Monday, January 25, 2010

The Girls Call Me Ugly

I Refuse to Write About Football Anymore

Dad, the world is getting darker now. I can feel it more and more . . . The girls call me ugly and they bother me the most.


Yes, David might have had something there. The world is getting darker, and damnit if I don't know for sure whether the girls are at least thinking I'm ugly.
But, women are women and I understand that the world would be an uglier place if I were to be judged gorgeous.
But, that's neither here nor there, when we're deliberately trying to avoid writing about a football team that’s record grows darker and darker like the sick twisted mind of a mongrel who talked to dogs and shot the innocent.
Could our team go the way of Berkowitz?
No, of course not, that's nonsense.
Or is it?
I would have to say that on a beautiful day, such as yesterday, when the Space Needle stuck out like a sore thumb in the blue skies of a peaceful March day it was hard to believe the violence that hid behind a team such as ours.
Was it just me or did "guy with the orange hair" seem to be taunting Troy and Shannon into a Berkowitz-dream world in which only the clench of a finger on the trigger and the hollow sound of a 9 mm smacking into orange hair quench their thirst for revenge?
The mind of a serial killer isn't far from the mind of a pro. A pro knows that they are a pro and the ego smacks with the spirit of an avenging angel when that ego comes into question. In the violent game of football, everyone can be a serial killer.
But, Matt, football is an all-American sport with Hank Williams and tail gate parties; how can you say such things?
Well, I might remind you that O.J. was a pro, and that Nixon was a huge fan of the game, as well as a ego-shot player. But, that's piece work and it doesn't accomplish the image in its fullness.
No, football in all its glory is a war between the super egos of a team system. And when one of those egos is stomped, that ego must crush its foe in order to avoid the piranha-like consequences the team will unfurl upon the stomped.
Therefore, as I saw us losing another great battle at the hands of lesser-men, the flame was fueled and my mind took a spin into the Berkowitz darkness, like when ecstasy hits you like a punch in the gut, taking you down to your knees, trying to puke tacos on Scott's lawn...but, that's another story and everyone knows drugs are for kids.
In my maddening dementia (on the sidelines) I became acutely aware that I was slowly fashioning an explosive with my lighter and a pez dispenser.
Good God! I exclaimed. I felt like Alec Guinness in the Bridge Over the River Kwai.
I had become so absorbed in my ego, and its stomping that I was slowly creating an incendiary device in which to hurl at the orange- hair dude.
But, Jesus has always been a friend of mine and stopped my hand before I could commit the act that would have degraded into a spiral leaving everyone (barring the hot chick in the cut- off shirt) on that team dead or dying at my brutal and insane hands.
Jesus loves the weak, and only a boozer like myself knows this first hand.
But, what of the strong?
Troy and Shannon couldn't possibly know Jesus. Of course not, that would be ridiculous. The strong willed, far from Satan's teet, have no reason to meet the great J.C.
No, Hey-Soos keeps them in the peripheral, like the brainiacs in your first grade. No harm will come to them for they are strong and will never fall stray from the hand of Christ our Lord.
Yes, it takes a drug-addled degenerate like myself to incur the company of Christ. For the world would run amok in apocalyptic disorder if I were to be in the great peripheral, and therefore, missed.
So, when I came upon Troy and Shannon in the parking lot, it was with no surprise that I saw them pulling a wood chipper from the Parks Department truck with the maddening look of Condoleeza Rice defending a President who spent the entire month of August 01 on vacation.......
It took the full force of myself, Scott, and Weisberg to disarm the crew of two and read them Chicken Soup for the Soul for three grueling hours before the situation corrected itself.
So, when it comes to football, there's two things you can be assured of: the Vipers will always lose, and Matt is a sick degenerate who keeps Jesus around, not unlike the great Johnny Cash.
So, with that, I must admit that I have lied. I did write about football, and I am ashamed. But, I did not recount the score, plays, or general shittiness of our team.
That would be blasphemous.

Keep up the good work, and NEVER call a fat man who talks to dogs ugly.
Your love in God,
Matthew Holden Eckert

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