Let's Blow Some Shit Up! -or- We're Not Talking About Our Season

Happy birthday, America.

I'm celebrating the 232nd anniversary of the birth of our country by doing what every intelligent, patriotic and large penised male in the country should be doing: I'm getting drunk, eating read meat, and blowing shit up.

I haven't lost a finger yet, and honestly, I'm a little disappointed in that. But I'll give it another shot tomorrow night and update the blog (slowly) if I do.

If I survive, I think I'll go on another vacation.

What I like to do this time of year is try to get as close to the fucking sun as possible. I also like to wait until gas costs more than cocaine, and then go on a 26 hour driving bender that would make John Belushi's partying habits look like a sewing circle. I also like to try and find a beach to pass out on, so eventually Will Smith will fly in and, thinking I'm a beached ocean mammal, toss me into the water. I also like to run into Pete Rose at a dog track and have him charge me $5 to ask him why he has the haircut of a half-a-retard.

And so I'm going to the only place where I can accomplish all of that: Florida. I'll bring you back some grapefruit or a shark's tooth necklace or something.

Oh yeah, we played a game this week. As you can tell by the picture below, it was a theme night. This week, in honor of Flemwad's return from boyscout camp, it was G.I. Wad Night.

We told everyone to come dressed like Tom does on an average Sunday afternoon at the beach. Ironically, he was the only one that didn't. (Melon's wearing a camouflaged speedo under his uniform.)

Good luck next week without me, boys. I'm sure you'll do great. And by "you'll do great" I mean that you'll lose by 15, drink 4,000 biers and sit around telling lies till midnight.

Celebrity Death Of The Week -or- We're Not Talking About Our Season

There are two names that come up when comedians are asked who they idolize in the business: Richard Pryor, and George Carlin. They're both fucking dead now. So it goes.

Carlin died last week at the age of 71, and ever since there's been a shit load of people saying very nice things about him everywhere you look. They are mostly dumb fucks, they annoy the shit out of me, and I imagine they would've annoyed him even more.

So we're keeping George in our thoughts. Somewhere between "This chair hurts my ass," and "Let's fuck that waitress!"

Of all the funny shit Carlin talked about, one line in particular seems to really apply to the Gashaus Gorillas. "Fuck hope."

Here's the boxscore from last week. Stats will be up in the morning.

I don't know how we're supposed to keep playing softball in a world where there is no Carlin or Vonnegut. But since we don't have much choice, we might as well have a theme night and kick Dynakleen's ass again tomorrow night.

Bring Bier.

The Gorillas Would Like To Sell You Some Snake-Skinned Boots -or- Cobra Commander Was A Pussy

The guy you see to the right here is Snake Pliskin. If Snake, as played by Kurt Russell in Escape from New York, was a softball team, he'd be the exact opposite of the team we played this Tuesday past, inappropriately called "The Snakes."

I'd like to say that the Gorillas resemble Kurt Russell's Snake, but in reality we're closer to his Dean Proffitt, the carpenter in Overboard that convinced a then-hot and amnesiatic (amnesia'd? amnesiafied? amnesiastic?) Goldie Hawn that she was his wife, mother of his 4 brats, and that she swallowed. We'd totally do that if we got the chance.

I remember seeing Overboard as a young teen that may or may not have been on the verge of a prolific drinking career. Two scenes really caught my attention: the one where the brats super-glued plates to Goldie's hands, and the part where she opens her bier bottle on the edge of a table. Since then I have splintered many a table trying to open biers, and have spent many a dollar on paper plates, krazy-glue and hookers.


I'm not even going to get into the habits I picked up from watching Private Benjamin.

Gorillas Are Photogenic -or- Gorilla Stats

I've decided not to comment on last Tuesday's game, or the below pictures of hat night, except to relate this tid-bit: When I showed someone these pictures, they said, "Damn, your whole team is getting fat!"

To which I replied, as I believe all Gorillas would have, by saying, "Fuck you. We've been fat."

