A Helmet’s Tale of Protecting People From Skunkballs
Hi there. I’m Wally Copello. I am a skunkball helmet. People wear me for protection from rabid, normal, hostile, and terror provoking skunkballs.
Being a helmet is fun and it is also good. I’ve had the wonderful opportunity to be involved with a number of different organizations including the Pittsburg Forks, the Denver Swordwillows, the Auckland Threshers, the Miami Palpits, and my favorite team, the Hoboken Randalates. My career spans a good many centuries. In fact, people have been utilizing my award winning cranial-protective skunkball services since sometime during the dark ages.
I am extremely versatile. Any player on the field can wear me at any time during the game. Or after the game. Some like to wear me at home or out for drinks or carousing the brownlands in search of the elusive eelamonster. Players love me for a number of reasons, but my most oft touted benefit is my ability to provide a defense against skunk attack during the games.
As it turns out, skunks really do not enjoy being used as a ball for gaming and shenanigans. Before I was enlisted into the sport by the original League of Skunk Donkeys Board of Closet Alcoholics, many brave men and women lost their faces, and in most cases their lives, to skunk attack when it eventually became apparent that the poo emitting brutes really hated the sport of skunkball.
The first fatality came in 1292 when 200 years before Columbus sailed the ocean blue, a Scotsman by the name of Harry Fank was at the 17 meter outpost with 11 hours and 46 minutes left on the clock. It was a day that might have been sunny, or rainy and horrible. Who knows?! Anyway skunkball was in its infancy and Harry’s team, the Lankanslop Toasterlips were down by five sticks.
As any good player would do in this situation, Harry whipped out his gasoline powered hole hog (tornado pig drill) to auger forth the earth and stuff a skunk within the new empty void for later scoring. After hole hogging, he grasped the nearest skunk firmly with his left hand to stuff it forth, while conversely the skunk used both of its own hands to tear off Harry’s lips.
Medical personnel were able to repair the lips haphazardly, but Harry Fank died two weeks later from the severe infection caused by the skunk, who sprayed forth a good sized portion of its dreaded poop sauce into the wound immediately following the attack.
Thanks to me, stuff like that doesn’t happen very much anymore, at least to the face and head. I have been working with the afore mentioned board of jäger-pounding sub horses to provide protection for the rest of players’ corpses during and after games. My best ideas to date are a huge trash bag that covers the entire body and a giant wooden sack which pretty much does the same thing. I’m not very good at thinking of things because I’m a helmet and do not have a brain or head.
I’m Wally Copello. Look for me next time you watch skunkball on some channel or heaven forbid in person.