“Sick flick.” “Chilly.” “Skied like a bitch gets cock on 15onone.com.” These are not random phrases, rather they are quotes, often herby or herbacious (read en espanol: la h (hache???) en silencio) one might expect to hear on the sidelines of a game of disc, aka flatball, aka hightime, aka what the fuck is this “sport”? are you serious? No! no fucking way! it’s a frisbee! (g.o.b, brother of nelly)“CMON!” (tots obvi, fetch?), aka the real sports’ reject sport, and lastly, the common handle: ultimate.
Ultimate at Wes has a tradition unlike any other (vagueness is so hot, como bleshman, Raquel (prime asset:nice tatas, downside: sibling resemblance. the latter must win or im truly A gay)). We rep this school in such a way that yall (durrty south. holla holla) can be the fags that you are and not get shit upon entrance to the real world (good luck Herr Walk (read like hebrew for desired meaning). ha!).
Dicks we have (most, anyhow. the jury will be out till march on NAGS. yell it now, NAGSSSSSSS) and most definitely are. Ultimate began here, hollerations if one agrees that meddletown (shout out to fried, you only came twice (dat right?) but you’re forever in my heart. “i wuv you” (get a sense of humor, boy (racialized reading please. this school needs it. nuff sed). GOB utterance yet again (come on)! or was it metaltown? the former trumps in Nietzsch’s (slater’s) opinion)). No ignorant peers, the e’s not silent (nor speedy, beige ones are though), it is nonexistent. Similarly to savannah morals, a scotty horowitz walking on a second floor of PB (no J, later), and a sober gluEcose. Our only affiliation to Hitler’s beloved phizer is our chant: frisbee is dead, will to bid. Y’all can thank Doctor J (A. Jensen Kerr, not the known one… although?) for that one. Although no one would no it except the oligarchy it has remained a standby: too cool for this hipsta skool (k is the q).
Intros are what we’re about, and we are Nietzsch Factor, aka (mmhmm) Middletown Flatball Association (’05 lives on…the illest, zdavey and carrico know the score, maybe even nrussel if he’s alive. Phenom! Scotty ho too. This aside is spent). Ostensibly, we play the ultimate of frisbee sports, Ultimate in layman’s terms (ya still following?), but there is no shortage of depth to an accurate portrayal. We (most modestly) are the party, if so desired. To be fair. Commas are our water, capeesh mookie? 2am is no longer the bowl-with-friends hour; it is the kegstand-till-that-shit-be-kicked hour. My eyes are holy having witnessed many a showdown twixt Doc and Lucas over the past two years: two masters at work, least said indeed. Don’t know Doc? He WAS a Wes party and IS unemployed, a happy ending indeed (papapapUN, holla). 50 seconds aint no thang.
You’ll see us around: ubiquitous always, omnipotent often, omniscient for life. Weekdays are playdays, and weeknights are playnights. Weekends are for the meek (a wes specialty (weswing’s lasagna is very similar)). If ya havent heard, you’ve now been enlightened. ya heard!?! Some will attempt to walk with us in the poser fashion (punter, this is you. but you still my boo forever. gorin and toe’sunappendage (foot, jesus fucking christ! “you’re bitching at a 25 hour day. if i had an extra hour i’d”…oh Doc…Anna who I saw at a show in Chicago witnessed a true disgrace to proper western dialogue)) Man , your said appendages are treading this fine white line. Diaz the mex as well. We miss you babies. Email sufficed though, right? Know who hopes it did? THIS GUY!) High, medium, or low is our mating call, and our procreation requires the proper answer (hin’t: low is PCU pussy talk), this shit aint situational neither, it’s college and the basis for the true SBK __ (’06 will do for now. Expiration date reads 3/10/07.)
Savannah is our shit, and we are Wesleyan’s saving, ney, amazing grace. The media storm (ala CLake) has begun, this time with a mesquite flavor. The ball has been dropped, but it don’t roll so don’t fret. The ball is flat, and that means it flies through the milky white sky. Oh me, my name is Lollipop, and my motto is “make my funk the Pfunk, i wants to get funked up.” I do have Parliament on my ipod (why you always asking, saffaroni), wait…my late ipod. Segues that usher the end are my shit, audience concur?
Walls only break our bones (huesos de manos), our spirit goes right through ’em, straight into the opponents’ hatred (social networking means nothing to this squad in the post-Abes years). How is this known you ask, scientific method. SM for life, and with it the proven hypothesis (plural when ambitious) prover: trial and error. Lollipop is often guilty of the latter, but how many licks? No one can ever know (one punch though). NF NF NF (the good guys). Point game—the opposition: second half SOP, but change is welcome (forthcoming?), as are morning byes…aint that the truff, ruth. A media blitz has begun. Sophs and frosh, welcome to Wesleyan Jewniversity Inc. Disgusting, I know…
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