Joe Maloof walks into Geoff Petrie's office:
Joe: Hey Geoff, how are the workouts coming along?
GP: They're going well, Joe, there's really
Joe: That's great. Draft Rubio.
GP: I'm sorry?
Joe: Geoff, you know I won't tell you who to pick. You're the best in the business at what you do, and I trust you to do your job. But pick Rubio.
GP: <sigh> Well, Ricky looked good, but I'm eager to
Joe: We need him, Geoff. We're bleeding.
GP: Talent will fill the seats.
Joe: Talent will fill the seats? Don't be a child, Geoff. I don't want talent, I want a spanish sensation!
GP: Okay, settle down, let's just
Joe: I've got a fever and the only prescription is Ricky Rubio!
GP: <rubbing his temples> Alright Joe, if he drops to us at #4, we'll pick Rubio.
Joe: Don't talk to me about dropping, just go get him. I don't care, trade the skinny kid with the bad haircut, whatever.
GP: I'll have to take a good look at our options, there may be... are you sobbing?
Joe: <pulls out a handkerchief and takes a seat> Have you ever been to a Jonas Brothers concert, Geoff?
Joe: Of course you haven't. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't get a ticket. It's sold-out before you can get your wallet out. That's a sensation.
GP: What are you saying?
Joe: I'm saying Rubio. I'm saying merchandise. Do you know how many damn T-shirts we're going to sell? Yo deseo Rubio! That's one of my T-shirt ideas. Pass that along to the apparel team for me. <wipes his eyes and stands up> I gotta run. Good talk, Geoff.
GP: As always, Joe.