Think the media have coddled your every misstep throughout your career, do you Brett? Well they have. But that was the national media. The New York media are going to chew you a new asshole, one so reamed and misshapen that Peter King will only penetrate it out of a sense of duty.

Oh yeah, and you have to play against Randy Moss’ team twice a year. More time to bellyache to your GM for not signing him!

[Picture credit: Sporting Blog]

FAT GUY IN TRACK SUIT [in booth eating pizza]: You Jimmy?

JIMMY: Yeah.

FAT GUY: Yeah, that’s some hat, kid. Ah, what the hey. Siddown, why doncha?

JIMMY: Thanks. [sits down]

FAT GUY: Here, have a slice. Four cheeses on this pie. Best in the state. Fuggetaboutit. Hey, Jimmy. Jimmy, don’t look so nervous, eh? Come on, Jimmy, have a slice.

JIMMY: I’m alright. Thanks.

FAT GUY: So, uh, you need some taking care of someone in your organization? That’s what our mutual friend said to me. So who we lookin’ at here?

JIMMY: So you guys? You, uh, k–

FAT GUY: Shhhshhh, Jimmy. Do me a favor and shuddafuggup, okay? We don’t use that word. We take care of people. You know, like an escort service. ONLY THEY’RE THE ONES THAT GET BLASTED!!! [slaps table] HAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA!

JIMMY: Haha, yeah, that wasn’t really funny…

FAT GUY: I can see you’re really nervous, Jimmy. And let me tell you somethin, okay? Some people…they just deserve it. We don’t ask questions, we just make your life easier…for a price. Now come on, eat some pie.

JIMMY: No, really. I’m good.

FAT GUY: It’s delicious. Four cheeses.

JIMMY: No.

FAT GUY: [cocks gun under the table] Eat it.

[Jimmy takes a slice and eats it]

Alright, alright, no more funny stuff. Down to business. So what’s the occasion? The UPS man fuckin’ your wife? Somebody makin’ trouble near yo’ residence? Who’s the man o’ the hour?

JIMMY: [pulls out photo] This guy…

FAT GUY: I see. Well, a person of this high profile is going to cost a little extra.

JIMMY: I don’t care. This might be the only way I, uh, I mean Aaron gets to play.

FAT GUY: Alright, the final price tag is gonna be–

[door flies open]

T. J. HOUSHMANZADEH: Hey.

FAT GUY: What the fuck do you want?

JIMMY: Get out of here!

T. J. HOUSHMANZADEH: Aaron Rodgers. You play for the Red Wings, right?

AARON RODGERS: No, I’m Jimmy. I’m–

T. J. HOUSHMANZADEH: Do you have anything to drink?

FAT GUY: I’m gettin’ outta here. [gets up and leaves]

AARON: Thanks a lot, you Persian fuck. I just went through all of this for nothing.

T. J. HOUSHMANZADEH: Okay, bye.

A message from the Gunslinger himself! What a truly historic occurrence! What an amazing milestone in NFL history! I can barely keep my pants on, I’m so blown away! I may have to go masturbate with the GOOD shower soap tonight!

No one knows what the text message said, but we do know he did indeed send it. Breathtaking. I’m also being told that Brett Favre may have also tried to contact the Packers via AIM, but that the Packers couldn’t get the fucking chat room to open.

Well, we at KSK are quite adept at navigating these kooky intertubes. As with anything Favre shoots off, this message was easily intercepted. Favre sent the Packers no less than a dozen messages. Here they are.

JK ABOUT RETIRING

U GOT QB 4 GUNSLNGN?

CN CUM BK NOW? KTHXBAI!

SUX 2B ARRON

OMG! A-RODG B SO GAY!

DEANNA IZ BORIN.

#4 NEEDS PK BJ ASAP

MOOR INTS PLS

BETTR HOPE I DONT GET ITCH 2 GET U FIRED LOLZ

WHEN DID I GET A CELL PHONE?

I’M SO RAVEN!

GOT 2 B A VIK NOW L8RS

PAIN KILLERZ 2 SPENSIV IN REEL WRLD

4′S BOYESH INTHUZIAZM FTW

DO U KNOW # 4 LIKKER STORE???

And here was Ted Thompson’s texted reply:

FU CKSKR

Dear Scrotal Seam,

Since you won’t return my phone calls, and you refuse to use a computer for anything other than acquiring Canadian pharmaceuticals, I figured my only recourse is to send you this letter. They do have postal service in Bumfuck, Mississippi, don’t they?

