BRADY LASHES OUT AT PORTER, MONEY
By Soren Bernyn, Fantasy Sports News
From his hospital bed, injured quarterback-turned-Mojo-Coach Tom Brady lambasted NFFA journalists and Commissioner William D. Money in a profanity-laced, drug-addled tirade.
This reporter receieved a call from Brady, who is recovering from his latest surgery at the Planet Mojo compound's infirmary (nicknamed the "Staph Lounge" for its poor hygiene record), where he is on a potent intravenous cocktail of morphine and cow antibiotics. He said his people would pick me up in five minutes; indeed, I was accosted, trussed up like "Tommy" and taken to the secret rear entrance of Planet Mojo.
As soon as I entered the room, Brady ranted "I get my [expletive] knee infected, operated on AGAIN, and when I come to, the first thing I read is that asshole [R.E. Porter, who covers the NFFA for Associated Web Press] dissing my team with an F mid-term grade. There's not even a mention of ME, for Chrissakes — I'm the best [expletive] player in the goddamn league! I got injured the first quarter of the first game of the season — I think that MIGHT have something to do with the team's record! You work with that dickhead? Tell him to watch his candy-ass, 'cause Tom Brady's coming for him."
Brady then turned his fury to the commissioner: "And that little pussy is completely in the pocket of Money, that dangerous [expletive] sociopath — that SOB is keeping him up to his eyeballs in teenage Thai boys and crack, just so the little [expletive] will publish whatever the Commish wants. That bastard is out of control — his team's undefeated, McMahon won't shut up, and Buddy Ryan just keeps on sucking both their dicks."
The morphine must have kicked in then, because he turned mellow talking about his team: "The way the Pompatus has supported me is way [expletive] beyond what an employer would do. Mojo D caught some tough breaks early, but he's shown faith in me and I'm just appreciative that he hasn't treated me like a piece of meat."
At this point, Brady nodded off and then the aforementioned Pompatus of Love, Miss Lee-Yhn, burst in, brandishing an Alamo Scouts souvenir skillet and accompanied by some hulking members of the Mojo's internal security team, led by the Mojo-masked former coach C.O. Jones, who silently pulled the curtain, hustled me out of the room, replaced the "Tommy" device on my head, threw me in the back of a windowless van, and delivered me back to the FSN office after stopping at Provence in the Village to pick up some lunch.
This reporter receieved a call from Brady, who is recovering from his latest surgery at the Planet Mojo compound's infirmary (nicknamed the "Staph Lounge" for its poor hygiene record), where he is on a potent intravenous cocktail of morphine and cow antibiotics. He said his people would pick me up in five minutes; indeed, I was accosted, trussed up like "Tommy" and taken to the secret rear entrance of Planet Mojo.
As soon as I entered the room, Brady ranted "I get my [expletive] knee infected, operated on AGAIN, and when I come to, the first thing I read is that asshole [R.E. Porter, who covers the NFFA for Associated Web Press] dissing my team with an F mid-term grade. There's not even a mention of ME, for Chrissakes — I'm the best [expletive] player in the goddamn league! I got injured the first quarter of the first game of the season — I think that MIGHT have something to do with the team's record! You work with that dickhead? Tell him to watch his candy-ass, 'cause Tom Brady's coming for him."
Brady then turned his fury to the commissioner: "And that little pussy is completely in the pocket of Money, that dangerous [expletive] sociopath — that SOB is keeping him up to his eyeballs in teenage Thai boys and crack, just so the little [expletive] will publish whatever the Commish wants. That bastard is out of control — his team's undefeated, McMahon won't shut up, and Buddy Ryan just keeps on sucking both their dicks."
The morphine must have kicked in then, because he turned mellow talking about his team: "The way the Pompatus has supported me is way [expletive] beyond what an employer would do. Mojo D caught some tough breaks early, but he's shown faith in me and I'm just appreciative that he hasn't treated me like a piece of meat."
At this point, Brady nodded off and then the aforementioned Pompatus of Love, Miss Lee-Yhn, burst in, brandishing an Alamo Scouts souvenir skillet and accompanied by some hulking members of the Mojo's internal security team, led by the Mojo-masked former coach C.O. Jones, who silently pulled the curtain, hustled me out of the room, replaced the "Tommy" device on my head, threw me in the back of a windowless van, and delivered me back to the FSN office after stopping at Provence in the Village to pick up some lunch.