We'll try to lose a few pounds stomping on some Snakes this Tuesday @ 7:00.

(As usual, click on images to see larger version.)

At Least We Had Plenty Of Ice -or- San Diego Grill Is Better

Not too long ago there was an earthquake here in what they call "fly-over" country. It wasn't a huge earthquake, but it was big enough to wake everyone up and knock the picture of Geovany Soto off my nightstand. We don't get a lot of earth-shakin' round here - unless you count that time we tried to build a human pyramid between innings - so it caught some people off gaurd.

There are lots of ways to react to a stressful situation. When the ground started trembling that early morning, the reaction from the Gorillas ran the gamut; from ignorance (D got out of bed and stop/drop/rolled) to apathy (Jeff continued to simultaneously play poker and look up kitten anime on the computer) to confusion (JT yelled at his mom to let him sleep just five more minutes) to panic (I ran across the street and fucked the neighbor's wife.)

So last night, when on the first play of the game McGru added a couple of knees to his right leg, I was curious to see how the team as a whole would react to seeing our emotional and facial-hair-growing leader go down in such pathetic dramatic fashion.

The answer? Not so good.

Sure, we gave it a valiant effort for a while, coming in and scoring four runs in the 1st and three more in the 2nd, but the gruesome injury obviously affected the team's mental state as the game wore on.

I'm not saying the team we were playing (I belive they represent L.A. Grill) doesn't deserve any credit. Obviously they were able to make enough plays to win. And that - along with coming up with a restaraunt with shitty atmosphere, a gimmicky bullshit menu devoid of taste, and a fuck-face snotty wait staff - deserves to be acknowledged. I mean sure, they were mostly little punks that failed their algebra finals because they were home playing Mario Cart and listening to Taylor Hicks songs instead of studying. And sure, they hit the middle like ten times, threw behind runners, and were unusually ugly. But they won the game, and for that, the Gorillas salute them.

That's the thing about the Gashaus Gorillas - we're good sports.

And next time we find ourselves in a stressfull situation, we'll be prepared.

There's a guy down the street that has a 19 year old daughter that looks like she's ready for a tornado.

Warm Bier, Hot Lesbians & Smokin' Bats -or- This Post Sponsored By Mr. Rob; The Letter J

Way back in the day, when the Gorillas used another website to update our countless fans across the interwebs, we put out a list of "rules." They were kinda gay, but they were more or less a guideline to what makes us so successful at winning bullshit softball games on Tuesdays whilst being fat, drunk and mostly nonathletic.

While we've been pretty fucking good at winning, we've been even better at having a helluva time. And somewhere in the haze of a post victory celebration last night, we figured out exactly what allows us to have so much fun without ever having hot lesbians at our games.

Actually, it's three things: Winning, Team Chemistry, and most of all, Bier.

The great thing about Bier is that it's an integral part of us winning games and having good chemistry. If you've ever seen us getting our ass kicked and yelling at each other during a way-too-sober 6 o'clock game, then you know what we're talking about. Honestly, some of these guys are real assholes, so if we weren't drinking and hitting softballs, we would probably be doing meth and hitting each other. So yah, bier is important.

Breaking it down even further, there are two requirements for enjoying our bier. The first, is that we bring bier to the games. Obviously that's the big one. While we rarely have issues with that factor, it's not to be taken for granted. We greatly appreciate it each and every time a Gorilla rolls in with some of that liquid gold. That brings us to number two: the bier must be kept at a drinkable temperature.

We suppose that if we were thirsty enough, or if the hot lesbians encouraged us, we would drink warm bier. But we'd rather not.

Just sayin'.

Mildly Surprising The World! -or- Power Ballad

The city tourney began last night, and by now you've already heard about the game between lovable underdogs, The Gashaus Gorillas, and the power haus Midwest/Adcraft Softball (playing under the pseudonym: Swat Pest).

