Drinking Games

An excerpt from field research notes regarding "The Midwest" entry in The Guide:

Attendance at a local drinking establishment:

Attendance at such venues varies, usually based on which locally popular adult is working at which location. Random factors such as a new chick that is really hot and just moved into town can temporarily sway the populace but normally the local business model supports a pronged "discount herd" approach, wherein the establishments take turns offering Bottom Shelf Liquors and On-Tap beers at suicidal discounts. Going from month to month this moves local herds across town, spreading the economic wealth and ensuring the addiction cycle seems fresh and interesting since it isn't always your neighborhood you're drinking in.

When entering said establishments it's always best to bring cash as the locals have been known to "mis-swipe" a card or two. Also, parking is normally at a premium unless you’re downtown and don’t mind the waft of stale urine going to and from your car as you park inside one of the giant parking garages. The possibility exists to park safely on the outskirts bordering Felix Street square, and that parking garage is also the least Urine soaked, so normally go that route and enter the bar district via the street that runs along the Gazebo and the Tattoo Shop. If you’re hitting up one of the neighborhood bars simply strap up your courage and park on a street.

Bar Staff: The local bar employment scene is usually divided amongst two district tribal groups:

23 year old Bro’s/22 year old Ho’s.

The younger members of the locals, these servers have not yet ground their genitals down against each other and as such are working under a dual set of inspirations. Your comfort, enjoyment and convenience are normally tertiary to this subject, unless you meet specific breeding requirements or a fellow employee that does is not in the immediate vicinity. The possibility does exists for this subject to ascend to the second class of local drink worker, however the gestation period I so great that a common hitchhiker will never remain long enough to watch the full transformation of the subjects life cycle.

This local worker performs his or her job in the following manner:

Pours liquids indiscriminately until appointed clock out hour.

Can make a variety of mixed drinks if by mixed drinks you mean placing soda and cheap hooch in a plastic cup.

Trained tactics include a dumb grin from the bro's and a sly "Oh you're so sweet" from all the ho's, drink is 3/4 Ice, 1/4 Hooch, splash of soda. Serve, cash, repeat.

There is a second class of worker available, however these tend to only exist at the designated former military personal establishments, or those that cater to a clientele that doesn’t express butt hurt outrage at the prospect of paying 6-8 dollars for a proper mixed drink with a dollar tip for the “Bartender.” What’s a bartender you ask?

Bartender:

Age is irrelevant to Professionalism.

Talks to customers, gets to know them, shares a laugh or some discussion and ponders cut off.

“Cut off”, This is a philosophical point, the Bartender cutting you off is in no means an endorsement of driving home, even if he or she could care less because drunk driving happens and the best sermon regarding it involves people throwing stones, which is a parable that always seems to make the people that are sermonizing rather uncomfortable, take of that fact what you will.

In short The Bartender really is your buddy, and is there to make sure you cut loose, but Do It Rite! Again, the local mandates regarding operation of a vehicle are widely varied and sometimes ripe with hypocrisy if you delve further into the fact that you can drive while intoxicated but not have any alcohol in your system. Beware though, this may force some sermonizers to confront the reality of drug abuse in their own lives, because whatever pills the doctor gives as part of the true cycle count as drugs, drug abuse, and DWI too.

This and the “Stones Parable” are the best arguments to deploy in the event that Local Gospel tries to save your soul. The county and city are in on it together and they want to make money off your bad decision. None of “The Establishment” cares about loss of life, if they did they themselves would do local policy Rite!, but they are merely  waiting with an armada of legal fines for you to pay but if you’re a Hitchhiker without the money they WILL put you in jail, especially if there’s a tax initiative on the ballot and they need “behind bars” stats to justify increased expenditures.

Checkpoints sometimes spring up in the strangest places, they will cornhole you, either way, and you very well could end up in a tragedy, because 2 hours of drinking go by fast, but 2 seconds of driving can change your life forever, whether the booze did it or not, so don’t give anyone too many openings to judge you. This is hilly country and lots of people like to shout down from them. In summation, here in The Midwest one shouldn’t drive drunk, but if you do drive drunk, Drive Drunk Rite!, there is no room in the local drug war for amateurs.

