How sad, the final week. We good teams won't have Bob, etc to kick around anymore after this week is up. There's always next year. I suggest as well, to those unfortunate managers who will not be with us after this week, to watch closely (without the fog of competition) and see how I--and, I suppose, some of those around me--play the game. It might help for next year. Just a little piece of friendly advice from the Lonestar Troubadours, whose exceptional play has set the stage for fantasy football glory for years to come.
This one goes out to my dear, sweet brother who, on the verge of elimination, must suffer the indignity of having his li'l brother humiliate him in his final appearance. I'd call it sad irony if I wasn't so delighted by the prospect. The song is to Joe Ely's Letter to Laredo and, unlike most of what I've written this season, every word of it is true. Fuck you all...go playoffs!
Where we grew up out in the piney west
We struggled to survive
But Erik, so brave, he chipped in his best
Sucking dick when he was five.
They called him Doorknob, 'cause all got a turn
Inside that sweet young hole
He made us so much we spent what he earned
on pate-filled crescent rolls.
Take this message down to Georgetown
I hope that I'm in luck
This guy wants you to go down
He'll give me fifty bucks
Erik's mouth is my salvation
His skills are the toast of the nation
Oh Erik things they've gotten so much tougher
My coffers have run dry
But I met a man who'll pay me for a fluffer
On him, their trade they'll ply
So, whaddya say, have you got one more in you?
Is your gag reflex still dead?
I need you to help me; my options are few
Will you give this guy head?
Oh, Lord, his name is Ted!