Brett Favre - My Fake Diary
Thursday, 26 January 2012
Tuesday 15th November - Third Tuesday in November - Dark Side of the Moon
Bus woke me at 7am. Pick a nice shirt and a good pair of jeans and get outside right now, he shouted down the phone. An hour and a half later I was stumbling sleepily across the yard when Bus' stepson, Minibus hauled me into a lowslung helicopter. Then we were speeding away over the delta flatlands and the Gulf towards Florida. I asked what was going on. Minibus said that we were going to hover conspicuously over the Miami - Fort Lauderdale metropolis, patched in to all the local media outlets as Bus negotiated on the ground, ready for a sudden swoop down into a press conference, a big publicity hubbub and a huge Fins contract. I curled up on a floppy dachsund and dozed contentedly.
I was shaken awake by Minibus. It was ten to eleven and Bus was clambering up a dangling rope ladder towards us. He seemed to have been been airlifted from the top of an enormous, forty-foot high wooden model of me grinning like a yokel and, via some cunning hydraulics, throwing a tight spiral across I-94. I moved over and let him slide in, as the lowly gameday hostess never said about the greatest quarterback of all time. Minibus was clamouring for news but Bus was unusually unforthcoming as the copter whirled around and headed back towards Mississippi.
Back at home Deanna met me on the porch and gave me a hug. Bus came panting past carrying my pant-carrier into the passage. What happened, I said as he turned to go. They think their future's all about Luck, he said. All our futures are all about luck, I thought philosophically as the helicopter climbed and then banked away. Minibus fell out and spreadeagled a goat grazing innocently in Fred Smoot's back yard.
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