In a cold, lonely office high above the Saddledome ice, Ken King sits at his desk, swearing loudly. Walking by the office, Jay Feaster hears his boss, and checks in on him.
Ken King: Fuck! Fuck me!
Jay Feaster: Sir! What seems to be the problem?
Ken King: The fucking idiots! Why am I getting push back for my brilliant idea to change 'Flames Central' to 'Canucks Central'? Fuck these people. It would be so much easier if we could just garnish their wages and take their money directly.
Jay Feaster: I don't think that would be legal, sir.
Ken King: I don't give a fuck what you think. You a lawyer or something?
Jay Feaster: Well, technically, sir. But if you don't like it...
Jay Feaster tosses his degrees into the trash bin
Ken King: No, it's fine Jay. You didn't take the bar here, it's cool.
Jay Feaster begins taking his degrees out of the trash bin
Ken King: It's not your fault anyways. It's those fucking Brits and their property laws. Fuck em. Where's my secretary? Conroy! Get the fuck in here!
Ken Kings secretary, Craig Conroy, walks into the room, smiling.
Craig Conroy: Yes sir?
Ken King: Get Nenshi on the phone. Tell him we are going to start taxing the fucking hoi polloi if they don't hand over their cash willingly.
Craig Conroy: Yes sir!
Ken Kings secretary, Craig Conroy, leaves the room. Still smiling, for some unknown reason. Why is that guy always so damned happy?
Jay Feaster: Uhh, ok. I feel that I should tell you, Ken, that, and I may be wrong, but I don't think you actually have the ability to just make taxes up to charge people.
Ken King: Feaster, shut the fuck up. Did you not see what Katz just did in Edmonton? Anyways, why the fuck did you come in here?
Jay Feaster: Well sir, as you no doubt know, we have until June 1st to get Swedish standout defenceman Tim Erixon signed to a contract.
Ken King: Ex-fuckin-scuse me? Why are you bothering me with this shit?
Jay Feaster: It's May 31st, sir.
Ken King: Fuck me. Ok Kenny, scramble time...think bastard, think...ok, I got it. You call up his fucking agent, and you tell the prick to get Tim down to my ranch fucking ASAP. CRAIG!!
Ken Kings secretary, Craig Conroy, walks back into the office. Smiling, of course.
Ken King: Craig, you get on the phone now, and you call my ranch, and you tell the fucking ranch hands to get my gorgeous horses ready. We got us a player to sign. Now Craig!
Ken Kings secretary, Craig Conroy, walks out of the office. Yes, he is smiling.
Jay Feaster: Uhh, sir, I thought of that. There is a problem.
Ken King: Oh fuck, what now?
Jay Feaster: Tim Erixon is Swedish, sir. Also, he is in Sweden, sir.
Ken King: Fucking frog shit. Who's bright idea was it to draft a fucking foreigner?
Jay Feaster: Actually, I believe it was Darryl Sutter's idea...
Ken King: Are you fucking stupid? You expect me to believe that Darryl Sutter drafted this Swede? Our Darryl Sutter? This has Buttons fingerprints all over it. Button! Get in here!
Tod enters the office. Or was he there the whole time?
Tod Button: Yes sir?
Ken King: You're fired!
Tod Button: Ha! Good one, sir.
Tod leaves the office. We think. You can't really tell until you turn the lights off, wait a second, and then turn the lights back on.
Ken King: Ok, scramble time here, Kenny. Think! Ok, I got it. Let's pretend he doesn't even exist.
Jay Feaster: Thought of that too, sir. But it turns out the people know who he is and are kind of concerned.
Ken King: People know who he is? Really? Hmm...perhaps we can work with this. We can say he is the next Lidstrom. That would sell us some tickets, don't you think?
Jay Feaster: Do you think our customers would believe that?
Ken King: Our customers? Before 2004, half of these people thought the Saddledome was a nasty disease you got from spending too much time with horses.
Jay Feaster: I guess, sure. You are probably right.
Ken King: Of course I'm fucking right. I'm Ken fucking King. They didn't revolt after we gave Stajan that extension, did they? These people will swallow anything.
Jay Feaster: So what do we do, sir?
Ken King: 'We'? 'We' don't do anything. I will negotiate with Tim's agent and get this kid signed.
Jay Feaster: Ok, so what do I do, sir?
Ken King: You take the heat when the media finds out we had to offer a rookie a No Trade Clause just to get him to sign here. In other words, you do what I brought you here to do: provide cover.
Ken King picks up the phone on his desk, and dials up Tim Erixon's agent. He turns to Jay Feaster, who is still standing in Kings office.
Ken King: Big boys are talking, Jay. Go make yourself useful and fellate some local sports personalities. And tell em we are going to get this kid signed.
Jay Feaster: Yes sir!
Furthermore, I think Peter Loubardias should be fired.