A Letter To The Refs After We Lost In The Intramural Basketball Playoffs

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A Letter to the Refs After We Lost in the Intramural Basketball Playoffs

Dear Twat Waffles,

The season is over. That means there’s no more sportsmanship score forcing me to keep sucking your dicks, you pinstriped fucksticks.

Perhaps I came on too strong. I am the Captain of “Scalabrine’s Dick,” my fraternity’s intramural basketball team that you shitheads “reffed” last night in the semi-finals of the IM playoffs. I say “reffed” because that was the most poorly officiated game I’ve ever seen.

You were strict as hell towards us. You called a foul on me for fucking celebrating. What was that about? How the hell was I not going to celebrate after I had just pants’ed the other team’s point guard? When it came to our GDI opponents, however, you guys were more lenient than the dudes who ref the Puppy Bowl, and those dudes don’t call shit. Now that I think about it, shitting might actually be a penalty in the Puppy Bowl, but I digress. Fuck it. Fuck you.

I had high hopes in the beginning. I thought you liked us. When we had our 25-man pledge choir sing the Star-Spangled Banner/Poker Face mashup I wrote, you all removed your hats. It looked like you guys were really digging our scantily clad pledge cheerleading team, too. I thought I had you guys wrapped around my goddamn finger.

I’m gonna single out the crew chief now, because you were the one making all the shitty ass calls. I think your name was Jared or something. What a shitty name. You can’t even play any name games with a name like that without pulling words from Shakespeare’s dictionary. You did look like you would be into Shakespeare though, you little Nancy boy.

First, you called Big George for a double dribble. Not gonna lie, he definitely did double dribble. The thing is, Big George was so fucked up after doing the Listerine bong we had at our parking lot tailgate that he had no idea he had dribbled already. If you weren’t such an NF GDI cockass, you would’ve understood what was going on and thrown my boy a bone. But nope. You were all “no, no, no” like some sorta pussy-ass Dikembe Mutombo.

Then you called that fucking technical on us. I don’t think you understand, Jared. We fraternity men are men of tradition. We have a tradition based on NBA Jam where after one of us makes three shots in a row he is “on fire.” We celebrate this by shot-gunning beers as a team at center court while a pledge self-immolates and takes a lap around the court. We fraternity men are also men of secrecy. That is why when you asked me what we were doing I replied with a swift “fuck you.”

And not even THAT is the stupidest thing you did. I still can’t believe you turned down that bribe I offered you when we were down 38 points. You have enough dignity not to be swayed away from properly executing your duties, but not enough dignity to not want to be a ref for minimum wage? Something’s wrong with you, pal. It’s like you’re stuck in some sort of dignity limbo, but instead of waiting to see if you’re going to get into heaven, you’re waiting to see if you are ever going to get laid. And let me tell you, doofus, it’s not gonna happen any time soon.

Fuck you all,

The DeVry Guy

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