Post by BuddyLove on Sept 14, 2015 23:53:53 GMT -5
The roar of the crowd rattles and shakes the foundation of the Superdome. The game is in full swing with the mighty black and gold in fierce battle. The Saints, having gone the whole season undefeated, unchallenged, and unquestionably the greatest team in history, are on the verge of being the first team to win the Super Bowl at home, and finishing with a record of 33 and 0. Football has never been more popular with the thirty game season, the lack of penalties, and the dramatic influx of felons to team rosters. But that is why the Saints have conquered year long trek on the gridiron; they have not needed the dirty plays, the convicts, or the muscle-head gym freaks. They have had the greatest player in NFL history: Buddy Johansson.
Known as the Miracle Arm, Buddy Johansson, or as he likes to be called, Buddy Love, has ascended the NFL ranks to become the MVP, the Rookie of the Year, and a football god, all within one year. It is a true Cinderella story. It has been amazing to watch the rookie, who stepped onto the field at the age of 54 with a VIP pass during preseason, pick up a football for the very first time, and throw it from the goal line to the upper deck; and he did it just to get a cheerleader’s attention. And just like that, he was named starter. Drew Brees immediately was cut and sank into a deep depression no one has ever seen before.
The Saints knew that they had struck oil when the Saints dismantled the Oakland Raiders 121 to 3 the very first game. Buddy Love made his mark on the NFL instantly with his amazing performance: 55 out of 60 passes, 789 yards, 11 passing touchdowns, 400 rushing yards, 4 rushing touchdowns, a 78 yard field goal, 1 dropkick tackle, and 98 kisses from cheerleaders and women that had stormed the field out of pure orgasmic lust. It was a sight to behold with his 22 inch pythons, his flowing silver hair, and amazing six-pack. The NFL had never seen anything like it. And now, at Super Bowl LXXVII, this amazing year is coming to a storybook ending. His 22,123 yards and 344 touchdowns through the year will go down in history as the unbeatable feat from the football god himself. With time ticking away, and the Saints dominating the San Diego Chargers 99 to 7, Buddy Love is about to become Super Bowl MVP and finish the greatest season known to man.
BURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAHHHHHHHHHH!
“RUN YOU SON OF A BITCH RUN!”
Buddy Love screams as the little figurines of his electric football table shake, move, and some even tumble over. The motor of the table blares out and echoes through the darkened Winnebago.
“He’s in the hole! He’s in the hole!”
The tallest figurine, that surprisingly as a resemblance to a certain aging hipster, wobbles forward and moves slowly up the table. It spins and teeters to the point of falling over, but it finds a path toward the end zone.
“IT’S A TOUCHDOWN! IT’S A TOUCHDOWN! SUPERBOWL MVP!”
Suddenly there is a knock on the outside door.
“Who the hell….”
Buddy stumbles to his feet, in only his tie-dye boxers and Mardi Gras beads. His long gray hair flows as he opens the door to the darkness of the Louisiana swamp. The air is cool as Buddy looks around. There is nobody for miles, and it has been that way for a long time. The only person he has seen in the last 10 years was some dude on a riding lawnmower that was the waterboy for the local university.
“Is that you Bobby? Don’t be messing with me now.”
It is soft, but amongst the bull frogs and gentle breeze in the trees, there was something. Buddy slowly steps away from his Winnebago and follows the faint sound. It sounds a bit like music, but there is something along with it. As Buddy moves, it gets clearer.
“Dit-a-dee da de-de do….”
It sounds too familiar.
“Dit-a-dee da de-de do do do dee-da-dede doe….”
That song, that song that has rang out through arenas in the darkest pool halls of Baltimore to the colosseums of Japan. Buddy remembers how he was in a drunken rage after being knocked out in a boxing match, and his trainer, a cool-under-fire man name Big Norm, even though he wasn’t big at all, had showed him a video of dancing hamsters on his computer. It was a like a trance that smothered all the rage in Buddy’s soul, and filled him with glee with such cute imagery and the happy beat. It was the start of beads, wine coolers, and women; lots and lots of women.
Buddy enters a clearing where the music is fully aloud. To his amazement, the clearing is littered with beads, wine coolers, and Playboys in every direction. He looks around in dismay, wondering how this treasure trove of goodies has appeared. Just has mysterious as the clearing is, another sound echoes from the swamp.
It is chant: BUDDY BUDDY BUDDY BUDDY.
He turns to face the source of the new sound, and to his surprise, in all its glory, is the thing he cherished most. There in the middle of the swamp, amongst the techno hamster dance, amongst the beads and wine coolers, is his son, Buddy Jr, the World Heavyweight Championship.
“BUDDY JUNOR! IT’S BEEN SO LONG!”
Buddy runs toward his long lost son, but suddenly everything vanishes. The music, the beads, the booze, the women, his son, they all vanish. The swamp returns to a dark, solemn silence. Buddy falls to his knees, with his head in his hands. It has been many years, 7 years to be exact, since he had held his son in his hands, since he felt that cold metal against his skin, to feel the thrill of battle, and the roar of the crowd. He looks up to the sky, the moon high up in the sky at the stroke of midnight. One could even say there was a shooting star at that moment. Buddy closed his eyes and smiled.
