The Ultimate Draft - Congrats Edgar: Team Voted Best Overall

[Kwhit10]

Haha, TP for the post, great stuff!

[indeedproceed]

Dr Manhattan turns the ball into a kryptonite synthetic mix that renders superman useless....Holla.

Dr. Manhatten is always getting whistled for 3 second violations and 24 second shot clock violations, because he doesn't see time the way we do.

It's 2009.  I am holding a round rubber ball.  Its atomic structure is pliant, spongy.  A sphere designed to compress and bounce.  It intrigues me, briefly.  A clock ticks on both sides of me.  In twenty-two seconds a buzzer will sound.

It's 1959.  Another clock is ticking.  It is Janey's pocket watch.  The door has locked behind me.  A loud humming begins, increases in intensity.  In twenty-two seconds I will change forever. 

It's a time without a date.  Trillions of years after humanity has disappeared.  Before me, the last star winks out of existence, with a tiny quantum whimper.  It makes a sound not unlike the slow final tick of a pocke****ch that needs to be wound.  I am alone.

It's 2009.  Again the clock ticks.  An opponent, a man of vast power, charges me.  Not for me.  He desires the sphere.  Absentmindedly, I turn myself and the sphere into gas, reform after he passes through me.  In eleven seconds, a buzzer will sound. 

It's 1959.  The intrinsic field subtractor begins to take hold of me.  The hum has become an howl.  The ringing in my ears is unbearable.  In eleven seconds, there will be no ears to cause me pain.  I feel fear for the last time.

It's 2009.  A menagerie of teammates and spectators are shouting.  Shouting at me.  I think about human emotion, try to remember the experience of it.  It is slipping away.  There is a deeper purpose to their shouting, but it is meaningless.  Five seconds later, the buzzer sounds.  A man in a striped shirt is demanding the sphere.  I give it to him.  In twelve seconds, the other team will surrender the sphere after hurling it through a metal circle.  Six seconds after that, I will be holding it again.  All of this has happened before.  All of this will happen again in the second half.  Repeatedly. My teammates are ****ed.  They will be ****ed again later.

It's 2009, later that evening.  A group of badly dressed men with recording devices are shouting questions at me.  They want to know about a game, and failure.  I explain that failure and success are meaningless distinctions, outcomes viewed subjectively through a set of arbitrary criteria. They are not pleased with this response.

The press, the press is taking me apart...

Exactly how I envisioned the Dr. Manhattan era. Perfectly done.

TP

WOw, I don't really know what the words are to describe this. I am impressed, amused, a little jealous that I could not do something at once so brilliant and funny.

We throw the phrase around "post of the year" too much. This is one time it is needed.

[fairweatherfan]

Dr Manhattan turns the ball into a kryptonite synthetic mix that renders superman useless....Holla.

Dr. Manhatten is always getting whistled for 3 second violations and 24 second shot clock violations, because he doesn't see time the way we do.

It's 2009.  I am holding a round rubber ball.  Its atomic structure is pliant, spongy.  A sphere designed to compress and bounce.  It intrigues me, briefly.  A clock ticks on both sides of me.  In twenty-two seconds a buzzer will sound.

It's 1959.  Another clock is ticking.  It is Janey's pocket watch.  The door has locked behind me.  A loud humming begins, increases in intensity.  In twenty-two seconds I will change forever. 

It's a time without a date.  Trillions of years after humanity has disappeared.  Before me, the last star winks out of existence, with a tiny quantum whimper.  It makes a sound not unlike the slow final tick of a pocke****ch that needs to be wound.  I am alone.

It's 2009.  Again the clock ticks.  An opponent, a man of vast power, charges me.  Not for me.  He desires the sphere.  Absentmindedly, I turn myself and the sphere into gas, reform after he passes through me.  In eleven seconds, a buzzer will sound. 

