The plague is upon us

It is a cursed year for the Dogs, the Pigs and the Cannibals. Our numbers have still dwindled and our warriors are fatigued. Yet our travels are to the ends of the realms and our enemies are mighty. This is the story of our foraging raid into the lands of the Homoans north of the river that runs red.

We have made the trek north to raid the Homoans land, led by our venerable shaman, Thomas the Bear; but the Homoans were prepared for us and although we found ourselves on the same path as a mighty Simbian warrior from the great falls of Witchitus, who donned our war colors; they smote us mightily. They were fierce and evil warriors, who were found to cheat like politicians in an election year. They made unmanly attacks on honorable men, and our ire was so stirred that one of our champions, John Longbow the Mariner, smote their field general in his face with a great ham hock of a fist. There was much gnashing of the teeth and beating of spears on shields from both sides of the battle line. Even our wisest and most grizzled warrior, Doug the Coyote Whisperer, was vexed by their cowardice and he smoked their most corpulent lock, Sausage the Savage, in his jelly roll eye. This impressed their ranks. yet they continued to put our warriors under their sword. Finally, our friendly fellow traveller drew their blood from amidst their heartiest ranks and the Homoans were so impressed with his ferocity that they fed us and plied us with beer at the Temple of the Iguana before bidding us safe passage home. We departed with injuries and some of our most experienced warriors were forced to retire to our home to heal.

The rest of us continued to rape and pillage in that unwholesome land of the wicked Homoans. The trip home was fraught with peril from roving bands of Boonic cowboys and large women who grazed on the field of Normanville. We overran a small hamlet in the valley of Lawlessness and took refuge in their natural hot springs. We broke camp upon the third day of our raid for glory and beer, trying by day and scoring by night; and we encountered a band of mercenaries in that valley of Lawlessness. That fateful day we were without our friend from Simba, but had been joined by several more Dogs who were found to wandering in the vast wilderness outside of the heaven knownst as Texas. Ron the rambler and Cody stoneboots joined our ranks and with them travelled Hobie the swift, who was previously injured and was forced to retire from the battle field early. These mercenaries were gargantuan. They were fit and fast and fierce, yet fought with honour and yielded safe quarter to vanquished Dogs at every turn. We fought valiantly, but in vain, for the mercenaries pummeled us into submission. In an odd twist of brutality, they were found to be jovial in battle and often relinquished the upper hand of warfare to us in an amazing display of truly honourable fighting spirit. It seemed like they were more willing to battle for the sake of battling than to the death and therefore have earned the respect and gratitude of the Dogs. Their reputations as great warriors and honourable opponents will precede them where ever the travel across the lands and all the bards, such as I, will sing of their glorified deeds and great prowess upon the battlefields. Once again, though they smote us at every turn and vexed our every sword thrust with a strong parry and counterattack, they were bloodied. This time by our great shaman, Thomas the Bear. He strode through their midst like a giant amongst vikings, capable men hanging off of his every limb as he sped through their ranks to draw blood from their very safe haven, the try zone. At the end of the battle we retired to the haven know as Dirty's and ate chicken wings and drank whiskey and beer.

And the Prince of Nothingness and the God of Everything, looked not upon us as our conversions fell the wayside at every score. But they blessed us with the ability to fight another day as we made quick passage back to our own homeland in Mudville.

There is a plague upon the Dogs, and as we may well be cursed, we still have great warriors who suit up to battle our opponents when their names are called. Yet we have amongst our ranks some vile scallywags, unmanly men who laugh from the safety of the forests as their brothers fight for honour; punk-assed, little sissies such as Omar the Hollow, Steven the Faggie, Matt of the fair weather, and even newly found confused warriors like Charlie of the unset alarm clock. Yet for each of these warriors, we have one more who can be named with pride and admiration, newly blooded men such as Josh the Spark, Chris the Colombian, Christian Quickstrike, KC Foulfoot and Daniel the Monkey.

