Prep writers and their strange, but true stories

Cheers, Ilk. This frosty Harp's for everyone out their paying their dues on the preps beat.

 

If Irish isn't named All-SportsJournalists.com, or at the very least all-newbie, it's a crime. He's MVP material.

Writing Irish for Poster of the Year!

 

Gentlemen, you are too kind. I am a mere role player...an occasional source of Henry Miller-ish humor. I rarely provide much in the way of serious journalistic or sports-related insight. Carry on...

 

I formally protest. I can produce copies of a 1986 Penthouse letter that is word-for-word copied in Irish's post, with the exception that it was about Katarina Witt. In an East German duplex. After a Holiday on Ice exhibition.

 

I can't believe this softball went unhit.

 

Your minds are so in the gutter.

Here we have a lovely tale of a crisp winter afternoon on the prairie with a championship wrestling team and some hookers and you ruin it with your middle school sniggering.

 

Who's sniggering who?

I always knew there was something going on between Jones and Ragu.

 

Man, if you were speaking pig Latin, you'd be in SO much trouble.

 

Well that too...

 

One time, at journalism camp, I stuck a flute in my pussy. Oh wait, I mean in someone else's pussy. A hooker's pussy. Yeah, it was totally sweet.

 

Sportswriters have the most finely-tuned B.S. detectors on the planet. This jackoff never had a chance.

I actually got suspicious when he said he turned around. When I'm coming back from a prep event, with the time I've got before deadline, I'd drive straight through a nuclear cloud without so much as tapping the brake pedal.