Friday, June 30, 2006

FOB June 29

An anonymous note written with disappearing ink left between the back of my refrigerator and the wall informs me that this site is continually monitored by the government for purposes so insidious the entire monitoring process has it's own acronym in White House parlance. Therefore, to give "the boys" something to do, I will make an accurate and faithful account of all my days in Fobdom. Well, yesterday, at any rate.

FOB was once again held at the demesne of Tolkien Boy, who quite self-consciously cleaned the whole place as well as sprayed industrial-strength air freshener to mask the fact that he lives in BYU-approved housing. Despite his best efforts, however, the holy feeling of the apartment permeated the evening throughout, and many a comment was made on how sexually subdued the proceedings were. This gravitas helped the FOBsters focus on the point of the evening, however, which was, of course, Tolkien Boy's burgeoning, piebald muscles.


Edgy Killer Bunny arrived early, which in this case meant a minute after on time, full of tales of moving misadventures. Minutes later, the Marchioness made her usual sweeping entrance, followed - after a short, confirmatory phone call - editorgirl (sic), who regaled us all with tales of her 30-year-old student stalker. Master Fob was nearly a half hour later than his promised hour late, but brought everyone granola bars to make up for it, the flavor of which was eaten so quickly it was somewhat forgettable. Which was precisely what Melyngoch proceeded to do; namely, forget it. For you see, she never arrived.


There was much that made this a historic FOB session. For example, there was no rock-paper-scissors nonsense. The Marchioness mentioned that she would have her story read first, and after that people volunteered to be criticized in a manner not unlike patriotic testimony meetings. For her part, Marchioness chanelled the soul of a naked five-year-old with a pink-haired mother with a penchant for expensive chocolates (the five-year-old, not her mother). Fortunately, there was no reenactment of the actual horse-riding event, as Tolkien Boy's large picture window was much trafficked during the evening, but Master Fob did mention that he was both torn and lying naked on the floor.


Unlike Melyngoch, Th. was there in spirit - but because of his lack of corporeality he felt none of the restrictive religosity inspired by BYU-approved housing and so shared with us a sordid tale of whorish wives and prim proprietors. The combined FOB agree that they will never view the verb
pierce the same way again, and Tolkien Boy has threatened a filibuster on approaching the dip issue. Despite the delightful lilt to the prose, the FOB were fuddled, wondering how the filthy female ever found anyone to love. The story had, however, the unexpected benefit of giving Tolkien Boy hope for his future.

Finally, Master Fob shared with us a story in which an intellectual, a hick, a fat man enamored of Karen Carpenter, an aspiring actress, and a girl who is probably a dog (literally) argue over the specifics of ficitve rap music. Hilarity, lubricated no doubt by the copious amounts of Diet Coke being consumed, knew no bounds when the group suddenly realized that the characters in Master Fob's novel were none other than correspondences for - you guessed it, the FOB united, though Tolkien Boy took some umbrage at being so type-cast, and editorgirl (sic) was so offended she absented herself
before the proceedings, a feat which, until that point, was believed to be quantamly impossible (more so because Melyngoch was not there to argue for its possibility with her wealth of quantam phyiscs knowledge).

After FOB there was the usual cheery conviviality, with much mockage of Tolkien Boy's soap-operatic relationship life, great good wishes for Edgy's deluxe domicile decision, and an invitation from Master Fob for us to join him in a night of self-inflicted torture, also known as rap music. All in all, it was a rather successful FOB, though there has been some despair that the FOBs will not, despite being positionally proximate, ever all meet under the same roof. However, hope is high for the next time, and the government remains ever-vigilant that the actions of the group will be left to go their own way. At least, for the time being.

2 Comments:

Blogger Master Fob said...

Usually there's some kind of connection between the picture and the words. Is it just that we're all so wicked? Or are you channelling your Green Lanternness?

6/30/2006 8:35 AM  
Blogger Th. said...

.

I'm sorry.

I meant to warn you all about her.

6/30/2006 7:13 PM  

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