Brett Favre - My Fake Diary
Sunday, 15 January 2012
Wednesday 24 August - Fourth Wednesday in August - Blue Moon
Woke at ten but lay in bed till five past. With all those years I patched in to the Cyglis Bladder-thon you'd think I'd have earned a prostate amnesty.
Looked at a lovely red tractor in my Boy's Bumper Book of Old Tractors. Called my sultry, smooth skinned PA Martha to task her with organising some red paint so I could make one of my tractors red. Martha seemed a bit monotonous and distant till I realised I didn't have a female PA any more since Deanna found out and I'd called the Sex Pest Aversion Therapy Help Line.
I was sat on the porch painting a face on my egg when a helicopter landed in the yard and out came several Miami Dolphins who tried to drag me to Florida. Then a helicopter arrived from Cincinnatti and several Bengals tried to wrestle me to wherever Cincinnatti is. It became quite a jostling match until Bus arrived and shot them all. A press conference was hastily arranged and he said I had no intention of un-retiring unless it was for a genuine Superbowl contender and $20 million. A helicopter from the Jets arrived and when we laughed till our sides ached Rex Ryan threw high-heeled shoes at us for twenty minutes.
I went into the barn in a farm-chic check shirt and Wrangler jeans (ker-ching!), arranged some bales of hay into a pyramid and then I climbed to the summit / metaphorically ascended into the pantheon of the footballing gods. Then I fell off and ricked my back.
After dinner I watched There's Something About Mary again and found tears welling in my eyes. I was wonderful in that movie and what the Oscar voters never knew was that I was carrying several injuries that would have ruled out all lesser scene-stealing cameo QBs and my heart was heavy from the death of my Uncle Jim's spaniel, Barney.
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