09-10-2021, 09:23 AM
(This post was last modified: 09-10-2021, 06:22 PM by j00. Edited 13 times in total.)
Dear Diary,
Those of you close to me would know that I have recently suffered a very big loss. The grieving process has been incredibly difficult and had been heavily affecting my on-field performance, so first I have to apologize to the people of San Jose, except to that fucking fake car insurance salesman! Yeah, that's right, you thought I didn't remember you? Can you believe this mothafucka? I came to this city broke as fuck right, and nobody wanna sell me insurance and shit 'cause you know, anyway, this guy come along and try to sell me "The AA". He sayin, "S'33% cheapa, s'only wun less A dan da name bran, yu no? Ba'stiu, goot cahvridge." Be wary of this guy named Zhong Xi Na and don't buy!
Anyway San Jose, you are like the ugly duckling neglected child city of California I think, which I'm sorry to hear, but just know that deep down in your hearts, you are still better people than those in San Francisco with their hippiness and shallow ass yuppie bullshit, even if you have to drive all the way there for many of the major events and shows and whatnot and you hate that drive 'cause it just reminds you of how your city don't really get shit, it's like an overpopulated suburb, but then you see all the homeless people takin' shits on the streets and you be countin' yo blessin's on the way back, anyway I'm ranting, maybe I should get back on those ADD pills after all.
Anyway, so it be the day of my last game with San Jose, and we at home, and I'm in there right, playin' against the trash ass team NOLA, more like NO-LA amirite? Anyways, so I'm in there and we smashin'em cuz of course we are, I mean I be giving up scheme secrets about my old teammates and exploitin' the fuck out them mofos--I-I meant to say that my football IQ just that high and it exudes from me like a football IQ aura and shit on my teammates sometimes cause I am a football god. Anyways, so the game is over and we destroyed 'em of course, and I'm in the locker room packin' it up and givin' props to all the now former teammates of mine, makin' sure to leave behind some big ol' SLAP-ASS on the way out.
But yea, right here I just gotta give the shoutouts:
Raylan Crowder, it was dope hittin' up the clubs with ya ol scary mofo ass. Keep beastin'!
Lawrence Bass, ol' fart, I hope your legs still work for that defense next season, cuz they got some fuckin' miles on them. Stay healthy.
Rickie Vaughne, you know it's cuz I always covered my guy too fuckin well they had no choice but to throw to you, right? :wink: Congrats on the record setting season.
Jamar Lackson, ay my bad for that one time in practice when I dove at your knees but luckily nothing happen, but you know you should be thanking me cuz in that week's game, you hurdled a mofo diving at your knees on the last drive. I trained you well!
Monty Jack, I'm sorry that I waited this long to share that omega cheese burrito recipe, but that's cuz I knew you had no self control and now look at you, fuckin lettin' yourself go and now you gotta play OL next season. Good luck with the weight loss.
Zach Crossley, thanks for all the sophisticated duels in practice, but man remember that one time you fuckin chin checked me during hitting warmups before a game cuz you too fuckin hype and shit, and I had to play a fuckin game with my teeth loose and shit? smh Calm down.
Willie Miller, the reins are yours. Best of luck in the upcoming seasons.
Duke Cheeks, hit 'em with the D! Cross the face! Stuntin'! Naked red raw dog!
Jaja Ding Dong, ya ya I know. Sorry bruh.
To the rest of the old farts Matthew McDairmid, Philip Stein, Rashad Hilliard, George Fisher, James Lewandowski, Otis Allen, good luck on the back end.
To the new blood, get grindin'!
Aiite so with that out of the way, as I'm leavin' the main building and walking to my car, this fuckin black van pulls up and a couple'o foos get out, put a sack over my head, and throw me in. They take the sack off, and I look around. The back of the van is all nice and shit, like a limo, but it's got even more space 'cause it's a van. All the windows are covered. Anyways, after just a few turns, we got a whole police patrol following us with their lights on, and we are fuckin flyin' at this point. We head down the freeway, and as I ask where they're taking me, we enter a dark tunnel and the interior lights of the van dim ominously and they all slowly remove their masks and turn to me with a very serious stare, unmoving, unblinking. It's fucking Cade, Buck, and Shuff with what looked like some demonic blackness in their eyes, but I was probably just trippin'. Yeah, so after the initial sc--I ain't never scared...they spark up a blunt and hand it to me. I experience deja vu as I get higher on the street. Right as we exit the tunnel, the van busts a hard drift to the right and guns it. We're goin faster and faster and the police following us are long gone. Cade pulls down one of the side window coverings and it looks like we're on an airport runway or some shit? Cade covers the window again, then a bit of turbulence happens as it feels like we climb onto a ramp at like 120mph+ or some shit. After a few minutes of gaining altitude, we all get out of the van, and the three send me their condolences, and Cade offers me a tittie to suck on and I'm like no thanks, but then he directs me to a private suite on the plane anyway cuz he a bro, where I see the ol' gal who has been with me since we smuggled her in from Tijuana.
