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Zombie Corner
| team | win | not |
|---|---|---|
| Cunning, Baffling, Powerful [2005 Champs] |
6 | 0 |
| Mississippi Shakedown | 5 (+1) | 1 |
| St. Sebastian’s Home for the Eldery & Convalescent | 4 | 2 (-1) |
| Curse of the Zomboree | 2 | 4 |
| UntouchiballicA | 2 | 4 |
| Urban Plantain Workers Party | 2 | 4 |
| Stilettos | 0 | 6 |
| (Parens. indicate Wildcard status) | ||
| team | win | not |
|---|---|---|
| Holy Rollers [2007 Champs] |
6 | 0 |
| Team U.G.G.H. | 4 (+1) | 2 |
| Scurvy Dogs | 5 | 1 (-1) |
| Ze French Revenge | 2 | 4 |
| Providence Burnsiders | 2 | 4 |
| BSRmadillos | 1 | 5 |
| Bat Seals | 1 | 5 |
| (Parens. indicate Wildcard status) | ||
FCPVD: Intercepted Memos to the French Consulate.
Transmission: Week Three
Agent: Jacques le Jacques
a.k.a. Ze French Tickler
Tuesday afternoon and I am still as sore as a French whore on Bastille Day. Not sure what that means? Me neither.
Ze French Revenge V. Prov. Burnsiders: All strategy went out ze window for us Frenchmen ze second we saw the beautiful hairiness of ze Burnsider’s women. J’adore! J’adore! We could not catch ze ball, throw ze ball, look any further than ze majestic sideburns of our archaically paramilitary sirens. Upon realizing we were down five runs in ze first inning, we switched over to ze second secret strategy of ze French: blind rage. Equally ineffective, more sloppy than your American Maury-Povich-Sally-talk-show-“ in-ze-case-of-baby-dylan-you-are- . . . not-ze-father” shit. Sacrebleu. Despite a tight scoring battle, ze Burnsiders took us down in ze last inning. A barn burner for ze burnsiders? And of course a corn whiskey salve for our bitter wounds.
Ze tall dude in center field does not drop anything. Ever. Watch out for him.
Stop.
Miss. Shakedown V. Zomboree: This close battle was punctuated by high flying antics: ze zombie who in life was known as “Jamie” felling ze scoreboard, an in-ze-park home run by ze one they call “grillz,” a tandem catch between uncle something and a cousin of some sort, and explaining to people what ze fuck they’re saying in ze Shakedown cheer. Squiggly letter? OH! OH! American literacy, I get it. Zomboree ate at least two of ze rednecks. I lost track. In ze end, Zomboree dropped more kicks than the Shakedown and subsequently lost. Aren’t all of these games won this way? What happened to our motor skills? It’s a big red ball.
Stop.
Stilettos V. Untouchiballica: Ze Chicago Tribune today reads: STILETTOS BEAT UNTOUCHIBALLICA. While Truman ended up being president, I’m sticking to my guns on this one. Stilettos won. No fucking contest. Considering ze scoreboard, standings, and general opinions of everyone else at the game disagree with my hypothesis, I provide my rationale:
Point ONE: They scored runs. Legitimately. Not due to ze intentional floundering of sexually stimulated opponents playing coy. No No! Actual runs. To home.
Point TWO: They caught the ball. Or, at bare minimum, stopped it. Most of ze time.
And Point THREE: At no point could you find anyone actually watching the ball in play. Who watches ze pole at a strip club? Ze madam in ze brothel? Do you taste ze fork you eat caviar with? Can you quantify ze sky? Or love? I rest my case. Fuck you Americans and your “score.” Ze French look only to score. Stilettos win.
Maybe we’ll call it a draw. That dude did run around with a fucking guitar case. Intense.
Stop.
Bat Seals V. Holy Rollers: Can anyone beat ze rollers? Anyone? Sacrebleu. Apparently ze Seals are very partial to painting themselves up. Like whores? French whores? Yeah, that’s all I got.
Stop.
This week of ze French Perpsective brought to you by the letter F, the number 6, and whores.
Bon soir.
– J le J
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