"I think *NSYNC stinks."
A gasp rises from the crowd, and then shouts of "BLASPHEMER!" mix with "TRAITOR!" and "YOU CALL THIS A GIN AND TONIC?"
"ENOUGH!" booms a voice that silences the throng. The Grand Exalted Wizard of *NSYNCOPATION rises to his feet, removes the hood from his wizened head, and points a shaking finger at me. "In some chapters you could be killed for uttering such treachery yet I will hear you out. Why do you--hic!--betray *NSYNC?"
Taking a slug from my bottle of Pepe Lopez, I look my aged master right in the eye. "Because, my lord they betrayed us first!" Another gasp is quickly silenced by our leader. "Go on. " he says, tapping his fingertips together.
"I seriously doubt there's a questionably straight male in this room who loves *NSYNC more than myself," I say. "However! Let's face facts. Not only is Justin Timberlake recording a SOLO ALBUM, but he dumped Britney Spears to go out with Janet Jackson! I mean, c'mon. If they marry, will that make him 'MR. Nasty'?" I get some murmurs of agreement for that one.
I continue: "But most blatantly, there's the 'Lance Bass Problem.' [A cocktail waitress leans over to ask, "Which one is Lance Bass?" "He's the GAY-looking one." "Ahhhhhh. "]
"Sure, it was easy enough to ignore his ridiculous movie career," I say, "but now he's working on his own TV show called Celebrity Mission: Lance Bass--in which he actually flies into SPACE!"
"That's right," I say with a smirk. "Our own Lance Bass, paying 20 million smackers to spend 10 days on a Russian space station--not to mention the months he'll spend training. Months he could've spent ENTERTAINING US!!"
"YEAHHHHHH!!" the crowd screams. (While one dissenter does ask, "Won't it be entertaining to watch Lance on TV?" he is quickly silenced with a bar rag.)
"So you shee, my brothers," I say, tipsy from tequila and power, "Are we to wait for *NSYNC to abandon us completely? Let us remove our shackles, say 'Bye-bye-bye' to *NSYNC, and get to the real business of this organization--gargling liquor UNTIL WE PASS OUT!!"
"HOO-RAH!" yells the crowd. And though we'll miss Lance and JC and Justin and Chris and that old guy with the beard, we are all moving on to a better "space." A space that may not have Russians--but at least it has a whole lot of vodka.