. 

The limo driver turned around. "I want to kissh you," he mumbled to caesari.

"JOE NAMATH!!???!!!???!!!" they all exclaimed. 

"Par-tay-ing with broadway joe in limo #1timenc #par-tay" tweeted caesari. 

"Tell us about your condo in the NYC with mirrored walls and a mirrored ceiling in the bedroom, and how you had to try and explain that to your mother," insisted 2chair. 

"Wait," said sjurat. "Does it bother anyone else that our limo driver is drunker than .... drunker than..... drunker than Joe Namath when he wanted to kiss Suzy Kolber? And that we are going 93 MPH in the dropoff lane of the Cincinnati airport?"

"NO," said caesari, Broadway Joe and 2chair in unison.

Broadway Joe suddenly slammed on the brakes. "there sshhee issz," he said when he stopped. Broadway Joe was pointing at JF. "We're pickking heerrr up. git her in the limmo."