Are we Men? The answer depends on its own questions:
1.
Q: Do we have feelings?
A: No
2.
Q: Do we have thoughts?
A: We win. We do not think...so, no.
3.
Q: Do we merely win?
A: We slaughter...so, no.
4.
Q: Do we win if the other team is not bleeding?
A: We T.R.I.B.E.smen take victory very seriously. We do not believe in the measly commonly held definition, which only requires scoring more points. For us, victory is determined by the number of points divided by the number of bloody limbs/achilles tendons we carry home with us from the game. The lower the better. Think golf. Think limbo. Think the other team suddenly without legs riding under tables on skateboards because they are now much shorter...so, no.
5.
Q: Are we feral?
A: We flame.
6.
Q: Is Juan H. God?
A: Juan H. is the father of God. He birthed him. Like a seahorse...so, no.
7.
Q: Do you believe in beauty?
A: We believe in ourselves...so, yes.
Are we Men? We create men. We are the T.R.I.B.E. towards which all men strive.
This week, the T.R.I.B.E. is having a contest. Whoever can sculpt the most convincing likeness of Mark Werner out of a rice krispy treat will get to watch us eat the rice krispy treat. Slowly.
Until next time,
The Postmaster General
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Friday, August 31, 2007
Shokktown: Welcome to Earth
There are two kinds of collegehey you bros. Booyakasha.
students: jocks and nerds. As a jock, it is my duty to give
nerds a hard time.
We are BACK. We are BACK. And One Presents: The Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E. is BACK. If you are a freshman, you are probably still a virgin. That will end when the game is over.
We play basketball. Say it with me: B-A-S-K-E-T-B-A-L-L. You probably think you are familiar with the game.
Unless you have had the handprint of the Postmaster General branded on your back in the lane, you are hopelessly naive.
Unless the Sinister Prime has wasted a free throw to punish your junk, you are wide-eyed and unaware.
Is your name Stephon? Our name is Stephanie. We are your namesake. You have kissed us. You have felt our bodies. You have felt our souls. You have held back your tears because they are tears of joy. WE ARE NECESSARY; you are contingent.
Intramurals. There is one purpose. We get the numbers of female referees. We were posterizing you before there were walls. If you are freshmen: we've been strapped with gats since you were cuddlin a cabbage patch.
Not waving. Drowning. Splash. Have a day, Marcus Landry.
Sincerely,
The Postmaster General and the Sinister Prime
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Today is Shaq's 35th Birthday....
...but no one cares, because today there is only one thing on everyone's mind: last night's And One Presents: The Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E. game, in which Chad became Mine and the entire Empire's mortal enemy.
Chad made a pejorative comment about the T.R.I.B.E.'s basketball ability. Chad must be funny, because Chad was laughing. Our laughter replaced his, however, when The Prime Sinister wasted one of his free throws to peg Chad directly in his Gonads. As he was buckled over, we all took turns saying things like: "Haha, you look silly buckled over like that," and "Chad, I'm sorry you are injured (dramatic pause in order to convince him that we are serious about our empathy) Psych! Haha, you got PWN3D."
Chad friended me today on Facebook. I agreed to be his friend, only so I can now send him the following 6 facebook messages:
1) Sometimes you look like a disabled puma.
2) Sometimes I think you don't have any toes, because you fall over so much.
3) I want to shave Barry Manilow's initials into the back of your head, so that everyone will think you listen to Barry Manilow, and were recently on MTV's Fanatic: Barry Manilow's Biggest Fan.
4) You have fat knuckles.
5) Brett: You know your girlfriend?
Chad: Yes
Brett: You see this hickey on my neck?
Chad: Yes. Why?
Brett: Oh, no reason.
6) When I smell Goat Cheese, I look for you.
Chad made a pejorative comment about the T.R.I.B.E.'s basketball ability. Chad must be funny, because Chad was laughing. Our laughter replaced his, however, when The Prime Sinister wasted one of his free throws to peg Chad directly in his Gonads. As he was buckled over, we all took turns saying things like: "Haha, you look silly buckled over like that," and "Chad, I'm sorry you are injured (dramatic pause in order to convince him that we are serious about our empathy) Psych! Haha, you got PWN3D."
Chad friended me today on Facebook. I agreed to be his friend, only so I can now send him the following 6 facebook messages:
1) Sometimes you look like a disabled puma.
2) Sometimes I think you don't have any toes, because you fall over so much.
3) I want to shave Barry Manilow's initials into the back of your head, so that everyone will think you listen to Barry Manilow, and were recently on MTV's Fanatic: Barry Manilow's Biggest Fan.
4) You have fat knuckles.
5) Brett: You know your girlfriend?
Chad: Yes
Brett: You see this hickey on my neck?
Chad: Yes. Why?
Brett: Oh, no reason.
