In my head, I say it double-oh-seven. Hehe, sorry. This is why I’m going to change my username as soon as I think of a cool one. I don’t like it; it’s a pain to type.
gardentraveler, who has decided that Parakeets and the Mirrors They Love sounds fascinating, and pays two bits to get into the movie where she places the Doperball carefully in the seat next to her, where…
she is joined by danceswithcats who didn’t realize that was the 25 cent special movie. Being a fan of budgies, I can watch the little birdies while making you think I want your popcorn, but instead have tossed the butter smudged ball over my head into the mezzanine, where it is caught by…
gardentraveler, who snuck out during a particularly noisy segment and left a cleverly crafted impostor in her place. She catches the ball - asphalt balls are HEAVY - and rolls it down the stairs, propelling it with a “borrowed” golf club until…
Where Marque Elf, that stalwart of the Hairy A’s, happens to be passing by his with brand new molybdenum steel hockey stick. He intercepts GTs pass. Winding up for a slapshot that would make Bobby Hull jealous, he hits the asphalt ball as hard as he can. The ball rolls about 6 inches and Marque Elf, who usually does not talk about himself in the 3rd person, stands there vibrating like a Hendrix guitar string hoping for another even to catch his pass when…
danceswithcats exits the theater along with other budgie-lovers and pauses to observe the Vibrating Man™, and thinks about how that improves his dating prospects. Putting aside such carnal matters, he checks and verifies that the asphalt applied to the doperball was of appropriate PENNDOT spec, such that it has already deteriorated and fallen off.
Just then, the Piranha Borthers, pursued by Chocolate Cake, a horrific blimp, a burning dog, and OpalCat with a 1920s style death ray head round the corner onto Main Street, making all exclaim, “How the hell did they get into this thread?” before screaming and running for their lives.
Alone on Main Street, the lonely scarred but still buttery-smelling doperball is picked up by…
twickster, of course, who wonders whether the Piranha Borthers (those rascally odds) have somehow been called forth by the fact that she was thinking about them the other days. Lost in thought, she doesn’t notice the ball rolling away from her and straight towards…
Umm-being careful not to touch the ball, I’ll remind you that you’re the third even and can achieve scoritude.
…a weird fold in the space-time continuum that sends the ball right back to her, so she kicks it in the goal and scoooooooooooooooooores!
Wasting no time, danceswithcats puts the ball in play, disguised as a sheep, wondering if Hal Briston will be along to play.
Og love the man for all the ignominy he’s suffered under
We don’t need no stinkin’ odd Hal Briston, with or without his sheep. Let me pass the ball, though, to one of the late-night crew –
Feydeau, who happens to be awake, grabs the ballthing and shoots it thataway----
…where Enterprise, finally awake again, catches it, regrets momentarily not having been around to help out Sternvogel and gardentraveller during the night, and passes the ball on to…
gardentraveler, who regrets your absence as well as we are now down…9-3. Knowing that it’s not over till it’s over, she optimistically heaves the ball at…
…twickster, who managed to sleep past 7:30 this morning – all the way to 7:45! – and has time for a couple of chukkers before embarking on the day’s scheduled activities (chores, errands, and more chores). She notices someone has pasted tiny little mirrors all over the ball, so she heads off to look for a ladder, so she can hang it, but …
Feydeau hangs it for her, and runs off to the day. But…
…Enterprise, terribly annoyed by them damn glittery things people always hang on their ceilings, removes the ball and places it out on the sidewalk with a note saying “take it, I don’t want it” attached to it. It’s subsequently picked up by…
With my trusty FEMA-issue hockey stick, I’ll knock it off the ceiling and into the goal for SCORE!!!
Well, that was kinda close.
DAMMIT! No, DAMMIT didn’t pick it up, I was trumped out of a score by the dial-up trolls. So I’ll whack the glitterball down the street to…