Week One Game Write-Ups!
Wednesday’s games written by Sarah
Turns Out the Elderly Can Chew
Old People 8
James and the “Giant” Meat? 3
Hello Old People. Here is a joke for you. You can’t chew. Ha-ha. Isn’t it funny? Does my kielbasa-like prowess amaze you? Now, listen to the joke again. AND again. Oh—and here’s another one. GO BACK to Florida!! Ha-ha. Yes…my meat is lifting at your fear. Lifting to the smoky heavens of apple wood and honey ham. My jokes compel you as my skin oil catches the sun and shines the light of a thousand jeweled hams into your eyes, stunning you, as you plow into me and slide off my protective jellied exterior. You are old, and I am meat.
Wait, you are regaining your balance? You’re walking without your cane, I, I, I don’t understand—I thought you were—what, what is that you are putting in your mouth? Dentures? They are of no use here, this is neutral territory, you must remove them. You must—stop—oh, ow—that hurts, stop the ripping, that is my intestine wrapper, that is my life—oh my god, STOP! I am not delicious, I am powerful, you will regret this moment, you will regret your pursuit of triumph, I am the ONE, the ONE who lifts every pink-toned marble into the imaginations of millions, I am the ultimate feast of comfort and obsolescence. You are just, just, waiting on death’s door, Jews from community homes in the suburbs, you WISH you could handle me—wait, stop, oh god—that hurts. My uncooked parts are dripping, dripping sweet sweet death. But we all had fun watching it happen. The meat is risen in pride, Lo.
You Put my Joystick Where? This is Evolution.
Atari 11
Fist of the Kickball 0
What binding feature could these teams have? I mean, they are nothing alike—one is focused on the painful and often exhilarating act of sexual fisting, which is an adult activity. The other pines for the dream of adolescent “level completion” to be granted. How can they come together and even have a camaraderie, a common goal, an affection that can be shared and duplicated, denied and teased? This is how. They both need THEIR HANDS. Fisting cannot happen without a hand. Try it. And we cannot play video games without out hands, try. I’m sure I’ll get awash of emails that explain how these things can actually happen without hands, but let me just stop you here—if you have tried and achieved doing either of these without hands, you are a sick, sick, person that needs a hobby. Now that we’ve found what binds the teams together, let us find what can rip them apart. Hands can rip. More precisely, the palm is needed to fist the anal or vaginal canal. It is the lump that one must surrender to, even if the fingers open the pathway with their minor insistence first. The palm is the gold, the lump of gold. In playing Atari, the fingers are the mechanisms that one achieved game success with. You must use your fingers to push buttons and twist the Joystick and such. Now allow me to blow your mind. As I sit and ponder the insane win of Atari this game, I realize, Atari will always beat a team dependant on the palm. A team dependant on the palm will always lose to a team that relies and fetishizes the fingers, and more precisely, the thumb. It all comes down to opposability. Atari clearly understand and celebrate their evolution as they are Joystick Worshipers. The Joystick is the tool that announces to the rest animal kingdom, look at me, I require opposability, and my game requires a neo-cortex to play. So there you go, each team has chosen their allegiance with a phase of evolution, but Atari’s choice is celebrating the hierarchy that they rest up on: the human condition. Fist of the Kickball are brute, savage fuck mongers, rabbits at play, never to grow. Who’s the adult and who’s the child now FOTK? Indeed. Luckily, most of us like to do sexy things and say “joystick” so we had fun. And will.
