Disclaimer: I still don't own anything. They will not return my calls. So rude.

"My eyes! My eyes!"

At this very moment in time, the planets aligned, the clouds parted to let the Sun shine bright, the new season of Psych rocked as usual, and today was turning out to be my Christmas and birthday rolled into one. Who knew socially disturbing could be so sweet. Honestly, given what I've witnessed in the last hour, my current level of disturbing would be another man's level of psychiatric worthy admittance. But, oh well, to each their own.

I don't necessarily consider myself to be a philosophical individual. I did attempt to take a philosophy course in college. Sadly, I dropped it after two weeks. Four douches decided to make an epic failed attempt to demonstrate their various brain cell volumes. For the life of me, I can't remember what the fuck they philosophized (I'm not even sure if this is a real word, if not, it should be) over. However, the subject matter was contained within the first page of our assigned reading for the course. They yakked and yakked for days and days about the same damn thing. I kept reviewing the chapter thinking I missed something. Was this the manner in which philosophy courses transpired? As the days progressed, it became evidently clear that those fuckers couldn't come up with an intelligent, collective thought even if their balls were at stake.

And what was more disgusting, the damn professor didn't say thing. No…"let's move on so no one riots." No…"that's the stupidest fucking comment I've ever heard in all my years of teaching." No…"will you just shut the fuck up you cocksucker?" Two weeks. Two weeks of my life lost to words that cannot even be described as chit chat. No one should be subjected to that kind of torture. Water torture? Psst. Whatever. Take that course for two weeks and you'd hand over your government and mother to get out of it. So, I dropped the course and found my first pre-law class. Image my delight when I discovered I could openly argue with semi-rational people. Good times.

Anyways, I consider myself to have a rather simplistic approach to life. Basically, just use some common sense. I mean, if you're contemplating performing some action that could, 99% of the time, be considered a Wile E. Coyote move, don't do it. A dumbass action leads to a fucked up result. I'm certain some law of physics exists for this scenario.

Everyone has some degree of common sense, so use it.

I'm only flashed this little tid-bit of personal reflection because I've managed to completely forget this ingenious concept over the last 6 days. Common sense? What common sense? We don't need no stinking common sense? Common sense left the building a week ago. I hope to see you soon. Perhaps after a few therapy sessions?

Well, it looks like the group in front of me didn't get the memo either. In fact, they didn't get invited to the meeting. Truthfully, they probably were not aware of the concept to begin with. These four teams in front of us managed to murder and dismember their common sense like a PSM-ing Vlad the Impaler with no Midol in sight. These guys are a mental asylum's wet dream.

I can't wait to meet them!

"You must be one of the other teams scheduled to participate in the tournament," said an elderly man in a green basketball uniform.

Well, we are wearing these "Pam's Bitches" uniforms, so we could be mistaken for new parolees. So, I think we'll let that comment slide.

"You're correct. These are my bitches." Thank you, Pam.

In retrospect, I should have put up a better fight against our team name. I didn't fully realize the capacity to which it could be used against us. Oh, thanks for the dog collars, Pammy. That was a nice surprise addition to our negotiated uniform attire.

Bon voyage my last shred of pride. I hear you're vacationing with common sense.

Make sure you come back with extra doses of Xanax.

Waving her hand across the crowd, "Who might you be?"

"We're 'Greener Pastures'," said the elderly man. "We're from the nursing home a few blocks up the street." That explains the green uniforms and walkers with bright pink tennis balls.

Dear Lord, please don't let us play them. They might have some forward mobility issues, as well as moving in any direction quickly. It would be like kicking your Grandparents' ass. We'd get struck my lightening for that one.

Standing next to the geriatric punch are 6 of the biggest motherfuckers I've ever seen. Did WWE donate a team? Clad in black briefs (or wrestling bottoms but they still look like you're wearing underwear, I'm not going to say shit), black wrestling boots, black t-shirts and covered in tats.

"What is your team name, sweet cheeks?" Holy shit, Pam!

"'We're Meaty!'" Oh. My. God. So, so many ways to spin that team name. All of which would land me a long stay at the hospital. I'll pass.

"I bet you are. I bet you like it too." They wouldn't hit a woman would they? And why do they keep staring at our team name?

"How about you little guys? What flips your Happy Meals?" If you don't call them midgets but manage to insult them anyways, does it still count?

"We are 'The Vulcan-Oompas'. We consider ourselves a radical right wing faction of the Oompa Loompas. We also favor all Dr. Spock related matters, thus our blue uniforms." Wow. That explains the ears.

