Got the daughter kicking up a big fuss about Wake beating Duke o’er the weekend. You think I care about some namby-pamby collegiate bucketballers in their shortie-shorts? I need me some gull durned footbaw.
And when you’re talking footbaw, don’t nothing top Carolina Panther footbaw. The tradition grows with each passing year. I ‘member back in 1995, I was 31 and had just gotten my associate degree in Electrical and Electronics Maintenance and Repair Technology, Other. No more working at the Stuckey’s for Bob Junior. I was off to conquer the big city, Fayetteville.
I needed something to spend my pay day advance loans on other than the mortgage or dialysis for my pa and Panther footbaw was just the ticket.
But lately, they just content to be stuck in a holding pattern. Who’s our coach? Fox. Who’s our quarterback? Danged if I know! What’s our big off-season story? Franchise tag for Jordan Gross? Not even a new coach or a splashy signing or some lesbo cheerleaders!
I want them to be part of some big story! I want headlines! Did the Pats tape our walkthrough before Super Bowl XXXVIII? No? Well, why the heck not? Southern walkthrough is just as good as any!
I’m willing to bet that Sir Purr just handed over all our secrets to the Pats. Never did trust that no-account polecat. Tries to lure you into think he’s honest by putting his fingerprints on his shirt, like he’s got nothing to hide.
Knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep quiet about the meth lab in my basement. Ol’ Bob Junior knows a state trooper or two what can keep a secret. I always figured having Darla marry that feller would come in handy.
