Many people scoff at the idea that God can control the outcome of sporting events, or that He even cares. But those people are wrong. God does control the games, AND He cares a great deal. Today, He explains why He let the outcomes of Week 4 in the NFL happen as they did.
First of all, happy new year to all of my chosen people out there! Except for that one fucking yid. You know, the blowhard asshole on ESPN who is always making up crappy nicknames. Oh come on, you know the guy I’m talking about. Big fat lump of shit that’s always laughing at his own jokes, even though his shtick got old around the time those no good fuckers started penning that “new” testament. Me damn it, what the fuck is that asshole’s name?
Anyway, let’s move on to the other stories I’ve helped influence over the past week after the jump. Why the jump? BECAUSE IT IS MY WILL!
BERMAN! That yid’s name is CHRIS FUCKIN’ BERMAN! Me damn I hate that douchebag. That assclown has the nerve to work on Rosh Hashanah in direct defiance of my wishes, and then he has the nerve to wish the chosen audience a happy new year? Fuck that shit. You have two choices Berman, you can be a Jew who celebrates Rosh Hashanah and drops a “shana tova” on all the choicest hook-nosed PA’s, or you can be a glorified gentile who works on the high holidays and slings pork sandwiches for a donut shop. So maybe one of these years you could take off the ONE NIGHT A YEAR I ask of you. I know you’re not opposed to the laziness inherent with staying home from work, I see what you do when you’re doing your “homework” for the show. Masturbating and falling asleep in your custom oversized bathtub is not how a professional prepares to go on television as some purported expert (except for Erin Andrews, and even she only does that in my Godly dreams). And seriously, I didn’t give you people anal orifices so you could go shoving turkey legs up there. That’s just sick and wrong.
Speaking of mortals that piss me off to no end, Shaun Alexander really needs to get fucked. Listen you dumbfuck, you really need to stop praying to me 20 times a day. Sometimes I have shit to do up here. You know Al Davis isn’t just going to give himself an inoperable brain tumor. That shit takes time. My time. And I can’t concentrate on that kind of thing when you interrupt me every half hour to pray for a new contract or to heal your foot pain. I mean shit, did you really think wrapping your feet in back-issues of the Christian Science Monitor was going to help matters? Those assholes are dumber than Calvinists.
Okay, now that I got that shit off my chest (come on OU, I was sleeping!) I can start explaining away all of the mysteries of Week 4.
– I broke Rashard Mendenhall’s shoulder in an effort to get Christmas Ape to stop bitching at his poor cat about the kid fumbling a couple of balls. Seriously Ape, Jean Grey doesn’t want to hear that shit. Just scratch her under the chin and keep her fed. Now go clean out that fucking litter box before I smite one of the Primanti brothers.
– I forced the Raiders of Oakland to fall to the Chargers of “San” Diego because Lane Kiffin needed a way out. That decision to go for the 70 yard field goal was all me, so you can put the blame on me if you must. But don’t act like that shit wasn’t funny. Hell, you should have seen the other shit I was going to pull. If Kiffin hadn’t been of so strong mind you would have seen my other influences, like the second down punt, the triple flea-flicker, and even the triple option run by JaMarcus Russell and his two invisible friends.
– I carried the Bears of Chicago to victory over the Eagles of Philadelphia because Brian Westbrook IS TOTALLY FUCKING WITH MY FANTASY TEAM! It’s also fun watching Chicago fans get all excited about their team before I replace Kyle Orton’s ginger ale with gin make Mike Brown’s achilles look like a piece of John Madden’s frayed dental floss after his third steak dinner.
– I forced the Rams of “St.” Louis to lose their game against the Bills of Buffalo because…wait, no…actually that was all them. My mistake. But If it had been me I totally would have started Trent Green. Unless of course there was a triple amputee at my disposal.