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Where did the Jets take Joe Douglas out to dinner?


Rhg1084

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Just now, Apache 51 said:

You probably like Scalini Fedeli too then? They are both in Chatham Boro.

Actually the best restaurant in all of New Jerseydom is Cafe Mattise in Rutherford.

Rent out the entire garden, bring the GM contract.

He’ll sign before dessert  

 

 

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2 minutes ago, Peace Frog said:

Actually the best restaurant in all of New Jerseydom is Cafe Mattise in Rutherford.

Rent out the entire garden, bring the GM contract.

He’ll sign before dessert  

 

 

The best restaurant is my mothers kitchen. lol.

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Douglas is a big boy and looks like he can eat! You think he goes all out at the dinner meeting scarfing down anything and everything? Or tries to make a good impression by ordering the salmon or something like that.

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1 hour ago, Embrace the Suck said:

That's just deliciously evil. I think I gained weight just by seeing that image alone.

you're lucky you saw it at all with @The Crusher roaming around He'll eat that whole building flashing pic's like that around then he'll close this thread cause the memories alone would kill him

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5 hours ago, Rhg1084 said:

Some fancy steakhouse in the city? Who’s at this dinner? Chris Johnson and Gase? Are they ordering booze? What the heck are they talking about at the dinner

If they want to close the deal they brought him to Nonna's in Florham Park.

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2 hours ago, Rhg1084 said:

Douglas is a big boy and looks like he can eat! You think he goes all out at the dinner meeting scarfing down anything and everything? Or tries to make a good impression by ordering the salmon or something like that.

I want the Jets next GM to be the kind of guy that puts the leftover dinner rolls and butter packets in his sweatshirt pocket. Live like you don't know where the next meal is coming from. That's the urgency they need.

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"Here Joe. Put this on." Chris grinned wryly.

Joe gulped, "B-b-b-but a blindfold? Why?" 

The odd man in the corner aimed his big eyes at Joe, and Joe knew at that moment he could not refuse.

Joe could feel every bump as Chris' Land Rover made its way over unpaved terrain. They stopped and Joe was whisked into what sounded like a helicopter. After thirty nauseating minutes they landed and he was led into an airplane of some sort. It took off with a deep growl and once in the air, someone removed the blindfold.

As Joe's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could make out a man reclining on a leather sofa bed. All around him were rentboys in tight leather with horse bits in their mouths. As they clopped around the reclined man, Joe's eyes focused. It was Chris and he was as God intended, unencumbered by vestments and holding a contract written in what appeared to be blood. The odd bug-eyed man opened his jacket and the screams of deceased, tormented Jets fans emitted from within. He reached in and pulled out a flaming pen.

Chris slapped the firm cheeks of the closest rentboy, "Say Joe, how'd you like to be the GM of the New York Jets?" 

 

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