When will the Nothingness and the Everything find our hearts pure once again, and allow the egg to bounce favorably for the Dogs? Maybe soon, and we will find out for there are grumblings across the land that the Mavericks of Arlingtonia will be mounting a strike force for our lands soon; and we have our own pillaging party planned to travel East to find griffin eggs and pretty lasses. May the ball bounce with us. Slainte!

updates from the Bard of the Dogs

Aye and the year being twenty and naught nine, the Dogs and Cannibals have wandered the fields for months. We have have seen our numbers dwindle to seven and then a few, but the Lord of the Everything and the Prince of the Nothingness have found our steps to be favorable once again. Lo and the numbers of the clans of the Flying Pigs and the Dogs and the Cannibals have swollen like a slut's belly and sprouted forth many new warriors for the waging of rugby.

They being Daniel the Monkey, Adam the Belly Dancer and Ceasar of the Sweet Dick, Josh the man Princess and Chris the Teaser among many others who have yet to make a name for themselves in the tales of the Bard.

Yea and the Dogs and a few Cannibals have been beaten down by the cloven foot Rams from the southeast. Though they wear yellow they fear us not and smite us handily on our own grounds. But we have found favor with the gods of the bouncing egg, and smote them too in front of their women and children. And such was the awesomeness of the match that we retired to the cave of the Lone Wolf and drank with the witch of San Angelo. She took her opportunity and bedevilled Ceasar of the Sweet Dick and made him spew forth his belly full of ale. And we over ran the walls of the Rams fortress and took for ourselves a rugby queen and sang horrible things about her scraggly hair and cum stained teeth. But we pressed our luck with the rugby gods and when we sang rudely about her sagging breasts she pelted us with the vilest of quaffs and left our young prop in training wet like a young, horny lass!

And our waywardness led us north and east to the land of the Griffyns. We were set upon by the giant beasts and they tore our flesh and broke our prettiest warrior's nose while in the air. They stole from our possession the magical Rheinlander Cup and have hidden it deep in their belly for a full year! And they have made deals behind our backs with one of our own who is a traitor and plays like a fucking girl! He is an abomination who uses hair gel and wears lacy panties! He shall forever be known as Silky the Jester!

And the curse upon us still plagues us and keeps us driven from our own hallowed grounds! We are forced to march to the lands of the sodomites, know as the weird hallow of the Armadillos! Were the mighty transvestite clan know as the UTGrads who wear the ugly orange have beaten us like we owe them monies! Yea and our own mighty warriors were to afraid to take up arms against their oppressors and we had to rely on the Huns to give us warriors. But the Huns were not scared and smote the transvestites with all their speed and grace and bequeathed to our effort that day 21 points. Yea and the only points garnered by the Dogs and the Cannibals were three points scraped from the shoe of a Hun at his fearless charge against the pantie wearers! And Shroom the Bard fro Mudville and a known Cannibal was able to kick the bouncing egg like a baby through the posts for three solitary points.

But the transvestites were too mighty as they played for the memory of their god, Leslie the Transient! And they smote the travelling Dogs and Cannibals for 43 points to 24 and took great pleasure in taunting us at the watering hole, fado! And they paraded the many freaks and abominations in the streets as a warning to us not to forget the ass whooping of the day.

And they praised only one from the Dogs and the Cannibals that day, and it was the mighty Shroom the Bard, who was forced to have a bear fight in his belly!

But the Dogs and the Cannibals have returned home safe and sound with but a few knocks to the head and another broken nose. And such is the punishment for those who have tingly vaginas for teammates. For when you travel light you lose right and the ass whooping is to be remembered for weeks on end until the rematch cometh on the calendar.

Yea and the cup matcheth cometh soon. And the Dog-assed Huns will make the trek across the rolling hills and through the desert to the hallowed grounds of the Dogs and the Pigs and the Cannibals. Then we will see if the Dogs warriors grow sets of balls and show up to wage rugby upon their enemies!

So sayeth the Bard!

The Prophet screws up!!

But the Lord found anger at Shroom and the Cannibals, and sent unto them a mighty plague.

Twas it frogs? No, frogs be for Black Hockey Jesus and the pharoah and the Egyptians. Twas it gnats? No, gnats are for Washington DC! Twas a plague of the insidious referee's whistle.