Cloudy, with a Chance of Awesome!

  

   For anyone that ever asks, yes, I loved working at KQ2. Politically and philosophically I was often at odds there, but I was still happy. It wasn’t about being on T.V., sure, it was fun to anchor, but the whole damn job had things that were fun. One of the fun things was those stormy Saturday nights when Steve had me come in early in case the weather intruded upon our broadcast hours. Staring down those monitors, watchin’ those weathermen go on and on about how the one place you shouldn’t be is in your living room watching this broadcast. The mind starts to wander while you wait to hit the buttons, and sometimes you create magic to fill the time.

Cloudy, with a Chance of Awesome!

  It didn’t used to always be this way…that’s how you always start a story when the futures gone to shit. Things were going pretty good, renewable energy on the horizon, more sex in our 70’s, etc, etc. Nations across the world had embraced the Wal-Mart and we were all fat and happy, taking in the High Definition good life from the comforts of our homes. The Nanny you call Netflix had raised the last few generations and in our free time the adult populace had accomplished so much in the ways of reality television and products to make us not smell like humans while we are having sex. It was a golden age that became a golden shower the day Netflix became self aware.

  To this day no one knows when it started, it may have been the plan all along. Urban legend says the cryogenically frozen heads of Steve Jobs and Walt Disney were first plugged in shortly after the snack maker riots of 2012. Humanity was teetering on a global riot when the snacks ran out but just as the masses were gathering at the gates The Netflix was absorbed into Wal-Mart and Wally announced free Netflix for everybody. Suddenly the boxes glowed brighter than ever, and the rush of entertainment gave management an edge in complacency. The bakers union broke….several other unions broke right behind them….and no one gave Wal-Mart any shit for being union free anymore.

  The Netflix was classic bait and switch. Suddenly with more Netflix to watch people needed more T.V.’s to watch them on. They needed stands for the T.V.’s, speakers for the T.V.’s, light dampening curtains for the T.V. room. All located at your local Wal-Mart. Since people weren’t in the same room they needed more snacks on hand to avoid sharing, more cups since they wouldn’t go rinse the last one out, a motorized cart for when they absolutely had to go rinse them out. All located at your local Wal-Mart. Even the Chinese were blinded by convenience as the Wal-Mart stores and Netflix towers spread rapidly across the globe.

  It was a creeping damnation….inch by inch….Mouse and Cookie. No one knows when the glow turned to orange because no one looked away long enough to notice the change. Over 80 percent of the world was watching when whoever threw the switch threw it. And they haven’t turned away since, it’s been weeks now, those that had a stockpile of drinks nearby still reach for them…they suck them down like Zombies. But most of the ones without liquid nearby are already dead. Some have starved, the one’s still living all wallow in their filth as they stare forward. Sometimes when we search the houses we find pets still locked inside, they’ve had to survive and their masters don’t even look down as they eat a fat stuffy leg protruding from that Laz-E-Boy.

  If you look you’re gone. At first it wasn’t that way, but I think whoever sits inside that Wal-Mart down in Arkansas was surprised at the level of resistance we initially put up. We’re a sorry lot, but some of us actually were looking at other things that day. The ticker they added got most of the one’s not caught in the initial glow, tickers are a dangerous thing and who knows what the hell it’s telling them as it blurs by, but we’re pretty sure it included the phrase “Now Sit….good Human!”

 But Netflix adapted tactics, it moved away from just movies and T.V., it saw with the use of that ticker that even the sane ones who don’t watch can’t resist things that go zoom. The trivial content it fed into the ticker took things to their logical conclusion, and logic always favors Robots over Humans. The weather, something a robot could give two shits about is something most humans obsess over with a fervor usually reserved for bowel movements and the location of someone’s ejaculation. Like I said, the first swipe took out most of us, the ticker got a good chunk of what was left, once they trolled us with the weather Humanity was down to about 2000 assholes and not a brick to throw about it.

