bretttruck

Dem Vikins shurr got sumpin hangin down out thur crawls, cuzza jus gissin here, but dint dey saydat dissa dedlann togitoll Brittfarr to sann dat auddograff ondat noo kontract? Well, giss wut, y’oll chum buckits. Ol’ Brittfarr ain’t did yet. So booly on dat for uh bit.

Dat ol coot Chilldriss, boy he ain’t got the since Gawd gave uh mean ol’ tick hound in the forst. He thankin he kin put Brittfarr behann dat ol’ kueball an say, “Now Brittfar, yew gotsa makeup dat ol’ gord o’yors an dessade i’yew gon play footbaw this yeer.

Ah ain’t gotsa dessade nuttin. I Brittfarr! I throofer fitty meelyin yars, throofer bout nanny meelyin tuch-dayowns, and only three innercipshuns! Mamma says I ain’t gotta kount all dem innercipshuns iffah down wantoo. En ah down wantoo!

Yer didlann ain’t sheeit, dere, Childriss, ya big ol hushpuppy. If yew gon killoll Brittfarr, yew cummon down heeuh and doo sum killin. But I’ll hunt yew lika meen ol’ smokey bayer been huntin dem fish inna stream. Cept witha big ol’ gun. I’mma git yew, Childriss. Jussa soonis yew put ol’ Brittfarr back on datdere footbaw team!

|img from Pacman Jonesin’|