BringBackFergy

The Last First Game

Day 2 of my Captivity I’ve lost track of time. I haven’t brushed my teeth in a day. My hair is coated with dust and grit. Possibly from the overhanging vines in this hellhole they have created or from nuclear fallout so far beneath the top soil I now miss. Interestingly, these creatures have constructed an impressive tunnel system with little veggie shops, fresh grass dispensaries and pellet wholesalers. The rotted stump I sit on is comfortable for me…and the cicadas that are making their way to the surface. I feel grateful I have t been down here for seven years like them. Poor bastards Aaaand, here comes Boots. I now notice his hind leg has a scar. It runs from lower pad to upper thigh. Shaped like a capitol “F”. In fact, even Corky, Spanks and Murphy (his sidekicks) have the same scar on the same hind leg. “Are you sheep or mutated wabbits?” I ask. Boots swats my backpack and uncovers my carrots. “Ohhhh nooo you don’t” I rush to grab my only bargaining chip. These Orange veggies are better than wampum. “Go get your own at the Tunnel Store, Boots!” ”Pawwwwwk. Paaaawk!!! Shakkki shakkki grit grit” Boots yells. WabbitWords immediately translates: “Carrots Carrots. You have a huuuge tool.” “Yeah. Grit. I f$&@ing sick of grit. Can we install a ventilation system down here or what?” I grin. What happens next is something I remember Figster telling me in the Shoutbox. Boots and his three buddies gather together and bring out an effigy resembling a 60 yr old man straddling a railroad bed, pants down and raising his hands to the moon. Could this be their deity…a photo of Figster as a child? This experience has taken a toll on me. Exhaustion and anxiety. Tired from clawing gravel to make a bed down here…anxiety not knowing if Boots his three furbabies will let me venture to surface. Party down at the intersection of Septic 142 and Fencepost 9. Will report back.

Saturday, September 6, 2025. Day 1 of my captivity. They call him Boots. I call him the meanest furry rabbit I’ve ever had to deal with. Front paws the size of oven mitts. Eyes that pierce and drain courage from my own six foot body. Boots and three of his henchman rabbits grabbed hold of my arm when I bent down to pick up a flattened quarter. I was right near the portal (apparently) and Boots tugged my arm so fast I lost balance and slid into what appears to be an animal kingdom ruled by giant furry bastards that scurry about. My cell phone provides some light and Boots approaches. I can sense he is pissed off. He demands some of my carrots. I want some damn answers. I hand him one. Quid pro quo. “Why am I here?” I ask. Boots consults with his sidekicks while gnawing on a baby carrot. He replies “Squeak…skit skit skit, chi chi” Da fuq? Then I remember. I downloaded a rabbit translation app on my ride down. I open WabbitWords app and type in his statement hoping my spelling is correct. Boots’ was basically telling me I will stay in their custody until I return their deity. They believe I stole their God. I ask “Da fuq?? Who is your God and I’ll see what I can do” Boots lays out his oversized paw and glances at my carrots. I place one baby carrot into his pad. It looks like a Tic Tac held in this gigantic beast’s hand. Boots swallows the veggie whole and licks his balls (a sign of authority). He screams “Skeeeet Sbiiii Furrrrrpppp”. I plug this response into my WabbitWords app. The translation makes me shake all over. Please God, no. It meant “Bring Us FIGSTER!” (Collapsed from exhaustion)

UPDATE: Arrived at Figster’s old neighborhood. Rotten tree stumps, Nixon stickers on fences and discarded bumpers. Walked toward the railroad tracks and in the direction of the portal. 26 steps from the lilac bush and old phone booth, then headed east toward the warehouse near the tracks. Figster is right. Magnetic in this area. I find my six pack of Goebels drawn toward the near track and locate the various coins flattened by the abandoned locomotives which once occupied this area of West Valley. My flashlight works ok. Could use a spotlight but it seems dependable. Carrots are fresh and crisp, like the way a woman slaps my face at Bar Bill. Duct tape in hand and an old oak stick I found from the nearby school in hand. I venture into the portal area and see tufts of fur. Not milkweed or burlap, but real fur. Pellets all over the place. Not just little pellets, but golf ball size. The type that would fall from the ass of a six foot cottontail. This is freaky and I may just get the hell outta here but maybe I’ll just…………. (Lost connection)

If anyone has followed the story in the Shoutbox, @Figster recalls a time in the late 60’s when he was confronted by a giant rabbit near the railroad crossing in West Valley, NY. I believe him. Stuff like this happens quite often. His witness (older brother) can no longer confirm the presence of a portal to a fifth dimension. I’m on my way there right now. Stopped to pick up a backup battery, cable, duct tape, carrots and some beer. Will report back later on findings.

So easy, a caveman could do it!!!

Josh already has accuracy issues...imagine wearing these during a blinding snowstorm?? Done with this team.

Dear Mrs. Simon: Attached herewith please find our firm “Retainer Agreement” with respect to the matter we discussed on today’s date. Please be advised, complaints re. tuna noodle casserole are NOT grounds for divorce. Your spouse, obviously, has no basis upon which to seek separation or make complaints. As a “real” Bills fan, you (and your dog) understand the pain we have been through over 40+ years. For a mere $24.99/mth, our office can limit, restrict and block any additional comments re. your cooking (which I’m sure is better than the crap he eats at 7-11). Kindly furnish your debit card number and code so we may begin our work. Yours in spirit (Go Bills), Gugny, Fergy and Knitwitt

One guy says "cooked" on Page 1...all the sheep follow in order. I have read "he's cooked" 20+ times in this thread. The more you say it doesn't make it so. Great signing.

***** off. That’s what I heard.

Heard through the grapevine. Buddy of mine works for DSA. Can anyone confirm?

Mr. Beane...Jalen Ramsey on Line 2.

I'm so done with this team.

Maybe Tyler Bass?? Shot was a little wide.

Same. No huge repairs. One water hose cracked. Everything else was brakes, oil, tires, etc. maintenance.

2009 Tundra TRD drove until 270k miles. Wanted another so I found a 2019 Tundra TRD with 50k miles. Plan on driving it another 200k miles. Toyota makes a reliable truck. Enough power to haul 16 ft trailer with tractor on it. Roomy inside. Only complaint is sight lines (blind spots) on back trim.

Heyyyyyyy!

A squared + B squared = D squared. Still use it to this day. But my home addition hasn’t passed code yet. Weird.

Great vid. I guess I could do without 2-3% owners giving a workshop on how to succeed in a sport they never played for a living.

He knows what’s behind each door. He skipped ahead to door 3. Nothing. He knows Door 1 has the prize. Stay.

A man was found dead in his study. He was slumped over his desk and a gun was in his hand. There was a cassette recorder on his desk. When the police entered the room and pressed the play button on the tape recorder they heard: "I can't go on. I have nothing to live for." Then there was the sound of a gunshot. How did the detective immediately know that the man had been murdered and it wasn't a suicide?

His mind is in the gutter…always.

How old?