It's 1959.  The intrinsic field subtractor begins to take hold of me.  The hum has become an howl.  The ringing in my ears is unbearable.  In eleven seconds, there will be no ears to cause me pain.  I feel fear for the last time.

It's 2009.  A menagerie of teammates and spectators are shouting.  Shouting at me.  I think about human emotion, try to remember the experience of it.  It is slipping away.  There is a deeper purpose to their shouting, but it is meaningless.  Five seconds later, the buzzer sounds.  A man in a striped shirt is demanding the sphere.  I give it to him.  In twelve seconds, the other team will surrender the sphere after hurling it through a metal circle.  Six seconds after that, I will be holding it again.  All of this has happened before.  All of this will happen again in the second half.  Repeatedly. My teammates are ****ed.  They will be ****ed again later.

It's 2009, later that evening.  A group of badly dressed men with recording devices are shouting questions at me.  They want to know about a game, and failure.  I explain that failure and success are meaningless distinctions, outcomes viewed subjectively through a set of arbitrary criteria. They are not pleased with this response.

The press, the press is taking me apart...

Exactly how I envisioned the Dr. Manhattan era. Perfectly done.

TP

WOw, I don't really know what the words are to describe this. I am impressed, amused, a little jealous that I could not do something at once so brilliant and funny.

We throw the phrase around "post of the year" too much. This is one time it is needed.

Aww shucks.    Never underestimate the power of being bored at work with no supervision.  Glad you liked it.

[wdleehi]

Dr Manhattan turns the ball into a kryptonite synthetic mix that renders superman useless....Holla.

Dr. Manhatten is always getting whistled for 3 second violations and 24 second shot clock violations, because he doesn't see time the way we do.

It's 2009.  I am holding a round rubber ball.  Its atomic structure is pliant, spongy.  A sphere designed to compress and bounce.  It intrigues me, briefly.  A clock ticks on both sides of me.  In twenty-two seconds a buzzer will sound.

It's 1959.  Another clock is ticking.  It is Janey's pocket watch.  The door has locked behind me.  A loud humming begins, increases in intensity.  In twenty-two seconds I will change forever. 

It's a time without a date.  Trillions of years after humanity has disappeared.  Before me, the last star winks out of existence, with a tiny quantum whimper.  It makes a sound not unlike the slow final tick of a pocke****ch that needs to be wound.  I am alone.

It's 2009.  Again the clock ticks.  An opponent, a man of vast power, charges me.  Not for me.  He desires the sphere.  Absentmindedly, I turn myself and the sphere into gas, reform after he passes through me.  In eleven seconds, a buzzer will sound. 

It's 1959.  The intrinsic field subtractor begins to take hold of me.  The hum has become an howl.  The ringing in my ears is unbearable.  In eleven seconds, there will be no ears to cause me pain.  I feel fear for the last time.

It's 2009.  A menagerie of teammates and spectators are shouting.  Shouting at me.  I think about human emotion, try to remember the experience of it.  It is slipping away.  There is a deeper purpose to their shouting, but it is meaningless.  Five seconds later, the buzzer sounds.  A man in a striped shirt is demanding the sphere.  I give it to him.  In twelve seconds, the other team will surrender the sphere after hurling it through a metal circle.  Six seconds after that, I will be holding it again.  All of this has happened before.  All of this will happen again in the second half.  Repeatedly. My teammates are ****ed.  They will be ****ed again later.

It's 2009, later that evening.  A group of badly dressed men with recording devices are shouting questions at me.  They want to know about a game, and failure.  I explain that failure and success are meaningless distinctions, outcomes viewed subjectively through a set of arbitrary criteria. They are not pleased with this response.

The press, the press is taking me apart...

Exactly how I envisioned the Dr. Manhattan era. Perfectly done.

TP

WOw, I don't really know what the words are to describe this. I am impressed, amused, a little jealous that I could not do something at once so brilliant and funny.

We throw the phrase around "post of the year" too much. This is one time it is needed.

