Monday, February 05, 2007
Gather 'round, children, for I shall tell you a marvelous tale, a tale of how Peyton Manning managed to tame a beast famed in myth and song, a beast known all throughout the ESPN-receiving lands, the Pony of Annoying Dickweed Victories.
A scruffy beast is this pony, mangy of coat and mane. But there are those who pursue this pony despite its foul appearance. Yes, truly do they pursue it hither and yon as it skips nimbly through the fertile Fields of No One Giving a Crap Except for National TV Announcers. For the pony is a creature of these fields, birthed among the grassy knolls and from the loins of FOX Sports color men.
Those who pursue this pony do so for their own personal gain, of course; such is the nature of the execrable beast. Many are those who jeer at their quest, many are those who remind them of people more deserving, more likeable, less overhyped. But the pursuers of the pony pay no heed to any of this noise, for they are single-minded in their quest. The Pony of Annoying Dickweed Victories is not for everyone. It may only be tamed by those who are, deep in their innermost hearts, huge fucking dickweeds. I am sure that you, children, have heard of this beast before in, perhaps, a different context; for you must know that Alex Rodriguez longs for it with all of what passes for his soul.
So yes, many are those who pursue the pony, and they are similar in nature. But Peyton Manning grew unhappy with his lot in life, always chasing after the pony, never to lay hand upon it. "Lo!" he thought unto himself as he lay upon his waterbed filled with the semen of unicorns one starry night, "I must find a way to entice the Pony of Annoying Dickweed Victories to my own person. I must somehow capture the attention of this notoriously fickle beast, and I must charm it until it is eating from my very palm."
Peyton Manning had pursued the pony long and far. He was tired, he was fed up. He was blessed with the cunning that God and/or Nature gives to those of evil disposition. He formulated a plan, and enact it he did.
He went forth unto the grocery store and did purchase a truckload of baby carrots. These he did purée, and in this purée did he roll, nude, until every inch of his awkwardly gangly inbred pasty white body was covered in soft orange paste.
Then he did venture into the Fields of No One Giving a Crap Except for National TV Announcers and he called out to the pony. Mildly interested, the pony ventured over, and then the pungent odor of mashed carrots mixed with the salty sweat of a raging inferiority complex hit its sensitive nostrils. Cunning Manning had known full well that this combination would be irresistable to the pony, and indeed the beast did run up to his side and commence hasty, slobbery licking.
The sight of this man-beast love was too much for the noble Chicago Bears, who promptly began vomiting so much in sheer horror and disbelieving disgust that the ball was rendered too slippery for Rex Grossman to hold onto or to throw properly.
So it was that Peyton Manning did tame the Pony of Annoying Dickweed Victories, and there amongst the waving flowers and grasses in the Field of No One Giving a Crap Except for National TV Announcers did he finally gain an Annoying Dickweed Victory to call his very own.
Labels: Colts, football, NFL, Peyton Manning, Superbowl