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war damn stu
(68.211.30.234) on 4/23/2006 - 9:09 p.m. says: ( 5 views
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"No! This cannot be true!"
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I live in a state of continuous anticipation, my TIVO at the ready.
I pray to the Flying Spaghetti Monster that Brokie not only drafts high, but starts as quickly as possible.
My deepest wish is for Ringo Starr, errr, Brokie to play for whatever NFL squad has the worst QB protection since the Maginot Line.
I wanna see a Theisman-esque, swishy, fish-leg, floppity-limb moment!
I wanna see a blitzing LB grab Brokie by his sable, mullety locks, which hang below his helmet, and rip vast swaths of said mullet from his head right before he interfaces with astroturf at speeds approacing Mach 1.
I wanna see pain.
I wanna see blood...I'll bet Brokie's blood is extra crimson (also known as "extry crimpson" if you live amongst Georgia crackers).
It's not that I hate Brokie. There's nothing there to hate.
I look into his eyes and I see the back of his skull.
He never beat Awbren.
He whines like a little beotch.
But I don't hate li'l beotches.
I just pity them.
And I pity Brokie.
But not enough to erase the glee and whirling dervish/suffi-islamic ecstasy I experience everytime I see him with his face buried in dirt and a crap stain on his britches.
And I need to see that. Many times. And repeated in uber-slow mo on my TIVO.
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