An Open Letter to the Enemy
by C MonksDear Kickball Killahs,
This notice is to inform you that we of the Badass Ballkickers don't scare easily. Your devious tactics suck donkey, and have done nothing to dampen our will or our spirit. You're trying to be tricky with all that good sportsmanship stuff. We see right through it. Like a window. A freshly cleaned window. A freshly cleaned non-tinted window. Your letter in World Adult Kickball Association Quaterly saying how much you "respected" and "admired" our kickball skills, and how you feel "lucky" to just to get the opportunity to play us makes us sick. We vomit all over your "kind" words. You think we're that soft? You think we're like pillows, all soft and fluffy and easy to rest your smelly heads on? Is that what you think? You think resting your smelly, thick heads on us and whispering sweet nothings about how good and awesome we are will get us all mushy like a marshmallow so that we will play badly against you come Saturday night at Legion Field? Think again. Think about something else to get your pathetic, dumb minds off your stupid-idiot ploy. Think about a treatment for pain - think about pre-ordering a prescription for pain because you will need it come Saturday night at Legion Field. Here's hoping you have a good health plan because the pain medication you need will be expensive, and you'll need to order a lot of it.
Sniff-sniff. You smell that? I wiped my ass with this letter before I sent it. Get use to this smell, because you'll be behind us all night long. You will be crapping in your pants a lot come Saturday night at Legion Field too. They'll be a lot of bad smells going on all over Legion Field. So bad that your eyes will sting and you'll start trying to kiss our asses and beg for us to stop beating you to pulps with our awesome kickballing skillz. You'll say "Please stop beating us to pulps!" and we'll say "But we like our freshly-squeezed Kickball Killahs juice with pulp." And then we'll pour you into a glass and drink you. Guzzle you. Swallow you. Some of you will run down our chins and so we'll wipe our chins with yo' mama. Yo' mama will make a great napkin. We'll fold her up and put her back in the napkin ring when we're through. We won't wash the mama-napkin, because you never should wash your napkins after every use on account they deteriorate and lose their color quickly. It's common sense.
Speaking of which, common sense was something you clearly lacked when you thought it was a good idea to send us those "good luck" cookies. We vomited on your cookies. Then we fed them to our puppies, and they vomited them up. Then we ate the puppies' vomit and we vomited some more. How dare you make us vomit so much! Nice try, fuckos, but none of us are sick anymore. We all will be in game shape come Saturday night at Legion Field. Even if we were sick we'd still destroy you. We'd destroy you and then put your bloody remains in a Petri dish for a couple weeks where we would cultivate penicillin from your lifeless goop that would make us not sick anymore. Once healthy, we'd eat your leftover goop and vomit you up again for old time's sake. Then we'd party like the bad muthas we are. Party on and on and on until the break of dawn. Then we'd all go out for pancakes.
So consider yourself warned. No doubt some crap has already started building in your pants. Maybe you should wear diapers come Saturday night at Legion Field? Maybe you should wear bonnets too and hold rattles and suck your thumbs? We'll play peek-a-boo with you for a bit and you'll smile and giggle and then we'll say "It's nap time" and you'll be like "Waaaa, me no want nappy!" and we'll say "Sorry, but it's time to sleep," and then we'll start drilling kickballs off your heads until your unconscious. That idea works for us. It's up to you. You decide how you want to be destroyed. That's the only choice you'll have, so you might as well take advantage of it. Although whichever you choose it won't really matter because like the wise man said "YOUR ASS IS GRASS" come Saturday night at Legion Field.
Sincerely,
Captain Monks of the Badass Ballkickers
You can crawl further inside the mind of Mr. Christopher Monks by visiting him at Utter Wonder. Don't say we didn't warn you.