As the cold, icy specter of doubt cast itself over our vast nation of LOBOnia, millions and millions of Predator Press readers were left to consider a world where we might not be represented in the HBFFL finals.
Many immolated themselves. Many jumped from tall buildings. Many immolated themselves, then jumped from tall buildings. Enough death and carnage! I am thusly impelled to finally speak.
Who the hell is going to clean up this mess?
Artist Rendering of
Predator Press Fan Suffering
I suppose in Week 8 they had good reason to behave as such; the long-awaited mighty Ben Roethlisberger gave me 9 points, 20% of my 47-point showing, and the Unfinished Rambler doubled that with ease. At 3-5, one more loss would have jeopardized even the last tiny sliver of hope of making the semifinals.
But while grateful for his generosity, I cannot help but wonder if the Unfinished Rambler gave me Michael Vick almost as a consolation prize -that I might proceed through the inevitable demise of my season with some shred of dignity and fight. With the seemingly remote exception of Predator Press making the Finals, we would not be facing each other again this year.
Either way I thank you Rambler. Vick, coupled with an RB corps that was finally starting to “gel,” finally started to turn things around; at this point I was in a 3-way tie for 7th place (an optimistic euphemism for a 3-way tie for 9th place) and our esteemed Renal Failure had the exact same record and situation. But RF -almost universally loathed save for by me- could not rely on the goodwill and sportsmanship of others, nor my radiant brainiosity: to demonstrate, I invite all who want Renal Failure to win the HBFFL 2010 Humor Bowl to raise their hand.
See? Now RF, please lower your hand before you burn yourself on that swinging light bulb.
Bereft of family, friends and fans (alienated mostly by his incessant irrational trade offers, and on a dialysis machine covered in ‘My Other Machine is a Baxter 550‘ bumper stickers), RF was required to develop his own tactical edge: one that required a pentagram drawn in the fluids of his last remaining kidney, and the live sacrifice of numerous animals indigenous to his domicile such as bats and mice. And under the steady drip of semi-permeable membranes of dialysate and bad plumbing that hadn’t been inspected since the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, RF climbed one unfortunate marcupial at a time right into Satan's good graces.
But unlike our beloved yet misguided RF, I shall not be showing my sticky pegan 8” X 10” glossy photo of Ines Sainz on this post. I, conversely, will be showing our one and only savior Jesus Christ, who one might expect wants to bathe Miss Sainz and RF both in Holy and Righteous Christian Fire while I stand by delighting in their agonized suffering. In fact, I may give Jesus a few ideas of my own:
Jesus: I understand that I am supposed to punish sinners. But I am all about ’Forgiveness.’ I don’t see how freezing Renal Failure in liquid nitrogen and slowly chipping off little pieces while dancing barefoot in his bloody sludge will help save his Soul.
LOBO: As a child, he talked trash about your mom constantly.
LOBO: Yeah. He wrote a poem about how she was ‘involved’ with sheep, and I suspect it was imbedded with instructions for his connections with the cocaine cartels.
Jesus: ‘Fleece was white as snow?’
LOBO: Exactly. His whole fantasy team sang it as kids too -like an evil Jedi mantra. I recommend glazing RF in a nice hydrochloric bisque first.
Jesus: Can we listen to Huey Lewis and the News while we do it?
LOBO: How many millions of years are we talking about here? I’ve got an appointment with Unfinished Rambler-
Jesus: How about seven?
Jesus: Meehhhhhh ...
LOBO: It's Christmas. You realize your Driver's License expires tomorrow, right? What with the holiday, we won't even be out of the DMV by then.
Jesus: Fine. Ten million years it is.