Crabbage Snatch Open - Some Histoly

Clabbage Snatch Histoly

yukon lead, can't you?

2018 - Make Snatch Great Again

From Dave:

Evan and I get up there on Wednesday night. No one else is due. He grabs my inner thigh and I slap his bitch -ass hand away in honor of Kristy. We start cooking some killer rib-eyes and soon there're faces looking in...Gack and Cabin Boy. Oh, baby...the hooting' going on was something to behold. We proceed to get a royal Snatch on and soon G-Off shows up. He had driven all the fucking way from Seattle. As he goes back to get his shit he re-enters the cabin and tells us we need to venture outside. In the dark of the porch we see a sign that G-off has abscond with from an election up his way..."Sibley for PUD Commissioner". Holy fuck, What a harmonic convergence...Gack and Sibs and the campaign manager. We fucking died. It's Snatch on.

Snatch is on...we party balls and get rolling on Saturday morning. The LAST one to get up is her Ragness. I take my stereo on place it at the bottom of the stairs to play at top volume "Bad Motor Scooter". Evan drags his ass down and we need to book pronto. We all roll on down the hill. The roadwork that has been going on in the area is down until Monday- and there was a lot going on...last year an early rain washed away the snow and a section of the road west of the cabin. As the foggy-eyed gents approach the work are, we see an electric amber sign, sign a'flashing..."flagman ahead" or something. I'm in the car with Evan and as we see the sign we think it's legit. But what a fuckin' double take. But NO!!! G-off Brisbine has secreted himself down the hill during the night to abscond with the user manual of the amber-lit road sign just downhill from the cabin. He had gone back at 5:30 to program in the following message: CAUTION SNATCH AHEAD, WATCH FOR CRABS, MSGA FK. .The t-shirt had the theme "Make Snatch Great Again". He had talked to Evan and broke into Evan's car to confirm the t-shirt theme MSGA at 3 fucking thirty in the morning. A Snatchworthy effort for the ages.

2017 - What Would Bobby Do?

From Dave:

I had hopes of being on the trophy as my group finished 5 under on a glorious day. Evan was sure he won with a 7 under, but a group of non-birdie tokers came in 9 under. What is this Snatch coming to?

As we head down to play on Saturday, there is Snoid broken down on the side of the road. We fiddle with it and abandon it until later. Sure didn't make his Saturday smooth. His wife came up late Saturday and picked him up at the cabin but she couldn't join us because she doesn't have a penis.

Evan and I stay through to Monday. At about noon as we head down the hill and reach Arnold Evan's phone starts beeping as his messages, both phone and text, come on line. As he calls and talks to Kristy all I can hear is , "" and his hoping to get some clarification about the disaster that struck Northern California. He hears his family is safe (as were mine) but not so sure of his house. Then his mind goes to Gary, whose house was in the path and Evan was sure Gary was going to put up a fight. We can't get home and go back up to the cabin to wait for the roads to clear-all the while thinking Gary may not have made it. As we get down the hill on Tuesday we find out Gary is fine and amazingly so was his house. Marty was not so fortunate, as he lost his home.

From Phil:

Gary and I get there Monday. Two-handed hearts is rough. It's fricking cold up there. Gary gets pneumonia. I bring some laser lights which looked pretty freaky against the trees. Two of us drive the green on 14, never seen that before, unfortunately the prior group hadn't left yet. Thankfully no permanent injuries. I was touched by how concerned everyone seemed that I made it through the floods ok, and then you get the fire. Fire is way, way worse than floods I know now.

2016 - Perty Thirty

The photo on the home page is Bwian's last hand of bullshit where, had he not called bullshit on the straight (with 3 of spades) that was handed to him, he would've drawn the upturned 3 of diamonds and would've been able to hand a no bullshit straight flush to the next person.

The t-shirt had a nice poem...
"We named his buddy Wakeman,
He griped, we heard his moans
So here's one he's called forever:
No-Name Owens"
You'll notice the Snatch shirt is missing a bit...

Last year Rich Owens brought his brother-in-law to the Snatch. His long blond locks started the nickname machine...Greg Allman was a front runner. Eventually we tagged him with "Wakeman" (go check out an old Yes photo op). We named Greg Freeborn with his flat-top coif "Flightdeck". Rich bellowed, "I've been here 2 years and no one gave me a nickname!" Evan and I thought about this. His nickname in musical circles is 'Jazz Bear' so we thought 'Jizz Bear' but thought 'No-Name' was a better FY because of all his complaining. I did the artwork and had the 4 lines of the poem emanating up from the subway grate as a mist and clearly legible. We were going to present the shirt and the nickname to the boys. I dropped off the artboard to Evan's house. It was a 24x24 board, folded over to protect the artwork. Evan left it laying around and his dear little granddaughter decided it was perfect as a mat for Playdoh. Evan did a reserved flip out and noticed that the artwork was OK- as it was protected by the top layer of the folder and so he left it laying around again. Fast forward to garbage day...he asked where the artwork was. Someone had folded it over a few times and dumped it in the recycling. He fished it out, took it to the silkscreener who said it would probably be all right. 3 lines of the poem disappeared in the process and the poem is but an homage to Rag's boner.

The first year Al can't Snatch. Some bogus friend's daughter's neighbor's cousin's co-worker's babysitter's wedding. There is now only The Gang Of 2...Evan and Dave, who have been to all 30 Snatches. Of course they were also at every Bongathon as well.

A hearty gathering at Snowshoe Brewery on Thursday. Phir and Gary heading down the hill for some wide-eyed bungholery somewhere, no doubt...and the rest of us heading up the hill for oblivion. This was also the first Snatch that ended on Monday. Evan, Schnack, Sibley, and Brandt all chilled and left on Monday. Unt ya!!

2015 - Snatchmo

Rookies abound...and what happens to rookies? They get tagged with nicknames. Greg...coiffed in a flat top... is now "Flight Deck". Rich Owens brings up his brother in law who has long flowing white hair way past his shoulders..."Wakeman". Rich Owens is pissed and announces, " ain't fair! I came up first last year, didn't get a nickname and Wakeman gets one!!!" Yeah, fuck out what you wish for. One of my favorites from last year post-Snatch is Bill "Cantrecall". We couldn't remember his last name and Webmaster Phil had it listed as Cantrecall for the longest time until we found out his last name is Hoagland. Bill says his nickname is it isn't, dickweed, it's Cantrecall.

Thursday night...carnitas...oooh...can't wait...Except that asshole Jorge decides he can't make it AT THE LAST FUCKIN' MINUTE!! What to do? I'll tell you what. Brandt steps up and makes fried chicken for the boys to rave reviews! Wakeman says it's the best fried chicken he has EVER had. Jorge who?

Thundering downpours on Thursday has Evan digging a channel to carry the water away from the cabin. Bobby drives in an plants the wheels of his Suburban in Evan's work. Yeah...fuck you.

The Snatch weather on Saturday was grolious! Bar Cart Anna can now make Bloody Marys on the course...unt ya! Brandt comes in second.

