QUAKER OATS: Monday February 9, 1998

So to honor the memory of their triumphant original journey, seven valiant DPOSTMites -- Jasper, Tequila, Golden Boy, Mawk, RipVan, HomeBoy and Lymon -- and a member of the former DPOSTM annex, Yodel, re-enacted the original voyage, searching for the broasted goodness. Up the road Lymon entertained with his watchamacallit game, while pantsless Tequila practiced giving hickies to his pal. Yodel talked about her knicknacks while Rip Van did what he does best. Interstate 90 helped them travel to Beantown where they stopped to watch the Quakers demolish The lilliputian Crimson men, not to be confused with their enormous cheerleaders. Not that anyone in Beantown cared, they were all watching the hockey match next door. Craving their strength, the DPOSTMites went to Hell's Kitchen, where there were no Garcias, but plenty of chilies. Tequila had a Corona with some lymon, Golden Boy searched for long lost golden girls, Lymon met his twin, and HomeBoy, well, he went home. And Yodel was made to sleep on the frigid floor. Instantly a new morning dawned, and the seven reunited at the Yard. Into their cars they went, ready to make the final run to the Poultry Palestra. Did find it they did, broasted it was, the chicken, that is, not the place. History was retold through ancient testimonials which charted past DPOSTMite travels. Little chicken wings pilled up by the hundreds, except for Mawk who dined on his fingers. Tequila marked the occasion with a grand proclamation, GoldenBoy and RipVan were crowned by the broaster. Meanwhile HomeBoy ate staggering wing 26. Ending the tale, The DPOSTMites (and Yodel) piled into the car for the drive up to New Hampshwere? to find the little green men. The game wasn't exciting, but GoldenBoy didn't mind because he was enjoying Tequila's flesh and blood. After the game Lymon showed off his skill at playing with little boys' balls. The bad loser was not amused, he cried, "Get out", but Phil tells us he was just sloshed. Whereby the seven DPOSTMites fled home, sill gorged on the pleasures of the Poultry Palestra. Inside the car Rip Van, he just slept, dreaming of the next decade of broasted perfection. Next year we'll return. Going for a record 12 person team.