Once I received a text message this morning saying Brett Favre is retiring, I vowed that I would not go on a single website for at least six minutes.
Instead, I would start watching a movie I have seen with a painfully predictable ending to remind myself of how upset I will be when this drama queen predictably pulls another retire/unretire.
But then I remembered that my brain is made of mush and that I’d have a better chance of seeing a pink, flame-throwing elephant than staying away from the blogosphere for that long. So I caved and read 1,000 variations of the same nonsense: “Blah blah blah Brett’s gone forever!!!”
At first, I smirked.
Then I cried.
And then I choked out my laptop because I realized I was reliving the same Favre nightmare all over again.
I don’t understand how this one-trick pony manages to fool so many people every year. Are we that retarded? Of course Brett will be back. He hasn’t spent quality time with his wife in 18 years—he barely knows the broad. He’ll come crawling back once he realizes she won’t smack him on the ass when he does something good, and he can’t pick her up over his head and twirl her around like a helicopter.
He will be back, he will be back, he will be back!!
That said, I actually think he’s gone for good this time—just like every other year. This was all some reverse psychology bullshit that my psychic, Rosie, predicted would keep Brett retired, so long as I keep the needles pinned in the right shoulder of my Brett Voodoo doll for another few months.
I really hope this works, Rosie—you ain’t cheap!!!!
Original image via David
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