Listen, I understand that you love the game and all of the media fellating you reap as a result of your play, but if you have this “itch” to come back you could have at least dropped me a line. I don’t even care if you play this year, in fact, I think it would be pretty fucking great. With all this football crap going on I’ve fallen way behind in my regimen of naps and vacations over the past two off-seasons. All I’m asking is that you stop dicking me around like this year after year.

If you need me for any reason I’ll be doing the same thing I do during every training camp, sneaking over to your house during film study and butt-fucking Deanna on your freshly mown lawn.

Yours In Christ,
Aaron Rodgers

PETER KING, FEBRUARY 5th:

I love how Favre announced he was coming back on the Friday of Super Bowl week, and told the local paper in town. That is so classic Favre. He picked the time where the world would be most focused on something else, so he could get the minimum amount of attention. Beautiful.

PETER KING, MARCH 4th:

I think he’d rather edge his 465 acres in Hattiesburg, Miss., and worry about how to contain the runaway beaver population than to have the bright lights on him, even in a small town like Green Bay, for five months a year.

Favre loved being just a guy.

BRETT FAVRE, APRIL 4TH:

“It’s crazy to me that I’m the guy they’re all talking about, and the story is out there everywhere, and I have nothing to do with it,” he said. “It’s not something I’m thinking about. It’s kind of funny. Even when I’m retired, they won’t let me stay retired.”

TODAY:

According to Chris Mortensen on ESPN’s NFL Live, Brett Favre is seriously considering coming back to the NFL for one more season. Mortensen said Favre told Packers’ coach Mike McCarthy that he has the “itch to play again.” ESPN’s NFL Live broke the news exclusively at the 4 p.m. hour. Packers’ conrerback Al Harris reiterates. “He’s got the itch.”

What a shock. I’m sure he’s coming back for love of the game. THEY KEEP PULLIN’ YA BACK IN, BRETTY! I’m sure it has nothing to do with being a shameless, gaping gash for attention.

Get fucked, assbag. I got something for you to itch. It’s called poison oak. I hope it gets on the inside of your dick.

Michael Strahan: I’sss my dissstinct pleasure like to welcome ya’lls to my new show, STOMPING. YOU. OUT. … at night. We’re gonna try do our comedy thing, have some fun and maybe learn something about the same time.

Ronnie The Band Leader: Youse a funny motherfucker, Michael.

Strahan: I ain’t told no jokes yet.

Ronnie: BAHAHAHAHA! That’s rich! Ain’t told no jokes! You don’t even need writers.

Strahan: Hehhh, aight man.

Okay. Let’sss welcome my hilariousss sidekick on the show, you might know him asss the the gunssslinger, MAH MAN… Brett Favre!

[Show's theme plays]

Strahan: I think it’s gonna be a good thing we gotsss here. Me and you? We got a report and shit.

Favre: A rapport?

Strahan: You with your fucking French name would know how to pronounsssssse that shit.

Ronnie: Ha! French! Ha! Killed it!

Favre: So which guests do we have tonight?

Strahan: Oh, we got some guests, but firsss thing’s firsss.

Favre: What’s that?

Strahan: Bitch, you know exactly what I mean. Drop yo’ ass on the floor.

Favre: I thought we agreed not to do this.

Strahan: We did. But I disssagree with our agreement. People, you remember how Favre fell hisss assss down to let me git my sack record. Well, beginning a’ each show, pretty boy here gonna fall his ass on the ground.

Favre: But it’s humiliating.

Strahan: How you think it look for me? Bring you out here in front a’ all thessse peoplesss, then you not fall down? Ludicrousss.

Ronnie: A fuckin’ disgrace is what it’d be. OH!

Favre: [Sighs] I knew I should’ve taken that analyst gig.

[Favre stands out of chair, takes two steps toward audience then collapses onto the floor]

Strahan: Hahaha. Exsssssellent! We got a great show for you this evening, we got Natasha Bedingfield and that hot bitch from that reality show. Whatever, she hot. Be right back.

Now get off stage, Favre!

I’ve been meaning to cancel my subscription to Sports Illustrated. Do I really need to know what Kristis Yamaguchi’s favorite food to microwave is? No, I do not. (She said “leftovers,” which isn’t even a fucking specific food. What a whore.) But I need something to read while I’m burning 5 calories an hour on the elliptical at the gym. (It does all the working out for you!)

