Week 2 Write-Ups! Oral, anal, SM
Poetry, Meet Lindsey Baker Sucking a Big Fat Dick and then him WINNING.
Ball Deep—win by a gazillion, James and the Giant Meat—lose by a gazillion. How to catch a Baker by his toe? A valiant attempt by JGM. Michelle, a gifted artist of world renowned recognition, after this game anyway, pulled out a, oh I don’t know, like 10 feet high and wide Lindsey Baker head with a gaping wide jaw. What was this jaw doing so wide open? Why did his face look so poised for tears? Well, because as his magical head floated across the field, a giant cock, about the size of a Brat car, was stuffed into Baker’s mouth. The cock had on it: “This meat is too big for you to go ball deep.” Brilliant. No taunt has been better this year so far. But then the game started. We all expected Lindsey to scream like a little fucking baby every time someone on the other team did something right. But JGM must have gotten turkey tired or whatever they call it, because Lindsey Baker scored 2 HOME RUNS. Now, lets be honest, JGM are playing some really shitty kickball—REALLY bad, but Lindsey has also been inundating his team with daily practices, folders of emails, tips galore, and a hard-nosed approach to kickball. And you know what? It worked. He is a better kickball player. Just to add to the justice of the last 2 years of Lindsey being on horrible, horrible, kickball teams, his team Ball Deep scored ten runs in one innings. JGM—you should be ashamed. There are many ways to keep people from scoring runs. But you don’t know them. Ball Deep, you should be very, very happy. And stop the practicing for a while, take a break, have fun while it lasts. Because Keytarded is gonna suck so bad it’s not even gonna be fun to beat them.
Get Your Hand out of the Shitter and Win a Game! Darkside—win, Fist of the Kickball—lose. FOTK have one skit—rape something with a fist. Yup. And you know what? It hasn’t gotten old yet. Call me old fashioned, but I like a good thing that doesn’t change into a new-fangled technological wonder, like “ohhhh, look at my fancy shiny titanium fuck machine, ohhhhhhh.” Give me a fist and a jar of petroleum based product, and I’ll show you how you got on this planet, Sir. The Darkside won this game, but it could have gone either way at some points. You could see the sweat on their dark little eyebrows, and the tutus seemed more alert than usual. I see the demise of the Darkside coming on, I prophesize a night soon where a tutu is laid out in the corner, where it catches the moonlight of dewy childhood, and then the women strewn on the bed, batting their balmy eyes at the tutu remember they’re adults, and without the mother to cradle them after a poor performance on Madonna Dance Night at the Teen Center. They are winning by smaller margins, the feathers ruffling wider. And FOTK? It’s good to be on the bottom with someone. Take that how you will.
Women in the Alleyway. Atari—win, Danger Moustache—lose. is a series of paintings by Paula Rego that depict, what she calls “Dog Women”: http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/artists/paula_rego.htm. Chris Abani has since written a book called Dog Woman after these paintings. Both artworks are brilliant in that they detail broad-faced women in shades of brown, red, and purple cotton clothing lounging in an alley corner, or sitting ungracefully atop a stool meant for a person with a smaller ass, or sprawled out in the corner of a gathering, set apart from the regal men who conjure stories of their glory days in the alcoholic candlelight. What all these Dog Women have in common is that they exist in a man’s world, but have an undeniable power that is at once disgusting and beautiful, and always noticeable to the artistic eye. Even in a Dog Woman’s defeat in her culture, her social group, and her chosen professions, she is sultry and full with possibility. Watching this game, umpping this game, squatting in the middle of the field behind pitchers, I felt that I had become powerful and sultry. It is a man’s world, this kickball, yet these teams have amazing women coming to play each week, certain in their kicks that a certain win doesn’t matter, and with bountiful titties. This game was the closest so far this season, and the past triumph of each team weighed heavily on the men’s faces, a 3 time championship on one side, and a close beating on the championship on the other. But what was I thinking? What were the rest of the women on the field thinking? This is what sets us apart from the men who play. We don’t share in your triumphs nor care as much as you. We are often in the corner—catcher position or short stop, where you control around us what happens with your big fucking ball and war stories. What are the women thinking while they play? What was I thinking as a spectator/ump? It wasn’t about triumph or success of either team. I remember one moment when the sky hit a balmy stillness and people were yelling across my head. I was in the middle, I was in the corner, and I wasn’t thinking about kickball at all. I was realizing possibility.
You Drank that Beer from How Many Crevices? AKA Commish’s Wet Dream. Jackass—win, Keytarded—lose.
Pirates—win, Keytarded—lose. I’ll just write these up together because basically they are on blur in my mind. Reach team, including my own, decided independently to all make me shotgun beer out of something. This started with the Jackass game because Andy Smull, beloved captain of Keytarded, knew that I like to shotgun beer out of Jackass captain Heidi’s titties. So he decided she was a naughty slutty captain, and to make Jackass pay for it, I was to mimic shotgunning beer out of Keytarded member Jon’s Crotch—out of a hat in his crotch to be more exact. A colorful hat. In the megaphone Keytarded shouted what a dirty slut she is, and I exclaimed that Jon’s crotch and Heidi’s bosom smell similar. I sure showed her. And then they wooped us. I have to admit, Keytarded played quite well this evening for being so “special”. Mindy held 2nd base, our “Boner Troop” outfielders Mike, Andy, and Matts caught balls. Lets forget I threw a ball at someone on the field to try and get them out. When I ump, I tell people that is the worst mistake, but it’s like teaching college English—the more horrible grammar you see, the more you have to fight the urge to just start using irregardless, ironical, and so on. Then they become a part of the English language vernacular, soon to emails, soon to print. We fight many temporary battles. And besides, later I hit the giant Pirate Matt in the ankle, scoring an out. So there. But I won’t do it again. So I ended up shotgunning beer from Heidi’s bosom before the game was over—I think it’s Jackass’s new luck charm, because they a re on fucking fire. On to the Pirates game. Keytarded threw fruit at them to help them with their scurvy. And then the large men of the Pirates grabbed me, taped me into a chair with Pirate tape, and force fed me a wonderful Belgian beer. As the foam poured out my nose, and I fought an unsuccessful fight of freeing myself, my night flashed before me. I am the luckiest woman on Earth right now. Them Keytarded Boner Recruit Team lifted me in the chair to out side while Matt C gently pulled the Pirate tape from my hair. Yes, the Pirates wooped us to. But you know what Keytarded accomplished? We said dumb things on the megaphone, we threw citrus fruit, we supported a member in drinking beer from another member’s crotch, we broke a Pirate’s finger, and we called Heidi a dirty little slut. You do the math—we are on the fucking top of fun.