dodgeballteam

dodgeballteam: a totally authorized and definitely for-profit biography*

A long, long, longlongLONG time ago. Before the beginning of time, there was, like, I guess some sorta Mexican fighting chinchilla. Perchance. Like, not a groundhog (although I guess that would be fitting given when all this jazz is all going down), but definitely equally, if not EVEN MORE formidable. Maybe a mongoose? Those eat the snakes, right? Perchance. Guess we’ll find out if any snakes show up. Listen, man—it wasn’t a duck, though. Let’s make that bit abundantly clear right here right now.

So one day homeboy was like: “Pass them chips, Boris Dudeakoff. I’m friggen’ STARVING over here!” But turns out there was no one around to hear him. I told you this was before the beginning of time, right? Angus was still in Vancouver, even. Probably drinkin’ outta cups like some Kitsilano Kabbage.

So—to recap—chinchilla, no chips. What’s a self-respecting possibly-mongoose to do in a situation like that? I dunno man, I’m asking you. I can’t do all the work on this thing; you’re gonna have to meet me halfway at some point. Like, let’s say once we get about 87% of the way there it’s really about time you met me halfway, y’know?

Homegoose (but NOT a duck! Still can’t stress that enough) probably spit on the ground, I bet.

Perchance.

And then lo and behold that thing spat right back at him! Turns out, time had totally begun ages ago and there was I guess like a badger or something all bunkered up in there getting spit on.

HA! Plot twist. Flippin’ the script all over the place on ya. Try to keep up.

Left, right, center, frontback and UPdown. You ever heard of Cirque du Soleil? Well, that badger definitely hadn’t. But if they saw how he flipped scripts you bet your sweet, sweet Cosmic-Crisp apple they woulda bowed down to in both shock and awe. Probably sacrificed an apple to him and everything.

So then there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. And by that I mean spitting. They spat at each other both spitfully and spitefully. That jazz went on for literal YEARS, dudes and dudettes. Perchance.

I mean, I wasn’t there. I guess they probably stopped once in a while to hydrate. Migrate. Maybe gyrate. Whatever those weirdos are into. Don’t yuck a chinchilla’s yum, that’s what I say.

Then what happened? BAM! Leprosy.

That’s what life was like back then, children. Seriously. And that’s what happens when badgers be spittin’. I’ve seen it go down, man. Let this be a warning to you.

So then it was all like “Alright everybloody quit it with the spitting whydon’tcha? And the leprosy. Did you invent airplanes yet? Well SCRAP THOSE! They’re not going NOWHERE! Also, you’re all ugly and your breath stinks, so slap some kinda Pampers or something on your faces so I don’t have to look atcha.”

Then that went on for more LITERAL YEARS, dear reader. It was a bum deal, and they all knew it. But still better than a story about ducks.

So then everyone grew opposable thumbs and started throwing rocks instead of spitting. Eventually they got hotter, popped some ambiguously-flavored and possibly carcinogenic gum, and ditched the Pampers too. But then the rocks also really hurt, man. So then Angus rolled in from Vancity with them POLYURETHANE BALLS, bebeeeeeee!

HA! Didn’t expect that curveball, didja? It’s all coming together, man. Buckle UP!

After that, the rest is LITERAL HISTORY. Read a book, ‘cause it’s all in there. Napoleon, maybe? Perchance. Why not? Pew pew!

Then at some point there was a dodgeball league. And then a team. But we couldn’t be bothered to name that jazz, so this happened instead.

Friggen sue me. I mean, Angus is probably gonna.

Moral of the story? Don’t get leprosy, bruv.

*The following statements have been approved by absolutely no one, and should most definitely not be read by anybody. Especially any smelly ducks.has context menu