With a mighty splash, Buddy is shocked awake with the cold water hitting his bare skin. Buddy screams out and falls over the many wine cooler bottles that are littered all over his Winnebago. Buddy opens his eyes, covered in ice cold water to a face he has never seen in many a year. He is shorter than Buddy remembers, but still has that devious smile, a smile full of gold.
“Put some clothes on brotha….. I’m back……. SUCKA!!!!!!!”
Known as the Miracle Arm, Buddy Johansson, or as he likes to be called, Buddy Love, has ascended the NFL ranks to become the MVP, the Rookie of the Year, and a football god, all within one year. It is a true Cinderella story. It has been amazing to watch the rookie, who stepped onto the field at the age of 54 with a VIP pass during preseason, pick up a football for the very first time, and throw it from the goal line to the upper deck; and he did it just to get a cheerleader’s attention. And just like that, he was named starter. Drew Brees immediately was cut and sank into a deep depression no one has ever seen before.
The Saints knew that they had struck oil when the Saints dismantled the Oakland Raiders 121 to 3 the very first game. Buddy Love made his mark on the NFL instantly with his amazing performance: 55 out of 60 passes, 789 yards, 11 passing touchdowns, 400 rushing yards, 4 rushing touchdowns, a 78 yard field goal, 1 dropkick tackle, and 98 kisses from cheerleaders and women that had stormed the field out of pure orgasmic lust. It was a sight to behold with his 22 inch pythons, his flowing silver hair, and amazing six-pack. The NFL had never seen anything like it. And now, at Super Bowl LXXVII, this amazing year is coming to a storybook ending. His 22,123 yards and 344 touchdowns through the year will go down in history as the unbeatable feat from the football god himself. With time ticking away, and the Saints dominating the San Diego Chargers 99 to 7, Buddy Love is about to become Super Bowl MVP and finish the greatest season known to man.
BURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAHHHHHHHHHH!
“RUN YOU SON OF A BITCH RUN!”
Buddy Love screams as the little figurines of his electric football table shake, move, and some even tumble over. The motor of the table blares out and echoes through the darkened Winnebago.
“He’s in the hole! He’s in the hole!”
The tallest figurine, that surprisingly as a resemblance to a certain aging hipster, wobbles forward and moves slowly up the table. It spins and teeters to the point of falling over, but it finds a path toward the end zone.
“IT’S A TOUCHDOWN! IT’S A TOUCHDOWN! SUPERBOWL MVP!”
Suddenly there is a knock on the outside door.
“Who the hell….”
Buddy stumbles to his feet, in only his tie-dye boxers and Mardi Gras beads. His long gray hair flows as he opens the door to the darkness of the Louisiana swamp. The air is cool as Buddy looks around. There is nobody for miles, and it has been that way for a long time. The only person he has seen in the last 10 years was some dude on a riding lawnmower that was the waterboy for the local university.
“Is that you Bobby? Don’t be messing with me now.”
It is soft, but amongst the bull frogs and gentle breeze in the trees, there was something. Buddy slowly steps away from his Winnebago and follows the faint sound. It sounds a bit like music, but there is something along with it. As Buddy moves, it gets clearer.
“Dit-a-dee da de-de do….”
It sounds too familiar.
“Dit-a-dee da de-de do do do dee-da-dede doe….”
That song, that song that has rang out through arenas in the darkest pool halls of Baltimore to the colosseums of Japan. Buddy remembers how he was in a drunken rage after being knocked out in a boxing match, and his trainer, a cool-under-fire man name Big Norm, even though he wasn’t big at all, had showed him a video of dancing hamsters on his computer. It was a like a trance that smothered all the rage in Buddy’s soul, and filled him with glee with such cute imagery and the happy beat. It was the start of beads, wine coolers, and women; lots and lots of women.
Buddy enters a clearing where the music is fully aloud. To his amazement, the clearing is littered with beads, wine coolers, and Playboys in every direction. He looks around in dismay, wondering how this treasure trove of goodies has appeared. Just has mysterious as the clearing is, another sound echoes from the swamp.
It is chant: BUDDY BUDDY BUDDY BUDDY.
He turns to face the source of the new sound, and to his surprise, in all its glory, is the thing he cherished most. There in the middle of the swamp, amongst the techno hamster dance, amongst the beads and wine coolers, is his son, Buddy Jr, the World Heavyweight Championship.
“BUDDY JUNOR! IT’S BEEN SO LONG!”
Buddy runs toward his long lost son, but suddenly everything vanishes. The music, the beads, the booze, the women, his son, they all vanish. The swamp returns to a dark, solemn silence. Buddy falls to his knees, with his head in his hands. It has been many years, 7 years to be exact, since he had held his son in his hands, since he felt that cold metal against his skin, to feel the thrill of battle, and the roar of the crowd. He looks up to the sky, the moon high up in the sky at the stroke of midnight. One could even say there was a shooting star at that moment. Buddy closed his eyes and smiled.
With a mighty splash, Buddy is shocked awake with the cold water hitting his bare skin. Buddy screams out and falls over the many wine cooler bottles that are littered all over his Winnebago. Buddy opens his eyes, covered in ice cold water to a face he has never seen in many a year. He is shorter than Buddy remembers, but still has that devious smile, a smile full of gold.
“Put some clothes on brotha….. I’m back……. SUCKA!!!!!!!”