Summer's End (part2 of 3)

{48, 595 words
finishing the 6th of 9 chapters}

The second installment of my end of summer Canadian Ultimate Championships recap written as I waited for a tornado to pass by my airport. Don't worry if the terminology or nicknames don't make sense to you, because that it kind of the point?

Where were we? Let's Review.

Roy had eaten a meal at a large phallus shaped table, at which waitresses admitted to driving drunk and stealing pylons with friends the night before; ladies and gentleman I give you the nightlife of winnipeg. Despite that, said waitresses were asked by Roy if they liked to party, to which their answer does not matter. It is the question itself that is everything: DO YOU LIKE TO PARTY? Five simple words that two men took to a whole new level, paving the party path for an entire team of ROY.

Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. After dinner everything was a giant question mark: are we playing tomorrow? Indoors? Do we like to party? Is the only party place in town seriously called Whisky Dix? Does it actually have bouncers with cowboy hats?

The answer to those questions were eventually were revealed to be: no, HELL NO, yes please, sadly yes, and oh my god this is going to be baaaad yes.

With all of those questions floating around our heros as they stood outside of the Whisky pee pee, the evil of Winnipeg snuck into the hearts of the young and vulnerable. The TRIUMVERATE of: Maximus Tatius, THE ONE WHO ONLY GOD CAN JUDGE, and I"M MORE THAN JUST FLASHDAAAAANCE! all stood on the wrong side of the velvet rope. Their animal party instincts said YES but their young stupid minds told them NO, BE RESPONSIBLE.


(Now let it be known that young J********* had a fair excuse: his plan had worked amazingly. He had gained that extra nights worth of non-Winnipeg strength by 'missing' his initial flight. Therefore he had been able to burst into then more-than-human ball-of-flame on what turned out to be the last game of Roy's season. Not even the existential crisis of facing off against his doppelganger was enough to hold him within our stratosphere. While every other player on the feild was crushed by the raw evil of the Peg, J******** somehow channeled its disgustingness throught a series of layout d's. And so it may have been fair for him to sit WHISKY DIX out, as he surely planned to destroy the entire planet of earth if we were allowed to play the next day.)


And so the three young ones left to cuddle in the hotel. MEANWHILE on the other side of the rope....


Jack Bauer lurked. He was taking on the terrorists that threatened our freedom to party. He somehow was able to get everyone, including the underaged THANKSGIVING TURKEY, into the club. After losing a boat race with another team in which Roy almost won even though we had two strangers drinking alongside of us, Bauer snapped. He decided to take party-matters into his own hands: he went rogue. He was not seen again until we were leaving the bar at which point he refused to leave because he was in too deep.


Dairy Queen meanwhile was taking the opposite approach. Rather than going all undercover mission impartypossible he instead reinvented how Roy will party forever. He revealed his strategy to us the next morning, at which point everybody who was within earshot's mind was completely melted into braingravy. Without further ado I give you:


The DQ GRENADE.

-take one group of ROY dancers (fig. A)
-add one group of ladies dancing nearby but scared of our raw ability to party( fig. B)


Now at this point A and B are cricles that cannot and will not overlap. That is until you insert fig. C, the friggin DQ hand grenade.

- Insert fig. C, the raw hunk of DQ powered by various alcohols, into fig. B thus creating an intense whirlwind of middle fingers, giggling girls one third DQ's age, and strange feelings of nausea and slight arousal.

These contradictory forces spewing from DQ's loins causes fig. B to scatter, thus causing the shrapnel of fig. B to hit various parts of fig. A, most specifically R****** "THE UGLIEST MAN ALIVE" S******. Despite his hideous appearance, his horrible hygiene, and the fact that his diarrhea left him unable to dance, he was still able to score digits from the grenade's primary target.

Somewhere downstairs F*** was able to score a pink boa scarf. It was a great night for ROY.

Or was it?

You see, there is, sadly, a side effect of the amazing DQ FIRE IN THE HOLE. In order to suicide bomb the party, Dairy Q sacrificed everything, thus leaving him vulnerable. His mind was such a wasteland that he was unable to judge that partying with a random group of people at 4 in the morning at our shady hotel with a bottle of vodka was probably a bad idea. You can understand now how truly hard it is to be THE BOMB.

Roy awoke the next morning to the learn of the final blow: there was no more potential for victory on the field. The TD and Satan danced to the tunes of 'WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS' as they prepared to devour ROY'S broken spirit.

Our heros sat alone and confused, (and slightly aroused... damn hand grenade!). Were they even a team anymore? They looked at these strange men they shared their beds and Surprisingly-high- in-iron-crunchy-triangle snacks with. Who are these people? Who am I?

DO I EVEN LIKE TO PARTY?


(Stay tuned for the third and final installment of how I spent my summer...)