Aww shucks.    Never underestimate the power of being bored at work with no supervision.  Glad you liked it.

Great scenerio. 

One question, how did IP get him into a uniform?

[indeedproceed]

Dr Manhattan turns the ball into a kryptonite synthetic mix that renders superman useless....Holla.

Dr. Manhatten is always getting whistled for 3 second violations and 24 second shot clock violations, because he doesn't see time the way we do.

It's 2009.  I am holding a round rubber ball.  Its atomic structure is pliant, spongy.  A sphere designed to compress and bounce.  It intrigues me, briefly.  A clock ticks on both sides of me.  In twenty-two seconds a buzzer will sound.

It's 1959.  Another clock is ticking.  It is Janey's pocket watch.  The door has locked behind me.  A loud humming begins, increases in intensity.  In twenty-two seconds I will change forever. 

It's a time without a date.  Trillions of years after humanity has disappeared.  Before me, the last star winks out of existence, with a tiny quantum whimper.  It makes a sound not unlike the slow final tick of a pocke****ch that needs to be wound.  I am alone.

It's 2009.  Again the clock ticks.  An opponent, a man of vast power, charges me.  Not for me.  He desires the sphere.  Absentmindedly, I turn myself and the sphere into gas, reform after he passes through me.  In eleven seconds, a buzzer will sound. 

It's 1959.  The intrinsic field subtractor begins to take hold of me.  The hum has become an howl.  The ringing in my ears is unbearable.  In eleven seconds, there will be no ears to cause me pain.  I feel fear for the last time.

It's 2009.  A menagerie of teammates and spectators are shouting.  Shouting at me.  I think about human emotion, try to remember the experience of it.  It is slipping away.  There is a deeper purpose to their shouting, but it is meaningless.  Five seconds later, the buzzer sounds.  A man in a striped shirt is demanding the sphere.  I give it to him.  In twelve seconds, the other team will surrender the sphere after hurling it through a metal circle.  Six seconds after that, I will be holding it again.  All of this has happened before.  All of this will happen again in the second half.  Repeatedly. My teammates are ****ed.  They will be ****ed again later.

It's 2009, later that evening.  A group of badly dressed men with recording devices are shouting questions at me.  They want to know about a game, and failure.  I explain that failure and success are meaningless distinctions, outcomes viewed subjectively through a set of arbitrary criteria. They are not pleased with this response.

The press, the press is taking me apart...

Exactly how I envisioned the Dr. Manhattan era. Perfectly done.

TP

WOw, I don't really know what the words are to describe this. I am impressed, amused, a little jealous that I could not do something at once so brilliant and funny.

We throw the phrase around "post of the year" too much. This is one time it is needed.

Aww shucks.    Never underestimate the power of being bored at work with no supervision.  Glad you liked it.

Great scenerio. 

One question, how did IP get him into a uniform?

the Troubadors home and way colors are atomic blue.

[wdleehi]

Dr Manhattan turns the ball into a kryptonite synthetic mix that renders superman useless....Holla.

Dr. Manhatten is always getting whistled for 3 second violations and 24 second shot clock violations, because he doesn't see time the way we do.

It's 2009.  I am holding a round rubber ball.  Its atomic structure is pliant, spongy.  A sphere designed to compress and bounce.  It intrigues me, briefly.  A clock ticks on both sides of me.  In twenty-two seconds a buzzer will sound.

It's 1959.  Another clock is ticking.  It is Janey's pocket watch.  The door has locked behind me.  A loud humming begins, increases in intensity.  In twenty-two seconds I will change forever. 

It's a time without a date.  Trillions of years after humanity has disappeared.  Before me, the last star winks out of existence, with a tiny quantum whimper.  It makes a sound not unlike the slow final tick of a pocke****ch that needs to be wound.  I am alone.

It's 2009.  Again the clock ticks.  An opponent, a man of vast power, charges me.  Not for me.  He desires the sphere.  Absentmindedly, I turn myself and the sphere into gas, reform after he passes through me.  In eleven seconds, a buzzer will sound. 