We see a group of golfers dressed in the same shirts DAMIT (Dan's Annual Mountain Invitational Tournament). While talking to them Brandt says It's a good thing Ron didn't start it and one of them says or CRanston. Then they start bragging about how this is their 19th annual. Of course we tell them it's our 29th and they fuck off with tails between their rookie ass legs.

And now a report from Hemi with rebuttals from Dave and Paul:


Another great Crabbage Snatch weekend (nine and twenty - Snatch mo', not less).

Evan, thanks for coordinating another fun weekend outing with the boys. Dave, great shirts - mine's a little long but for many of you well endowed, barrel-bodied individuals I guess you'll just have to institute some suspenders (from the tidey-whities up to the bottom of the shirt) to hold the shirt down when Benner releases wind. Thanks again for another mass of great memories...

First off, it's just great to be on the trophy again. This year was my toughest yet. I was hitting so well off the tees that we had to wait until the 18th hole to use my last drive. If my teammates had been able to hit the fairways a little more often we probably would not have been in that precarious situation. Fortunately, I was able to drive the 18th fairway, by way of the trees and hillside on the right. We/I saved par and the rest is history. The run down on the winning team's highs and lows:

We had an FNG (Keith) who has a magic putter, on the course and I hear off of it as well - Dave, care to comment? And I realized Sunday morning, during the afterbirth of the previous night, that Keith actually owes me his life for me saving his sorry ass. After a rousing round or two of Chubby Bunnies around the campfire, and way too many Coors Lights, Keith tried to do a 180 degree turn and stepped off a rock, back first, headed straight for the fire pit. I grabbed his arm and settled him back on his own two feet before he got singed. After all, I might need his help next year to get me on the trophy again...

Todd was cueing shots at 45 degree angles all day long so it wasn't even safe to stand behind him when he played thru. I have to admit though, when he actually made solid contact he hit the ball a long, long way, though we rarely were able to find it...

And Gary, holy crap, he played left handed so we had to carry his sorry ass all the way to the 18th green. We really should have gotten a handicap having a southpaw on the squad. After the first birdie toke he had to ask which way to hit the ball - good thing I was driving. I'm red/green color blind so having red eyes and trying to navigate a field of green everywhere you looked was trying my skill level.

To be honest, I wasn't at my best. If I was playing normal golf, whatever that is, I'd have shot well over 150, but with the scramble foreplay we just seemed to hit the right shots when we needed them. The bad news was that we tied for first place with another foresome at four under. The good news was we accidentally turned in two score cards for our team so before we had to determine a winner between ourselves and ourselves, someone decided to take a closer look to see the two "winning" cards were from the same team. I wonder if that means we get our names on the trophy twice?!? Dave, care to weigh in?

Anyway, driving up with Benner and Sark was, as usual, an experience. No one can bring his audience to tears faster than Benner, riding in a car with the windows up. And after dropping a bomb, claims his window was stuck and wouldn't open. I couldn't tell because my eyes were watering too much and my head was hanging two feet outside the window on my side of the car. That started on the way up Friday afternoon, before he sampled someone's idea of a cruel and unusual joke of serving something that looked like chili but was in truth a gastric concoction that blew the innards out of everyone who was foolish enough to think they could tone it down by burying it in cheese or even hot sauce. There were unbelievable splatter patterns left on the inside of the poor toilet. Oh well, all's well that ends well. Rich and Paul drove off after dropping me off at my house so as far as I'm concerned, I survived another Snatch experience with all limbs intact, though minus another few million brain cells. Lucky me!!!


That's E-M-M-O-N-S for whoever is putting the names on the trophy...

Ha ha...yeah...Dave 'weigh' in on this...I get it...make fun of guys with fat asses and belt over-hanging guts...

Well I just contacted Legal Advocating Righteous Defense (LARD). You won't believe the size of their briefs.

It was a magical weekend...except no Fucking Carnitas, Jorge. Oh...and there was that bullshit about taking Uncle George off of my team, thereby making me 33% important to my team rather than 25%. No team can handle 8% more of MY shitty golf.

Flightdeck on BarBQ duty kicked ass. Who needs Shitlock?

Saving myself for 30,


I concur with everything Snoid says. Fantastic Snatch number nine and twenty. Snatchmo, not less, indeed.

Except, he does not mention that I sat in the middle seats of Benner's van, with no windows to hang my head out of.

Benner drove our golf cart, and even tried to fold up the Plexiglas front window to achieve a tighter seal during the game. Alas, everyone stunk that day.

We are all thankful that at least two guys were keeping score on Kent's foursome. Everyone could hear Snoid's characteristic a'whoopin' and a'hollerin' echoing through the fir trees during the game. It was a lot more than four times, so he clearly wasn't waiting for a birdie to make an ejaculation. We can check Gary's pant leg.

By the way, did anyone bring back clear plastic baggie with my toiletries? I had an electric toothbrush, a prescription toothpaste and a hairbrush. None of it is worth a drive back to Arnold, but it would be great to know if anyone brought it down with them by chance. Oh, right, Chance wasn't there. I'm sure it will be up there at the cabin next year, sitting next to Brundt's chance to be on the trophy. And mine.

FKWMT (with Marshall's tongue),



2014 - 'Gina Town

Julie Brandt steps up and makes The Snatch Banner! She took all the tshirts, cut out a square of the artwork, and sewed them together. After years of draping the shirts on a line we can now unfurl them in one swell foop! Unt ya.

Marshall brings up Rich Owens-an old high school friend who also happens to be an amazing musician. On Saturday he says "Fuck you, Outdoor Strokin' Strummin' Queenie Minstrals, I'm going to light up this here piano. He tears it up (unlike when he golfs). An interesting story about how he got into the Snatch Fold... Rich and his wife Debbie travel a lot for Rich's gigs. They also like to wine taste. One day a gig brought him to Sonoma County where he has a timeshare. He and Deb were out winetasting at Portalupi Wines in Healdsburg. Dave Brandt's daughter Carolyn is the tasting room manager. While sampling the wines, the subject about where Rich grew up came into the conversation. Rich said San Lorenzo and Carolyn said, "Hey, my dad is from San Lorenzo!". Carolyn asked if he knew a Marshall Field and his eyes lit up and said how he and Marshall were the best of buds growing up, lost contact, and sure wished he knew where he was now. Carolyn called Marshall and he came over ASAP. The rest is history and they are now getting married as soon as Rich's divorce to Debbie is complete.

Old gummers on the links: Marshall and Tom drive around on the back nine - as his team has disintegrated due to Marshall's tummy scars, Tom's impending knee surgery, and Rich's shit-ass first ever golf outing. They just became a couple of pesky Snatch Flies. You never knew when you'd see them.

2014 Marshall brings up a HUGE load of CSO caps-some white with black lettering and some black with orange lettering...unknowingly making them match the black shirts with orange 'Gina Town lettering. Proof of God's sanctioning of The Snatch.

2013 - Crab Some Buds

Fiske comes up for the preSnatch and then has to take off. Just couldn't get all that time off. Superhuman effort...unlike many...Bambi? Bwian? Shitlock? Tommy?

Phir reappears after a Snatchdrought. What the fuck was he thinking? You lock the date in...'nuff said.

Rookie Casey kept his ship afloat during Bullshit. We must be getting soft.

