Sunday, January 14, 2007
I would like to offer a public apology to New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady. I retract what I said about him earlier. He probably does, in fact, have a penis. In the front of his underpants, he most likely does not--does not--keep the mummified head of a dead puppy in order to artificially augment his package.
I have had this change of heart based on his heroic efforts today, Sunday, to save the life of an innocent puppy whose life was in danger. You are going to read a bunch of hero-worship bullshit articles about how his "calm leadership" led to the Patriots' victory over the San Diego Chargers today. Do not believe them. What he did was, in fact, much more selfless than all that. Despite what you may have read, he tried to save this puppy. He really really tried. He threw for a sub-standard completion percentage and--this is crucial--three interceptions in key situations that should have sewn the game up for the Chargers, saving the life of the puppy I've sworn to kill should the Chargers lose.
The problem was not Tom Brady. The problem was noted puppy hater Charger safety Marlon McCree intercepted one of Brady's altruistic "mistake" passes. This was late in the fourth quarter with the Chargers leading by 8 points. Brady, I'm sure, was all ready to pretend to be upset, all the while rejoicing inside knowing the puppy's life was saved. And then what happens? Mr. McCree, before he can secure the change of possession, fumbles the ball, which the Patriots recover.
From then I'm sure Mr. Brady realized his efforts were futile because the Chargers wanted this puppy to die. One man can only do so much.
Patriots 24, Chargers 21.
And now I begin my quest, wandering the earth to find this puppy and then murder it. Like Caine in Kung Fu. This is apt because I look just about as Chinese as David Carradine. So yeah, just like that. Except without all the peacefulness and a lot more stops at Stuckey's along the interstate to eat. And at the end, I kill a puppy.
Please watch this space for further developments. I have bought my first bus ticket. My wife seems indifferent, which is troubling not because she doesn't seem to care that I'm leaving, but I thought she'd be more upset about the idea of me killing a puppy. What kind of monster have I married?
You can expect the same kind of zeal in this endeavor as your typical OJ Simpson-vs.-the-Real-Killers scenario. I thought his idea to publish that book about how he killed those people in order to lull the real killers into a false sense of security was brilliant. Expect the same kind of public mind-fuck tactics employed on this dog.
PS- Listen to it one more time... it sounds so sad now... Like a funeral dirge crossed with one of those gay sea chanties about starcrossed lovers who throw themselves into the sea. At a football-themed discotheque. In 1978.