We considered typing a complete game write-up - something we rarely do - because the game was so goddam exciting. Seriously, next to the Gorillas signature win over the Gawd Fearin' Bastards to win the league champeenship last summer, this was the most exciting win in the modern Gorilla Era. But today, as e-mails were flying and reporters were calling, we came across this nice write up about the epic win:

Ok, Jeremy Willis hit a screaming line drive off Nick's shin to lead off the game. That really pissed us off!
And then D went all Mark McGwire and put some balls in the stratosphere.
And then Nick went all Rick Ankiel on them and hit a bomb of his own to avenge that huge lump on his shin.
And then Adcraft hit like a gagillion hr's for outs.
And then Dant puked his guts...and more guts. Very Gorilla-esk.
And then Wolfey hit a ball that landed in B's glove.
And then Wolfey hit another ball that landed in D's glove as B just dove for it.
And then they walked Piglet to get to B....and B booped a screaming knuckler over Eagle's head to win the phukin game!
And then Todd Mazzier bad mouthed everyone on his team after the game.
And Elkie peeled out in the parking lot.
The end.

He may have missed a couple things in there somewhere, and we're not totally pleased with the Satanic Fowl references, but it keeps us from typing more and pretty much sums it up.

One thing we would like to point out, just in case someone with a position in the local Parks N Rec office stumbles across this here bloggy-thingy, in the 11 games of the summer league this year, the Gorillas hit exactly five home runs. Last night, using balls left over from last year, we hit eight, plus one for an out. (Oh, and we're not saying this, but we heard some other people saying that the home-plate umpire is an idiot of Paris Hilton proportions.)

So hey, the Gorillas go out again tonight to shock the world yet again, and hell, if we were gonna go thru all the trouble to play three fuckin' hours last night, we might as well win another game tonight and make it worth while.

Nobody Said Anything About Tight PANTS -or- HA-ha, Gerthy Struck Out. HA-ha!

Some things you just can't un-see. And boy, howdee, did we fill up on the ole' nightmare-fuel on Tuesday night.

Honestly, the picture above just doesn't do justice to how healthy we Gashaus Gorillas have become. And when we say "healthy," we mean, "fat and disgusting."

The picture reminds us of the "good lighting" girl from that Seinfeld episode. In the right lighting, we look pretty money. But if you were to observe, say, a third baseman holding a bat above his head menacingly whilst wearing a shirt about 8 sizes too small... you too would be begging your HMO for Cialis this week.

But hey, you didn't come here to see fat men dressed inappropriately, did you? You did? Well shit. Guess we shoulda taken a few more pictures then. Sorry bout that. We honestly thought you cared how the Gorillas did in their big game this week. But since you obviously don't, we'll just go on about our bi... what? You do want to know? Sweet! Okay...we'll tell ya.

We won.

It was awesome.

You shoulda been there.

Okay, look: we're not gonna bullshit ya. We really have nothing to say. We were gonna write some kind of hilarious post about Tim Donaghy fixing our game, Michael Vick betting on Snyder dying in our game, or Bud Selig deciding not to attend our game... but honestly, we just don't have it in us.

Let's just say it was very exciting, and we are still trying to recover emotionally, as well as physically.

The important thing, tho, is that we were able to put up the picture of the two hot chicks in what we like to think of as softball gear. And when we say "softball gear" we mean... ah, hell... you know what we mean.

Anyways, we beat Dynakleen on Tight Shirt Night, continuing our unbeaten streak on theme nights*. We'll try to continue that this coming Tuesday when we play for the champeenship of the world**.

Dress appropriately, okay?

* - We are not unbeaten on theme nights.

** - Champeenship is only of league. World domination is not total.

(update: D's mom wrote in and pointed out that he was actually 3-3 w/ a walk in the game. We're way too lazy to change the box-score tho. We'll adjust thet stats. Probably.)

July 17th Boxscore -or- Craptastic!

Being craptacular is not something to be all that proud of. But sometimes you can be crapilific, and still be just good enough to keep hopes up. The Chicago Cubs have proven that many times over the course of our lifetime.