Tournament day. Two teams come in tied at -6. Brundt's team and it-really-didn't-matter-who-else's team. Something must be done. A decision was made to have a putt-off, despite some strong lobbying from one of the teams (anything to get on the trophy, eh Dave? so if the whole tournament was rained out, you'd want all 24 of us on there just so you could finally see your name in lights? bah!). So each team would choose a champion. Belay that, Dave's team might actually choose a good putter. Or instead they might choose Dave, and the prospect of Dave's arms rising triumphant, despite the incredible odds against that, was just too much to bear. So the audience (read: losers) did the choosing. Gardiser for his team, and Bobbio for Dave's. After a dramatic two-putt match, Tom was in and the trophy was safe!

2012 - The Deadliest Snatch

Food thought ramblings: Thursday night...yum...carnitas...WITH YELLOW JACKETS! Ah...Bar-B-Q Saturday. Calamari...oh shit...we ran out...who the FUCK was supposed to bring a shitload? Bobby fucked up again. That's OK, let's have steak...what the FUCK???? This shit is like leather!!! What? Someone bought chuck??? Bobby fucked up again.

Bernie shows up Friday night, has a great time, hits the sheets, and then storms out of the cabin in the early morn and says he's going down the hill to get some sleep. I guess Evan's schnozz makes for cavernous snoring. At the Snatch groupingfest I was put in a foursome with a scratch golfer/ringer- Bernie Allen, a somewhat competent Bwian Weigew, Mike Tamboury. I thought that I had a chance. Then Mike tells me that the last time he ever swung a club he was a kid at a driving range a millennium ago. Ohhhhh fuckkkk. Bernie NEVER shows. He buggered off to the Bay Area.Ohhh fuckkkkk. Then we get as a replacement some other fly by night golfer who made his mark at the cabin by sayin' he's off to go shoot something, goes to his truck, and then walks down by the creek WITH A FUCKIN RIFLE!!!!!! We finished 7 over.

Evan barges into the cabin and says, " gotta hurry and hear this song they're playing outside. Hurry, it's almost over!" I stroll up to the fire pit where the Strokin' Strummin' Queenie Minstrals are playing. The chorus went something like this to the song "Kumbaya"..."Fuck Kerig Lord, blow me Dave, Fuck Kerig Lord, blow me Dave...." Sauce was asking people to jump right in and add new lyrics. I sat for a bit and jumped on board, ragging on Sauce.

Lots of Hearts being played at the kitchen table. On Thursday night I worked a game of Bullshit in while standing because we couldn't find a seat. Nosecheese was on my left. I pasted him about 3 hands in a row. With his eyes swimming he looked at me and said, "Dave, you aren't still mad about last year, are you?" I lied and said no.

2011 - In Golf We Suck

Oh-so-close Brandt's words: "As I get to the course Evan has been busy pulling names out of a hat. He tells me I'm with Chance. I sense destiny and cheer. Then he laughs and says I also have Lodwig. We round out the group with rookie Kenny...a fucking distance machine. We hit the trail and start racking up birdies- EVERYONE pitching in. 18 comes along and we have no drives required, finish in par, and roll off with 6 under. Behind us comes the M. Parshall group...a loaded deck. They hit the green with a 7ft putt to win. No way am I going to shut up and let the harassment begin. First...whiff, second...whiff, third...whiff. I'm feeling rigid. Nosecheese steps up and...and...drains it. They finished 7 under, I man-up and cry.

Early morning story time upstairs. We'd wake up, start talking in our heaviest Bri'ish accents and ask Stoyve to tell us a story... about a "li'le froagie" Evan would chime in about it getting hit by a lorry. Tommy killed it though when he told us the story of the little green froggie that went to the tattoo parlor but all they had was green ink and you couldn't see the tattoos. He became sad and went to the pub and drank away the pain. The alcohol oozed out the pores on his skin and everyone would try to lick him. Then he was run over by the lorry. We fuckin' died.

M. Parshall duBoys' words: "Unbeknownst to us, as we stood 6 under on the tee box on 18, Dave's foursome had finished at 6 under. Gary launched a drive right of the fairway, got a favorable kick back onto the fairway leaving us about 135 yards out. I hit a shot to about 8-10 feet. As we drove to the green I said to Gary that I didn't hit that shot, it was divine intervention, that we were going to make the putt for a birdie and thereby shoot 7 under which would be one stroke better than Brandt's foursome (having no idea what their score was) because that's what the Snatch Gods would, the win was SNATCHED from jaws of victory of Dave's foursome.....don't ask we why, but sometimes manure happens. Congrats to Rookie Rick for getting on the trophy, Nosecheese for a repeat, he's now 2 for 2 and to Garbear for his usual steady, consistent play that kept us in the hunt all day.

2010 - A Case O' Crabs

Webmaster did not make it to this one, some stupid tennis tournament or something like that. But he understands George added smoked brisket to the menu, and that Myers showed up after a twenty-year absence. Welcome back, Mole man!

But Iggy sent some nice memories:

Greetings from beautiful Arizona, where we're having our own very cool thunderstorm right now. But no problem, cuz we have a functional power grid. And a functional, inspired state legislature. I would like to know if the power ever came back on, or if Evan and Brandt just left the mess for Hackett to clean up.

Seriously, great Snatch guys! Great company, great laughs, great food (except for no calamari), great booze, great golf, great cards, and great to see everyone again, even Dennis.

I believe some recognition is in order:

First, a thank you to Snoid for the mercy ride back to the cabin on Friday. The rearrangement of all your shit to accommodate me, Gardiser and Schnack is greatly appreciated, especially after the bitching and moaning from Brandt and Gary about "not having enough room". We appreciate too your sacrifice of your oil pan.

Let's give a big Fuck You to Benner for rendering the living room uninhabitable on Chili Night. Regrettably, the aforementioned gratitude to Snoid must be rescinded (gratitude is a disease of dogs anyways, but I'll bet none of you knows who said that). So Fuck You to Snoid because he brought Benner and is therefore ultimately responsible for the oderiferous serenade. Next year I suggest a Bambi Watch to keep him away from the chili. He can eat Gardiser's oatmeal instead.

Kudos to Whore Hey once again for the awesome brisket and carnitas, and for hanging the Brundt the Cunt moniker on Brandt (although Chester the Molester would be equally appropriate given his profession). Sadly, Whore Hey and his fellow "professional electrician" Shitlock get a huge Fuck You for failing to restore the fucking power and water, thus depriving the rest of their fellow Snatchers of their constitutional rights to porn, hot showers, hot morning coffee, and morning dumps in a safe and sheltered environment. On second thought, Shitlock and Whore Hey get a double Fuck You. I suppose we could have taken our morning dumps in the Man Trailer, though, since it was so conveniently parked.

Congratulations to Raghee on being ordained as the Reverend Evan Field. He can now pursue the alter boys with the full blessings of the Church. But "Rev Ev" also gets a hearty Fuck You for failing miserably to exploit his new relationship with Him to get the fucking power and water restored.