For a minute there, I thought there was some genetic issue that needed to be addressed. But now I get the uniform…Star Trek emblem on the front and the midget holding an oozie on the back. It's just a slight Spock hero worship with a side of violence. Spock did need to man up, he was sporting a case of pussy.

Yeah, I get it.

"Eric has an appointment with a therapist next week. Would you like the number? They might have a group discount rate. It wouldn't hurt to try." Blank faces there, Pam. It's like one of those Mexican stand-offs alla John Wayne. Scary.

Now this last group has me a bit confused. They're wearing what appear to be black ninja uniforms with sunglasses. However, they are all holding support canes.

They're blind?

Is this going to be like a Karate Kid kind of thing?

Is it just me who's starting to get concerned about some of the participants?

It's already been demonstrated that there is a severe lack of qualified medical personnel in the building. Maybe the spider monkeys could help out.

"What about Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon? Are you doing a Bruce Lee tribute?" I wonder if Guinness has a record for the number of insults given in 30 minute time frame? If they do, Pam has a real shot at it.

"We might be blind but we're still dangerous. And just because we're blind, don't count us out, we're still fast. Thus our team name…'We Can Still Hear You'."

Fuckers started busting out some serious Jet Li moves! They could slap Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker before you could say 'Rush Hour'.

Mid move, one of the ninjas comes to a complete stop.

Did he pull something?

Did he sense evil?

Do we need to scatter and make a run for it?

Are the fucking lions loose?

They're probably looking for real meat now. I hope someone fed them.

"くそ！私は鉄のシェフを記録するの忘れた!" (Shit! I forgot to record Iron Chef!)

Uh oh. Someone is in trouble. That got everyone's attention.

"畜生！それはあなたが今朝しなければならなかった一つのことだった。" (Damn It! It was the one thing you had to do this morning.)

"あなたがいることを嫌いではありません？私もそれを記録するの忘れた！" (Don't you hate that? I forgot to record it too!)

"What?" Why is everyone staring at me?

"Rosetta Stone. That shit really works. No lie." I got skills, thank you very much!

"I don't like subtitles. It's distracting when I'm watching them battle."

Sookie just rolled her eyes at me. Don't be jealous, wife. I learned another language for you. I know you like it when I speak Italian. You naughty freak.

"Do you remember the octopus battle between Sakai and Ohta?"

I finally have met people who appreciate the fine art of the knife and saucepan. I have found my brethren. It really must be my birthday.

"Ninja One, the sturgeon battle between Chen and Asou was fucking awesome! I was yelling like a mad man when I watched it."

"It wasn't as epic as the 1999 King of Iron Chefs battle between Chen and Sakai." We all nod our heads in approval.

"Very true Ninja Three. Very true indeed." Those were some good times.

"As fascinating and mind numbing as this discussion is, I've managed to find out who is going to play in the first two games. It appears that 'We're Meaty!' will play against 'We Can Still Hear You!'" Pam, we're going to need popcorn and beer for these games.

"Are you sure you still want to be referenced as meaty?" Pam, are you sure you still have a death wish? God, this woman is insane.

"The second game will be between 'Greener Pastures' and 'The Vulcan-Midgets'. Oops, I mean Oompas."

They'll probably slash her tires and steal her tool box.

"We'll send them to a greener pasture. This should be like taking candy from an invalid. It'll be easy." Cocky little ankle biters.

"Fuck you and the tricycle you came in on!" Grandpa Moses is ready to kick a little shorty ass.

"Why don't you say Hello to my little friend?" "The Godfather"…explains their violent tendencies.

"Oh yeah? Suck me wrinkled dick!" And now I feel sick. You had me until that last sentence. Now that's one graphic imagine.

Now how in the hell am I going to explain this mess to the therapist? Dear God, my therapist is going to think I'm insane.

What the hell are my team mates staring at? Apparently the elderly and midgets yelling at one another isn't a rare enough occurrence for them.

Why do I keep thinking that nothing else can shock me? Clearly, I'm delusional. I should rephrase that…I'm in denial. How can so many freaks of society congregate in such close proximity to one another? Isn't that a code violation of some sort?

"Are those two people are the commentators?! Sweet Jesus! Where the hell did they get these guys? My eyes! My eyes!"

A/N I appreciate everyone following the story, taking time to review and adding it as a favorite. Thanks a bunch.

Until next time,

TMart