Last evening’s Monday Night Football saw Logic’s New York Giants take on the Washington Redskins. In theory this should have been a good game. You know, since they’re division rivals and division rivalry games are always exciting makes dismissive wanking motion. The Giants won a lopsided victory 45-12, instilling in them and their fans a false hope for the playoffs.
Personally, I, like most people could give two shits about this game. However, there was more riding on this game than just a win for an NFC East team. It’s Fantasy Football playoff time, folks. The games this past weekend have some serious ramifications. That is, of course, if you made the playoffs. If you’re like me and you put forth a sub-par effort, you might be lucky enough to make the consolation round. Which is on par with banging a tranny. Sure they might have a rocking set of fake tits, but they still have a dick between their legs.
Even though I made some form of the playoffs, there truly was no consolation for me, along with 3 other fantasy owners. The four of us were on the precipice of the playoffs. Fantasy football greatness was just in front of us only to realize our teams were not good enough. Winning the consolation playoffs is like being the smartest retard: You may be the smartest person there, but you’re still a retard.
So what do we play for in the consolation round of playoffs? Pride. Sure, pride is cool and all, but there has to be more. In order to make a meaningless game purposeful, I proposed to Logic (my opponent, and fellow Gally Blog writer) a wager on our match up. Some people wager money, some a silly dare. Then there are the silly dares that are derived from an individual’s sadistic tendencies and a lot of booze. It was from that handle of Jim Beam that the Chicken Fat Bowl was hatched pun high five.
It came from shopping at the local super market, where I stumbled across a tub of frozen chicken fat. At that very moment, as I stood there in the frozen food section and tuned out my wife as she asked me for my opinion on whether to have couscous or rice for a side dish, that I decided to up the ante on my match up with Señor Logicos.
It was so simple, yet so repulsive. The loser of our pointless duel would have to down some chicken fat and post the video on to the site. Yeah, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.
Long story short, Logic accepted. I lost and Jim Zorn is a total dick. I mean, I sent him an e-mail pretending to be a kid dying of cancer and my last remaining wish was to have Hakeem Nicks double teamed. Keeping Hakeem Nicks from getting more than 3 fantasy points would keep my consolation playoff hopes alive and my lips from tasting fowl blubber.
Sure, I’m not dying, but how do you not respond to someone’s dying wish? Jim Zorn, you are a cock sucker. I hope you enjoy being unemployed. Now I’m left to gobble up the gelatinous remains of a chicken. The video will be coming shortly. You know…after I come to the acceptance part of dealing with this grief.