Triple secret Fuck You's are barely adequate for Bobbio, A) for forgetting the fucking calamari, B) for stinking up the entire kitchen and bathroom Sunday morning by taking a forbidden shit in the bathroom despite the emergency rules, and C) for using the last of the bottled water to try to flush the toilet, said water which could have been more profitably used to make my fucking morning coffee, since the fucking gas stove was working just fine.

Fuck You's to everyone who did not show up, and to your lame-ass excuses. I'm thinking specifically of Orbit, Cabin Boy, and the guy from Minnesota or Wisconsin or wherever the fuck it is you cum from. If Myers can get his sorry ass on a plane all the way from Philadelphia, so can you. The only one with a half-way decent excuse is Dr. Muddy. If it's any consolation, Sarkesian, the Mudshark Competition would have been prematurely curtailed anyways because we lost the fucking power and water at a crucial time, and Whore Hey, Shitlock and Rev Ev couldn't do their fucking jobs properly. And there was no calamari.

Fuck you to everyone who sat there like drooling catatonic dumbshits while I shot the moon, several times. Ya'll gotta be real shitty card players to let that happen.

And finally, if I have forgotten anyone, my apologies and Fuck You too.

Respectfully (or not)


PS: I have not forgotten about you, Kerig. Fuck You and your tennis tournament. What a gay fucking sport. I'm just glad I didn't have to see you frolicking around in your gay-ass little tennis outfit getting all hot and sweaty. Now that's a nice Castro Street visual, ain't it?

From Brandt:

We're driving to Sequoia Woods and suddenly in front of us on the highway are 2 hunting dogs with radio wired collars. We almost hit them and pull over. Oogie, in the truck behind us stops, corrals the dogs into his pick-up, while we direct traffic, goes to the nearest house, calls the ph# on the collars, and reunites them with their idiot owner.

Coming back from Sequoia we see dark clouds up the hill The rain starts. We get to the cabin in a fuckin' torrential downpour with rivers of rainwater running through Tent City.

Lightening causes a brownout. Timpson has brought a DVD player that uses only 7 watts of power...just enough...WE GOT PORN!!!!

From Evan:

Ed Halbach is getting a Lifetime Achievement award from Boalt on Friday night, so Evan and Al drive down the mountain, attend the dinner, and at 9:30 leave the Bay Area. They arrive at the cabin at 12:30, record time, only to find the cabin dark and apparently deserted. They figure it's a setup, so hang around downstairs to wait the bastards out. Finally out of patience, Evan goes upstairs only to find them all asleep! At 12:30 on Snatch Friday! Oh, how Change Of Life has affected the boys. Only a couple of them are willing to get back up and party til 3:30 with Ev and Ar.

2009 - Prime Time

First arrivals - Sunday - Rhag, Phir, Noshit, Scrot. The usual killer Hearts games, the last two punctuated with Rhag running to win. Noshit and Scrot, of course, failed to pass anything to stop him or take a heart when they could. Dicks.

The Sherlock Clan embarks on a Murphys to Camp Connell bar tour with Bobbio as their bitch. He arrives Friday after golf WRECKED from Jagermeisters. Bobbiowatch began with people taking turns "Bobbysitting". Even the marshal on Saturday had to Bobbysit when Bobby drove onto the teebox on 11 WITH THE MARSHAL RIGHT BEHIND!! The bar at Camp Connell seems to be more and more popular with the boys.

Marshall gets CRABBAGE SNATCH '09 OPEN...FK balls printed. We all had to write our names on them. Then, if you found someone's they HAD to Chubby Bunny. Small problem. Evan forgets to buy marshmallows. Dick.

Schnack and Brandt...the last Snatchers standing on Saturday night. We toasted it.

Crua brings up his babyfaced boy who immediately gets tagged by Timpson with the name "McLovin". Evan awards the name "Trish" to Patrick with a dual shoulder tag in front of the troops as we call teams at the pro-shop.

On the way up Marshall and Brundt leave Santa Rosa to pick up Fiske at Sacto airport. Bobby is coming up from Salinas. We are all going to meet at Forest Meadows to play 18. We call Booby from highway 12 in San Andreas and he says he's on Hwy 4 in Copperopolis. As we pull into Angels Camp to get sandwiches, Bobby calls and says he's having car trouble...a flat. As I'm talking to him, I start getting this stereo effect as he comes walking up to my side of the car still on the phone. He pulled right in behind us at the 12/4 junction. Phenomenal timing worthy of his prank.

Carnitas again. The gift that keeps on giving.

Phir invokes winter rules (Scrot disdains same) to smite Scrot yet again.

Perfect weather during the days, cold the first night or two, and then late Saturday night - snow!

Paul brings a bottle of Old Bushmills, and is inexplicably surprised to find it empty by mid-evening. You don't leave that shit around us.

The Snatchers pull into the Sequoia Woods parking lot and do our usual...dicking off, drinking, and playing music. This pair of gals come strolling down the street and catch our eye. They decide to milk the scene and walk THROUGH the parking lot so we can appreciate them. The one thing they didn't count on was some Snatcher blaring on their car stereo Ted Nugent singing the Poontang song. "I want a poontang...poontang". We fuckin' died!

2008 - It's a Snatch Twoonty-Twoont

Evan is the first one at the cabin this year, he and Noshit on Monday. Phir arrives Monday night, then Scrot on Tuesday and let the games begin!

The tournament is held in a cold, cold rain. We keep hoping Evan will make an executive decision and shorten it, but no dice. So your webmaster's team says screw it and wins just to spite him.

Carnitas! That magic word. George shows what rookies are, or should be, cabable of and serves up a feast for the gods. These carnitas were so good that the leftovers were served as a meat topping on the Friday night chili with cheese dribbled on rave reviews!

Chubby Bunny ushers in a new era, and any veterans who missed the Snatch the previous year are now eligible (nay, compelled) to enter. Rookie George takes the title anyway. Evan tells everyone to come outside for the Chubby Bunny effort. Little does he know that Bobbio has loaded a select few with cans of silly string. As he starts to do his usual Evan yapping the silly string boys unload. Check the pixs. Totar squandage.

Phir takes advantage of Scrot's self-inflicted finger breakage to smoke him in the unofficial singles tournament. Mercy? Hah!

Captain Mudshark writes:

"The Crabbage Snatch for 2008 (# 22) was great. For all the pussies (see also: Benner, Yarrow) who were not there, Rag has made an executive decision re-defining “rookie”, that all of us who were there are behind 100%.

Friday golf at Meadowmont is taking on a life of its own as the populace slowly but surely starts to embrace Growler Golf.

On Saturday, we saw that golfing into the teeth a driving, rainy gale is what the Snatch is all about. This was classic North Sea coast of Scotland golf at its best.

Walking windbreaks like Sherlock, Marshall, Brandt and others were highly sought-after partners for the foursomes.

Once Snoid froze solid, his team made the most of it, by lashing him to the front of a cart, hanging poly sheet off him and turning him into a pup tent.

The only safety-related incident occurred just as we were leaving on Sunday morning. While we were playing a last game of Hearts, I was aware that something was amiss with the contents of my digestive tract. I was able to finish the game, but I knew there was no way that my morning bowel movement was going to have the firmness and definition of a proper Mudshark.

