“Damn, but I hate flying!” boomed the voice in the foyer.
“Yes we all know it’s one of your ‘not-so-private hells,’ but I appreciate you coming, Fat Daddy,” said Jack Sh*t, leading the larger-than-life blogger towards a set of oak double doors. “I know this is a long way from your home at Fat Daddy Rants, but this is a grave emergency.”
“This,” said Jack, swinging the doors open wide, “is the League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen.”
“Oh my God,” exclaimed Fat Daddy. “I’d always assumed that there was some sort of alliance of male weight loss bloggers…”
“We’re it,” remarked Tony “The Anti-Jared” Posnanski, sitting at a large conference room table and curling a 90-lb barbell as he spoke. “The Leauge of…”
“Yeah, I got it the first time,” said Fat Daddy. “How’d they get you down here, Carlos?”
“I came for strippers and barbecue,” replied Carlos of You’re Gonna Need a Bigger Boat. “They told me it was Tony’s bachelor party.”
“I’m married, dumbass,” snapped the Anti-Jared, on his 175th rep.
“The other Tony,” said Carlos.
“I’m gay, dumbass,” piped up Tony from I Don't Want to Die of a Heart Attack When I'm 25.
“Hey,” said Jack, rapping on the surface of the long table. “What’s going on back there in the back?”
“Oh,” said Stephen from Who Ate My Blog? “Sean is interviewing me for his audio widget on his blog.”
“This is Sean Anderson from The Daily Diary of a Winning Loser,” said Sean Anderson from The Daily Diary of a Winner Loser, “and I’m talking to one of the most fascinating weight loss bloggers out there…”
“Stop that!” commanded Jack. “We’ve got serious business here.”
“Serious business?” said gay Tony. “Since when are you ever serious?”
“Yeah,” said Sean, clicking off his tape recorder. “And how come you’re even in this group? What have you contributed to the weight loss community?”
“Are you kidding me?” asked Jack, shaking his head incredulously. “Who named this group ‘The League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen’ anyway? You guys used to be called ‘Who Gives a Big Fat Flying F*ck!’.”
“I liked that name,” smiled Carlos.
“That’s because you came up with it,” argued Jack. “Look, this petty infighting is getting us nowhere. Somebody wants to do in all of us male weight loss bloggers. I got this email saying we’re all in danger.”
“He may be my arch-nemesis,” said not-gay Tony, “but Mister Sh*t does have a point.”
“What do you suggest we do, Jack?” asked Sean. “Interview everyone in the blogging world? I’ll take on that assignment…”
“Give it a rest, Sean,” snapped Jack. “Stephen, you’re good with computers. Can you hack into the CIA’s mainframe and trace the source of the email I got?”
“I could, but I don’t have to,” said Stephen, studying the printout.
“Why not?” asked Jack.
“Well, it says who it’s from right there on the email.”
“Where?” asked Jack, a confused expression on his face.
“Right there,” pointed Stephen. “In the ‘From’ box.”
“Blogher?” said Jack.
“Blogher?” repeated both Tonys in unison.
“Blogher?” echoed Carlos, Sean, Stephen and Fat Daddy.
The double doors swung open, and a large woman entered the room, laughing. She had the face of a million female weight loss bloggers morphed together and the body of… well, let’s just say she wasn’t shopping in “Petites”…
“That’s right,” she bellowed ferociously. “Blogher!”
“I don’t get it,” said Fat Daddy. “I thought Blogher was a group blog and online community.
“It’s also an annual blogging conference for women,” explained Sean. “You know, I’d really love to interview you, Blogher.”
“I’m here to destroy your little band of blubbers,” laughed Blogher with extreme menace in her voice. “Your big losses demoralize the legion of female bloggers.”
“Obviously you haven’t read my blog,” remarked Carlos.
“Band of blubbers,” chuckled Jack. “That’s pretty good. Can I use that?”
“I harness the power of every female weight loss blogger in the entire blogosphere,” she boomed. She raised her arms and hurricane-force winds began tearing through the room. “There is nothing that can stop me.”
“Could this be the end of the League of Extraordinarily Fat Gentlemen?” exclaimed Jack dramatically. The rest gripped the handles of their chairs and braced themselves for whatever would come next.
Suddenly, the door cracked open and a lone figure walked in.
Blogher turned and looked at the newcomer, then screamed in horror.
“No, it can’t be,” she wailed. “Not YOU, you bloody bastard!!”
“Am I late?” asked TOM.
“No, you’re right on schedule,” smiled Jack, as Blogher fled the scene, wailing and crying.
“You’re right on time.”