I’m as Giddy as a Chick Who Knows She’s About to get Engaged

It’s 1:46 A.M. EDT on Sunday, October 9, 2016 and that means in less than 12 hours Tom Brady is going to unleash [dipufgitgnwpiutgnpwruntgfwlkemf[qenf9u] on the NFL. (Those brackets are what happen when the Bible isn’t good enough to support the pain and suffering that God is capable of inflicting.)

Page View, we’re about to witness something that many would care not to talk about. Something that the poor city of Cleveland would care not experience (listen here you mother fuckers, Tom Brady is killing you dead. Accept it. I feel sorry for you only because you think having an 0–2 advantage means shit. IT’S TOM BRADY!)…

I truly can’t put this into words. Tom Brady being on the field is right. It’s what’s supposed to happen. I was busy in 2008 and barely remember the Matt Cassell Era. Successful as it may have been, it wasn’t right. Someday, things won’t be right again. But ’til then, there is one way to the Super Bowl, and that’s through TB12.


Really, I could keep typing this incoherent drivel for a thousand years and it wouldn’t stop. I am Saving Silverman’s Jack Black wanting to hang out with Neil Diamond. I am Always Sunny’s Mac professing his love to Chase Utley. I am everything that is heart emojis and I am here to say that I love Tom Brady. If he needs an Apostle — who am I kidding — if he needs another Apostle, I am the one. And if he doesn’t need another one, I would still like to sign up. And if that’s not good enough, can I at least be a shameful secretary?

Tom Brady’s coming and so am I (wink… No. But seriously).

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