6) When I smell Goat Cheese, I look for you.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Coast To Coast Stuck In Kansas
They were traveling west, when allofasudden, out from the booby-trapped brush, out from the hologrammed trees came the ambush. The T.R.I.B.E., with their Kong-like chests and pillared thighs, struck with the fury of a thousand flaming Stallions.
There are wars, oh my pale inferiors, and there are massacres. When a massacre strikes, the travelers never wake from their naps atop and below the blanketed corner of their covered wagons. Coast to Coast was left hopelessly and unexpectedly mangled in the slumber of their now red-wet sheepskin wool. They believed they could pass through our land, defile our courts with their young and ambitious sneakers. They had no right to such an odious and ignorant belief.
But we are peaceful men. The T.R.I.B.E., with their Saint-sized hearts and parental prowess, have taken the children of Coast to Coast under our shady, Palm-like wings. They will be raised like the thousands of T.R.I.B.E.smen before them were raised: From the milk of grass-fed bison and with a knowledge of the falcon's flight and the basket's give. They will know the feel of rim inside their fingers and air beneath their feet. They will speak the tongue of zone and pick, of alley-oop, of flying v.
Thank us if you will, though your gratitude is not our goal. We live this way because it is the way of our ancestors. It is the way of Boo-Yaa, the way of the empire. Our Empire.
Affectionately Yours,
The Postmaster General
On Behalf of And One Presents: The Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E.
There are wars, oh my pale inferiors, and there are massacres. When a massacre strikes, the travelers never wake from their naps atop and below the blanketed corner of their covered wagons. Coast to Coast was left hopelessly and unexpectedly mangled in the slumber of their now red-wet sheepskin wool. They believed they could pass through our land, defile our courts with their young and ambitious sneakers. They had no right to such an odious and ignorant belief.
But we are peaceful men. The T.R.I.B.E., with their Saint-sized hearts and parental prowess, have taken the children of Coast to Coast under our shady, Palm-like wings. They will be raised like the thousands of T.R.I.B.E.smen before them were raised: From the milk of grass-fed bison and with a knowledge of the falcon's flight and the basket's give. They will know the feel of rim inside their fingers and air beneath their feet. They will speak the tongue of zone and pick, of alley-oop, of flying v.
Thank us if you will, though your gratitude is not our goal. We live this way because it is the way of our ancestors. It is the way of Boo-Yaa, the way of the empire. Our Empire.
Affectionately Yours,
The Postmaster General
On Behalf of And One Presents: The Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
As And One Presents: The Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E. prepares to bring an Intramural Championship T-Shirt back to the Too Real International Boo-Yaa Empire's Wall of Fame, we have compiled a list of goals to be completed by the time of our crowning. We have decided to share our list with you in the inaugural Intramural Diary Post here on Oleville. Enjoy.
1) Score the phone number of an opposing player's girlfriend;
preferably a member of the GQ Unit. Need I say, too easy?
2) Remind the Raiders and the Blazers that better teams already have those names.
Then remind them that And One Presents: The Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E. is the best team on earth with the name And One Presents: The Boo-Ya T.R.I.B.E.
3) Switch from Grey Goose to Gatorade Frost and Grey Goose.
4) Remind Git-R-Done that they meant to say Get Her Done. Then Remind them that this is a silly name, and that Girls can't play sports.
5) Tease Whole Lotta Game. Tell them that their name should have been Whole Notta Game. Then laugh at them.
6) Tell the cute referee that she might be able to get a date with The Prime Sinister and/or but not exclusive to Juan H as long as she doesn't enforce the dribbling rule for us.
7) Bring home an opponents achilles tendon after every game.
8) Think outside the Bun after every win.
9) Tell at least one player from every team that we like the way his mouth eats.
10) Perfect the Flying V.
With Affection,
The Post Master General
on behalf of And One Presents: The Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E.
1) Score the phone number of an opposing player's girlfriend;
preferably a member of the GQ Unit. Need I say, too easy?
2) Remind the Raiders and the Blazers that better teams already have those names.
Then remind them that And One Presents: The Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E. is the best team on earth with the name And One Presents: The Boo-Ya T.R.I.B.E.
3) Switch from Grey Goose to Gatorade Frost and Grey Goose.
4) Remind Git-R-Done that they meant to say Get Her Done. Then Remind them that this is a silly name, and that Girls can't play sports.
5) Tease Whole Lotta Game. Tell them that their name should have been Whole Notta Game. Then laugh at them.
6) Tell the cute referee that she might be able to get a date with The Prime Sinister and/or but not exclusive to Juan H as long as she doesn't enforce the dribbling rule for us.
7) Bring home an opponents achilles tendon after every game.
8) Think outside the Bun after every win.
9) Tell at least one player from every team that we like the way his mouth eats.
10) Perfect the Flying V.
With Affection,
The Post Master General
on behalf of And One Presents: The Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E.
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