Monday, November 1, 2010
Barry big game
[Foulball] "Hello, I'm Chris Foulball and this is my partner Dirk Herbsneak. Who, I assure you, despite his name and totally squinty eyes, has not been behind the truck sneaking bong rips. If you're just joining us here at the Election Bowl, here's Dirk with a quick recap:"
[Herbsneak] "Dude. Heh. The DC Blues started off the game like really strong, dude. Their unconventional Hopenchange offense was giving the Flyover Reds some serious trouble. Heh heh. Dude. The Blame Bush play was getting them good yardage, especially when run from the shotgun formation. And, dude, they were able to convert some long 3rd downs using the Racist! play.
[Foulball] "But the Flyover Reds made some adjustments."
[Herbsneak] "Yeah. They switched from a soft zone defense to what they call their T-Party lineup and they've stuffed the Blues ever since, dude. The Blues have had no answer. Each of their second half possessions has either resulted in a 3-and-out or a turnover."
[Foulball] "Any update on Coach Soros?"
[Herbsneak] "Dude. Heh. He went to the locker room. We thought he may have been injured or something, but I think he's just trying to avoid this whole debacle, you know, disassociate himself from it."
[Foulball] "OK, thanks Dirk. Obama takes the snap from center and rolls left. Way left. The mainstream media is trying to pick up the blitz... Pressure coming. Obama is sacked for another long loss."
[Referee] **tweet** "Timeout Blue. Their third and final time out."
[Foulball] "Alright, after several personal fouls and three consecutive sacks, the DC Blues are now looking at a 4th and goal from their own 11 yard line. The clock is showing :04 left, with the Blues down by 8. They need to get 89 yards on this last play. Let's go down to the field... Erin?"
[Erin Mandrews] "Chris, we're right outside the Blues huddle. Let's see what we can hear."
[cameraman trains his lens on Blues huddle, soundman sticks a mic-on-a-stick over their heads]
[Obama] "Alright. We're at the desperation point. We absolutely must score on this play or the Flyover Reds will be the new champion. Suggestions?"
[Holder] "Let's run the Racist! play again."
[Obama] "They've sniffed that out every time we've run it. No."
[Biden, pointing at the grass] "Hey, look! An earthworm!"
[Obama] "Nancy. We need to do a Hail Mary, and you're like the closest thing we have to a Catholic. Remind us. How does that play work?"
[Pelosi] "Umm, if I remember right, it goes something like 'Hail Mary, mother of Hubbard, gave her dog a bone full of grace, pray... for...' and, um, that's about all I remember."
[Hillary] "Barry, if we're going for a Hail Mary, then let me be the QB. Because you throw like a total fruitwad. It's my turn to be the QB."
[Obama] "Shut up! If you want to be the QB, you'll get your chance in the next primary election training camp. For now it's my job. But it is true that I throw like a fruitwad. No offense, Barney."
[Barney Frank] "None taken."
[Obama] "...So maybe we should try a shorter pass."
[Barney] "It theems wike the stwong thafety, Sean Biewat, is intentionally avoiding any physical contact wiff me."
[Steny Hoyer] "Um, Barney, it's not just Sean. A lot of us feel the same way."
[Barney] "I know. But I weally think we can take advantage of this. I'll wun a passing woute into his awea and then thwow me the baw. I don't think he will want to tackle me."
[Obama] "Barney, do you really think you could get deep on Bielat?"
[Barney] "Oh, dearie. Have you seen his bod? I could definitely go deep on that."
[Obama] "Eww! Eww! That's not what I meant! But now that you mention it..."
[Barney] "Just thwow me a scween path and bwock fo me."
[Obama] "OK, screen pass to Barney on 2. Break!"
[Obama] "Hut! Hut!"
[Chris Foulball] "Obama takes the snap. He fakes it deep and throws a screen to Barney Frank. The gimpy pass is a little short, but Barney goes down to get the low ball. He pulls it in and heads downfield. The exertion is clearly getting to him, as sweat is gushing out his pores. His ab flab is swaying like a palm tree in a hurricane. He's at the 30... He's at the 40... He's across midfield, and the Reds' defensive backs seem reluctant to tackle him. It's like they're each hoping someone else will do it so they won't have to touch his sweaty, lumpy body. He's at the 30... He's at the 20... Are we about to witness a miracle play? Is Barney about to score the miracle touchdown?"