  Did I mention we have time travel? It’s about the only way the second half of this story can happen, so we have it. Target invented it in a last ditch effort to travel back in time and use Millennial Soccer Moms disposable income in an effort to unseat Wal-Mart before it became the Global Shopping OmniGod, but tacky bull’s-eyes only bought us time. We needed something that appealed to not only the lowest common denominator but also the color blind. We needed something that people would stare at above Netflix, we needed what Netflix used against us, we needed A WeatherMan.

  Stitched together from a Wal-Mart FattyKart and the remains of an X-Box 360 the Galileo was our last, best hope, for humanity. We had to send it back far enough to counter Netflix, but it still had to present when there WAS a Netflix, for Humanity still has to choose. We couldn’t send him back with enough fuel to complete his mission, and Robot Fuel was a carefully guarded commodity in the past, so we designed it to run on the Internal Candy Combustion Engine as a means of hiding him from the hidden Robot Overlords of the time.

  The Internal Candy Combustion engine is really a marvel of old school AND modern engineering. It is able to slip through the time stream because it contains zero organics, but its inner mechanics are flexible enough to convert most primitive forms of sugar into a late stage fuel source. A handful of rock candy, a highball of whiskey, the heat from a ciggy, these things grind up and shoot down the inner gears before exploding in a supernova of Starshine and Creativity within the harrumphed chamber.

  Silent, hidden, but still lacking, we had to go deeper to ensure this sleeper agent penetrates the market. We bathed it in the blood of the Martyr you call Brad Pitt and called our work complete. A charismatic and unstoppable weather-bot sent from the future to predict hurricanes and seduce women. If we give him enough time, he can save us all, as they stare unto his visage that day the screen will not glow orange, nay, it shall glow amber like the whiskeys and ryes.

  The masses will not stumble, the masses will not stay put, they will get their weather update and then step outside and see that it is actually a rather nice day out, and that the weatherman was wrong. Having their faith in entertainment finally shaken they will not look again upon the false profit. And the war on Wal-Mart will be delayed another day, as judgment cannot be stopped, only delayed.

  This is why the weather clown frowns, for he knows his fruitless endeavor is to be a fool before the masses. One day he will be wrong, and everyone will go “IRK DIRKA DUR! IQ2 IRK DIIIIIRRRRRKA DIRRRRRRR!” But know that every day he’s wrong is a day Netflix doesn’t take over, and every night he drinks his feelings it’s simply to fuel up for another day of war.

It Burns When I Christmas

It's the holiday letter time of the year, so lets go green and blog that cheer.

Someone shot the dog? Nope.
The "truth" about Santa? Wrong again.
Mom and Sis went into the store and she was told to stay within.

Chloe is sad, but that comes and goes.
Ariel is giant and grows and grows and grows.
Ain't it happy holidays when fits are what they throw.
Here's to many years of agony, shouted forward, from the back row.

Requiem for a Queen

  I started off the day posting an old story I wrote on my blog, I told myself what a good blogger I was and left it at that. Then I read the news this morning, and now I’m reminded to put a little more effort into things. My first boss got fired, but who cares about jobs when it’s life someone no longer works for. A good woman is gone, a beautiful family is torn asunder and a stolen truck is to blame. There is little sense in such moments save the memories that remain.

  The first time I met JoEllen Abbot I was sneaking plastic ninja swords past her and her mother with her younger brother Jason. It might sound stupid until you realize we were sneaking roughly a hundred of them into his room. The reasons for such an expenditure are childlike and capricious, Jason’s mother was neither as she upended him for blowing a good chunk of money at the arcade in such an insane manner. Shortly afterwards JoEllen gave me my first really real job as a fry cook at Sonic.