Aye, the Cannibals were plagued by penalties for near two score minutes, verily a whole half! They were with hands in the ruck; and they were entering the ruck from not straight; and they were not rolling away from the magical bouncing egg at the breakdown, thereby slowing the dog-assed Huns egg.

And the evil whistle blowers did wage a mighty attack upon the Cannibals. And the Cannibals were afraid, so that their Lord would not be an angry god at them anymore, they sacrificed a flanker to the Sin Bin. And he did languish in the bin for a full ten minutes, and he felt much shame for being a sin binner.

And the Lord lifted his anger and allowed the Cannibals to wage rugby once more on the dog-assed Huns!! Yea, and the Cannibals sent mighty warrior after mighty warrior at the dog-assed Huns and they smote them repeatedly with the driving elbow and the rock hard forearm.

Then, Doboy, one of the mightiest of the Cannibals did smite to the ground the dog-assed Huns most noble fighter, Kirk of the Man-Tates, and lo he smote him with the power step stiff arm combo, and it was good. Good enough for five points and an easy conversion.

Snipets from the prophet (before he realized he was a prophet)

I was jogging around the rugby pitch, warming up for the weekend game. When The Lord spoke unto me.

He said, "Shroom! Shroom, I want you to hit the hole between the fly-half and the inside center today, and I want you to hit it at speed."

I replied, "But Lord, we play the dog-assed Huns today and they surely watcheth the fly-inside hole."

And he replied, "Do not runneth to the hole half-heartedly, but attack the hole with all your might! Drive the hole! Pound the hole, until your foes are stacked three deep to stop thy penetration!"

And I said, "Yes, my Lord. I will surely attacketh thus the whole hole and not half-heartedly, but with all my might will I smite the Huns that stand betwixt me and the try line! Please, Lord, if it be thine will, give to me a blind side winger to offload to in the tackle, so that if I fall to the dog-assed Huns, that he may be able to touch down the magic bouncing egg and secure five glorious points in thy name!"

And the Lord gave unto me, a blindside winger to offload to. And the offloading was good.

Amen.

The Playoffs

Lo and on the 4th day of the month of April in the first year of the Book of Shroom, there was a mighty clamor across Texas, and the armies of the clans descended upon the buxom city of Austin to wage rugby against each other. For there was uprising and dissent amongst the clans, as the Crusaders from Yokelhoma laid claim upon the top seed and the other clans laughed and scoffed at the claim and sent their most mighty warriors to wage glorious rugby upon each other to prove who was truly the strongest.

And the Buggerers from Fort Worth took up their arms against the Defenders of Alamo City, and smote them with the powerful pack play and ferocious ball retention game plan. But the Defenders did not go quietly into the third place match, but fought with all their energy and sent flankers and their eight looping into the second and third phases to try to punish the Buggerers. But the Buggerers hearts were pure and they withstood the assault and triumphed victoriously in the face of the Defenders.

And as the Defenders and the Buggerers retired to their camps, the Dog-assed Huns took up their colors against the hated Blacks of the buxom city of Austin. But the Blacks were waging rugby on the hallowed grounds of their own pitch, the sacred Burr Field, where the ghosts of martyrs and warriors past watch the rugby from the heavens above and from the sideline with beers in hand and love in their hearts and anger on their tongues, for they hateth the Dog-assed Huns with a vengeance! And the Blacks smote the Dog-assed Huns and laid them to waste in their own defeat. And the Huns were forced to retire to their own sacred grounds, known as Nasty’s; where the plotted again to wage rugby upon their sworn enemies, The Blacks.

After the dead were buried and the wounded eaten, the Crusaders of Yokelhoma donned their colors to wage rugby upon the Knights of McAlien, but the Crusaders were blinded by the false hope of the impure northern division, and were laid low in defeat by the Knights for they playeth in a division with abominations and noobies!! And the Knights sharpened their attacking skills in preparation for a fiercer battle of rugby with the Buggerers from Fort Worthlessness.
And the Nothingness and the Everything looked down upon the hallowed ground known as Burr Field and they smiled upon the rugby waged there that glorious Saturday, for Saturday is a rugby day, and verily did Jesus, Buddha, Chuck Norris, Captain Tackles McCaw, Stan Venable and Memo drink a beer together and proclaim that it was a glorious rugby day.

