Friday, August 08, 2008

 

Daily Douchebag: Brett Favre AGAIN


Name: Brett Lorenzo Favre

DOB: October 10, 1969

Occupation: brand spanking OLD New York Jets quarterback

Hometown: Kiln, Mississippi

Current residence: house hunting somewhere around the Meadowlands

Douchebaggery: While I loved some of the plot twists in the whole sordid scandal concerning Brett Favre's unretirement (like the Machiavellian schemes of the Minnesota Vikings to flirt with Brett Favre on the sly using a Packers-issued cell phone and the Packers' subsequent desperate attempts to give him a $20 million pension if only he'd stay back home on his tractor), I am incredibly unhappy with the ultimate outcome. I'm tired of Brett Favre. I'm tired of hearing commentators rave about his "gunslinger mentality" and his stupid consecutive starting record. I was so glad last March when made my entire spring by announcing that he was leaving professional football amidst a deluge of man tears. I was weeping tears of joy.

Unfortunately, my delirious ecstasy regarding the No Favre League was fleeting. Brett changed his mind within a few short months, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up to THIS on the covers (front and back) of my local papers:

I've only seen "Jet Favre" once in 70 point font, and already I'm about as pissed off as a hippie feminist on the rag sans menstrual cup or hemp tampon. I expect that after seeing a headline including this term every Monday morning for the next five months, I'll be on the verge of committing some form of assault against whichever TV happens to be showing the Jets game at Josie Woods's pub. Already, watching the Jets's preseason opener against the Browns, I wanted to commit acts of domestic violence against my own beloved television when I listened to a full five minutes of Bernie Kosar waxing poetic about how natural Brett Favre looks in his green shorts, because presumably there was some concern that Favre might not be as relaxed in green-and-white as he was in green-and-yellow team apparel. "He looks pretty comfortable in Jets attire," noted Kosar. "And look, there he is talking to Alan Faneca and Nick Mangold! He's going to want to get to know those guys." Thank you, Bernie, because without such an expert opinion, I never would have figured that he might at some point become acquainted with his own offensive line. I'm going to go out on a limb and predict that he'll also show some friendly civility towards D'Brickashaw Ferguson at some point.

The media frenzy of reporting on every last bit of minutiae concerned Favre's initiation into Gang Green is nothing, however, compared to the marketing onslaught already in full force. I found THIS in my e-mail inbox within two hours of the announcement that he was coming to the Meadowlands, primarily to annoy me but also apparently to replace the perenially dismal Chad Pennington and supposedly save the Jets from yet another year of crushing failure.

Since when have I been a Jets fan? I can't recall a single time I've given a rat's ass about the Jets except to curse Laveranues Coles viciously with every breath two years ago when he proved to be one of the most lackluster receivers ever to start for my usually awesome Fantasy team. Since 99.99999% of my NFLshop.com purchases have been Seahawks paraphernalia, I can only assume that NFLshop.com thought I would be interested because my mailing address is in New York. Then again, I know that NFLshop.com really needs to step up its consumer targeting practices, since they had the audacity to send me a catalog of Pittsburgh Steelers Super Bowl XL commemorative regalia. I wouldn't even wipe my ass with a Terrible Towel, and the one pair of Steelers underwear I own (purchased on sale a good 5 years prior to the travesty occurring at Ford Field in 2006) is strictly reserved for period use only. I don't want to see anything from those assholes in my inbox, save maybe an announcement declaring that neon green Deion Branch receiver gloves are half off.

Brett Favre's only been here one day, and already I'm over it. I am praying to St. Sebastian (patron saint of athletes) that Brett Favre breaks his pinky in week 1 and spends the rest of the season being crucified Chad Pennington style by the New York media for being a pussy.

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# posted by Razzy @ 5:05 AM
Comments:
"I am praying to St. Sebastian (patron saint of athletes) that Brett Favre breaks his pinky in week 1 and spends the rest of the season being crucified Chad Pennington style by the New York media for being a pussy."

Amen sister! I can't wait to call him a pussy!
# posted by Anonymous Jon : 8/08/2008 7:37 AM
 
Dude. Chill! I never said the Bachmans invented those bars. It's simply how our little group of people knew that recipe, and their name was on the recipe card FOR THAT REASON. If that's the nicest thing you can say about a tragedy where a good person is senselessly murdered? ....

Would have emailed, but you're set to "no reply" on your email. At least you're linked back to your blog.
# posted by Blogger DPUTiger : 8/10/2008 3:43 PM
 
Uh, what are you talking about? I haven't been involved in anything lately involving (from what I can tell) a recipe plagiarized by some nefarious family named the Bachmans, and this somehow resulted in a murder. I certainly haven't sent any emails on the subject. I think you've got me mixed up with someone else, because the only bars I know anything about are ones that serve scotch whiskey.
# posted by Blogger Razzy : 8/10/2008 3:48 PM
 
Sorry, Razzy. One of your co-authors (TAFKAMA) left a Daily Douchebag-worthy comment on my blog on Saturday. I was hacked off/upset enough that I threw a comment on the most recent post on this blog since said assinine comment was left without a way to respond, other than being linked to this blog.

Humble apologies for taking up your time and confusing you. But I still think TAFKAMA is eligible for the Douchebag Hall of Fame.
# posted by Blogger DPUTiger : 8/13/2008 12:20 AM
 
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