Although I was initially disappointed by the result, I realized that the gas-charged Gunnite that had come flying out of my ass actually had sort of created a new aesthetic. It was less a Rodin sculpture than it was a Jackson Pollock on porcelain.

I decided to leave it for others to judge its relevance and artistic merit."

Brundt writes:

Great Snatch...especially that Hackett wasn't there. The air was refreshing thanks to Bambi's absence. You didn't have to step up, Snoid and take over."

Hinson tees up his ball and rips it. It explodes. The three of us (Chandler, Hinson and Brandt...Fiske had left to go watch his ponies in the warm, dry, bar) look to each other to find out who had swapped in the exploding ball. Turned out it was Hinson...and he didn't know. He had a buddy put one in his bag a few years ago...then forgot about it. We died.

M. Parshall DuBois writes:

"Hey, fuck all the Snatcher name bullshit....let's hear it for this years winners.....never before has the rest of the competition conceded victory so early, before a single closest to the pin attempt was even made....a sterling effort from Phir, we rode him like a rented mule and Nose Cheese stepped up on the first tee and contributed immediately. It was a team effort as Tom and I contributed perfectly executed golf shots at critical times. In fact, as a group, knowing we were so far ahead at the turn, we backed off so as not to embarrass the lesser efforts of others. Hell, we could have won EVEN if we had Dave!!

Great effort Ev on the whole deal, Bobbio and Brandt and Tom on the bbq and all related foodstuff and Gary on bitches rock!!....oh, and Sark your beard and blowjob combo is a winner, thanks for swallowing....again."

Brundt writes:

"At least a month before The Snatch, I send the tshirt artwork to Hackett for the negs. He shoots them promptly and then they sit...waiting...for...Evan. As we approach the Snatch, Hackett starts a Snatchpost about how the negs are just sitting there. The raggage begins. Actually Evan knew he would have the shirts in his possession as he heads up to the Snatch on Monday- which he does. He and I decide to not tell a soul and decide instead to berate each other for our respective fuck up and how the shirts won't be there. Snatchers take the bait and a barrage of Snatchposts ragging on us for fucking up the shirt order are spat out. Hell, Sauce even wrote a great song about this. Check it out on the Snatchsite. When we see each other at the Snatch we continue to rag on each other. Evan even went into the post office to chat with Vince's wife who works, there just to say he was pretending to check on an order. We even had Lodwig go in to check. Gawd it was fun." [Webmaster's note: yeah, I bit too, and went by the post office as well. I'd feel dumb if it weren't for the fact that these two are such fuckup dickheads that fucking up is to be expected]

See the pictures here

2007 - 007 Snatchfinger

Gary and Phil arrive to find a bear had arrived first. Phil lets Gary take point. Kitchen is a total wreck, but at least the bear was focused and kept the damage (largely) to food-related areas. A few hours labor and a new refrigerator later and it really doesn't look much worse than it will at the end of the weekend.

Gang of Four puts on the most amazing Jeopardy-knockoff Crabbage Trivia contest. Rolling in the aisles.

Snow, snow, and more snow. From dawn to dusk on Friday. Damn that global warming.
Brundt show us the International Space Station. Not uncool. Some of us are hooked.
Plenty of Second Generation (CSNG?). Second Chance wins nickname-of-the-year award.
Scrot finally wrests the title of King of the Hill from Phir.

Speaking of which, Ally (Evan's 2nd G) makes the tie-dyed shirts. We still wouldn't let her come.

See the pictures here

2006 - Score!!!

Flodo is a no-show, as is M. Parshall, and many other old-timers.

Brandt steps up to the tee at #1. A large roar of laughter breaks out as well as numerous rags of impending shit. Brandt backs off to compose himself and goes back to his teed up ball and gets ready again...silence...untill a couple of nearby geese start cackling. Someone shouts out, "Hey, even the geese are laughing!" Brandt backs off again as the roars of laughter drown out the geese. Brandt steps back up and SMOKES the ball straight down the fairway long. He turns around and says, "How about a nice cup of SHUT THE FUCK UP!" The crowd obliges as Brandt pony-rides his golf club to his cart.

The year the snows hit. The early boys show up on Tuesday and on Wednesday.

The rains begin late at night and soon pound the metal roof. Midmorning the pounding stops and we think the rain has stopped. No..CUZ IT WAS SNOWING!!. Flakes fall all day and it piles up forcing 4 wheel drive or chain requirements (more on this from Rag or Noshit). Castor shows snowballs! Schnack shows up...ATTACK!! Gardiser shows up...SQUANDER!!! Great time. Roads stay clear for all the rest.

Brandt comes in and sees a game of Bullshit on and goes to the corner of the table as Harris is looking at his hand. Brandt looks at the hand quite noticeably to all- save Harris, and sees a bunch of crap. Harris sets the hand down and looks up at Brandt. "Wanna play?" he asks. "Sure," Brandt quickly responds. Harris sets the shit down and calls 3 threes. Brandt says, "Bullshit." The place died.

The year the shirts didn't come. Hackett and Evan change the artwork that Brandt has sent in for printing. The subliminal clipjob on Evan in the artwork gets changed to a clipjob on Dave. This delay ultimately ends in no shirts due to the silkscreener "forgetting" to ship.

Sez Hackett: It was Evan's meth-cooker buddy in Clear Lake that screwed up.

"Dude, the shirts won't be ready before you leave for the cabin."

"That's OK. Just send them to General Delivery in Arnold."

"OK man. They'll be there by Friday."

So Evan calls the moron on Saturday. "Where the hell are the shirts?!?!"

"Oh man, I forgot to ship them."

"Well shit! Just send them to my house. I'm heading home tomorrow."

"OK. I'm sorry man."

So what happens??? The shirts show up General Delivery in Arnold on Wednesday! I think maybe we need a new shirt dude.

See the pictures here

2005 - Menage Crabbage Adage Raggage Barrage Collage

The Year of the Second Generation

Must've been 100 people there. After the precedent set by the Sons of Benner at Mini-Snatch June 2005, we were treated to the supple loins of Son of Parshall, and Friends of Son of Parshall. So many of the motherfuckers you couldn't even count them. Sadly, none of them can play golf worth a fuck. They fit in perfectly.

The first of Snatch:the Second Generation was Colin, son of Parshall. He was also the poor guy who tried to sit and play Bullshit with Psycho. A choice moment was when Psycho asked Colin his name for the 10th time or so. I died when Colin reached over, shook hands, and said Randolph.

Chubby Bunny again! A classic showdown. New techniques evident for swallowing without chewing - hmm, these could come in handy upstairs.

Scrot and Kerig get drawn on the same team. Game over, right? Right. Talk about a useless pairing, what a couple of has-beens.

Psycho shows up after being told he's done.

Mudshark teases us all and says he can't come...and then he comes after all. It sure made Evan happy- he ate it all up.

The 8 man board gets played...twice! Games for the ages. Took all fuckin' night and Snatchers would tag-team in to play. Priceless. Gayboyz (pink) win both times.

A wedding was going on- visible to all at the turn (hence the stiffies at the turn due to the bride's maids, except in Thibley's case) and wedding vows were being exchanged while Snatchers were yelling "SHIT!!!" on errant drives. It's OUR fuckin' day, bitch!

