I went over to my friend's house at about 9 AM (the bar is a two hour train ride away.) We both thought it was an amazing idea to mix a two liter bottle of soda with a bottle of whiskey...Jameson of course...each. We then proceed to walk to the commuter rail which should take us to the Boston subway system. Now this ride is suppose to take approximately forty minutes because it takes a cockload of stops. Anyway, we get to the station at nine to find out that on Sundays the first train does not show up until ten. Alright, no big deal, because we both have plenty of drinking to do. So we sit down on the platform and proceed.
About thirty minutes later this nice old lady comes down to the platform and we talk with her about gardening for awhile. It's now ten o'clock, no train. Fine, we left plenty of buffer time in our plans. This classic Boston queen shows up at about 11:00, sees us sitting in our Steelers jerseys, and starts yelling, "We've got three Superbowls." If you have kids, do not let them read this next part. I retort with, "Six is greater than three you cunt sack!" My friend then starts yelling, "Tom Brady sucked my cock for three bucks!" at this queen, and eventually the dude's wife pulls him away and they go sit at the other end of the platform. Bitch.
The train does not show up until 11:30, or as I like to call it, to damn late. However, we still have some liquid left in our bottles. Obviously the best decision here is to remain sitting on the platform, finish our whiskey, then walk downtown to the bar to see the game. I'm happy to say that we pulled that plan off to perfection. It's now 12:30, and we get up to leave. We are walking out of the terminal when one of the orderlies yells after us that he's going to call the cops because we just sat on the train platform for three and a half hours, and now are clearly stumbling away. I yell, "Call the cops you bitch!", and we proceed to hurry around the corner and take our jerseys off. Clearly the jersey will be like a red arrow above my head when the cops roll by. We walk far enough away that it is now safe to don my James Farrior jersey once again. We reapply the colors and continue walking. This car starts honking it's horn at us, and we look over. This dude with a Queer Brady jersey flips us off, then drives away like the bitch ass rat he is. Pussy.
Finally we get to the bar, and sit down with the guys we normally watch games with. They can obviously see that we are already tanked off of our asses, at 1 pm, so the start buying us beers. That, ladies and gentlemen, is where the story ends because that is when my memory starts to fail. Fuck the Bengals.
Chad Ocho Cinco gets the McNulty. Mustard? Are you kidding? Two catches for twenty nine yards and you talk shit? How about I send you some relish, because I'm definitely relishing the fact that you are such a chode. I'm also changing your name to OchoChodo, bitch.A few thoughts for today's game,
1. This is the best time to be without Troy. The next couple of games go like this; KC, struggling Ravens, Raiders, Cleveland Taints, then the man should be back.
2. No Larry Johnson? Good. Jamaal Charles doesn't gain thirty yards.
3. Matt Cassel is the product of a good offense.
4. Carter and Clark will take care of business today. Or else...
5. Big Ben can stop bitching about being "Out of sync" with his receivers. Santonio's huge left bicep just shut him up. (Watch, every time Holmes has a big play, out comes the bicep. Guarantee.)
Steelers win.
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