And the Saturday night party was good.

Yeah, and though the Shroom and the Waylon did oversleep with their hangovers and miss the waging of rugby for the third place; they did make feat with Jack and maketh it to the allowed ground known as Burr Field for the final waging of rugby betwixt the Buggerers from Fort Worthlessness and the Knights from McAlien.

And the Buggerers sent out mighty warriors in the likes of Dan the Dangerous, Shep the fister, Spence of the long straight boot, Jacobi the swift of foot, Buddy love the Halfling scrumhalf with a dwarf’s beard, the brothers Kevin and Brian of the house of the Purple Frog, and Kevin the confused who wears pads like a woman and struts like a peacock! And they were mentored and assisted by the powerful wizards from the past, Theo the Springbok and Dueling Dalton the stogie smoker! And they were met on the battlefield by the like of Carlos of the beach thong, Omar with the square pants, Longo the spliff-eater, Jesse the flanker with hair gel, and many more whom I do not know for they did not offer me a beer or share their contraband with me. But the rugby powers deserted them in their moment of need and let their balls run long out the back of the try zone verily for the whole game. And the Buggerers, buoyed by their favored status with the rugby powers did smite the knights thusly 26 glorious points to seven.

And The Playoffs were good, and Memo said "Gigidy, gigidy!! Awl right!"

The Book of Shroom

In the beginning, there was Nothing. And the Nothingness consumed Everything until Everything was getting very tired of the Nothingness consuming it. So Everything rose up against the Nothingness and waged a mighty struggle against it's oppressor, and the struggle was named "rugby".

And the rugby was good.

And Everything was delighted to wage rugby against the evil oppressor, Nothingness; and the Nothingness was equally delighted to wage rugby against the wholesomeness called Everything. And thus, Saturday was borne into existance.

And the Saturday was good.

Lo, and the Saturdays went on verily for many years, with the Nothingness and the Everything waging rugby against each other, so much so that their very existance grew weary of the knocks and lumps acquired during rugby and sent out minions to do their bidding of waging rugby against each other. And the minions were many and varied. Verily the minions came in many shapes and sizes, and they waged rugby against each other in many forms. Many minions, not being the Nothingness or the Everything, perished gloriously in the rugby and were lamented and heralded as martyrs of the rugby and their memories were celebrated on the Saturdays after the waging of rugby. Lo, all the minions would come together after a full Saturday of waging rugby and they would festive themselves together in the spirit of the past minions so that the memories would live on despite the Nothingness and the Everything.

And the festivities were good.

Of the minions, many and varied, verily there were clans of minions who stood out amongst all the minions who waged rugby against each other. And these clans were known throughout the lands as the Crusaders of Yokelhoma, as the Buggerers of Fort Worthlessness, as the Defenders of the Alahomo City, as the Knights of McAlien, as the Knights of DORC, as the Mavericks of JerryJonestown, as the Tomcats of St. Thumbass, and as the Moroons of Dentonsilyogurt. And lo there were other clans, but they huddled in the outsideness and ineptitude of the hallowed grounds known as The Playoffs.

And The Playoffs were good.

And these lessor clans felt much shame, and they walked the sidelines of The Playoffs in their ashes and their rags and with their beers, and they taunted and and cheered the other clans as the waged their rugby against one another. And these lessor clans were known as the Reds of Dallasses, as the Dog-assed Huns, as the Ugly Orangeness of UT, as the Mad Dogs of Mudville, as the Griffins of the Metrosex, as the Diablos of Dalasses, as the Gunners of Fort Syphilis, as the Crabs of CorporateChristi, as the Cougars of Hotown, and as the Heathens of Galvestonsilyogurt. And there were many more clans, but they were known to wage rugby in a different division and therefore do not matter unto the Nothingness and the Everything.

And the different clans were good.

Amen.