Doesn't anybody remember anything else?

See the pictures here

2004.5 (June 2005 MiniSnatch, Sunol Valley Golf Club) - Snoid's 50th


Snoidage Day
Snoidage/Tampax Tourney
Snoid's Open
Snoids' Retreat
Hemi's Tourney
Pre-Crabbage Tourney
Snoidage Tourney
Snoid-Crabs Tourney
Snoid-Putz Open
Dickless-Puss Invitational
One-in-the-brownhole Open
Brown-Hole-In-Snoid Invitational
Wanker Open Tourney
Snatcher Wanker Invitational
Fuck Kerig Tournament
Crabbanach Turngament Ennbatashunal
Choonoucunt Guff Opin
Gopuckjorselp Opin
Nike Likie Snoid Pro Tour
Pingjorselp-in-the-hole Open
Fieldfuck Fest Pro Tour
Hacker Wanker Open
The Kunt Invitational
Snoid's Hole
Steamy Crab Open
Snoid-in-one Tourney
Itchy Crabs Open
Pubes-R-Us Crabbage Open
Pubes Open
Fuck Kerig Open
Emmons-a-geezer Splooge Gumorial
Old Fuck Open
Old Grandad's Invitational
Emmons Is A 50 Year Old Gummer Classic

Brandt loses another golf tournament. What a shocker. Nobody really knows who won, but we sure know who lost. Actually, as soon as the tournament was announced we knew who lost.

The Sons of Benner make their first appearance at an official Event. I cannot believe humanity allowed that piece of shit to procreate. Fornicate, now that's another story, but procreate, gawd help us all.

Kerig makes a surprise and secret appearance. Brandt hatches plot to distract people as they show up, then sits back to watch (he likes to watch) as they casually stroll to the table to greet the others, and see him (to their surprise and dismay). 2 out of 3 puke, and it was grand. The Timpson Two-Step wins the prize.

The Webmaster remembers the group ahead of his (Hemi for one) whacking a ball back at them. 180 yards, three iron, flushes it right back 4 feet over their heads and scatters the bitches. Best shot I hit all day, as my teammates will attest.

Gardiser holes an eagle. Reminds me of the time he holed a chicken.

Scrot strokes a long drive that nobody else could have reached in two. Impressive. As far as I could tell, nobody even hit the green on the closest-to-the-pin hole.

See the pictures here

2004 - Coming (sic) of Age

All remains right with the world, as Brandt fails to win the tournament again. I don't know what we'll do if that ever happens. Ain't losing sleep over it either.

The return of Chubby Bunny!! Won by Rob McGay in an all-FNG contest. We tried to get Quicksilver to accept a Champions' Challenge, but he wussed out.

Brandt whips out his new 8-man Ag board, twice. Couldn't get a quorum the second time. Recollections differ on whether a quorum was had the first time.

Crowds are getting bigger earlier. Big crowd Wednesday, and at essentially full strength Thursday. Wait til people start retiring!

Timpson's team wins the tournament without even cheating this time. With his seventh victory he moves into a tie with Chance for the alltime lead.

Immortal line: "Why are they coming then?" (NoShit knows what I'm talking about)

Immortal dialog: Evan comes up to Brandt prior to tee-off and says , "Dave I have some bad news." Brandt says, "What, did I get stuck with Lodwig again?" And Evan says, ""

Sibley the Younger makes first pilgrimage. Gets right into the swing of things with an amazing virtuoso performance in his first trip to the plate in years (yeah I'm talking in code).

Brandt gets absolutely hammered during an evening of Bullshit. Had lots of help (Bwian). "He was a veteran, he was wounded, and I hadda hurt him."

A fine rookie crop this year, indeed.

Four kegs this year. Two Lagunitas, and two BM (Brandt's brewery - Bottle of the Bilge Tripel and Sadiemeister ESB). Bilge was finished by Thursday night - a new record for a keg.

Scrot and Flodo battle to another 2-2 draw in the Tussle in the Trees.

Evan hangs the most unbelievable piss into the campfire. Nearly puts it out. Must've been two gallons at least. Never seen anything like it, not since Lake Amaranthus.

Evan announces that we will have the usual longest drive and closest to the pin...but in addition we will now have the Closest to the Tee. On the first shot of the whole tournament, Lodwig steps up for the ceremonial first shot and duffs a 10 yard dribbler. The stars DO line up. This trophy is now the Sweet Rotunda Tee Whiff Award.

At the Bullshit table Sark is to Brundt's right and Bwian is on the left. Bwian is a hose beast and sucks up anything that comes his way...3 of a Kind with ace kicker- it just don't matter. This goes on for quite some time and after a good while of this Brundt remarks to Sark how much of a fish Bwian is and that no matter what Sark passes Brundt, Brundt will call 4 of a Kind 'cuz "my bitch" will suck it up. So on the next hand Sark passes me crap, Brundt draws 2 and calls 4 of a Kind- and it ain't there. Bwian slurps it up and Brundt and Sark just fuckin' die laughing. Gawd we were in stitches!

A couple of memorable lines from the tournament, both uttered by FNG's, one an OFNG....."I'm not putting a marshmellow in my ass", to which Evan replied, "That's right, you're not!"......second he was getting up from the table and walking away shaking his head, OFNG said, "I only lost one hand, but I pointed seven times" new nick name gotta be Billdo!

To the above, Brundt responds: "Nicely done, Malsh. Allow me to preface your Billdo comment with some background info. Evan and I were sitting in the cart on the second tee or so and we started talking about the great nicknames the Snatch has spawned: Mudshark, Bambi, Bobbio, Noshit, Sweet Rotunda, That Limey Fuck, Tommygrubs, Peckerwhacker, CabinBoy, Love Monkey, etc. Bill was in our foursome and Evan said he needed a nickname, We chewed it over for a bit and as I got out of the cart to hit I hear Evan yell, "I got it...Billdo!" Bill then said in an off-handed way to brush it aside, "Yeah, I've heard that before but it never stuck." Of course Evan and I said, "This is going to be different, BILLDO!" Then Evan said it really should be BillDoh! with a Homer Simpsonesque "Doh!". That fuckin killed us and we hammered that name home all day long.

See the pictures here

2003 - Invasion of the Bawdy Snatchers

Brandt fails to win the tournament again. This is not news.

Brandt performs a spectacular triple-double in front of the barbecue grill. I tell ya, people usually have to pay for that kind of shit and we get it for free.

Crua amazes all by backing out to go to a - get this - Steely Dan concert with his fuck buddy! Receives unmitigated shit via the airwaves. Receives his last invitation via the airmail.

Hackett amazes nobody by backing out to dogsit. The music does not suffer.

No Shit nearly pulls off one of the most incredible Hearts cumbacks ever, stuck on 99 for about 7 hands in a row while systematically queening everyone else.

Lodwig is dubbed "The Sweet Rotunda" by - of course - the Knavigator and doesn't instantly recognize it as his new nickname. Go figure.

In a similar vein, this year's FNG asks at the drawing of teams, "who's Bwian?"