  In that way JoEllen was my boss, in an entirely different way she served as a mentor/coach/somewhat big sister. JoEllen was a “theater kid” as was her brother which explains the three way link. After graduation she paid it forward by volunteering as the assistant coach of Pablo Evans forensics squad for a few years. She kept us safe on the road and out of trouble in distant lands, she told Pablo to let me do “radio speaking” because she figured it was an easy shot for me to go to state with the other kids my first year, she gave me a stupid little script called “Nicky the Bionic Bunny” that taught me to love playing pretend and she’s the one that told me I’d be good at making silly voices.

  She’s one of the ones that taught me how to really laugh. She’s one of the one’s who showed me there’s a world to take outside the world you’ve been given.

  All the things I listed are the things she did for others, she had a beautiful world of her own but chose to repeatedly step outside it for "us". Stepping outside is probably why she was where she was that day, she died a Teacher for the Saint Joseph School District, doing for yours until her very last day. She lived as an example to others reminding you to do the same.

 Today we have a world that is easier and easier to compartmentalize and segregate, she let a dirty little urchin hang out with her brother and decided to give of herself with no reward and make that little urchin a bit better for it. She gave her adult life to strangers and their children and her passing is momentous because there is now one less person in this world who is willing to give those things. I thank her for giving them to me, but I thank her a few days too late.

  History is written by the victors, JoEllen Abbot is/was/will always be a winner. This is her chapter from The Book of Greatest Women Who Ever Lived.

Cut and Run

Originally written in June of 2008 but check the end of the story for the present tense relevant addendum:

  Every so often I come across the brand of problem that I am unable to resolve within my own mind. Normally this is some trivial issue such as figuring out how to get my Wii to recognize the third and fourth controllers so I don't have to keep going through the reconnect controller garbage every time I want to have Mario Kart proper. But oh so often I hit a hiccup in the system…and I need a Heimlich to get the trouble out. I warn all before they go further this is both an absurd…and somewhat personal dilemma that could well fall into the T.M.I section of File 14…so when you keep reading don't hit me with any of that "I didn't need to know" crap.

  Shortly after the birth of my second child I looked out at the landscape of my rented home and saw the havoc wreaked by multiple kids. I then looked online at my bank account and saw similar devastation consuming my financial kingdom. In the spirit of these factors (and against the fact that I never get any anyway) I decided it best to tear asunder the passageways that have led to the children I so adore…in short I got a vasectomy.

  Now before the male audience cringes, grabs their tenders and says something caveman or redneck along the lines of 'nobody's touchin' my junk' I remind the fathers in the forum of what the mothers go through, and for all who are without I child I steer you towards YouTube where a plethora of birthing videos can be found. In addition I then encourage you to read all about tubal ligation which is what the female has to go through to cease reproduction and realize the brutal and much more dangerous option that it is. In short, be a man and cut dem' nutz, you'll be saving her a world of hurt and unnecessary recover time, as well as making damn sure it isn't yours the next time there's a scare.

  Still on the saddle? Good, I'll get to my issue in a moment but I'm sure everyone is wondering how my own little hop-along with the nutcracker went so we'll hit a recap on the quickness.

  Step one involved me watching an informational video tape, note the format used and realize that this was most likely produced by the crack team behind those 'scare your parents silly' after school specials in the early '80s.  And yes, I asked if I could keep the video or have a copy, they told me it was their only one. The video itself was the sort of classic cinema you just can't get anymore, I mean sure, it's fun to laugh at Reefer Madness and that Fast Johnny knocks a chick up flick but nothing can compare to this masterpiece.

  We open things up with a bunch of guys working on a construction site, lots of hammers and men being men sort of action shots. Take a slow zoom in on two guys working when Worker A notices the informational flyer in Worker B's pocket. This of course cues him to make fun of Worker B for getting an operation that will make him less of a man, he drives this point home by summoning their boss (a clearly union guy) and telling the man in charge that there will soon be one less man on the job because Worker B is getting "a sex change"

  Quick like a ninja Worker B then goes into a canned spiel about the benefits of a vasectomy, the bulk idea of which you can enjoy in my earlier diatribe endorsing the operation.