It's 1959.  The intrinsic field subtractor begins to take hold of me.  The hum has become an howl.  The ringing in my ears is unbearable.  In eleven seconds, there will be no ears to cause me pain.  I feel fear for the last time.

It's 2009.  A menagerie of teammates and spectators are shouting.  Shouting at me.  I think about human emotion, try to remember the experience of it.  It is slipping away.  There is a deeper purpose to their shouting, but it is meaningless.  Five seconds later, the buzzer sounds.  A man in a striped shirt is demanding the sphere.  I give it to him.  In twelve seconds, the other team will surrender the sphere after hurling it through a metal circle.  Six seconds after that, I will be holding it again.  All of this has happened before.  All of this will happen again in the second half.  Repeatedly. My teammates are ****ed.  They will be ****ed again later.

It's 2009, later that evening.  A group of badly dressed men with recording devices are shouting questions at me.  They want to know about a game, and failure.  I explain that failure and success are meaningless distinctions, outcomes viewed subjectively through a set of arbitrary criteria. They are not pleased with this response.

The press, the press is taking me apart...

Exactly how I envisioned the Dr. Manhattan era. Perfectly done.

TP

WOw, I don't really know what the words are to describe this. I am impressed, amused, a little jealous that I could not do something at once so brilliant and funny.

We throw the phrase around "post of the year" too much. This is one time it is needed.

Aww shucks.    Never underestimate the power of being bored at work with no supervision.  Glad you liked it.

Great scenerio. 

One question, how did IP get him into a uniform?

the Troubadors home and way colors are atomic blue.

Thank goodness I have a robot that doesn't care about posting that blue thing up. 

[Kwhit10]

Well how will he display his number he is by ruling to wear.

[wdleehi]

Well how will he display his number he is by ruling to wear.

Maybe he will be number 0, it is already on his head.

[indeedproceed]

Well how will he display his number he is by ruling to wear.

Maybe he will be number 0, it is already on his head.

His number will be zero it is already on his head.

[Evantime34]

Super Hero: Iron Man.
Great suit, might allow me to use it sometime. Very rich and powerful so he could help out my team monetarily. Great businessman.

[indeedproceed]

Super Hero: Iron Man.
Great suit, might allow me to use it sometime. Very rich and powerful so he could help out my team monetarily. Great businessman.

Plus he seems like an awesome guy to get a beer with. I know that factored into my decision to select Ben Franklin.

[Kwhit10]

Well how will he display his number he is by ruling to wear.

Maybe he will be number 0, it is already on his head.

His number will be zero it is already on his head.

Well he needs one on the back of his head too.

[wdleehi]

Super Hero: Iron Man.
Great suit, might allow me to use it sometime. Very rich and powerful so he could help out my team monetarily. Great businessman.

Plus he seems like an awesome guy to get a beer with. I know that factored into my decision to select Ben Franklin.

He is an alcoholic.


The new Gin Baker?

[indeedproceed]

Well how will he display his number he is by ruling to wear.

Maybe he will be number 0, it is already on his head.

His number will be zero it is already on his head.

Well he needs on the back of his head too.

He got a special needs exception from the league. We just got the paperwork today.

In other news, it has come to light that I am rubber and you are glue, and whatever unfounded allegations that are unjustly leveled at my team by the nature of our composition will ricochet off of us and in fact, stick to you.

[JamItMaurice]

My next choice is so very dear to many Celtic fan's hearts, our very own answer to Jack Nicholson and that weird guy that looks like Donald Sutherland always sitting next to him, DONNIE WAHLBERG.

Nevermind the whole acting thing.

Your Name - JamItMaurice
Cartoon Character:
Actor: DONNIE WAHLBERG
Government Leader: Winston Churchill
Athlete:
Villain:
Fictional Character:
Scientist:
Super Hero:
Musician:
Wild Card: