How comforting is the embrace of Maiden Victory!

I wish I could describe the ardor of her bosom as I shake my face violently into it. Pillowy is an apt descriptor. And it is this pillowy sensation that tells me that the Bengali Tygers are a force with which to be reckont. Few considert the prospect of success against the Metallurgists of Pittsburgh or the Recidivist Murderers of Baltimore. But slain they both were by our efforts!

Oh, We did feast on pillows those nights.

Still: all is not sunshine and heaving Victory bosoms in Cincinnatus. The townsfolk do not fill the galleries to their capacity! I do not think it is the work of the vainglory to suppose that a team that has achieved as ours has would be a spectacle to behold. The traveling show of oddities and wonderments must be stationed nearby. Personally, such things do not capture my attention for long, but then I am not a native-born Cincinnatan.

What is more, the thriving play of Good Sir Palmer has compelled my haymakers to reside in mothballs. I need not tell you that is not the natural state for haymakers. They ache for satisfaction, but I cannot grant them indulgence. Each night at rest, dreams show me targets for the haymakers, but the mighty arms are manacled to the wall. For this, I sometimes fear sleep. Sensing my anxiety for activity, ownership bade me into the streets to gather the townsfolk into his makeshift “jungle” dwelling. Perhaps if they espied my keen sense of excitement and bulging musculature, the women would be brought to a point of hysterical arousal and would force their male associates to escort them to the “jungle”.

I askt the ownership whether I would be furnisht a mode of transport to move about the townsfolk. Dirty though it may be, Cincinnatus is a sizeable place. Yes, he exclaimed, you shall ride shank’s pony.

Such flippancy.

So my endeavor begins. Venture I must about Cincinnatus displaying the bulges that invite arousal in the muliebrities. First, there is the arm bulge. Observe its distinct slope and veiny articulation. This is usually enough to excite most maidens. When the arm bulges prove insufficient, the pectoral bounce. See the torso bulges bound and be astoundt. A snake charmer taught me this tactic in a foreign land and it has failt on only three occasions. It was on those three when I was forced to employ a special, secretive nether bulge.

Polite discourse does not allow me to speak of this one.

Jim Mora, Jr.: Looks like we’re approaching the summit.

Roger Goodell: This has been a truly incredible experience. I really want to thank you for getting me to do this. I’m pushing myself to my physical limits in ways I’ve never called on myself to do at any point in my overwhelmingly privileged life. I thought meting out punishment to NFL players was something but this is a visceral thrill that cannot be matched. Unless you count indefinitely suspending players for vaguely unseemly off-field activities. That’s still tops in my book.

Jim Mora: Hey, it’s my pleasure.

Voice: Oh my god, it’s people!

Jim Mora, Jr.: Who goes there?

Voice: Wow, you’re the first guys I’ve seen in a while.

Jim Mora Jr.: Hey, that’s Dave Brown. Used to quarterback for Giants for a few years in the ’90s.

Roger Goodell: What in the world are you doing up here? And in full pads?

Dave Brown: Chris Calloway told me back in 1995 that if you lived at the top of a mountain, you never get old, or at least you would get old very, very slowly. Something about the elevation. So that’s what I’ve been doing for a while.

Jim Mora: So where is he then?

Dave Brown: He also told me black people don’t climb mountains. That’s why they die younger. His words.

Goodell: Hate to break it to you, but that’s not true in the slightest.

Dave Brown: Which part?

Goodell: Either. But especially the part about not getting older.

Mora: Yeah. It looks like you’ve aged horribly.

Dave Brown: C’mon man, that’s not cool. I’m as young and full of vitality as I ever was.

Goodell: Do you need some help getting down the mountain? We’ve got extra supplies. It looks like you’ve been a bit misinformed.

Dave Brown: Oh, I’m informed all right, Commissioner Goodell. I got info like you wouldn’t believe. Here’s one little nugget for you: I do know that your failure to help the ownership strike a deal with the player’s union will end in a lockout that could jeopardize the 2011 season, a singular disaster that will set into motion a series of cataclysmic events that results in the fall of man in 2012, just as the Mayans and Roland Emmerich have foretold. Also, I know you jerked it real quick one time in Jeffrey Lurie’s luxury box in Philly. And didn’t even wipe up.

Goodell: What? Wait. How do you know about that?

Dave Brown: [vanishes]

Goodell: Can we go home now?

Mora: Before you get mad, I just gotta say I wouldn’t have brought you up here if I knew Mount Rainier was haunted by the ghosts of crappy QBs who aren’t actually dead yet.

Goodell: I wish I could believe that.

Mora: And I won’t tell Paul Allen. Promise.