An Introduction

There are Physicists, Abolitionists, and Lyricists . . . 

I am a Throwist.

Randy Johnson, a fellow Throwist, exploding a bird

I was an all-state pitcher in high school, I am one of the best backyard-football quarterbacks in the history of human civilization, and my modesty could not be contained in ten trillion universes.

I have deadly range with a basketball, I once threw a playing card so fast it got stuck in Jimi Hendrix's forehead (well, a picture of him, on a very hard cork board), and my brother once opined that I "could throw a Dixie cup through a filing cabinet."

My body speaks fluently the language of The Throw.

"So you might be a Throwist, good sir," you might very well say to me as we embrace warmly on the street, "but can you Kick?"

CAN I KICK?!

Why, any simple fool knows that Merriam and Webster—those sodomites—both squarely and unabashedly defined a kick (n.) as "a Throw, with the Foot."

Jesus Himself could not field one of my Punts—so high do I blast them!

Yes, I am a Throwist. Whether I die today or several trillion years from now (with the right mental attitude, both are equally possible, literally) I will have lived to this point in my life as a Throwist, and for that you should thank me. Without people like myself—and I admit there are others—human Throwing abilities would be so underdeveloped that I wonder if our species would even still exist.

A Throw, with the Foot

Fortunately, Humanity, you have me and the other Throwists here to save you from extinction, and we'll all be fine as long as you remember The Pact:

You continue to aspire to throw like us, and we'll continue to throw like gods.

(By the way, Jesus Himself is a dude I know—not Christ. Jesus Christ could certainly field one of my punts; in fact, He could turn one my punts into many punts, for all the needy punt-returners in the world.)

In conclusion, all I'm trying to prove here is that women should be a lot more attracted to me than they seem to be.