The Gashaus Gorillas are on a quest to prove it as well, only on a more local, bullshit softball league kinda way. Actually, the many tiers of crapstandingness the Gorillas have touched this year - while somehow still staying quasi-relative - is somewhat impressive.

The game this Tuesday past was no exception. Three Gorillas didn't even bother showing up. BK claimed he was "working," which we took to mean he was looking up cartoon porn on a library computer in Boonville. McGru didn't call, but we can only assume he was drying his "Vegas Is For Lovas" shirt over and over. We don't know where the hell D was, but we're pretty sure he wasn't exercising there.

Knowing this, we postponed Tight Shirt Nite 'till next week so we could enjoy their meaty-midsection wonderfulness again this year. So one would think, without distractions or restrictive clothing, the Gorillas would've been ready to bust loose and put up a 20 spot on some unsuspecting punks with so little imagination they took their name from a crappy movie about dodge ball. One would be wrong.

Instead we were craptastic (some more than others) - yet good enough to win. Didn't see that coming, did ya?

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We continued to roll in crapola after the game as we, for some reason, listened to a poker game on the radio. (Next week we're bringing in a taped recording of the British Open.) Then we ran out of bier and went home not drunk enough to be funny or get laid by our chics, but plenty buzzed to draw attention from Jonny Law. The theme continues.

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It has truly been a mediocre year. So imagine our surprise when we looked up the standings for our league... and found that we have still been good enough to have a chance to win the fucker.

.

The Gorillas currently stand at 5-4, and it took a goddam miracle four-game winning streak to get there. Yet we are a scant 1/2 a game behind Dynakleen (who, at 5-3, has a rain-out to make up), and tied with a team we don't particularily like, El Diablo.

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We have two games left. We play Dynakleen this Tuesday. It's Tight Shirt Night. It would seem to us that the only thing left to do, as Jake said in Major League, is "win the whole fucking thing."

.

That wouldn't be so craptastic, would it?

July 10th Boxscore - or - Hat Trick

There are few things that please a crowd like a Gashaus Gorilla Theme Night. Sure, some consider it old hat*. Some might think the attention is getting to our heads*. Some claim that we've officialy flipped our lids*. But at the end of the day, they just have to tip their caps* and admit we are the coolest goddam thing since Dr. Seuss.
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This week we played a game against a team called El Diablo or some gay shit. They annoyed us greatly. They still annoy us. They are the reason we have five goddam 6 p.m. games this summer. For some reason they just had to play all their games @ 8. Fuck them.
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They had beaten us by a score of 15-12 earlier in the year. Fuck them.

They are a bunch of kids who round bases too far, throw behind runners, and slide into defensless cowboys on the basepaths. Fuck them.
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Little did they know that we never lose on theme nights**. Still, we needed all the Gorilla Theme Night Magic we could muster. The game went extra innings after a bottom of the 7th that was like a train wreck, only in the middle a woman gets raped and has a forced abortion. That is to say, it was pretty shitty to watch. But the Gorillas are nothing if not clutch (fat, slow, alcoholic and funny-looking), and on this night we were just clutch enough and gritted out a win.

Fuck them.
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The win gets us back to the .500 mark, after a decidedly shitty start, and gives us some hope of at least making things moderately interesting in the league.
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The next order of bidness is deciding what our theme night will be next week. The obvious choices are available, and new ideas are welcome. Throw your suggestion in the comments, or send an e-mail, and we'll put up a poll this weekend to decide.
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Our next game is @ 7 p.m. against "The Snakes" - an equally gay team name, and a team that I think beat us last time. I suspect we don't like them either.
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Fuck them.
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* - Not true
** - Not true

July 3rd Boxscore

June 19th - Box Score

Gonna try to catch up on the stats today.... (soft)

Boxscore, June 12th, 2007

June 5th Boxscore

Box-score 5/22/07

Box Score, May 14th