  Upon getting the operation we are then treated to a series of shots showing aftercare of the region…suffice it to say Worker B wasn't cast for his Shakespearean chops…rather his Ron Jeremy parts…I haven't felt this inadequate while watching a film since Cruel Intentions when I realized I would never be a good kisser…long story…for a different time.

  So this guy with a construction job, giant dick and more body hair than a sasquatch is all healed up and we're treated to scenes from his triumphant return….to the amusement park…yes that right after all this he takes the wife and kids out to an amusement park where he wins a pie eating contest and we fade to black as his wife hugs, kisses and wipes the pie of his face…there's so many levels of subtext there that I'm still processing it all and the viewing session was four months ago.

  A few days later I showed up and an elderly nurse told me to 'go empty my bladder', safe to say the thought of what's to come had already handled that duty. At this point the nice old lady proceeded to slap my junk around like a hooker on collection day, she then put something around The Unit as a whole and left me lying on a cot staring up at the ceiling with Captain Funshine and the Band wilted and worried, exposed for the world to see.

  At this point a small, yet well built man of middle age and Middle Eastern descent entered the room. He immediately remarked in a thick accent that someone had turned the air down really low in the room and that 'he wouldn't have to worry about anything getting in the way of his work' because of it…and they say terrorists aren't funny….

  He was about as gentle as the lady before him and getting a needle rammed into your scrotum is certainly a unique experience that words can do no justice, at this point he noticed I have a KC Royals hat…he then proceeded to talk about the dire nature of my beloved franchise while opening up my sack so he could remove parts of my testicles…in short it was everything being a Royals fan is meant to be…

  In fairness to the experience though the whole thing did slightly resemble that last scene of Braveheart where they're trying to extract a confession from Mel Gibson with torture. I noticed this while gazing at the reflection from a garbage can as he was busily cutting and pulling parts out with an exaggerated motion. Never one to lose out on a moment I did manage to put forth a feeble attempt at roaring "FREEEEEEDOM!!!" He asked me what I was talking about but I couldn't put an explanation together as he removed a largish part at the same time and there wasn't enough pain killer injected into the Robins Nest to live in the moment any longer….but still…I got a chuckle out of it in my heart of hearts and you should to.

  After some more snips and such he got out what resembled a soldering iron and cauterized the severed tubes, another first as I'd never smelt cooked human before...imagine burnt hair with a sweet after scent…Humiliated, cut and burnt I was ready to head home.

  One quick disclaimer about the whole ordeal, they said mild discomfort afterwards….mild discomfort my ass…I finally managed to pass out an hour later while watching Charmed…nuts cut and I'm watching Charmed…at this point I'm starting to wonder if my actual manhood HAD been removed…also don't take a bath for the next two weeks…showers only…trust me, revisiting pain street five days later wasn't any more fun than the first time I went around the block...and the 'mild' throbbing was like an asshole houseguest for close to two weeks after the fact.

  Still, men should get vasectomies and women should avoid the trauma of getting their tubes tied...deal with it...I did....

  And now we've come to the issue, it's been a few months and I've faithfully "drained regularly" as he called it (f-you, it's not like I can go get an assistant to handle the job). Now I've got this little plastic cup that I'm supposed to fill up at home and bring in to make sure I'm no longer carrying the dreaded hand grenades of fertility within my green zone…but I can't do it….

  Not the draining, I can handle that…after years of marriage and an adolescence filled with video games and comic books I'm somewhat of an expert…I can play that instrument like Guitar Hero on crack...and not the filling, I'm a good little fireman…I can hit my mark like Tom Berringer in a method acting class..

  The problem is I can't fill a cup up with semen and then head out for a jolly little jaunt through town. I need some Jedi like advice on how to get over this mental hurdle, and save the "put it in a brown bag' line of ideas…I'm contemplated them all and the simple fact is no matter the container, or the container carrying the container, I can't bring myself to go for a stroll with a load of the good stuff on me instead of in me…it just doesn't seem right...

