50-48 #42: OMFG

50-48 #42: OMFG

OMFG! WTF?! I am sooo not ROTFLMAO! ULM?! ULM!! We might very well be SOL. It’s times like these when 50-48 is glad to have its BFFs.
I use the aforementioned kiddie-speak because forming real words hurts too much. As we all know by now, the Hogs squeaked out a one-point victory against the mighty Warhawks of Northeast Louisiana University on Saturday, leaving only slivers of hope, resting dangerously on the floor in front of us, for our game next week against The Evil Empire. Are we doomed?

No.

Against its better judgment, 50-48 would like to offer the following reminder that we have a chance:

Once upon a time, long, long ago, there lived a mild mannered, unassuming, otherwise unremarkable black kid. Like many similar black kids, he took up a trade. Black kids—particularly those of the mild mannered, unassuming, otherwise unremarkable variety—as you probably know, don’t really participate on an equal playing field, crushed down as they are by a white society that is too busy patting itself on the back for racial tolerance to wake up and recognize that black kids, for the most part, are left with far fewer options than their white counterparts. And so, as did so many comparable black kids before and after him, he went into construction.

So it goes.

As do many working-class stiffs with few options and no real cathartic outlet, this particular black kid turned in his time of trouble to God. Simple folks usually do. But this time God, wouldn’t you know it, talked back. God, it turns out, loves mild mannered, unassuming, otherwise unremarkable black kids. “Construction not really working out for you?” asked God. “Then why don’t you stop building things. Instead, go help the poor, and the sick, and the crippled, and the diseased. Don’t worry. The world can live without your crappy knick-knacks. I can count on one hand the number of times that a breakfast nook changed the world. But helping the poor, well…”

So it was that this particular black kid began traveling around, doing good deeds and arguing for the societal necessity of bettering the living conditions of society’s lower classes. On a couple of occasions, he jumped up on his high horse and claimed that he, too, was God. This made people laugh. And why not? He was, after all, a mild mannered, unassuming, otherwise unremarkable black kid.

The Evil Empire under which he lived, however, didn’t like the poor folks talk and the necessary rich-people-suck talk that went with it. They also weren’t too fond of the God stuff. They laughed, too. But it was more a maniacal laugh, like after Frankenstein finished his monster. And so they arrested him. Then they killed him.

So it goes.

Along the way, the former mild mannered, unassuming, otherwise unremarkable black kid had grown into an ornery, pompous, remarkable black man, and had—as ornery, pompous, remarkable black men are prone to do—developed a devoted following of twelve (probably gay) buddies. His homo friends responded to his execution thusly: “OMFG! WTF?! We are sooo not ROTFLMAO! We might very well be SOL. It’s times like these when we disciples are glad to have our BFFs.”

It seemed for all the world like the black man had lost to the Evil Empire. Like there was no hope. Like all was ultimately lost. But then, on Sunday, that ornery, pompous, remarkable black man rose from the dead, a legitimate, real-life zombie. Like all zombies, he was hungry for brains. So he went to the capital of the Evil Empire, and went on a petrifying killing spree, devouring the brains of everyone in the oppressive government, and thereby bringing the empire to its knees. Concerned that his unquenchable appetite for human brains might eventually encroach upon his BFF status with his homo buddies, he then mounted a spaceship cleverly disguised as a cloud, and rode off to a special zombie planet on the other side of the Milky Way, where, in one of the great ironies of galactic life, residents dine daily on the brains of mild mannered, unassuming, otherwise unremarkable white kids.

He still lives there. Christians call that zombie planet “Heaven.”

So it goes.

There is in the above tale a lesson for us all. The University of Texas at Austin Longhorns are the Evil Empire. We are the mild mannered, unassuming, otherwise unremarkable black kid. Sure, we have been laughed at and killed the last couple of weeks by an underperforming football team that seems preternaturally determined to give me a brain aneurism before the end of the month. But now is the time when we rise from the dead and become the brain-eating zombie that God wants us to be.

God loves zombies! He made an entire planet for them on the other side of the Milky Way! We must live out our religious destiny! We must feast on the brains of the living! And, in particular, the brains of those living in the concrete wasteland that is Austin, Texas! We don’t just want victory! We want unimaginable carnage! We want brains! And if that magical fairy story that Christians seem to like so much is any indication, then God has destined us to eat those brains! We are the undead! And we are going to the zombie planet when we’re done!

Everyone in Austin will be rendered helpless. They will say, “OMFG! WTF?! We are sooo not ROTFLMAO! We might very well be SOL. It’s times like these when we Longhorns are glad to have our BFFs. (And by BFFs, we mean the twelve-year-old boys we sodomize daily.)”*

Here endeth the lesson.

50-48
Fuck Texas
WPS

*[EDITOR’S NOTE: Every male in Austin, Texas is a pederast.]**

**[EDITOR’S NOTE ABOUT THE EDITOR’S NOTE: Did you know that Horatio Alger (the writer who created all those dime novels about poor boys picking themselves up by their bootstraps and becoming anything they wanted in America, thus giving rise to the phrase, "the Horatio Alger story") was once arrested in Cape Cod, Massachusetts for fucking mild mannered, unassuming, otherwise unremarkable white kids? Or, to wit: for "the abominable and revolting crime of gross familiarity with boys." Hmm. Bootstraps, indeed.]***

***[EDITOR’S NOTE TANGENTIALLY RELATED TO THAT LAST EDITOR’S NOTE: Speaking of pederasty and optimism, Hootie lost this week! It is a rare day, indeed, when anyone here at 50-48 roots against the SEC. But we were overjoyed to watch as the rough-and-tumble Demon Deacons of Wake Forest University (great advocates all of that magical fairy story that Christians seem to like so much) kicked a last second field goal to defeat the “University” of Mississippi Rebels. Hootie frowned. His dirty wife frowned. So, too, did a certain 300-lb bull dyke physical therapist in Little Rock. So it goes. I was, all the while, ROTFLMAO.]