“That’s some funny stuff,” Marc told the funny boy. “And you’re 110% rigt about it all.”

“I don’t understand why soccer doesn’t put more zebras on the field,” said Eric. “We have two refs, and two linesmen. Hockey’s a lot faster, and a Hell of a lot more physical than soccer, but there’s no way one guy can see everything that’s going on, on a field that big, with twenty two guys on it. It’s just stupid. Stubbornness.”

Jordan intervened, “Obviously, that’s not the part of Daffy Donald’s routine that we might find a bit offensive, though.”

The look on Lane’s face was part grimace, art grin, when he admitted as much. “No. No, it’s not.”

“Don’t worry, kid,” Eric said, holding up his fists, “we don’t have the foil on.” His brothers held their fists up, as well. Nope. They did not have the foil on.

Lance had no idea exactly what that meant, but took it as a sign that weren’t going to pounce on, and pound him into a bleeding mass of ground round, if he did, indeed, offend them with some more hahaha. “Okay,” said the funny boy, “but I want it noted in the record that I am not talking about jocks with your obvious intelligence at the start of this.”

Eric laughed, “Don’t worry, Lance, we’ve been surrounded with them our whole lives, so we know there ain’t many MENSA members to be found in the dressing rooms of the world.”

Satisfied that his life was not in any danger, Lance said, “Okay, why not? This isn’t really so much about jocks, anyway. It’s Daffy Donald’s  ideas about how TV broadcasts of live games can be a lot more entertaining for viewers.”

Lance tapped his imaginary microphone a couple times, and began:

Why do sportscasters interview athletes when they’re going onto, or coming off of the field of battle?

‘So, what do you have to do to win this game today?’

‘Well, our backs are against the wall, and we’re gonna have to give it 110%. Leave it all out on the field. We have to remember the basics, and execution is the key.’

‘Tell the folks at home, how did you win this vitally important match today?’

‘Well, our backs were against the wall, but we gave it 110%. We left it all out on the field. We remembered the basics, and execution was the key.’

It’s the most inane shit on TV!

Wouldn’t you rather see them interview drunken fans, instead?

Huh? Wouldn’t ya?

Wouldn’t that be so much more fun, and interesting?

‘We fuckin’ killed those faggots! We fucked their mothers in their asses, and those whores loved it! Who’s your daddy, bee atch?’

Get some busty babes flashing their titties for the boys?


That’ll put the ratings through the roof. Hell, I’d watch high school water polo if that shit was going down.

Actually, let’s go all in on this one.

Let packs of slobbering drunk fans do the whole broadcast.

Play by play and colour commentary.

‘Brady’s in the shotgun for the snap.’

‘Brady’s in the shotgun with your mother, Bob. Brady’s in the shotgun with your mother’s snapper. Her snapping turtle. That’s where you came from Bob. From your mother’s snapping turtle. Her snapper. Her snatch! You came from your mother’s snatch, Bob. And now Tom Brady’s in the shotgun with yo mama, and her snapping turtle.’

‘Brady’s getting some pressure He’s gonna get his ass creamed. No, he scrambles away, he rolls out of the pocket, and riffles a fuckin’ bullet to Gronk! Holy fuck, Gronk dropped it.’

‘What the actual fuck, Bob? Is Gronk drunk? Fuck me, he is! He’s more pissed than I am. What’s he been drinking? I want me some of that shit. I could have caught that fuckin’ ball. And you don’t have to pay me ninety million fuckin’ bucks a year to do it. Fuckin’ faggot, get off the field.’

Now, imagine them doing a soccer game.

‘Ronaldo passes it to Messi. And Messi passes it to Ronaldo.’

‘Ronaldo passes it to Messi. And Messi passes it to Ronaldo.’

‘And Ronaldo passes it to some fucker whose name I can’t pronounce, who passes tit to Messi, who passes it to Ronaldo.’

‘Fuck me, Bob, we’re gonna need a lot more beer to get through this shitshow. Actually, were gonna need some drugs to get through this bullshit. Hard drugs. And yo mama, in the shotgun, with her snapping turtle. Yo mama still selling crack, Bob? Get the bitch up here.’

‘I’m afraid Mitch is right, America. If you’re planning to watch the rest of this shit, you best start getting into the drugs. Here’s my mother’s number. Give her a call, she’ll fix you up. And tell her who hooked you up, so I get my cut.’

‘But don’t be trying to fuck Bob’s mom.

She got da clap.

She do!

She got the clap,
she got da clap.

‘I should know, ‘cause I got it from her. That’s how Bob, he got it too.’

Bob got da clap,

claphe got da clap.

‘He got if from his moma, just like me. And she got it from Tom Brady! From that time when her and her snapping turtle was back there, in the shotgun with him.’

Lance kept them in stitches with Daffy Donald hahaha, until he took a break and asked, “What’s the time?”

Madonna answered, “Three forty. She should have called by now.”





101 b

101 a

101 c