After some hours, there's an announcement over the PA asking for my presence, so girl takes my handcuffs off, and I'm directed into the black van again, where we get fuckin airdropped onto the streets of New Orleans. We arrive at this club called The Jimanji. Pretty sure that place is haunted. We're joined by the rest of the Second Line at the door, and they let us all in. I say wussup to the Slothlisberger who's a little down from the loss, and I tell him I got a crazy omega cheese burrito recipe that I'll share with him later. It's a great depression snack, I promise you. Just be careful with it. Anyways so I ask Adam Spencer and Cade, "IsHe... gonna be here?" and they both nod, but the fucker never showed up. Anyways, so we inside, drinkin' it up, and I could not for the life of me figure out how the fuck the drinks were comin' to the table and shit. They were just floatin' through the air, shit was crazy, and they just kept comin' 'til I blacked out!
Next day in the afternoon, I find myself waking up in a nice ass bed and room with two chicks next to me, all my legs feeling quite a bit sore...from the game, I think. I get up outta bed and leave the room, which opens into a common area, with a fancy table nearby. On the table is a set of housekeys, and a large sheet of fancy paper with a bunch of small text on it and a sharp pointed dagger. I walk up and start reading all the lawyerspeak jargon bullshit and before I even get more than a line in, I hear a click next to my ear as a cold metal barrel presses up against my temple. I immediately know to take the dagger, prick my right index fingertip, and sign on the line at the bottom. The cold metal leaves my temple, and I turn to the right to see a woman I'd never met before, but she in a fancy outfit and asks if she can help me, hands empty. I say, "Why, hello there, 'course you can help me," and I reach down suggestively into my front pocket, where I pull out a bag of weed and tell her to roll that shit up. You mean to tell me I get my own blunt roller? Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeit. She said she got some other skills too, so I'ma put her to the test later.
At the bottom of the contract is a detachable $5 million check, and on the bottom of the check is a very stylized "Welcome to the New Orleans Second Line" on a piece of purple perforated blotted paper. I walk out onto the deck to a spectacular view. The house sits in the hills north of Covington, facing south. Lake Pontchartrain can be seen off in the fair distance. Blunt roller walks up behind me, hands me a pair of shades and says, "This place gon' be waterfront property in a few years. It's premium." Can't believe it. Front row seats to impending devastation. I throw on the shades and throw the whole sheet in my mouth...
Thank you for coming to my TED talk shitpost. Gieb 1.5x media though personally I think this piece in particular is worth 2x kappa.
Those of you close to me would know that I have recently suffered a very big loss. The grieving process has been incredibly difficult and had been heavily affecting my on-field performance, so first I have to apologize to the people of San Jose, except to that fucking fake car insurance salesman! Yeah, that's right, you thought I didn't remember you? Can you believe this mothafucka? I came to this city broke as fuck right, and nobody wanna sell me insurance and shit 'cause you know, anyway, this guy come along and try to sell me "The AA". He sayin, "S'33% cheapa, s'only wun less A dan da name bran, yu no? Ba'stiu, goot cahvridge." Be wary of this guy named Zhong Xi Na and don't buy!
Anyway San Jose, you are like the ugly duckling neglected child city of California I think, which I'm sorry to hear, but just know that deep down in your hearts, you are still better people than those in San Francisco with their hippiness and shallow ass yuppie bullshit, even if you have to drive all the way there for many of the major events and shows and whatnot and you hate that drive 'cause it just reminds you of how your city don't really get shit, it's like an overpopulated suburb, but then you see all the homeless people takin' shits on the streets and you be countin' yo blessin's on the way back, anyway I'm ranting, maybe I should get back on those ADD pills after all.
Anyway, so it be the day of my last game with San Jose, and we at home, and I'm in there right, playin' against the trash ass team NOLA, more like NO-LA amirite? Anyways, so I'm in there and we smashin'em cuz of course we are, I mean I be giving up scheme secrets about my old teammates and exploitin' the fuck out them mofos--I-I meant to say that my football IQ just that high and it exudes from me like a football IQ aura and shit on my teammates sometimes cause I am a football god. Anyways, so the game is over and we destroyed 'em of course, and I'm in the locker room packin' it up and givin' props to all the now former teammates of mine, makin' sure to leave behind some big ol' SLAP-ASS on the way out.
But yea, right here I just gotta give the shoutouts:
Raylan Crowder, it was dope hittin' up the clubs with ya ol scary mofo ass. Keep beastin'!
Lawrence Bass, ol' fart, I hope your legs still work for that defense next season, cuz they got some fuckin' miles on them. Stay healthy.
Rickie Vaughne, you know it's cuz I always covered my guy too fuckin well they had no choice but to throw to you, right? :wink: Congrats on the record setting season.
Jamar Lackson, ay my bad for that one time in practice when I dove at your knees but luckily nothing happen, but you know you should be thanking me cuz in that week's game, you hurdled a mofo diving at your knees on the last drive. I trained you well!
