Call Up The OED.

Nobangtionship - [no - bang - shuhn - ship] - NOUN
A very specific relationship stalemate between two friends. One member appreciates the relationship as a close, personal, and immensely fulfilling platonic friendship, with no romantic desires of any kind. This member feels threatened whenever any potential mate approaches the other member, even going so far as to sabotage the other member's advances towards any outside party. Conversely, the other member would like nothing more than to engage in some seriously savage slamming with the first member ASAP.

"Hey girl, are you and Brett dating."
"EW no! He's like a brother and such a good listener. I feel like I can tell him anything."

"Yo Brett that girl's hot, are you banging?"
"I fucking wish dude, I'm so sick of listening to her shit with zero bang-a-rang to show for it. I'm stuck in a decidedly unbonerific nobangtionship."


Unfind - [uhn - fahynd] - VERB
The loss of an item previously procured in one's morning ritual while searching for another item.

"Sorry I'm late, I keep unfinding my keys. I had 'em but after spending 10 minutes searching for my damn laser pointer, I put my keys down in the confusion and lost 'em again. I even managed to unfind my padded helmet somewhere in the mix.


Procrasductive - [proh - kras - dukh - tiv] - NOUN
A state characterized by procrastination from what is unarguably one's highest priority by being immensely productive in other ways.

"You were being procrasductive again."
"I went grocery shopping, bought a new waterbed, read all of 'Atlas Shrugged', and taught little Jimmy how to balance his checkbook."
"You were supposed to take Muffin to the vet."
"But Muffin hates the vet, chinchillas have feelings too."
"Muffin has Ebola, we'll all be bleeding from the eyeballs by tomorrow evening."

Anagram Iso Calls

The iso calls for my Sandblast team. Sponsored by the internet anagram rearrangement server.

Peter Blessington - "Boner Gel Pens Tits"
Zachary Higgs - "Gay High Czars"
William Longo - "I Mow Loin Gall"
Kevin Mabry - "My Brave Kin"
Michael Montesano - "Came Into Manholes"
Mark Rubin - "Rumba Rink"
Rafe Steinhauer - "Featherier Anus"
Zarin Stone - "Sorta In Zen"
Benjamin Sulman - "Ninja Men Albums"

Caitlin Ewing - "I Clean Wit Gin"
Mary Glickman - "Milky Man Crag"
Elizabeth Harrison - "Bizarre Loin Sheath"
Julie Reichling - "Chili Jungle Ire"
Kathryn Shephard - "Hyper Hard, Thanks"
Laura Tan - "A Natural"
Kathrine Zipp - "Phat Ink Prize"

The Ultimate Hero

In my humble experience, I have come to realize that all competitive ultimate players think of themselves as superheros. For the most part, they are gregarious, charismatic, marginally productive members of society and most important to their attitude, they take significant pride in their ultimate skills. I just spent all of last weekend out in Seattle at Potlatch, a famous 98 team tournament that culminated in Team USA defeating Team Canada to take the title. Over the weekends course I witnessed displays of athleticism that would blow the pants off of a high-level talent scout of any sport/competitive hobby.

One of the major aspects of an ultimate players athleticism so esoteric to this particular demonstration of skill, is the ability to make it through a full tournament without irreparably damaging every organ of the body while each and every muscle complains through the lactic acidosis/alco acidosis . It's one thing to play three straight days of any competitive sport and an entirely different thing to replace a hearty, glycogen-replenishing meal and a good night's sleep in between each day with brewery parties, impromptu raves, portable castle beerbongs, 3am bacon feasts (courtesy of the team "Night Bacon!"), a laundry list of debaucherous makeout
related shenanigans, and a crowded tent one may or may not return to as the sun begins to rise.

Said summer mid-tourney nights are beyond memorable, both literally and metaphorically as their Dionysian splendor, which rivaled any saturnalia penned in myths of the Greeks (sans the little boys shagging), drowned a good deal of the memories I accrued. Once the week is over, and the various teams have traveled their separate ways returning with somber melancholy to their cubicles, I certainly can't help feeling like a superbeing who, having just rescued a 747 from certain doom at the toe-talons of flying velociraptors in a most awesome display of power, dons his Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne persona.