Cabin Boy, at the outset of a debate on women with hair on their nipples, said "Boy, that sure was a surprise the first time". I wonder if Rhonda shaves her tits. No wonder we call him Quicksilver.

Hackett's wife steals the guest book, then he denies it.

Tommy hits the mother of all long drives on 18. Huge draw which takes the optimal flight path - off the mountainside on the right and rolls down into the fairway. Still doesn't reach the green. Then cheats and accepts the crown even though his team didn't use his drive.

Mudshark wins the Mudshark award on his first flop. The man is a god.

Sauce arrives on Tuesday to get a thorough head-clearing and join Scrot, Flodo, and NoShit in that famous Hearts game.

Scrot and Flodo battle to a 2-2 draw in the Melee on the Mountain. Scrot's Win at Windsor was tainted and don't count for shit (he knows why).

We must be getting old. Nobody actually threatened to throw us off the golf course this year.

Slackett rips everyone a new asshole for not properly cleaning and closing the cabin when we left. Which just proves, if you want anything done right, do it yourself.

In front of our [this is Brundt talking] foursome is Chance, Castor, Douglas and Bojk. We are at the 7th tee and they crunched their drive and are admiring it. For sport I tee up my ball and smack it past them by 15yds. To mess with them we then decide to play through and get on our horses. They tell us to fuck off but then ask who hit that? I say Brandt, fuckers. We reach the 8th teebox and watch them dilly-dallying. So Tom steps up to the tee and loosens up with no ball. We tell him to make it look real and he does. We all start hooting at the "shot" and then yell, "FORE!!" They scatter and we die laughing. They take their sweet time to putt out so Tom tees up one for real and smokes it right at them. We yell, "FORE!" and they don't believe it until Tom's shot lands a foot in front of Chance's gaping maw. We die laughing again.

Gourmet dishes start to appear. We feast upon calamari and, most appropriately, crab cakes. Crab balls must surely be next.

See the pictures here

2002 - Fuck Gardiser

Which we all did, some several times.

The year the firewood arrived at 3 AM. Scrot, Noshit, and Phir decided they needed to buy some firewood (lazy fucks) since it was 10 degrees colder than shit up there. They approach a shady-looking character in the supermarket who agrees to sell them firewood to be delivered to the cabin "sometime tonight or tomorrow morning". Nothing happens in the evening, so our boys trundle off to bed, cursing the firewood guy but delighted to be in one another's arms again. At 3 AM, there's a banging on the door that wakens Noshit, though the afterglow remains too much for the other two. It's the firewood guy! What a fucking idiot.

The year Bambi didn't make it. Finally, a chance to smell that clean mountain air we've heard so much about.

Peaches fails to return for the first time since 1990. See above.

Schnack wins his first tournament. The heavily-favored team of Vought, Halbach, Fisje, and who the fuck cares who else fails to win. Totar disglace. Oh yes, Brandt fails to win again. He tells us they used his drive on four of the first seven holes. Just shows how badly the other fuckers were playing.

The pro on the louspeakers is announcing each of the names, and then calls for "Boy-jack-vitch". Boy, did he get that right.

Finally, an alternative to Tri Tip emerges. Bravo! Noshit cooks another incredible array of dinners. Not to mention the breakfast boys.

Great shirts, Dave. Cream on brown, why didn't I think of that first.

Great weather, though fucking cold at night.

Phir wins first in a string of many Sierras golf championships.

Sean Harris pulls into Bear Valley Lodge, goes up to the check-in desk, announces his name. Hmmm, no record of that. Wait, he had a confirmation number! Hmmm, no record of that either. Wait, let me make a call said the consierge. Oh sir, there is a room waiting for Bear Valley in Mammoth.

The Snatch of resurrected Agg , with a game for the books. Evan camps out at doolstep and gets squandeled evely time. Kirk gets stuck all game long with 2 in home and 2 in base. Belew refuses to throw the die cool. Sean thinks he's got game-no just gaym. Sibs leaves and wins in absentia but fuck that say all...let's finish this bitch. Brandt scrambles to victory after major poundings boardwide. This game took hours!!

Hackett walks around with his shirt all buttoned wrong and people take bets on how long for him to notice.

See the pictures here

2001 - Tommy Tongues Timpson

New Lair Golf course designed, to rave reviews. Great new teebox on top of a boulder.

Great weather again. Golf course in great shape.

First time in history that we aren't actually the slowest group on the golf course. We actually have to wait on other people!

Field remembers to get the tee times this time.

Television set fully functional for the first time.

Lots of people get really wastex. First time that's ever happened.

Mudshark horks.

Phir sulplises arr, incruding serf, and allives Fliday molning. Brandt exclaims "It's rike Razalus", Evan replies "No, he's more like Ratherless".

Scrot wins third or fourth consecutive Sierra golf championship 39-41 at Meadowmont.

Chance actually fails to win golf tournament.

Timpson catches Chance with most victories (6).

Benner has mostly weak-ass Bambigas efforts. C'mon Rich, we're counting on you, more beans next year!

First year in memory (OK, so memory ain't that good anymore) with no rookies (FNGs).

Hackett escalates his grasp on the stereo, takes several Snatchers this time to tear him away. Either extreme hard whisky consumption or moderate PCP consumption suspected.

Brandt's recollection (yes he has them sometimes): "Choice moment...coming back from the tournament Bobby and I are in the van driven by Hackett. Hackett is third in a caravan. He passed #2 on the gravel road off highway 4 and was in a race to the gate with #1. He almost snuck by at the gate but was cut off and almost fucked us both. Beaten? Oh, no!! He drove straight and then cut across the meadow, made for the cabin and won!!! Joy ride baby!!!"

Another Brandt moment of clarity: "After we get back from the tournament Bobby and I are in the kitchen getting shit ready. Belew comes in with a box of Popeye's fried chicken in his hand and gnawing on a leg. I ask, "Hey...where did you get that?" "Vallejo!" he says - he had come up on Thursday, mind you.

Reminds me of another Belew story: Friday morning, I take a look at him and say, "So, you've been up here all week?" He hadn't.

2000 - Fore tee'n Years... Crab Smackin' Good!

Dodir? I'll show you dodir, right in your fuckin' brownie.

Mark Bellew realizes it's all in good fun and chills out. He also introduces The Game! Current record holder: Plintabres, with 3 ringers in 5 (2-1-2) tosses (aye, he can relate to that word, "tosses").

Upgrades: Vought brings second coffee maker, good coffee, good wine. Still the brisket (which the canny California supermarkets have conned you guys into thinking is steak by calling it a sexy name like Tri Tip), though.

Peaches returns, if only briefly. Seymour does not. We'll settle.

Big beerfest at the Showshoe, much free beer had at our table at Brandt's expense. Wish I could remember more of it.

Tommy does the right thing, tips the waitress a $20 by way of apologizing in advance for our impending assholeness.

Head pro freaks while watching us play nerf football on the 18th green. Yeah, right, we keep paying, bitch, so shut the fuck up.

Phir drives the ball pin-high on 18 - 375 yards. Beat that, Tommy with your UFO driver!

Vought wins his second or third consecutive Sierra golf championship. We can't really remember.