But it’s clear now that I should spend my gym time reading whatever copy of Redbook someone left lying around instead. Because this week’s issue of SI contained a handful of letters to the editor regarding Brett Favre’s retirement that made me want to swallow my own head. And since I had to read this incredible dogshit, you do too.

Watching his play and his life for 17 years, we didn’t just see Brett Favre in that Number 4 jersey. We saw our uncle, our brother-in-law, or our fishing buddy. No, Brett wasn’t the greatest quarterback ever to have played. He was just the greatest GUY to ever play quarterback. We’re going to miss you, Brett.

-Scott Powell, Rexford, NY

I… I can’t even… must fight… homicidal urges…

ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME? YOU MUST BE SHITTING ME. YOU BE OPENING MY MOUTH RIGHT NOW AND SHITTING DIRECTLY INTO IT.

Here’s who Brett Favre was, Scotty. He was a very good, durable quarterback. Many times, you may have enjoyed watching him play the game with great skill and creativity. When he wasn’t throwing more interceptions than any player in league history. Other than that, you, Scotty Powell, KNOW FUCKING DICK ABOUT BRETT FAVRE. He’s a fucking stranger to you. For all you know, he boned your niece back at Southern Miss after hitting the ‘shine bong. YOU AREN’T FUCKING RELATED TO HIM. HE’S NOT YOUR GODDAMN POKER BUDDY. “Oooh, look at Brett! He likes to hunt! And he has stubble! He’s so much like me, it’s scary!” Jesus.

“Do you know Vince Vaughn? Have you ever met him? I feel like we’d really get along well. I just… he seems like a fun guy. I feel like we’d hang together well.”

There’s no tangible evidence that Brett Favre is a better person than Trent Dilfer, Jim Kelly, or hundreds of other people who have played the position. Maybe one day, I pray, we’ll be able to do a blood test for Kindness and Warmth. But, until that day, KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF.

But wait. There’s more.

People would laugh when I said “we” won or lost a game because “You’re not part of the team. You didn’t win or lose.” But I always felt like Brett Favre played for me, the fan, so, yes, we did, win and lose together. Every emotion I felt, I felt with him. Brett, enjoy your retirement. We love you, respect you, and, most of all, we will miss you.

-Anna Garcia, Arbuckle, CA

Actually, Anna, the people laughing at you were on to something. For you see, Brett Favre signed a contract with the Green Bay Packers that stipulated he play football in exchange for money and possible health benefits. It’s in writing. I SWEAR. I’m quite sure Favre was pleased to see fans happy with a Packer victory. Know who else felt the same way? EVERY OTHER PLAYER ON THE TEAM. “Omigod! He won that game just for me!” “Omigod! He felt sad after a loss! I felt the exact same way!” “Omigod! He’s jumping up and down after a touchdown! I DO THAT!”

Indeed. Amazing.

The NBA will never replace Michael Jordan, and the NFL will never replace Brett Favre.

-Craig Earl, North Logan, Utah

Actually, Craig. They replaced him well before he retired. Ever watch Tom Brady or Peyton Manning play quarterback? They’re just like Favre, only they don’t throw 500 ill-advised, back-breaking interceptions a year! Who knew you could have your cake and eat it too?

Do you know what’s happening here? Brett Favre has officially become just like fucking Barbaro. A bunch of retard fans, easily swayed by the “special” status bestowed upon Favre by the media, have begun making all sorts of baseless emotional connections with him. He was more than a quarterback! He was a family member! He attended my wedding in spirit! We have imaginary children together! Our lives are incredibly intertwined!

Enough already. You didn’t know Brett Favre, and he didn’t know you. He played for the team you liked and he was good at it. So much so that he became your favorite player. That’s neat. But you wouldn’t have known him any better if he had been a fucking horse. You admired him from afar. That’s it.

If that isn’t enough for your emotional needs, buy a fucking dog.

You know I was on a plane comin’ up here today. And I was tryin’ to think of a way to let y’all here know that I was finished with football. And it was just so hard, because it brought back all these memories for me. There was the time we won the Super Bowl back in ‘96. And all the great games we had this year on the way to the NFC title game. I thought about all that. And it’s just so hard to let that go. I’m gonna miss this game.

(chokes up)

But more than that, I’m gonna miss all the incredibly pathetic asskissing most of all.

