Updated February 10th, 2011 by rick

Go Long

        "Go long." Timmy said, as he wiped a tear from his eye. "Go Really long,"
        Buck, Timmy's younger brother (who looked so much like his father,)snapped the ball back to Timmy. Timmy's heart beat a million miles a minute as he dropped back three steps. He was sure that the defense was offsides, but there wasn't a whole lot he could do about that. He just had to hope Aunt Martha had his blind side. Timmy observed that her body perfectly matched the offensive lineman mold, and this assured him enough to let him do what he had to do.
        He counted off the seconds in his head, and checked his receivers. Cousin Dale was covered and the zone in the middle would've made it very difficult to thread the ball to Great-Uncle David. He had no other options. He threw a head fake that caused the defensive back covering his reciever react ever-so-slightly to where he thought the ball might go. This gave his mother the separation that she needed.
        Timmy Junior cocked his arm back and whispired, "I love you dad." Milliseconds before he was driven to the grass, a perfect spiral launched from his arm like a little person at an old time circus. All the clocks stopped and all the breaths were held as the football containing the ashes of Timmy Senior sailled through the air.
        Timmy's Mother-Timmy's Widow-had only taken six or seven snaps in practice that week, it didn't show, she ran her route perfectly and captured the ball gracefully in her hands. She tucked it close to her ribs and jetted like mad dash away from Assistant Mortician (an all-american defensive track star and defensive back) who was just behind her.
        Timmy Junior lay with prone on the grass with the Undertaker growling and drooling above him. But he didn't need the roar of the crowd to know that his pass was caught. His dad loved to put the TV on mute and instruct Timmy Junior on the game, and provide his own commentary. Timmy Junior could clearly hear his father's voice in his head as he called the action from above.
        " Martha comes down with the beautiful catch right in stride! She has about a foot on the DB, but oh my, he's gaining fast. Will she be able to lose him? Oh wow, what a vicious block from Second-Cousin Mell! Yes! She could go all the way! Yes! Touchdown!" Timmy Senior said.
        " No, Dad. You. You could go all the way. To heaven."

        Do you like sports? Of course you do. You're a rugged, rough, manly man. Are you fated to take your last breath and depart from this cold, cruel world likely covered in your own excrement as paramedics pound on your chest after one too-many jalepeno poppers next Super Bowl? Most definitely. That is why this is the product is perfect for you. For just one easy payment of $300 American Dollars, Motard Industries will see that your final remains are interred remains into a stunning leather NFL regulation-sized, game-ready football. Then your family can get a stand for it and put it on their mantle, punt it into the ocean, kick it through the uprights, or just play catch with it on the weekends.
        This perfect gift from the wife or kids to the football loving man that has everything, or the perfect gift for the man to give to himself that is responsible enough to look after his needs in the afterlife.

Merry Christmas

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Updated December 24th, 2010 by rick

Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal

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