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