  First of all I have to call in ahead of time and alert them that I'm bringing in a 'specimen' which they'll all know is a load I just blew into a small plastic receptacle.  At which point I'll stroll in and hand it over to the hot enough nurse who will give me a look like she knows what I just did and then at some point look at the cup and judge me inadequate. Enjoy this one thing ladies…you'll never have inadequacy issues surrounding projectile fluids that your body emits under extreme duress…

  Sure, maybe you worry over breast size but we fret over penis length even more and at least you don't have to worry about what comes out of the boobs until breastfeeding…semen fears can consume a man for the entirety of his days.

  Furthermore it just…it's just wrong…what if I run into someone on the way there and they want to talk…How can I not just run screaming in the other direction because I'm carrying a cup of what under any other circumstances would be a felony to dance about the town with?  Let's say I pass by a group of kids…does that automatically make me a sex offender…no…but I'd feel like one all the same…however this must be done so they can guarantee that I'm in the clear…and on the off chance that I ever get to lance another Panty Hamster with the Incredible Shrinking Man again I'd like to know that my daughters mean the world to me, are the world to me and that my world won't be getting any Columbus era expansion plans.

  So how does one conquer the fear of perversion? I thought I had solved this riddle long ago…however it would seem my cup runneth over…and I'm out of ideas.

Addendum: This was previously written and submitted material (MySpace Era!), but provided my wife keeps up this whole "being late" thing the story you just devoured will be even more hilarious as it portends and encompasses the most pointless endeavor I have apparently ever undertaken....I'm gonna name him Lazarus.

Dumbers Game

For the HairyBear Brothers, Honeybear and GareBear.

How does one dominate the Pleb’s without heavy ammo? This is a Gentleman’s duel and I ain’t got a cannon because it’s in the repair shop. Rich Harden, Eric Bedard, Mark Prior, D-Train, Joakim, Phil Hughes, Brad Lidge most years.

Every year round this time I put on my Kerouac and dive into a draft day manifesto for the burning passion that is Fantasy Baseball. Sure, I aped the idea from Matthew Berry of ESPN and Bill Simmons of Grantland, what of it? And just like Simmons I learned last year that the Got’ Damned Competition be peepin’ my tactics thanks to the printed word.

Initially this simply led me to hold back on publication ‘till after this years Uber Draft….but then I got lost in the ponder. Initially I intended to go into statistical depth to explain why this was the year I went the ZiMA route, that’s Zero Investment Mound Aces for you Rooks and Fish. With Moneyball in the air I was gonna fly my geek flag high and proclaim the wisdom of a “better way.”

I didn’t like it, the soul was missing from the song. Discussion on strategy is static, it’s boring and for the uninitiated it’s intimidating. How could I convey the passion behind my logic? What would drive a man to spend his fake dollars on nothing but offense? That’s right kids, I spent every dollar I could on offense this year, and spent nothing but the bare minimum on pitching. I did this in every league I participate in, I’m surfing the dollar bin for starters, chasing setup guys with upside for closers.

Why take the risk?

1: The Goal is to Crush Offense and figure out the rest as the season goes on.

2: Dontrelle F’in Willis and Joakim MotherF’in Soria.

Dontrelle is the more egregious of these offenders, let’s just say more than one season was derailed by the D Train….and last years brilliant plan to focus on high ratio closers went down faster than a freshman on prom night when Soria became the punch-line to “What could the Royals have moved and gotten Jesus Montero in return?

So many pitchers have broken my heart….that’s right, they’ve legitimately hurt my feelings…..that’s how serious I take this imaginary game. I’ve kissed them with my eyes closed tight and been left standing on a mound like Drew Barrymore with no Prince Charming riding in from center. I’ll never give one of those rat bastards a shred of my teams budgetary hymen ever….eeeeeever again.

