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This past summer, a friend of mine convinced me to join a kickball league. I really liked kickball when I was about 10; the game satisfied my winning sports combination of “a fear of non-squishy sports equipment” and “a good attitude.” This, of course, was before I ever knew what the word “bro” meant, much less the derivative “brah.” I suppose I was a naive.

Oh, what a difference 12 years makes. This is what adult kickball was like: Our team’s name was Boner Jams ’07. It was full of recent college grads who claimed their occupation as “International Policy Expert” (don’t ask them what that means; it’s “confidential”). Games involved me standing around in a field of dirt and hoping nothing hit me, followed by three hours of totally intense flip-cup action!! Everyone, I should note, was very nice. I went to about two games before dropping out. Then I found this.

You may have heard of the Anti-Yuppie Kickball Guerilla Front; their Sun-Tzu-quoting Web site has popped up on various local blogs and in The Hill. I filled out their short multiple-choice survey (“Before my time as an apprentice revolutionary, I was raised by Wolves/Catholics/Ninjas/The Street”), then forgot about it.

A couple weeks later, though, I received an e-mail from someone by the name of Inquisitor K. The message rambled for a few paragraphs about Lady Liberty (or something) before informing me:

In any campaign there are shallow-hearts, yellow-curds, shirking-shirleys and just plain traitors. How do we sort from within this bunch of 120 (out of 450!!) who passed the initial Trail yet has the merciless moxy The Front requires? Well, first we line ’em all up, look ’em in the eye and search their soul. This initial Trial will occur at Cosmos, a.k.a the upstairs of Chief Ike’s at 7pm TONIGHT.

I went to Chief Ike’s at 7 p.m. that night.

There, out of the 120 (out of 450!!) who “passed the initial trial,” two dudes sat at the bar. One was a normal person who, like me, didn’t know what was going on. The other dude was dressed in head-to-toe black, knee-length combat boots, aviator sunglasses, and a T-shirt that looked fresh from Hot Topic. This dude was, obviously, Inquisitor K. He looked about 28.

I sat at the bar.

“She’s not one of them,” said Inquisitor K, setting his aviators on me. “I can usually smell the aura of hatred as they walk in the door.”

“Inquisitor K?” I asked. He nodded. I offered my hand and told him my name.

“No,” said Inquisitor K. He shook his head. “No, no, no. You need a name like, ‘Something of Something.’

“Something of Something?”

“Like Icepick of Vengeance,” he suggested.

Tiger of Doom,” I replied.

“Tiger of Doom,” he repeated. He made a long note on the clipboard. “What’s your e-mail address?”

I told him. Again,

“Where is everyone?” I asked.

“They aren’t … loyal to the Front,” said Inquisitor K. He sucked on his $2 Bud Lite. “They have to work,” he added.

After some stalled conversation with Inquisitor K (“So, what is it that you do?” doesn’t get very far with a man in goth novelty combat boots). I decided to order a beer and talk to the normal person. Inquisitor K put some Slayer on the Internet Jukebox. Other members of the kickball front began to trickle in. I overheard snippets of conversations about “Agent Sprinkles” and “Vietnam”; when one of them referred to Inquisitor K as “Joe,” he snapped at them to be silent. Intermittently, Inquisitor K would approach me and offer to let me hold the deflated kickball he kept in his backpack or insist that I was the true hero. Each time he would say this, he would grasp my shoulder forcefully and hold his hand there a second before letting it fall slightly southward down my shirt, somewhere around my collarbone and uncomfortably close to my bra. Inquisitor K was intoxicated.

About the time Inquisitor K finished up a rambling story (“Apparently, knocking someone out while wearing brass knuckles is considered a felony now”), the other normal person and I said goodbye to Inquisitor K. Before we left, K, now slurring, again insisted that I was a hero. Then he suggested we come to his barbecue on Saturday. “Doesn’t a joke get old at some point?” the normal person asked me as we left the bar.

Apparently not. The next day, I found this:

after what was thought to be a secret meeting for new members of the front at Chief Ike’s, Inquisitor K (forgot to ask if I can just put his real name now) was arrested by US Marshals. He says they were watching the meeting the entire time and when leaving they rushed him but he got away and was chased into Rock Creek where he was tackled, cuffed and nearly drowned. We went down to court this morning where he was arraigned on many charges including advocating terrorism (or something like that), providing material support to a terrorist organization, aggravated assault (for a botched ball-napping in July where a kickball player who gave chase was supposedly knocked out with brass knuckles), resisting arrest, 3 counts of theft, another assault charge, and he apparently faces extradition to Maryland and New Jersey for warrants related to narcotics trafficking. One of the marshalls told him they penetrated the private portion of the website in August where they gained access to the video archive and other pretty damning stuff. We were definitely sold out from the inside and we in the front all know who did this. A warrant was also served at his house in Mt. Pleasant last night where computers and other stuff were taken including all of the ball-knapped balls. I suggested we pull the whole website down but he said that he would “never let those bastards subjugate” him and so the link to the site remains below. He seems confident as he has been in jail several times and isn’t worried. He says they are only after him and so the “Rally For Justice” is still on as a fundraiser. Bond was set at $50,000! I’ll try and keep news on the case as updated as possible. We are all a little shell-shocked right now and our thoughts and prayers go to our great friend and leader.

There’s more. A few days later, this appeared:

UPDATE. Bad to worse. Inquisitor K pleads guilty to all charges. Said “proudly guilty, your honor” in court and saluted the judge. Sentenced 18 months in federal penitentiary, 12 months suspended. Fucking insane. Still incarcerated and awaiting extradition. Right now I’m just exhausted and I’m still at a loss for words for all of this. We will never forget! He seems pretty relaxed about the whole thing, however, and looks forward to working on his really brutal off-the-wall book about the coming collapse of America (naturally) and how he wants to be the road warrior (I think).

Agent Orange, who had been AWOL for several days since the 4th (after dumping shredded balls during a kickball meeting at The Adams Mill the same night haha) has resurfaced. He was indeed also arrested at his apartment and charged with kidnapping but released for lack of evidence. It appears the supposed long-legged kickball playing “victim” has taken a shine to him.

Agent Sprinkles has lost it and submerged all his electronic devices in water after discovering he was put on the No Fly list this week.

Special thanks to the Columbia Heights Minutemen for picking up the slack and getting The Rally for Justice off the ground. Thanks to everyone who came and donated to Inquisitor K’s legal defense. We are all moving into strange territory now where we each have to look inside our hearts to find that burning coal of kickball hatred and let that coal be our leader. New membership suspended until further notice. Sell-out bastard was dealt with. Paybacks a bitch, huh? Thats all for awhile. Moving back underground. Regrouping. But we will never give up and we will never be defeated.

I haven’t heard from the Front since. Meanwhile, Boner Jams ’07 kicked themselves all the way up the top of their DCKickball league. It’s hard to say who’s lamer.