Who Dat?
Where do these mofros get off talking like dat man. I mean com’om blood you gots to talk proper English. Heh.
Anyways I decided to cover the Super Bowl down in Florida since the Jets didn’t make. I mean I wouldn’t of come to the game if the dog ass Jets would have been in cause that would have been a sign of the End Times. I mean Woody Johnson’s daughter was so scared of them getting in that she offed herself and shit. Me, I was just stockpiled Kool Aid and Slim Jims in my basement for the end of the world but we dodged a bullet with that one. I was sure if the Jets got to the Super Bowl the dogs were gonna lie down with the cats and we would have been in deep shit. We wuz damn lucky let me tell you man.
Man I loved the Super Bowl. I remember when I was there with the Steelers it was a lot of fun. I mean we seemed to get their every year and we knew all the tricks. Coach had his ways of getting everybody riled up. I mean he would get a pretty little sheep to show Bradshaw and outlined it’s ass with red lipstick and tolds him it was his if he won the game. And he had Mr. Chin the Chinese dude who washed our uniforms dress up in black pajamas and stick Rocky Bleier with sticks and shit and that cracker would go fucking crazy.
Oh and he gave the brothers the good dope man. It was way cool.
I think I have to go with the Colts this time. That is if they don’t move in the middle of the night again and can’t find their uniforms. You can’t trust a Colt man, they will run out on you every time. I mean I think the Saints are gonna be tight. Which is unusual because they ain’t nuthun in Nola that’s tight if you catches my drift. Man I met this Creole bitch there one time it was like throwing a hot dog down a hall way.
Anyhoo it don’t really count cause my boys the Giant’s ain’t in the game. So let them enjoy theyselves. Me I am gonna party. Even the fish in my shoes are gonna get high.
Look out New Orleans here I come.
Where do these mofros get off talking like dat man. I mean com’om blood you gots to talk proper English. Heh.
Anyways I decided to cover the Super Bowl down in Florida since the Jets didn’t make. I mean I wouldn’t of come to the game if the dog ass Jets would have been in cause that would have been a sign of the End Times. I mean Woody Johnson’s daughter was so scared of them getting in that she offed herself and shit. Me, I was just stockpiled Kool Aid and Slim Jims in my basement for the end of the world but we dodged a bullet with that one. I was sure if the Jets got to the Super Bowl the dogs were gonna lie down with the cats and we would have been in deep shit. We wuz damn lucky let me tell you man.
Man I loved the Super Bowl. I remember when I was there with the Steelers it was a lot of fun. I mean we seemed to get their every year and we knew all the tricks. Coach had his ways of getting everybody riled up. I mean he would get a pretty little sheep to show Bradshaw and outlined it’s ass with red lipstick and tolds him it was his if he won the game. And he had Mr. Chin the Chinese dude who washed our uniforms dress up in black pajamas and stick Rocky Bleier with sticks and shit and that cracker would go fucking crazy.
Oh and he gave the brothers the good dope man. It was way cool.
I think I have to go with the Colts this time. That is if they don’t move in the middle of the night again and can’t find their uniforms. You can’t trust a Colt man, they will run out on you every time. I mean I think the Saints are gonna be tight. Which is unusual because they ain’t nuthun in Nola that’s tight if you catches my drift. Man I met this Creole bitch there one time it was like throwing a hot dog down a hall way.
Anyhoo it don’t really count cause my boys the Giant’s ain’t in the game. So let them enjoy theyselves. Me I am gonna party. Even the fish in my shoes are gonna get high.
Look out New Orleans here I come.
No comments:
Post a Comment