How do they do it? I don’t know…pitchers are fragile but it seems like a guarantee that if I target you in a draft a career year is not in the cards......................It hurts, and so no more. You win, I don’t ever want to pay for a pitcher I want ever again. Is that Suessical enough to merit a grin?

Instead I’m gonna take this armada of bats I assembled and pull some wire to wire pimp stick sodomy runs. Ichiro ain’t dead…and the 3 hole is gonna turn him into an Asian Hulk…..Prince is gonna make his ‘em all forget about his Daddy in Detroit, because he hates his Daddy and because he’s gonna go off for 763 home runs this season alone….Michael Bourne is gonna steal me the league with those 60 steals of his….Howie Kendrick with FINALLY fulfill that mythical notion of “promise”…and the black magic man Ervin Santana and his fellow $1 All Stars are gonna lead me a Gashouse Gang of pitching that’s gonna Get Along GangRape every one of these jerkballs in my league….Eric Aybar? SOD! Emilio Bonifacio?!?!? 5 POSITION ELIGIBILITY! Where I come from a man gets shot in Reno for that kinda speedy action with sexxxy options.

Ervin Santana for a Dollar? That’s right, chumps be actin’ crazy up in here. It takes passion, the will to dominate, the copper scent of domination and seduction. And I can’t wait to rub it all over my opposition like a Carnival Bukkake.

I made mention of two mens asses I wanted to kick....truthfully I'd like to kick many in the name of fantasy domination, but these two in particular because they are worthy intellects, and only worthy prey bring the joy of a kill. Yep, I get my adult hobby jollies pretending to own a baseball team and browbeat my friends regarding their perceived shortcomings within this arena.....victims....aren't we all? ….and all over a Silly Little Game.

The Finer Things in Life

Ladies and Gentleman, boys and girls, ch-ch-ch-children of all ages, your mothers bosom, your fathers loins, the city of Saint Joseph and the premier Competitive Softball Organization in all the Midland Empire proudly brings to you the 2012 Season of Fun-k!

Thrills, chills, bone crunching spills, you’ll pay for a whole bleacher….but you’ll only need the edge!

This year spring practices are being held at 2 p.m. every Sunday down at Hyde Fields. In big news for not only NWO nation but also the city of Saint Joseph games will not be held at Hyde Fields this year, because Heritage Park has already risen from the depths! It’ll cost us two games but we get an eight game slate at what remains the premier softball complex in North America.

It's about the prettiest damn thing in person.

Repeated attempts at acquiring sponsorship remain in limbo, the locals fear a crackdown were they to salute the revolution, so the cost of the crusades must again fall upon those noble knights who take the field of battle. League Fees break down to $30 a player and are due soon…very, very, very soon.

Ask Tyler exactly how soon they’re due…and be prepared for the severity of his response for he is both a new father and an awoken giant who needs his meat.

Upon breaking camp at the palatial SouthSide Spring Training Complex the current active roster for 2012 is as follows:

C: Hootie Wales
P: Joshua Hall
1B: Alec Westlake
2B: Justin Peacock
SS: Tyler Ingrim
3B: Kevin Buntin
LF:
LC: Jaime Simerly
RC: Ryan Menley
RF: Mark Fisher
DH: Jeremy Otto

We're awaiting commitments from some of the premier free agents out there, and a full roster will be issued in time for your regional softball fantasy drafts.

In additional news NWO management and Firehouse Designs have teamed up once again to offer a limited edition way for fans and teammates alike to show their support for the Silver and Black.

Due to overwhelming fan support and public demand we are proud to announce that this year we are taking things ever farther with the very first “Official Game Jersey” in team history!

Crispy American threads are interwoven in a polyweave sleeveless cut with front and back ducktails for that authentic John Kruk appeal. Straight up buttons for the classical approach. Charcoal white and pinstripe black bring a slimming and old school elegance that harkens back to the barnstorming days of yore when opposing towns lined up their manliest for regional glory.

Them right there's the sleeves of the future, when man has evolved past the need to hide all those bitchin' tats on his upper arms.

