dear neckbeard - please tell us a Humble story, please.
Once upon a time in a wonderful place called Killer City there lived a young, ghostly pale skinned man by the name of Matthew Humble. With flaming red hair and self-proclaimed “broad, muscular shoulders”, the only thing that rivaled Matthew’s pride and love of himself was his ridiculous 500 foot flick bombs. But despite his uncanny natural ability to throw the flying disc farther than all the other Killer Citian’s, Humble was unable to accomplish the one thing that mattered most…complete a tournament without sh*tting in his pants. Time after filthy time, right when it appeared to all that Matthew had achieved victory on the field of disc, the flick- launching phenom would abruptly run to his car and flee the scene quicker than a Feeler Doug fist pump after a Ben Roethlisberger rape acquittal. Everyone thought it was nerves, or possibly a sneeb overdose, but in fact Matthew Humble was hiding a dirty, disgusting secret-he was a habitual panty pooper.
One sunny, summer afternoon our proud, ginger hero began a round at infamous Rosedale park with one of his signature 500’ hyzer missiles. To his chagrin; however, Matthew suddenly realized that the pin was located a mere 300’ from the tee box. Head hanging low, he trekked beyond the basket towards the deep, dark shadowy woods.
“I don’t like the look of these trees, who knows what terrors exist at the heart of this forest,” Matt muttered to himself.
He could feel his guts bubbling at the very thought of entering the dark abyss, but leaving one of his precious Ice Bowl Flicks to whatever lurked in those woods was not an option, so reluctantly he entered. Surprisingly, a shiny yellow staircase greeted him, and he began his descent into the unknown. After a few steps Humble stopped and sniffed the air:
“What is that strange smell? I haven’t quite soiled my pantaloons yet, but it kind of smells like a dirty baby diaper. Or perhaps more like a skunk. Quite curious, indeed.” Matt whispered.
As he rounded the slight bend he saw two shadowy figures, cloaked in a large cloud of sneeb smoke.
“Ho, who goes there?” cried one of the mysterious men, leaping to his feet and into attack position.
“My name is Matthew Humble, and I am on a quest to find my Ice Bowl Flick.” He replied nervously.
“Ah indeed, you are on a grave and perilous quest.” replied the man who remained seated, still blanketed by the thick, sweet smelling smoke. “But your TRUE quest has been revealed to me by these woods, and it is they who brought you to me.”
“Wh…wh..who are you?” stammered the tall, pale ginger.
“Do not fear, for I am here to guide you. I am Neckbeard, and I live in these woods Down Under the city that you call home. Please excuse my friend Craig Loonis here, he is somewhat of a gigantic pussy. Sit your lazy, slug ass down, Loonis, before you frighten our new friend here!”
Loonis quickly sat his lumpy, pear-shaped body down on a fallen log, obeying his superior’s command without hesitation.
“I do not understand what any of this means,” declared a puzzled Humble.
“Of course you do.” replied the Neckbeard. “You came to me because you keep crapping in your pants, I could smell the foul feces from a mile away.”
Ashamed that this bearded stranger knew his secret, Matthew simply hung his large, oversized cranium to the earth and began to weep uncontrollably. Wave after wave of uncontrollable sobs racked his tall, gingery frame. Snot, spit, tears, piss, and feces pored from every body orifice in an atrocious display of weakness.
“ENOUGH!” screamed Neckbeard. “I haven’t seen a b%tch cry like this since Feeler Doug got fired from his position as president of the Ben Roethlisberger fan club for sniffing boy’s bicycle seats at the local playground. I can help you with your defecation disorder, but first you have to trust me. Do you TRUST ME?”
“I will do whatever it takes to stop sh*tting my britches, I trust the wise and all-knowing beard.” Proclaimed Matthew Humble.
“Very good, VERY good indeed” snickered the facebeard as he rubbed his hands together slowly with a devilish grin slowly spreading across his wooly neck. “Then come closer, inhale this sneeb smoke, and all shall be revealed.”
The fire-crotched man-child stepped towards the bearded enigma hesitantly, all the while keeping the corner of his eye on the shady Loonis character, who himself seemed to be trying to hide an evil smirk. Loonis leaned forward and spread his weak, child-like arm in front of Humble.
“That is close enough, Ginger.” Now breathe deeply from the sneeb stem and the Neckbeard will reveal all to you,” whispered Craig Loonis.
Humble breathed deeply, and immediately the world around him began to melt away. Craig Loonis began cackling hysterically, the kind of psychotic, menacing laughter only a movie villain would make. To his horror, Humble realized that his limbs were paralyzed. He was frozen in place, as the insane Loonis laughter grew louder and louder, echoing through his brain. The trees closed in all around him, the sneeb smoke grew thicker and thicker, turning black and obscuring everything else except for the Neckbeard’s smiling face. At that moment the Beard reached out a calloused, dirty hand from within his golf robes and revealed a smoky green glass mini. He held the mystical mini up towards the terrorized Humble’s face until it was merely inches away.
“Look into the glass Humble, for within it lies your destiny, “ whispered the ManBeard sadistically.
As time and space transfixed into one, Humble gazed uncontrollably into the evil-looking artifact. Suddenly, to his uttermost horror, Humble realized that he was no longer looking INTO the glass mini. He was looking OUT of it, up towards two giant, laughing men sitting in a forest. But no sound could be heard other than his own screams. He cried for help, but the mouse like sound simply echoed throughout his tiny new prison. He was trapped! What evil sorcery had this Neckbeard cast upon him? This HAD to be a nightmare, but as the seconds and minutes passed, he did not awake, and quickly realized that he would spend an eternity in this place, never to throw another flick again.
“HAHAHA what an idiot!” guffawed Craig Loonis, after shanking a pathetic drive into the first tree off #1’s tee box.
“I know,” replied the Neckface, as he effortlessly tossed his 2009 World’s Special Edition Z Drone within three feet of the pin. “didn’t his mother ever teach him…..NEVER trust a Neckbeard!”