Monty Jack, I'm sorry that I waited this long to share that omega cheese burrito recipe, but that's cuz I knew you had no self control and now look at you, fuckin lettin' yourself go and now you gotta play OL next season. Good luck with the weight loss.
Zach Crossley, thanks for all the sophisticated duels in practice, but man remember that one time you fuckin chin checked me during hitting warmups before a game cuz you too fuckin hype and shit, and I had to play a fuckin game with my teeth loose and shit? smh Calm down.
Willie Miller, the reins are yours. Best of luck in the upcoming seasons.
Duke Cheeks, hit 'em with the D! Cross the face! Stuntin'! Naked red raw dog!
Jaja Ding Dong, ya ya I know. Sorry bruh.
To the rest of the old farts Matthew McDairmid, Philip Stein, Rashad Hilliard, George Fisher, James Lewandowski, Otis Allen, good luck on the back end.
To the new blood, get grindin'!
Aiite so with that out of the way, as I'm leavin' the main building and walking to my car, this fuckin black van pulls up and a couple'o foos get out, put a sack over my head, and throw me in. They take the sack off, and I look around. The back of the van is all nice and shit, like a limo, but it's got even more space 'cause it's a van. All the windows are covered. Anyways, after just a few turns, we got a whole police patrol following us with their lights on, and we are fuckin flyin' at this point. We head down the freeway, and as I ask where they're taking me, we enter a dark tunnel and the interior lights of the van dim ominously and they all slowly remove their masks and turn to me with a very serious stare, unmoving, unblinking. It's fucking Cade, Buck, and Shuff with what looked like some demonic blackness in their eyes, but I was probably just trippin'. Yeah, so after the initial sc--I ain't never scared...they spark up a blunt and hand it to me. I experience deja vu as I get higher on the street. Right as we exit the tunnel, the van busts a hard drift to the right and guns it. We're goin faster and faster and the police following us are long gone. Cade pulls down one of the side window coverings and it looks like we're on an airport runway or some shit? Cade covers the window again, then a bit of turbulence happens as it feels like we climb onto a ramp at like 120mph+ or some shit. After a few minutes of gaining altitude, we all get out of the van, and the three send me their condolences, and Cade offers me a tittie to suck on and I'm like no thanks, but then he directs me to a private suite on the plane anyway cuz he a bro, where I see the ol' gal who has been with me since we smuggled her in from Tijuana.
After some hours, there's an announcement over the PA asking for my presence, so girl takes my handcuffs off, and I'm directed into the black van again, where we get fuckin airdropped onto the streets of New Orleans. We arrive at this club called The Jimanji. Pretty sure that place is haunted. We're joined by the rest of the Second Line at the door, and they let us all in. I say wussup to the Slothlisberger who's a little down from the loss, and I tell him I got a crazy omega cheese burrito recipe that I'll share with him later. It's a great depression snack, I promise you. Just be careful with it. Anyways so I ask Adam Spencer and Cade, "IsHe... gonna be here?" and they both nod, but the fucker never showed up. Anyways, so we inside, drinkin' it up, and I could not for the life of me figure out how the fuck the drinks were comin' to the table and shit. They were just floatin' through the air, shit was crazy, and they just kept comin' 'til I blacked out!
Next day in the afternoon, I find myself waking up in a nice ass bed and room with two chicks next to me, all my legs feeling quite a bit sore...from the game, I think. I get up outta bed and leave the room, which opens into a common area, with a fancy table nearby. On the table is a set of housekeys, and a large sheet of fancy paper with a bunch of small text on it and a sharp pointed dagger. I walk up and start reading all the lawyerspeak jargon bullshit and before I even get more than a line in, I hear a click next to my ear as a cold metal barrel presses up against my temple. I immediately know to take the dagger, prick my right index fingertip, and sign on the line at the bottom. The cold metal leaves my temple, and I turn to the right to see a woman I'd never met before, but she in a fancy outfit and asks if she can help me, hands empty. I say, "Why, hello there, 'course you can help me," and I reach down suggestively into my front pocket, where I pull out a bag of weed and tell her to roll that shit up. You mean to tell me I get my own blunt roller? Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeit. She said she got some other skills too, so I'ma put her to the test later.
At the bottom of the contract is a detachable $5 million check, and on the bottom of the check is a very stylized "Welcome to the New Orleans Second Line" on a piece of purple perforated blotted paper. I walk out onto the deck to a spectacular view. The house sits in the hills north of Covington, facing south. Lake Pontchartrain can be seen off in the fair distance. Blunt roller walks up behind me, hands me a pair of shades and says, "This place gon' be waterfront property in a few years. It's premium." Can't believe it. Front row seats to impending devastation. I throw on the shades and throw the whole sheet in my mouth...
Thank you for coming to my TED talk shitpost. Gieb 1.5x media though personally I think this piece in particular is worth 2x kappa.