We’ve had some fun at the expense of Pats fans lately. But I’ve always been of the mind that the Patriots and their fans are simply annoying. Really, really, really fucking annoying. But little more than that.
But Gregggggg Easterbrook, with whom we have had our fair share of fun in the past, would like to go one step further. Easterbrook believes that the Patriots are literally offspring of Lucifer himself. No doubt because they stay up past midnight. It’s nearly impossible to convey just how douchey this column is, but let me just give you a taste of Easterbrook’s stern sermonizing from today, in which he treats the Pats as if they masturbate with crucifixes and the Colts as if they poop rainbows.
Argument for the Indianapolis Colts as paladins who carry the banner of that which is beneficent: Sportsmanship, honesty, modesty, devotion to community, embrace of traditional small-town life, belief in higher power, even love of laughter.
I’m pretty sure Easterbrook and Peter King could fight to the death regarding who leads the league in laughter. The rest of this paragraph borders on the completely insane. The Colts embrace small-town life? What the fuck does that even mean? They were drafted to play in that piece of shit town. And it’s not small. It’s a major fucking metropolitan area. Do they listen to more John Mellencamp than the Patriots as well? I don’t see any Colts helping Barney Fife lock up winos at the county clink. I don’t see them delivering fresh pecan pies to my windowsill.
And they believe in a higher power? All of them? Who fucking cares? I’m assuming then that the Patriots enjoy carving pentagrams in the earth and then slaughtering lambs in them. Witness this passage about Tom Brady:
That constant smirk on Brady’s face reminds one of Dick Cheney; people who smirk are fairly broadcasting the message, “I’m hiding something.”
When I think of Tom Brady, I think of many things: bounties, chin clefts, great hair, Gisele’s crotch, my raging inferiority complex… I rarely think of Dick Cheney. What’s Tom Brady hiding, apart from the two or three other bastard children in his arsenal? I’m guessing not much. I’ve heard Brady speak on TV. He ain’t exactly Mr. Cunning, if you get my drift. He’s Californian, for God’s sake. The reason he reminds people of Joe Montana is because of the vacant staring.
I haven’t read Easterbrook in quite a while. When the fuck did he completely lose his mind?
I want more like this!
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