Well! Am I having a new ‘estimation of OBNUG nation’ (?) than I ever had before? Yes! What is that all important dissonance tuning me in to the subtle wavelengths of betterment? That, all trolls are not necessarily trollish. I now know that “Troll profiling” is actually a brand of bigotry of sorts, I guess—and that is just residual southern thinking on my part…stupid southern thinking! Little did I ever entertain that in my attempts to entertain OBNUGgies I would encounter troll-huggers! Who knew?! Equally astonishing was that I would receive admonishment that my jesting was even at serious risk of being taken seriously, in part or parcel; and me with my “legal” disclaimer no less! I am always glad for finding new things to learn, even when they are like castor oil. If it’s good for me then I must be happy it’s being given to me, whether it tastes good or not, right?
Conformity to the holy rules of grammar and syntax was also underscored as mandatory part of the OBNUGgery literary style. Rules are rules, eh? Unbreakable and unrelenting, but for our own good. Just like the APA requires accurate picture placement, semi-colon use, and 1” margins. Structure ousts content! Yay structure! Lastly, there was also some indication of deficient intellectual ability. Point taken! I now publically admit that I have had 22 years of formal education in my life, some forced, most voluntary. I don’t know why, except that I am somehow un-smart enough to warrant such continued remedial “higher education”. I now see the standards and laws by which a certain recreational (i.e., non-professional) troll-hunter will be held to, whether anyone else will or not is beside the point. Great day!
I cannot wait until all of these newfound expedient implications open new virtual vistas for me. One such might be that poaching kindly trolls (oxy-moron?) is a sensitive area for certain uber-animal friendly OBNUGgites. Trolls and troll-lovers should be respected, and cared for, and honored, crowned king, etc. So, regarding the OBNUGgie huggie who so clearly holds the key to all things of sacred enlightenment… I will love him and pet him and hold him and carry him and play with him, and call him George, and…
However, those rebuttal blogs have been very instructional for me. I can see transferable implications in other areas of life as well. For example, I can now better appreciate the predicament found within the similar issues surrounding the wolf (see what I did there? nevermind). The avid hunter is constrained from all out assault on the wolf because that’s what led historically to them being placed on the endangered species list. The outlying populace wants the wolf around because it symbolizes the magnificence and grandeur of nature, the raw excitement of basic survival, and the endowment of a supernatural spirit. The trade and industry side of the argument is represented by the porcine, bovine, and ovine herd owners. These folks are less entranced by such lofty attributes, preferring instead practical solutions of backyard eradication to protect their incomes and knee-biting generations to come. What does the wolf want? Who knows? It’s a wolf. No one can divine what a wolf is thinking. All that can be inferred is by painstaking scientific field observation of its behavior, or Hollywood.
Here at OBNUG, we have the rare privilege of having our very own endangered lupine apparition to observe and
infer from… share inferences about… discuss amongst ourselves (see? nothing dangling here!). This rare beast slinks in and out of the OBNUG lodgeapost forest, leaving scent trails, scat, prints, and tufts to verify that our territory may not be as safe and secure as we’d like to think it is. From more than just his bowels, the quiet peaceful dell of OBNUG is subjected to his sudden howls and growls. That makes us quiver, or at least curious as to why the ruckus. Being natural-born-huggers, far be it from OBNUG to hunt, poach, or bait our visitor out of existence. Just like Two Socks enjoyed, we’d prefer to hand feed this wolf some prairie-cured bacon. After all, he looks so demure, so diffident, so modest, so …sheepish. Surely he wouldn’t do us any harm, right? Well, let’s just stretch out our fingers and try to feed him, Surely a non-threatening gesture if there ever was one. Here’s to you, Mr…
When you can’t help it if you’re only at OBNUG because, you just like to hang with a dominant clique for a change… when your alpha male is still a pistol-packing ostrich… when your team has a nightly field day romp through the chicken-house of the WAC roost, but can’t bring down the bigger quality game in the corral right next to it unless the mustang snoozes every ten years… when your fanbase storms a field and assaults the visiting team without formal sanctions or secuirty policy enforcement... when you extend your territory by leaving prodigious tracks on twenty different SBN sites... when you’re gracing the trees and grass of OBNUG realm with your theoretical dribbles ‘n drops… when you raise your lonesome blog-wails hour after hour and night after day… when your sports contributions seem both complimentary and contradictory… when you’re chasing the 9-inning frenzied pace of cowhide stitchery as often as that of the preseason pigskin...
Then let those hamlet bloggers who consume sports beware that nothing is as it seems at first glance with you. You’ve picked a clever cover, and as a rule ovine are disarmingly approachable because they are known to be only very rank at their most odious, disregarding the constant bleating. The outward charms and beauty of a soft cuddly lamb are so beguiling. However, yours are likely only as thin as the skin covering up your natural predatory intent, which runs through to the bone. Consuming OBNUGgies’ comments and toying with posting stragglers are two of your favorite amusements. Another wily diversion is a tenacity to terminate the threads with your contorted conclusions. Like some sort of super genius, an elaborate system of ropes, pulleys and anvils is prepared to trip the Wisenheimer switch on any ill-fated retorter. Your victory is having the last word, so no rampant idea will ever elude your watchfulness. Every post is dogged down like the last roadrunner in the desert.
There may be considerable time between your OBNUG visits, what with covering the vast territory of SB Nation you haunt beyond the land of blue turf. Yet, when you’re back on our saddle again, your appetite is as voracious as any Frenchman at a chevalier restaurant. Like cousin Lobo, you may start down a path, but then double-back along the same, or just traipse into a stone field and lose your trackers altogether. And just when hope is given up of ever finding traces, you pounce out of nowhere and bound off with another hapless casualty who just wanted to befriend a poor wandering wild hound.
Should we run away in fear or, like Red’s grandma, marvel at your engorged attributes? MY, what broad ideas you have—say we; all the better to lose you in meandering thoughts—say you. My, what a large following you have—we say; all the better to press ingratiation upon you—you say. MY, what big posts you have—say we; all the better to gobble up your space and exhaust your interest—say you. However, luring sports aficionados by wooly trickery will only get you so far.
All in all, being an overly howly wandering evolutionary opportunist at the top of figurative food-chain doesn’t make your team a perennial victor. It just means you yap a lot as a middlin’ contender in a (now) bottom-feeder conference. You may be protected by some activists in some areas and under some circumstances. However, just don’t forget that as the dominant genus here, OBNUG reserves the right to skin, tan, and tack your hide to the barn wall at the slightest provocation… simply for our safety, of course.
The Bros. Grimm were wont to point out the latent danger of disguised canis lupis. We so want to embrace you for what’s being offered at first sight, though we just can’t quite forget your evil of the past. We can only hope that you and your homey pack are not all like Mr. Fingers was last year, yet Grimm wisdom should not be overlooked. Deep down we’re pretty sure that just as one wolf may appear forlorn and unthreatening, there are surely more latent lascivious Lobos doubling-back just over the tree-line… to a more fertile and westerly mountainous sports preserve. Just so you know where the boundaries are…
HERE’S TO MR. WOLFINSHEEPSCLOTHINGMAN... THIS
PISS ‘S TERRITORIAL MARK’S FOR YOU!!
The information above is purely opinion and does not necessarily reflect the opinion or the position of this website as it is intended only as smack, and should be taken, as with a grain of salt, as only smack. Any
trolls bloggers who feel offended or plan to retort as if this really mattered in real life have the option of leaving this blog and keeping their response s to themselves and/or to their own website.
Next up… MR. IAMANAZIINHIDING…—hrman7