The title of this article was not a ruse to get you to click the link.
I am not trying to sell you anything, unless you want this Anacondas 3 DVD, which I’m selling for the bargain basement price of your dignity.
It’s shrink-wrapped, and in this installment Jon Voight plays a slight African-American child who dreams of one day becoming a man-eating Amazonian anaconda, despite all the patronizing naysayers who tell him it’s impossible to change species and egregiously illegal to consume your fellow man.
I’m also selling this award-winning corpse moisturizer. Caution: this is my million dollar idea. If your loved one’s skin is chapped, and they’re dead, this cream is for you. Apply to affected area, perform the Voodoo ritual printed clearly on the back of the bottle, and wait patiently until the next full moon.
The manufacturer, Morty’s Mortuary--and its shareholders and subsidiaries--is not responsible for side effects that may include clammy palms, unholy desecration, and cadaver reanimation resulting in excessive groaning and flesh-eating. Be warned that this product is illegal in all but two states, both of which are fictitious.
I know exactly what you’re thinking: I am full of great ideas. Every girlfriend I’ve had has told me the same thing after I wept on their shoulders and pleaded for them to tell me that I’m full of great ideas.
Are you ready for my newest idea, the ultimate replacement for Plaxico Burress?
Omar Douglas. BAM!
(Wait...hold up...let me check and see if that’s his name...yeah, yeah it is). Omar Douglas. KABLAMMO!
Let’s break his stats down. Over the course of his three seasons, this hometown powerhouse had three receptions for a total of 21 yards, averaging 7.7 yards every time he caught the ball. And he’s handsome, to boot.
When I was in first grade, I distinctly remember going to my school’s Friday night football games to watch Omar dominate the gridiron. Our main purpose for attending was to wipe boogers on heinous old men when they weren’t looking, but the 5 foot 10 star was also an attraction.
Another fun thing we’d do is scurry under the bleachers and smear mustard all over people’s shoes and socks.
“HEY, YOU DAMNED KIDS!!!” my school’s security guard/professional geriatric/nincompoop would scream at us from on top the bleachers. “QUIT SMEARING MUSTARD, YOU BASTARDS! GET BACK HERE! HEY...YOU...THE LITTLE WEIRD ONE WITH THE BOOGER FINGERS,” he’d point at me and holler. “WHERE’D YOU GET THAT GREY POUPON? I HAVE THE GOUT AND THESE BUNYONS, BUT I’M A-COMING AFTER YOU ANYWAY!”
Chasing us, he’d look like a revved-up elf with a Louisville slugger up his butt.
Omar is 36 now. Last I heard, he was working the Chuck E. Cheese circuit as a custodian.
Give this some thought: He averages nearly eight yards a reception, and because of his advanced age and limited experience, the Giants would be able to pay him the league minimum, using what’s left over to invest in a cocaine-caviar fusion narcotic targeting the demographic with so much money the only thing left to spend it on is snortable fish eggs. Cokiar, it would be called... the coca of the sea.
It’ll make you swim on land.
Don’t hesitate to reinstate this football great. Don’t hate, his cost is cut-rate.
Many will scorn this dream worth chasing, but it’s natural for friends and enemies alike to criticize your lofty aspirations. Everyone but you is a jealous coward.
Never give up, comrade! Just look at what I’ve achieved: I used to be a scared White boy from a safe New Orleans cul de sac; now I’m a free-wheeling female Cambodian prostitute. The sky’s the limit if you Belize in yourself.