Thursday’s games written by Bud, edited for “philisophical perspective” by Sarah
Muffin Battle
Darkside 5
Pirates 1
Yet another spin on the classic battle between good and evil. The twisted, despicable, evil Darkside, with their sickeningly sweet team captains, with their “great smiles,” passing out all those scrumpchous baked treats at every opportunity. Dis-gust-ing. On the other side of the Geek Universe, the beloved Pirates, like angels come down from Creative Re-enactment heaven, they would need to muster all there wily BBQ’ing skills and beer swilling ways to overcome this powerful force of sweet, sweet evil. The Trekkies took the early lead, jumping on our beloved Pirates early and keeping the pressure on with great defense, and hard kicking, oh I mean HARD KICKING. One play, in the blink of an eye, the mighty Darksider Keegan kicked a hard line drive into right field and then magically appeared at third base. It seemed a little too fast to this umpire, so I put down my 14th beer, and began to retrace his steps. After much yelling and many unnecessary accusations of drunkenness cast upon me, I gave up my investigation, and play resumed. Then it happened. Did she or didn’t she? Was there provocation? She’ll always claim there is before she pounces. Did he like it? He’ll always claim he didn’t. Sarah allegedly bit the Pirates’ pitcher Jason on the behind. Personally I think she was wrongfully accused, after all there is no photographic evidence to back up this wild claim, but that’s something for the courts to decide later. On to the game, late in the fourth, up five to zero, one of the Darksiders finally gave into the rage every Trekkie deals with—I have no neck, and my shirt neck-hole is TOO BIG. He screamed incoherently about “base blocking” after getting out by a brilliant throw from our beloved Pirates pitcher (Lo, He of the Bitten Buttock). It took us a minute to figure out he was not having a sudden outburst of turrets, or speaking of some secret but enticing sex game, he was actually trying to argue a baseball rule. We explained to him this was kickball, not baseball, and gave him directions to Qwest field. Our adored Pirates managed to squeak out one run but that was they could muster in their battle against evil. Lo, a new “ship” has arrived, and it ain’t the water kind. But we all had fun sailing on that ship later.
That’s What Friends Are For
Jackass 9
Ball Deep 7
This game started with a raunchy Ball Deep skit reminiscent of the infamous “little Arlo and the rabbit incident,” which generated citizen complaint against our beloved league. I don’t know what it is about this field and animals, but what Ball Deep did to that cute little donkey was criminal in the biblical sense (and with the civil authorities who I am sure many shocked parents have reported us too). Ag-ain. The game itself was a classic WKL kickball battle, pitting drunken buffoonery against perky creativity, with horrible, beloved 80’s tunes blaring in the background. They battled to a 6-6 tie at the start of the 4th inning, when it all came apart in a scandal that shook the very foundations of the mighty WKL itself, yet actually shook no one after 5 minutes except one team captain. The Ball Deep captain. Wild rage. Reminiscent of a late 1990’s Tyson fight (wherein Mr. Tyson let go the principals of his sport and took to cannibalism) refused to follow the vaunted rule of the week, claiming he had “EMAIL EVIDENCE!!!” that supports his thesis that he had been granted permission from Miss Commish Sarah to excuse the rules he didn’t want his team subject to, for the entire season. Sarah claims she told Lindsey to “just tell an ump you don’t want to” on the week you see a rule you don’t want, and he didn’t this game, so she announced “time for rule of the week.” She is obviously wrong and sorry, like she said on the field, right before she yelled at a player to shut the fuck up that is, because Lindsey Baker has, once again, EMAIL EVIDENCE. Well, fuck everything else, because now they will win every game. What horrible, profoundly inexcusable thing did he not want to put his amazing, sure-to-win kickball players through? Left. Footed. Kicking. He screamed, and I quote, “I will not bend my knee to the tyrannical powers of the WKL leadership, but I shall always and faithfully plow my own heading in this sea of Kickball!” Lindsey Baker, a zealot thrice born, from the fields of West Virginia. League officials listened to this blathering, but suspected that his refusal had more to do with his left leg being left flaccid after years of steroid and lypo-suction abuse, than any higher moral ideals. League officials were stunned by his incoherent defiance, and were thrust into a hasty conference as to best respond. Well, in typical WKL fashion, Sarah went to the bathroom to cry and do her “stress knitting,” and we cracked another beer and let nature takes it’s course. Jackass stomped Ball Deep into submission and won. But no one will ever make Ball Deep kick left-footed or switch a player for the entire season—because it could NEVER benefit them—no more words spoken, and no camaraderie achieved.
next week’s “rule of the week” will be the WKL diaper! And watch out for Bud’s corner, where ROTW is always announced
love, commish Sarah