I happened across a few of these photos today and found myself chuckling… Looking for a little outlet, I’ve uploaded a gallery of images from last year.
My name’s Fly. Stilted Baby Fly.
Fook ‘007
And you let her go because you think she could use a little time off, plus you know the Fook is coming and you’re trying to score a few points.
And you’re not even that concerned when she stumbles in and up to bed at 4am; you even chuckle a bit because you know that she’ll have a killer hangover in the morning.
The next day, you go outside to get the paper, sigh with relief when you notice the car is still in one piece. You walk around it doing a quick, bumper-to-bumper inspection, and everything looks perfectly fine.
But… wait…
Wait just a damn minute!
What the hell is that?
Was she out running with Chief Silver Elk again?!!
Tribe – it is my pleasure to unveil the Fook’n 007 theme logo.
Namasté
– Speaks With Fish!
Dad sent this over today and I tell you, I wish I’d had this information years ago. I’ve always known there had to be some unique, perfect swing thought out there that the pros were using to help stay focused in moments of high tension, and now I have it.
In the interest of pure competition, I’ve decided to share it with all of you.
Already looking forward to the ’07 outing…
Chief SBF2
As our 11th walk-a-bout comes to a close…
so begins my duty to recite this prose.
Come with a ‘stache was this years theme…
And bring an appetite so it would seem,
For food was brought from tribes near and far…
And I got to tell you — we look bizarre.
So who shall be the recipient of this prestigious honor?
Chief Bullseye? Or Chief Stilted Baby Fly?
No, neither shall it be DTI.
How about Chief Silver Elk, long a bridesmaid and finally a bride!
Nah, ‘cause something tells me he is in for one bitchin’ mustache ride!
Maybe Talking Bull with whom I struggled through alternate shot,
Picking him would be wrong, so I cannot.
Chief Hands Like Feet forgot his stage name…
Perhaps the award is his I will proclaim.
Chief Turkey’s golf game left him full of anger…
And at the poker table it’s nothing but clangor…
So the choice is obvious, right?
Not quite.
For you see the trophy sits high atop a shelf in my garage.
Forgotten it was, left behind.
With a wife nine months pregnant you could say I’ve lost my mind.
Without a trophy to present there can be only one winner,
And I need to wrap this poem up ‘cause it’s time for dinner.
The Broken Arrow Sportsmanship Trophy is mine to keep.
Bleep!!!
And so our time together draws to a end…
With any luck I’ll not repeat this trend.
Ode to me.
I can’t tell you how much this reminds me of Tim and Todd. I’ve already ordered two; I’ve heard they’re going fast. View the sales presentation now and order one today.
Oh, and uh, you’ve got a little freem spar ober. Just so you know.
[Update: Turns out this story gets even better. The text from the video was originally written in 1955 by an employee at GE who (apparently) was out to prove that his boss was an idiot. He submitted it as an actual product and it was approved and inserted into the GE catalog that year. You can read a Wikipedia entry on the whole affair, which also has a link to the text from the catalog. Amazing.]
The following is a transcript of the presentation speech prepared by Speaks with Fish! as he handed over the Broken Arrow Sportsmanship Award. As is the custom of the tribe, it arrives in the form of a poem…
As our 11th walk-a-bout comes to a close…
so begins my duty to recite this prose.
Come with a ‘stache was this years theme…
And bring an appetite so it would seem,
For food was brought from tribes near and far…
And I got to tell you — we look bizarre.
So who shall be the recipient of this prestigious honor?
Chief Bullseye? Or Chief Stilted Baby Fly?
No, neither shall it be DTI.
How about Chief Silver Elk, long a bridesmaid and finally a bride!
Nah, ‘cause something tells me he is in for one bitchin’ mustache ride!
Maybe Talking Bull with whom I struggled through alternate shot,
Picking him would be wrong, so I cannot.
Chief Hands Like Feet forgot his stage name…
Perhaps the award is his I will proclaim.
Chief Turkey’s golf game left him full of anger…
And at the poker table it’s nothing but clangor…
So the choice is obvious, right?
Not quite.
For you see the trophy sits high atop a shelf in my garage.
Forgotten it was, left behind.
With a wife nine months pregnant you could say I’ve lost my mind.
Without a trophy to present there can be only one winner,
And I need to wrap this poem up ‘cause it’s time for dinner.
The Broken Arrow Sportsmanship Trophy is mine to keep.
Bleep!!!
And so our time together draws to a end…
With any luck I’ll not repeat this trend.
Ode to me.
I, for one, am not quite sure what to make of this. I think you’re all aware by now that the wiretapping program instituted by the Bush Administration has been declared unconstitutional. What you may not know, however, is that through some of my connections at the NSA I was able to obtain the following voicemail message left for our illustrious Chief from a company called PornStach USA.
While I am certainly ready to draw my own conclusions from this message, I felt that I should leave it up to each of you to draw your own. And, perhaps, give the Chief a chance to respond on his behalf before he’s drawn and quartered as a yellow-bellied, scum-sucking fraud.
But that’s just me.
Fookars,
I have read with interest the remarks of my brothers. While I’m experiencing some degree of trepidation about my life right now (I’m homeless, as most of you know), I am looking forward to breaking bread and drinking firewater with you all. And while I appreciate your concern regarding my welfare, rest assured that steps have been taken to ensure compliance with all the rules as set forth by the honorable Chief and agreed upon by all in attendance.
In other words, I’m way ahead of all of you. Attached is a photo from our trip to Michigan last weekend.
Yours in the faith and reverence for all that is hairy (or not, depending on your personal preference),
Chief Stilts
I had the pleasure of playing golf yesterday with the Chief and Fish! in an outing to celebrate our allegiance to Indiana State University. (Those of you who were asked to participate and turned us down should know that it turned out to be a beautiful day and a great time. So screw you, too.)
Anyway, in the course of conversation, the subject of the Walkabout came up. Turns out there has been next to no response from the field about their attendance this year. In addition, there have been very few deposits turned in to solidify and reserve a spot in the event. Being the Chief, having already made the deposit on the cabin, and being the type of person that doesn’t mince words, Bullseye was heard to remark:
“I’m closing the field at eight men this year.”
So, believing him to be a man of his word, Fish! and I gave him our deposit. We’re in.
Are you?