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?

GP:  What?

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.