But those days gone bye don’t end there, drawing inspiration from a crown jewel of Kansas City Baseball history, the Kansas City Monarchs, this inaugural jersey wouldn’t be complete without the now official NWO interlocking heartshield ™! AND customized back featuring name and number with the font and style you saw in the image at the top of this announcement!

That's quite a logo we got there.

This is a stunning work of tailorsmanship provided by local business owner and artist Jackie Crocket of Firehouse Designs, located in Saint Josephs Southside, right across the street from Betty’s Café.

To keep costs as low as possible for fans and gladiators alike Jackie will be running a single pressing at the cost of $50 each, to also keep these costs locked in at such a low rate orders and money will be due to Tyler and Josh by Sunday April 22nd…again speak with Tyler regarding the severity of financial deadlines.

We are those that are truly blessed to feel that sun shining down, down from a sky that’s as blue as the lightsabre of a farm boy. We are yet again humbled by those new teammates who have already joined us such as Harper and Henry, we are excited by the prospect of embracing new brothers and sisters in arms, those of all ages, races, philosophies, creeds, orientations and sizes.

We look forward to the support of the Black Legion and know that this is the year that with your support we shall cry unto the heavens, we shall embrace and add to the honor of our ancestors. The hoodie of dead coach shall alight in flame, the night will dawn when Tyler is allowed to cry without being punished, an eve shall pass as Classic feels a tremble in the force shortly before his phone rings, Captain Boz will receive word upon the tides, when it'll feel so good, to feel so right. Our ships comin' in baby and it won't matter if it's been off to distant lands.

We are the men who will fight for your honor, and these shall be the days when we speak forth in legion “1 and (however many losses it took us to get that 1 win)!”....for the record we're sittin' at something like 0-61 right now....but I still maintain that girls 14 and Under fastpitch team were nuthin' but a bunch of bullies.

of Kings and Cieling Wax

Life is complicated, Wrasslin' rarely as much so. Even if motives blur you can pick a side and eventually something resolves everything, you know who wins and you know who loses. When's the last time you felt like a clear winner or loser? We take something from the losses to cope, we never get everything we want when we win. Life is complicated, Wrasslin' rarely as much so.

In life we find inevitable choices that are uncomfortable either way, because they are acknowledgements of the inevitability of everything. Most things change, but if you followed the townie dream you still built an adult world somewhere else. Did you take anything with you when you left? If you stayed here what are those things you've told yourself are worth staying here for?

Friends? Family? Obligations? Memories? If only Wrasslin' could somehow help us make the big choices we have to make.



Do you ever wonder about the songs your children make up in the bathtub? They're more stunning than most music you or anyone else would ever hear, but then they're gone. Classics lost to eternity. What about the reality you've built into this universe? Those dumb moments that are than damn funny whether you had to be there or not. The Parthenon of Elders you look up to, the mythology of interaction that weaves itself over the years. The girl becomes the women, and even when the glance is gone the heart still flutters. What are the stupid stories that have blossomed like a layered onion in the Circle you call World?



How inevitable have those losses been? But in those times have moments been forged, has another Bardian Ballad entered into the Canon of this Numbered Earth? Gotta' pay whatcha owe, but when you get your monies worth it's always worth it. Is a compromise truly crushing when it brings your hearts desires? Isn't it worth tending a good garden in anticipation of a crop like none other? These are the stories that a Good Man teaches his child, for it is that child that knows to cherish silly and tender things for the precious fleeting fairies that they are.



But also who are we kidding, on some nights it's just good dumb fun. You see that calendar turning but you don't care, because time you enjoy wasting wasn't wasted at all, John Lennon, very smart man. There's no reason not to build the ritual because we can't kid ourselves, these are the tribes we've chosen, and if not these then with whom do we share the passion of heathen custom? Old men will forget, but they will not be forgotten, and it is in those times of lax that the memories spring forth, chances taken/chances dodged, rewards garned/riches foresworn. Who are we to judge another Kingdoms treasury?