◀◁◂ Football (Boom Boom Punt The Coach) Sponsored by Ripper-T® ▸▷▶
OK.
Pre-order the fuck outta this right here: mde-tv.bandcamp.com
It’s not easy for us to try and sell something to people who we legitimately value (our fans), but hundreds of man-hours have gone into making this album a true classic. We will cut our wrists the long way and prostrate ourselves at Cthulhu’s alter before we ask you to buy some wack, half-assed shit. Buy this. Trust us.
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Tommy Bald faces off against Dale Martindale for the Northern Football League’s Golden Chalice Award.
So kick back on the Smallman Easy Recliner, crack open a frosty Ripper-T® fitness drink, and enjoy bone-crunching action as big, chunky, hot guys rub elbows and touch tips the hard way (psst, it’s an allegory for war, ya dumb Sheeple, LOL).
Clear out, he needs jock-xygen stat! I’m not dumb, I know how life is. The real, seedy underbelly of reality is that you can’t be a god among men. The most you can hope for is an isolated religious compound with flocks of believers who you can drug and fuck, and that’s illegal.
You can’t have it your own way; you can’t have it the long way; you’re fat and you have cancer; the girl you tricked into liking you thinks blowjobs are icky. So you willingly lapse into a world of fantasy. TDs, QBs, sacks, fouls, chuffs—the high-revving all-American tackle-fest that is FANTASY FOOTBALL.
The data can be disguised as an ordinary business-type spreadsheet, so you can arrange your meat-squad at your 9-5 grind. Talk about your picks at lunch. Think long and hard, think hard, and pretend that your thoughts about some tight-ends butthole-hunting crunch-boner stats and the up-and-coming young buck—pretend that your little shithead ideas fucking matter one iota. Then later on the TeeVee when coach Williams did the exact opposite of what you said and lost the big game, that’s when you can kick back and reap the fruits of your labor—nothing.
The fantasy of fantasy football is fulfilled, and the reward is that you get to continue on hypothesizing and strategizing about numbers in a fake math problem until oblivion.
Could some super-rational, logic-worshiping mini-Nietzsche take that word ‘ball’ and run with it into Sam Hyde’s philosophical end-zone, and totally debase my personal life’s work with a vicious verbal pass interference? Yea, but then he’d leave himself wide open to a cruel body check by tight end Nick Rochefort #76 AKA The Dump Truck.
