So, for those that don’t know, I’m on a CoEd kickball league.
We play every Thursday night.
To get shit-faced. And to win. But, primarily, to get shit-faced.
During the course of the game, I had two pints of beer. I kicked ass and scored two runs.
Couldn’t have too much to drink, as someone decided to bring their kids, as seen in the photo. Party-fucking-spoilers.
Don’t get me wrong – I love kids. Just not at 9pm at night when I have a cooler packed full of delicious beer and jello shots. I look forward to this game every week and there had always been an unspoken rule about creatures under three feet tall: if it’s not on a leash, we don’t want it here. Guess that was forgotten this week.
Regardless, we played and we played hard.
We won the FUCK outta that shit.
We’re now celebrating with straight shots of vodka.
If it weren’t for spell check and autocorrect, this post would be utter nonsense. I’m doing this from my phone, can you believe it? Technology is fuckin amaze-balls.
So, all this booze has got me thinking…
What is it about competition that motivates us? Do I really want to pummel that bitch on second base? Or is that some latent, primal instinct that normally lays dormant inside me but is somehow triggered when a red, rubber ball is placed in my hand?
Oh, we’re playing kickball? I thought this was dodgeball. Sorry for throwing this directly in your face. Perhaps you shouldn’t paint black stripes under your eyes and get a manicure on the same day, second base, because I will eat you alive. I have all day to look pretty. Right now, I’ve got blood-lust and I’m ready to score a run, regardless of where you plant yourself.
Oh, were you safe? Huh. Ball must have slipped out of my hands and slammed into your frontal lobe. Damn inertia! Can’t stop that shit once it’s in motion!
Oh, our second round of shots just arrived.
If you can excuse me for a minute, I’ve got a Kamikaze to throw back.
Rainbows and sunshine out the ass.