The One That Got Away

Let me get this out in the open before we start . . .I love B.O.O.B.S.

When you love B.O.O.B.S. as much as I do, its easy to get caught up in the many positive aspects of the organization. Lets face it, thus far just about all of the talk surrounding the B.O.O.B.S. bocce organization has been positive. In fact, “positive” is not a strong enough word to describe the enthusiastic acclaim that has been heaped upon B.O.O.B.S. members from seemingly every direction…

Its safe to say that when people talk about B.O.O.B.S. their face lights up with an awe inspired look of wonderment that only B.O.O.B.S. can inspire. All the B.O.O.B.S. members are really proud to be a part of an organization that is as blissfully perfect as B.O.O.B.S. has turned out to be, and why shouldn’t they be proud? B.O.O.B.S. offers good friends, good beer, and good bocce, it has become heaven on earth, an unmitigated success on every level. However, there is one blemish mixed in with all of B.O.O.B.S. countless successes and accomplishments. Lest I be labeled a “company man,” I am going to go ahead and examine this one blemish marring what are otherwise perfectly formed and exquisite B.O.O.B.S.

You might be surprised to find out what this blemish is. You might also be surprised to discover that this blemish is not a “what” at all . . .it’s a “who.” So who is this human blemish that has cast a dark stain on an otherwise flawless panorama of B.O.O.B.S.? It’s a man named Brooks Moats.

Brooks Moats, the human blemish!!! It has kind of a wonderfully acrimonious ring to it doesn’t it? I think so. But before I skew your opinion of Brooks any more, let me go ahead and explain the circumstances that lead me to write this article:

The B.O.O.B.S. roster was put together on a rainy May afternoon, in a back room meeting of wise and powerful senior B.O.O.B.S. members. The roster was assembled by combining two lists: a “maybe” list, consisting of people who B.O.O.B.S. may or may not be interested in allowing to join its bocce league, and a “definite” list, consisting of a select few human beings who possessed the right character traits and enthusiasm to become keystone members of the B.O.O.B.S. organization for years to come.

Of course, given the elite nature of the bocce league, not all potential B.O.O.B.S. members could be allowed to join the organization. Since the “definite” list was made up of people who were born to take part in the B.O.O.B.S. organization, the wise and powerful senior B.O.O.B.S. members concentrated their efforts on recruiting only the most desirable bocce players from the “maybe” list. Much to the senior members delight, every player they had targeted on the “maybe” list showed an immediate interest in joining the B.O.O.B.S. organization, thus insuring that B.O.O.O.B.S. was made up of only the best and brightest individuals. In other words, there was not a “second choice” in the bunch.

Just when the senior members thought they had assembled the ultimate roster, the unthinkable occurred. A tragedy the likes of which has never transpired before or since in B.O.O.B.S. history. One of the players from the “definite” list defected. As I’m sure you have guessed, this players name is Brooks Moats.

At this point you must be thinking, “What kind of man would turn his back on such a wonderful organization?” Well, Brooks Moats is not the monster you might expect him to be. As a matter of fact, Brooks remains a very close friend to all the wise and powerful senior B.O.O.B.S. members who run this organization, and as a result I was instructed to compose this article to “set the record straight” and to show everybody “what kind of man Brooks Moats really is.” So, without further adieu, let me present to you my response to this request by the senior members.

An ode to Brooks Moats

B stands for the Bestest Bud the world has ever known.
R stands for the Ring I hear when Brooks calls me on the phone.
O stands for the Overall great guy that Brooks Moats is.
The second O stands for his Other-half, who he moved to be with.
K stands for me kicking Brooks in the balls because he up and left town just as we were starting our bocce league. Hey Brooks, I got a K word for you – MOTHER FUCKER – as in Brooks Moats is one fucked up MOTHER FUCKER. How do you like that K word Brooks? You don’t, do you, you mother fucker.

