The House of Hapsburg

The Real Story of Mike Kafka, Football Quarterback

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mike_Kafka

There was this football player for Northwestern whose last name was Kafka. I always thought it would have been funny if he woke up a bug and become a burden for his team, since he was taking up a scholarship and roster position.

The Real Story of Mike Kafka, Football Quarterback

The trainers did what they could with him, but to no avail. The quarterback’s coach was heard to remark, ” you can’t coach speed, nor can you coach human-ness.” The head coach threw a football at Kafka, denting his exoskeleton. He threw another football at him, but the helmet still fit, so no harm was done.

He sat lonely at the end of the bench on Big Football Saturday, his long, black antennae poking through his helmet’s earholes and his six limbs poking through the modified jersey, wriggling about in some kind of grotesque display of team spirit. He hissed, “go, team, go.” Repulsed, the team did go, indeed; farther down the bench from him.

One player approached Kafka- the only player who perhaps felt the same kind of lonely anguish he felt right now- the backup kicker. The backup kicker said, “you know it is amusing, all of this. You remind me of something…something literary.” Kafka smirked- or what he imagined was a smirk, but what it looked like, who knows- and said, “Gregor Samsa?” The backup kicker shrugged and told Kafka: “I don’t recall the names of the Animorphs” and walked back to join the rest of the team.

The miserable season ends with the opposing team refusing to take the field to participate if the monstrous Kafka remains seated on his bench. The referees agree that these conditions are untenable and award the victory to the opposition by forfeit. Northwestern’s coach pleads with them, promising to remove Kafka not only from the bench, but from the stadium entirely, but it is too late. Kafka is heartbroken and shamed, so he approaches the coaches’ office in hopes of finding a way to benefit the team and he overhears the talking about what a burden he has become. He turns away crestfallen and returns to his dorm room to prepare his papers for transfer. The following day he informs his team that he is transferring to Div II in hopes of finding a place there. His team is unmoved.

The following year, with the extra roster space, they recruit a fabulous quarterback and following that year, win a national championship. 

Kafka is drafted by the Philadelphia Eagles, where he is pelted with garbage from the crowd. He dies underneath this heap of garbage. The image of his crushed exoskeleton being pulled from under the garbage heap becomes a fixture on blooper reels and that is all that remains of Mike Kafka.

About a Girl

This one time I took a hot 31 year old chick on a date. Went home with her and stayed the night (didn’t bone her; I am a gentleman), and she never got back to me. Today I saw her at my coffee place. These are my thoughts:

And it was definitely her. She walked to the bathroom and I saw her. Stared her down. Shed a single tear for what could have been. Baby, come back. Babyyyyyy baby baby, let me eat pizza with you and we can share a beer- a big beer, though, because we both want a lot of beer. Babbbbbbbbbbbbbbalabababy let me take you dancing, girl. I don’t dance, but I would stand there and let you use me like a stripper pole. I would let you use me a lot, babbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbadoo, but not financially- ‘cuz baby i ain’t like that; I mean, I ain’t rich. In fact, babydoll, you’re gonna have to buy a lot for me. But if you can take it, I can take. So baby, come back to me- or let me come back to you, baby, because I don’t live in my own apartment. Let’s order some calzonies with marginera sauce. It’ll be like the old times, like when we went to colonial Columbus town that one time to see how the old times really was. Baby, let me rub oil on your shoulders after a long day of piggy back rides. You know I like them, and you like giving them. Oh, baby, I’m already on my knees, because I was looking for change under this couch and I ain’t afraid to beg, but I am afraid of spiders, baby, so let me back in bed, babbbalaby, cuz I think I saw a spider down here. Babyyyyyyyyyyyy

Curse of the Magi

I thought of a new Gift of the Magi-esque story.

A man confides in his wife that he is a homosexual. This causes her extreme distress and her distress causes him extreme guilt. They part ways for a few months. She undergoes hormone treatment and surgery to become a man; he goes to Jesus Hospital and is cured of his gay. They meet up after this and he says, “Honey, I’m cured!” And then looks her over and sighs.

http://columbus.craigslist.org/wri/2969299347.html

Excerpts from my draft of his biography:

Chapter One:

I was born under a black sign and I will die under a black sign. My name is Captain Silveroy Jacklabit and this is my story.