Britt Farr appeared on a radio show in Buffalo, because that’s what retired gunslingers do. But fear not, the Land Baron will not be returning to the NFL.

“I don’t have that feeling, that chip on my shoulder,” said Favre, the NFL’s all-time leader in numerous passing categories. “I mean, I could easily talk myself into that chip on my shoulder like, ‘Hey everybody hates you,’ … I could motivate myself.”

Talking yourself into thinking everyone hates you? Good luck with that, Brett. You know we love you. We adore you. So keep that shoulder chip free and go off to enjoy your retirement.

Asshole.

Via NFL.com

Kudos to you, New York Post writer, for sneaking in a SINISTER INTERNET REPORTS question at the end of Brittfar’s press conference on the Randy Moss trade.

Oh, Brittfar. Hands are full with the Jets, are they? I guess we finally know Favre’s nickname for his balls. That’s allegedly, of course. He could call have entirely more logical name for them, like Rizzolli and Isles.

Of course you wouldn’t. You’d much rather look Jenn Sterger and her classy French manicure. Ah, the French manicure. No Mississippi boy can resist! Anyway, if you’d like to see the penis in question, by all means watch the vid at Deadspin, or click after the jump. It’s not safe for work, though it has been tastefully Photoshopped. I couldn’t figure out how to do it myself, though. Stupid Photoshop. The first time I try and learn that program, I elect to use a picture of a 40-year-old penis. Unwise. Hat tip to Punter. Send us your PS jobs and we’ll make a little contest out of it.

Worst. Pez dispenser. Ever.

Dawnaw why all dem ree-porturs gettin awl backup in ol Britt’s craw, but ol Britt daw lyk it much as dem sittie slickurs thinkadoo. Das jus mee bean onnis, now. Ol Britt jus wanna ree habb dat ankul on dat ol porch swing over yonder and git that puppy back inta shape. Obsurv…

/gets on bench

//pushes off with repaired ankle

Ol Coach Childruss came on down he-uh an ee askol Britt haw minnie rips I’s doin eech day. Ol Britt down’t kewnt no rips! Ol Britt wurkit til it feel lack wurk! Thin wee gitonuver tooda kitchin an git summadat Hattiesburg Gaturade: a sweet tee wit extur sweetinur. Mmm, mmm. Ol Britt gunna feel guud aftur dat, an den ee gone round behin da shed and tinkle for bout 45 minit or so. Dat sweet tee feel guud at both inds! Ah!

Da missus tol me, “Naow Britt, you gots to git inta dat noodul o’ yors in make yur minedup bout dat foobaw now.” But tellya da trooth, not e’en ol Britt know whuh heegondoo dis fawl. Ol Britt might play sum Tixis Howldum oer in Tewnicuh, or he maght warsh off dem duckies wit all dat oiwl on em in dat dere Golf. How ken it be golf if its awl wadder?

Ayway, y’all best leeve ol Britt alone til bout two weeks affer trainin kamp done finish. Ol Britt dawn lack dat trainin kamp. All dem colored fellers with dem big peckers don’t make ol Britt feel too guud. Maybe ol Britt ken git sum surgerie on dat part, too.

We all know that Brett Favre was a tremendous drunk, but did you know that his old coach shipped him off to Green Bay in an effort to get him sober? Because according to legendary douchebag Jerry Glanville that’s exactly why his Falcons made their historically lopsided trade with Green Bay. What, you thought it had something to do with Glanville never wanting Favre to begin with? Oh that’s just silly. You probably also think that Peyton Manning’s Super Bowl interception was an “accident.”

“I had to get him out of Atlanta. . . . I could not sober him up,” Glanville said. “I sent him to a city where at 9:00 at night the only thing that’s open is Chili Joes. You can get it two ways, with or without onions. And that’s what made Brett Favre make a comeback was going to a town that closed down. If I would have traded him to New York, nobody to this day would have known who Brett Favre ever was.”

Man, that Glanville. What a human being. Had he not sent Favre to the safe haven of Wisconsin (a place where you can barely even find alcohol) the future MVP’s career could have been tainted by excessive drinking and, perish the thought, drug use. Consider that bullet dodged.

Images via Yahoo! Sports and Sports Illustrated

Passersby were amazed at the unusually large amounts of Favre. Passersby were amazed at the unusually large amounts of Favre. Passersby were amazed at the unusually large amounts of Favre. Passersby were amazed at the unusually large amounts of Favre. Passersby were amazed at the unusually large amounts of Favre. Passersby were amazed at the unusually large amounts of Favre. Passersby were amazed at the unusually large amounts of Favre. Passersby were amazed at the unusually large amounts of Favre.

Last night saw Brett Favre lined up wide in the wildcat package and the veteran gunslinger put together a perfect demonstration of the illegal crackback block on Houston’s Eugene Wilson. And what’s this? The broadcast booth is criticizing him?

Where’s Tony Kornheiser to offer up excuses when we need him?!

How’s he supposed to know how to block, he’s a QUARTERBACK!

All right, people, if you’ve got HBO and you’re watching this aborted douchefetus, let us hear your thoughts.  Those without pay cable, follow along in the comments.  It’s the poor man’s live blog.

This is Dr. James Andrews, and if you follow professional sports you’re probably familiar with his work. It is Andrews’ nimble fingers that have been responsible for breathing the life back into hundreds of lame limbs from all across the sporting spectrum, and now he’s taking on Brett Favre’s bum bicep. Clearly the man has gone mad with power.

Jesus fucking Christ, James, if God really wanted Brett Favre to make another comeback he wouldn’t have taken the time to reduce the man’s throwing arm to delicious shredded beef. Who are you to interfere with His divine will? You must have an ego the likes of which we’ve only seen from Favre himself. I am pleading with you to think long and hard about what you’re doing before you selfishly repair another man’s injury.

That is why I am humbly requesting that you kick the Hippocratic Oath to the curb for a day and “take one for the team” by botching this procedure. In fact, I’m willing to start up a collection on this very blog to compensate you for doing as such.

Cancel the procedure?

We’ll figure out a way to make up for the lost income (invaluable gambling advice!).

Go through with the procedure but intentionally botch it to make sure Favre never so much as lifts his right arm over his head?

Double compensation, plus a free whore to do with as you see fit.

Feel too guilty to screw up on purpose?

We’ll buy you a case of Red Bull to chug before the surgery. That way your conscience can remain (somewhat) clear while your hands do their best impression of a Parkinson’s patient.

Feel free to sleep on it, James. But if you don’t have an answer soon I’ll be powerless to stop Drew from offering a bounty on your veiny hands.