Then the Rapist lost Super Bowl XLV, throwing two costly interceptions in the process. Perhaps one for each of the women he assaulted, but who really knows?
Maybe he never recovered from his wild night of karaoke. Or maybe the Curse of Big Ben’s Cock is finally spreading, as the Magic Bean lady told me it would. This does not bear well for the Phillies.
Most importantly, the team that Creepy McCreeperson jerked around for years with his retirement antics – only to screw them over and jump ship to their rival in the twilight of his career – finally returned the Lombardi Trophy to Green Bay, 14 years after Creepy himself first brought it there. The Packers were led by Creepy’s replacement, the lovable Aaron Rodgers, and his ridiculous championship wrestling belt, who earned MVP honors and a sweet ass red Camaro in the process. As soon as the game was over, Brett Favre picked up his cell phone and sexted some poor woman with a great rack to come give him a massage and relieve the humiliating stress and debilitating sense of failure that this Super Bowl has caused him. Assured now that his final season was an unmitigated disaster, he kicked off his Crocs and sobbed softly into his bowl of lukewarm Lucky Charms. It was a sad, but much deserved, ending to the Brett Favre saga. Let’s just thank god that Karma is a bitch and not a whore, or he would have tried to fuck her by half-time.