I’m gonna miss the way all y’all used to hang on my nuts like they were a set of monkey bars. I’m gonna miss all the relentless verbal fellatio and paeans to my greatness that verged on being some kind of written rimjob. I loved that. THAT’S WHY I PLAYED FOOTBALL, MAN!

Hey, Peter! Man, you remember when I had that one autograph-seeking girl join us for dinner, and she was real excited? And then you almost came in your pants at my casual, aw-shucks way of including everyone?

(fights back tears)

I’m gonna miss that.

And Cris Collinsworth! Remember how you said just talking to me for a few minutes could help make anyone a better person? Jesus, am I gonna miss that kind of blind sycophancy! It was like you was flossin’ with my ass hair! I could practically taste your Aveda hair gel on the back of my teeth!

(grabs tissues)

I’m sorry. I just… I just didn’t realize it would be this hard. This is harder than Madden’s cock after watching me throw an interception 40 yards down the field.

I know I can still play this game. I really do. But I am just not prepared mentally to get back into the grind. Even though y’all would probably love that angle. FAVRE’S DEVIL-MAY-CARE APPROACH TO TAPE STUDY JUST CRAZY ENOUGH TO WORK! I could see Wright Thompson writing a headline like that. But, in the end, I just can’t risk you guys potentially wising up to me next year and actually daring to criticize me.

(starts openly crying)

I just can’t play football like that. I can’t.

As they say, all good things must come to an end. And this was definitely a good thing. I’m not sure anyone in this game has had the kind of good fortune that I’ve had, to have a press corps so clearly willing to get on their knees and do a little ball-bobbin’ on ol’ Number 4. I can’t tell you how much I appreciated all you did to hide my flaws and work my shaft as vigorously as possible.

(dabs tears)

I’m sorry. I said I wouldn’t get emotional. But it’s just so hard when I know how well Chris Berman has jostled my testicles in his big, meaty hands all these years.

I’ve watched hundreds of players retire over the years, and I’ve always wondered what it would be like. I thought maybe King would show up completely stripped down, slathered in baby oil and riding some kind of Sybian machine. And he is! I thought I was prepared for that, but it’s just gonna be so dang hard to give up!

(cries)

Is this the right level of grief? I really want to come off as emotional as possible here so y’all’ll immortalize this moment like I’m Lou fucking Gehrig. This is my last good chance to soak in the moment and let y’all drink deep the sweat off my taint. I can’t believe this is the last time!

(cries more)

But this is the right time to go. I said I wanted to go out on top. And I am. I am going out on top. Of Brian Baldinger. With my cock plunged pubes-deep into his meatpie.

(sobs heavily)

God, I will miss this!

I’ll believe it when the police find Peter King’s bloated corpse hanging from the rafters.

UPDATE: Favre’s bro tells Mississippi newspaper it’s true.

(phone rings)

Brett Favre: Hello?

Tony Dungy: Hey, Brett. It’s Tony again.

Brett: Hi, Tony. What’s up?

Tony: Well, I did what you said.

Brett: You leaked rumors of your retirement, only to announce that you were coming back, so that everyone would love you more?

Tony: Yes! Yes, I did exactly that.

Brett: Did you say it was a difficult decision?

Tony: Oh, yeah. They ate that right up.

Brett: Did you say you had to mull it over with your family?

Tony: Yes! Yes, I did. And they bought it! They’re so stupid like that. Who holds a goddamn offsite with their family to talk about a job?

Brett: They love the family angle. Now, tell me, Tony: did you make sure only to commit for one more year?

Tony: Yes, one year only.

Brett: Excellent. Excellent job. That way, everyone remains in your thrall for a whole other year while you “think about it”. It’s like having a farewell tour every year. AND it gives the media a story they can recycle over and over again, without having to think of new angles. “Is this Tony’s last game coaching the Colts? If so, what a class act he was!” They love that shit.

(drinks a fifth of Scotch)

Tony: My thoughts exactly. You really know your way around this stuff.

Brett: Oh, thanks.

Tony: So, what else is going on with you?

Brett: Well, I was thinking about having a ham sandwich for lunch. But I haven’t quite committed to it yet. Have to talk with Deanna and the kids about it. You know? It’s a long morning. And I can’t tell you how I’ll feel about a ham sandwich from one hour to the next. I really enjoyed the last ham sandwich. But do I have it in me to go another round? Not sure. I can’t have a ham sandwich if my heart’s not in it. Tell you the truth, I hadn’t put much thought into it. None at all.

Tony: Damn, you’re good.