Gak decides at the last minute that he can make it. Turns out nobody cares.

Chance actually fails to win golf tournament.

1999 - Fried Daze... the 13th

Marshall attends final Snatch in financial dispute.

Vought breaks "no showers" rule and anarchy ensues.

Mark Bellew (how do you spell it?) almost kills Blandt. And most others he comes into contact with. Not to mention his most interesting entry through the kitchen window, no screen removal required.

Peaches returns.

1998 - Deeper by the Dozen

Ah, the year the cops came. Sarkisian zones out at the wheel, crashes car, runs from law. Law finds him at cabin, shocking the shit out of everyone. Contrary to rumor, the, uh, shall we say, "plain sight" rule was uninvokable. However, he most certainly noticed the smell, which is only natural, since Benner had recently been in the room.

Possibly the best part was when Paul got to the cabin - he bursts through the door, and shouts, "Hey, anybody want to go for a ride?"

Peaches returns, thank God (who presumably created he Him).

1997 - This is 11... we're rollin'!

First Sequoia Woods tournament. Nobody can remember a damn thing other than that.

1996 - Decade of Decadence

Unt ya, yeal 10, yeal of the gleatest of arr t-shilts (in webmastel's opinion, which is onry opinion that counts hele).

Phir letulns flom five yeals away ovelseas, abre to exprain to arr why Bojkovich is hele and not thele.

Evan sinks blind 60-foot putt (and boy do I mean blind) to lead his team to victory!

Last Forest Meadows tournament

Sarkisian forgets to write anything in the guest book so we mail it to him and 3 pages of Pulitzer come back-yeah...fuck us!

1995 - 9: Deep Space

1995...The party van is rollin! This year we tapped the keg in the van...or was that the year prior?...maybe the year mindıs going Dave...I can feel it...Anyway - we had a bit of a caravan goinı up. We also had Evanıs horsedog Yeller along for the ride. Marshall - with Kentuckyıs favorite squeelin' toy Fisk, leadin' the way as we pulled into Anal Cramp for a bulgel and flies (was this a sign?). We made our usual noisy pull in to the dining and pissing area - the Snatch adding her adrenaline to our alcohol. As we returned to the van, Evan opened the side door to give his pooch some legwork, and his words "Shit!!!!" pretty much summed it all up. He had crapped on the bench and, being some Great Dung/Irish Wolfshithound cross, there was no end to the territorial markings. Marshallıs car filled up pretty quickly.

Favio appears and Hackett brings the satellite dish. As he's setting it up Stoyve places his Lair Golf 7 iron in the dish and plays "Fuck With The Guy Setting Up The System"

1994 - Eight Isn't Enough

Marshal tits out.

I don't really know when this one happened, but since the 1994 memories are a little light, I'll say it happened then. Captain Mudshark narrates:

Many FNG's may not know the Brandt-through-the-door reference that Hackett and Brandt are bandying about below.

It's important that you know about this.

At one of the earlier Snatches, Dave was sitting at the far end of the long kitchen table, shit-faced from many rounds of Zoom and Bullshit. I was sitting on a chair at the same corner, with my back toward the stove.

As Brandt struggled to stand and get out from behind the table, my knee caught the inside of his leg. It was just enough to get him wheeling clockwise, and falling toward the rickety-assed closed door to the pornskeller.

Time actually slowed down, as Dave staggered backward. When he hit the door, it groaned a little, and then just popped open. Dave got this weird "Oh, fuck" expression stuck on his face; and he looked like some poorly-drawn Anime character in slow-motion, getting smaller and smaller as he disappeared into the shadows. He then crashed into the couch and fell over the backs of a bunch of unsuspecting guys who were watching porn videos in the other room.

It was the funniest fucking thing I have ever seen in my life. Nobody who saw it could take a breath for an hour, because we were in spasms of laughter.

Fucking Brandt.

1993 - Seven Year Itch

We enter the cabin and see a broken window and a huge fuckin' hawk. The fridge slowly dies by farting all night.

I don't really know when this one happened, but since the 1993 memories are a little light, I'll say it happened then. Hemi narrates:

Now I know I don't have all of the T-shirts, but I was in the foursome when Hacket tattooed that poor little old lady's kneecap during our warm-up round. He about pissed his pants giving the lady a ride back to the clubhouse in his cart, tossing beers out of the cooler to get at some ice for the rapidly swelling second kneecap she was developing. I about pissed my pants I was laughting so hard.

Steve showed some real self control by not laughing in the lady's face as her new kneecap swelled to twice the size of her other one. I bet that left a mark...

1992 - Boyz in the Wood

As the party van pulled up to the cabin Thursday night, we rejoiced with another impending wild weekend. The rejoicing was postponed due to Evan FORGETTING THE DAMN KEY! We looked at all the windows and ultimately decided the best way to get in was through the front room door (which faces the meadow). We pushed, credit carded and ultimately kicked the bitch in. Immediately, we set out to do what we had come up to do - have gay sex. No, that was another time. The Snatch had begun and the booze, beer and haze proved it.

In the midst of this, we noticed a red light on the FUCKIN' SHERIFF'S CAR across the meadow. Quick clean-up time! Soon the sheriff headed back out the meadow and then drove up to the cabin. Evan and a few others went out to greet him (much better to greet him outside, donıt you think?). He said the folks in the cabin across the meadow had reported that someone was breaking into the Field cabin. Evan then explained that he is Evan Field, that this is his Dadıs cabin, and that he had forgotten the key. At that point Marshall came up and introduced himself to the officer with "Hello, Iım Marshall Field." The officer then said, "Oh, so youıre his father." I donıt know what happened after that because I was too busy laughing and had to go back into the cabin.

Dukie makes his first appearance as does Miss Swiss Piss.

1991 - High Five

Stoyve winds up and tags an old lady ahead of the group.

The first sudden death playoff. Evan had a shot at the win on the 19th but everyone saw him about to hit and started to rev their engines -anticipating the next hole. And Field almost drained it! Cum to think of it, everyone was right, weren't they? This is a great video to watch at the Snatch. Right up there with Peaches. Says Dave.

1990 - Fore! Years

Nobody can remember a thing.

Sarkisian earns the name Mud Shark with a brown mauler he thought should've been entered in the outdoor class.

1989 - Any Port in a Storm

Last time the tourney was played at Meadowmont.

Frank Kady, flying home to Susanville, buzzes the meadow at which point on the 2nd fly by we all line up to moon him.


Uncle Percy makes his first appearance.


Illegal drugs make their first, and due to popular outcry their last, appearance.

Moles steps up to the first tee, and asks, "OK, how do you do this?"

Sarkisian sums it up in the guest book "A rabid, slavering, demented reunion of honor students from the same school of thought."


In the Beginning there were the Unnamed pilgrimages to the Cabin. And the brothers looked upon Them, and saw that They were Good.
And then there were the Named pilgrimages (said name ending in Thon). And the brothers smiled upon them, and saw that they were far fucking out.
And in the seventh year (or thereabouts, c'mon man, gimme a fucking break here), the brothers still had the same silly grin on their faces, and saw that it must be Continued.
And thus begat...

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