EDITOR’S NOTE: We profusely apologize. Unfortunately Paul’s temper sometimes gets a little out of hand. You know what they say about Italian’s and their tempers. Paul has had a little time to cool off, and he’s now ready to finish the article in a mature and professional manner. Please try to forget that this last paragraph ever happened.

(Where was I . . . K? . . . alright.)
K is for the Kiss that Brooks’s Mom gave him goodbye.
S is for the Sadness, and the tears in all our eyes. We Miss you Brooks!

Jesus that was gay. I wrote it and now I feel so dirty. You want to know the truth? The truth is, everybody’s having a great time getting drunk and playing bocce, and nobody misses that fuck in the slightest. “Tears in all our eyes” – yea right! Were MEN, that’s M-E-N, it spells MEN, and men don’t cry. Brooks, might cry though, because he’s really more of a little bitch than a man. I could help him with that crying problem though. Just tell him to show his face in Syracuse again, and I’d be happy to shove a corkscrew in his eyeball, twist it, pull out a big ass chunk of his eye and make SMORES with it. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about being able to cry anymore would he?

EDITOR’S NOTE: Please forgive us. Unfortunately in our haste to get this article out on schedule it seems we allowed Paul to start back on this writing task before he was entirely cooled down and ready to write in a calm and professional manner. Let us assure you that this problem will not happen again. Please enjoy the rest of the article.

For the record, I’m supposed to say that Brooks Moats did NOT stab anybody in the back. In fact, his support of the B.O.O.B.S. organization when it was in its infancy was integral to the overall success of the league. Brooks, had only the best interests of everyone involved in mind when he moved down South in search of a better life – and the B.O.O.B.S. organization wishes him nothing but the best. Furthermore, the B.O.O.B.S. organization would like to point out that it could not be happier with its roster as it currently stands, and although B.O.O.B.S. will always miss Brooks’s companionship, they are sure that both parties are better off the way things turned out.

So, in conclusion, B.O.O.B.S. would like to extend “a formal thank you” to Brooks Moats, and say “that without your loyal support, our league would have never came together in the first place.”

And Paul would like to extend a formal “fuck you” to the bitch who fucked everybody over to move down South, and say “that moving down South is the stupidest fucking thing that anybody has ever done in the history of the world.” Lets count the ways that living down South is better than living in Syracuse. First of all, you’ll fit right in (what with your low IQ and all). Second of all, who wouldn’t want to spend their life surrounded by a bunch of red neck hicks who fuck their sisters for fun? I mean, how can you go wrong living with people who fought a war IN SUPPORT OF SLAVERY. Hey Brooks, did you ever see the movie Deliverance? I’d start working on squealing like a pig now if I were you.

EDITOR’S NOTE: The views expressed by Paul Colabufo in this article do not represent the views of the B.O.O.B.S. bocce organization as a whole.

Yea . . . my bosses want me to tell you that B.O.O.B.S. is in no way against the unique culture that can only be found in the Southern part of the United States of America, and in the spirit of goodwill, B.O.O.B.S. plans on expanding the league below the Mason-Dixon line just as soon as it is finished expanding into the Eastern part of the U.S., the Western part of the U.S., Canada, Europe, Asia, South America, Antarctica, and other planets.

See Brooks, its only a matter of time before your once again a part of the B.O.O.B.S. family, and let me be the first to say that when that day finally comes . . . you’re a fucking dead man.

EDITOR’S NOTE: In retrospect, having Paul write this article was not the best idea in the world. So were pulling the plug right now. Paul will be apologizing to our loyal readers for his statements, which were clearly out of line and not in tune with the professional journalism normally associated with the B.O.O.B.S. website.

I apologize to the proud people who live in the South. This was never really about you. You kind of just got caught up in the cross-fire. This was really about the person I owe the biggest apology to, Brooks Moats.

I apologize to Brooks. Your IQ is not as low as people from the South, and you will probably never be sodomized like the guy from Deliverance. In fact, I think you will represent B.O.O.B.S. South better than any other man could. Although you never actually became a member of the B.O.O.B.S. organization, you always drank like one, and for that I thank you.