| Last week, I won the high points award. However, you still have not credited my account. On the contrary, you blithely stated in an earlier e-mail that you "fell asleep" and "would get around to it." My accomplishment, especially in a season of intense frustration and disappointment despite my hard work and honest effort, should be recognized and counted and not ignored. I have rights, and I HAVE BEEN DISENFRANCHISED. In addition, the enigmatic "check the box" format by which we submit lineups is confusing and illegal and demeaning. The boxes are too far away from the names of the players, and do not perfectly line up with these names. There is no arrow pointing from the name of the player I want to select to the box that I must somehow divine how to check in order to accomplish my desired choice. Plus, what kind of manipulative, cheating demagogue would put these dangerous and insulting boxes on the left side of the player's name when applicable state statutes and the very Constitution of our precious United States require that the boxes be on the right side of the player's name? I have been duped and victimized into checking the wrong boxes for each and every game this season, except the ones that I won. In addition, in the games that I lost, I meant to have different players' names next to the boxes that I checked, but I was wrongfully prevented from obtaining these players in that sham that you have the gall to call a legitimate draft. Immediately after each game that I lost, I cried and called my Mommy, telling her that I had been cruelly cheated out of hard-earned victory by crooked villains who would unfairly require me to be able to read and recognize the English language and accurately use one of those high tech mouse thingies that only the top 1% of computer nerds in our land can understand and manipulate. DID I MENTION THAT I HAVE BEEN DISENFRANCHISED??? I demand that you immediately apologize, then resign, then kill yourself to make up for the high crimes you have perpetrated on me, and in fact on every single honest person trying on a weekly basis to figure out this Rubik's cube conundrum of a voting system which you have unilaterally thrust upon us in a transparent attempt to satisfy your mad lust for power and to secure personal financial gain. I also demand the right to replay every single game of the season, except the ones I won, until I win them all by a margin that is sufficient to me in my own personal discretion. Otherwise, I will pursue legal action to redress your outright theft of my God-given rights. IN CASE I FORGOT TO MENTION IT EARLIER, I HAVE BEEN DISENFRANCHISED. You, sir, are a piece of shit. BitchSlap, 2000 |
| Trash-Talk All Stars |
| Ah, the sound, a beautiful twinkle in my ears A noise of most people's fears Whistling with its high pitched song Sends chills that seem to last so long To me, an instrument of art Make most just want to dart Precision cutting, strength and speed "Stop, please," is what you will plead But you cannot dart, and must deal with that chill Fellow Taters, Fear the Drill. Drillers, 2001 |
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| Are you drunk or are you just stupid?
You have to be drunk and stupid to actually submit the unbelievable mess of crap you pile on me weekly. congrats...this weeks dung pile by you easily wins for the most ass-backwards...perhaps ever! Quit f****ing bidding $1 for players. How long have you been in this league? There are no $1 bids and when you do that, I have to manually change everything. Not to mention what you submitted truly looks like a retarded drunken illiterate moron from New Guinea with absolutely no knowledge of football or technology might do if we asked him to take your place in the league. In fact, if you submit another $1 bid or a confusing jumble of stinking crap like that again, and I swear on all that is holy...I will recruit Haji from Papua, New Guinea to take your place you fuggin moron. Next week, do me a favor and just send me some freaking pepto bismol a few days early because just reading your list of transactions gives me the slops. Actually trying to process them and make heads or tails of them constipates me. You have me ripping thru my crap cycles on artificial highs and lows. I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome from just trying to understand your drivel. I am calling Haji to see if he wants in. Thanks Man. Multiple Scoregasms (fka Pufky Bluzzers), 2005 |
| First, the reaction�
Oh�my�God. Of all the low-down, dirty, heart-string pulling tactics, this one takes the cake. I am not even sure if I have the emotional fortitude to analyze my playoff lineup options, much less turn one in. This is a whole new level of sinister and disturbing trash talk, designed not to simply taunt or belittle, but instead to detonate an emotional neutron bomb, killing only your opponent�s will to fight and leaving the league intact. The enemy is left sobbing and distraught; without direction or purpose. Insidious. Then the Setup� In response to the Scoregasms� sandbagging efforts to conjure up the assistance of the fantasy gods through open self-loathing, I suggested that his tactic might just swing �karma� to his side. The following is the response I received, one hour later (which begins, rather innocently, a la e.e. cummings, sans capital letters) � when i was 7, i had a friend named karma. seriously. her real name was karmen viandola. she was my neighbor in cleveland. everyone called her karma. our families were great friends. we used to share holiday get-togethers with them and birthdays. some of my fondest memories as a young child were watching fireworks from their backyard picnic table on the 4th of July while we ate Mrs. Viandola's awesome brownie sundaes. I can still picture it as vividly as though it were yesterday. karma was my first kiss. when i was seven and a half, another friend, jimmy ferment dared me to kiss karma. i did. i still remember that kiss. while i love my wife and will never ever be without her, that kiss...with karma... will always be special. in the summer of 1973, my parents announced that we were moving to dallas. karma and i hatched a plan to runaway together. we were seven and had no idea that it was a world not exactly made for a pair of star-crossed lovers--aged 7. one evening, we both sneaked out of our respective houses late in the evening and met each other by the gazebo on Apple Pond, a nearby park. I brought all my money with me and karma had all her money. together we had almost $28 dollars. Our plan was to catch a bus to her grandmother's farm in Pennsylvania where we could hide in the barn. We set out for the the bus station, singing songs and excitingly pursuing our dream of being together and avoiding my dreaded move to Texas. We passed the time by making up rhyming songs and playing tag. We slipped through our residential neighborhood and came across the major road that ran the circumference of our area, Kinsman Road. It was a busy crossing street. Our game of tag continued. karma was trying to avoid being touched by me and ran ahead. As she approached the busy street, time seemed to slow down. It still remains nearly frozen to me, even now. She seemed to glide across the first several lanes of the street before we heard the noise. Like an ocean-going barge or huge passenger ship, the booming honk seemed to shake the streetlights. Viewing the scene in my head...I see karma on the far-right of my field of vision...like an architectural elevation, i see the road stretched out to her right and a large, looming mass barreling towards her, throbbing my ears and my senses with a death-march of a honking horn. By the time karma and i realized what was happening, my voice box had long since panicked and shut down. Right before impact, I tried to move, to save karma somehow, but all i could manage was the rapid shutting and squeezing of my eyelids. I remember squeezing them shut and so hard, that it hurt...trying desperately not to see what was so clearly happening to my friend karma in the middle of the road. The tires screeching, the audible groan of metal as it attempted to stop while traveling over fifty miles per hour. The smell of smoke and burning rubber from the tires that were begged to stop short but could not. There was just silence. I remember the lights. The twirling lights of fire-engines and police cars and ambulances. I do not remember any sounds. Just a long and dark silence. I remember my parents faces and the tears from Mrs. Viandola. And when I realized that karma was gone, i remember my tears too. I never say that I believe in karma, since that tragedy happened to me and my friend all those years ago. I always knew that somehow I would re-visit this again. I went to therapy for several years to try and come to some sort of resolution and get some closure. It always escaped me. It has been nearly 35 years since karma got trucked by a potato truck and I fear the same is about to happen to me again. I cannot stand the pain. Your grieving friend, Brad Multiple Scoregasms, 2008 |