My crush note to Peter King
Jul 28, 2008 Little Dickie Justice, Pancakes McTard, Peter King sucks balls, Ranting
Dearest Peter,
Though we all know I could never speak as eloquently as my erstwhile co-blogger, Matt, I am going to add my dos centavos to your high-level of discourse when it comes to Texans fans.
Your obviously well-though-out comment about Texans fans reminds me of an old boss I used to have. During one of our usual discussions when I was questioning his lack of intelligence and morality, his rejoinder was that I “lacked a sense of urgency.” You see, in my boss’ world, running around without a plan or goal was showing a sense of urgency, while coming up with a plan and executing the plan meant that I didn’t care.
How does this apply to you? Thanks for asking! You seem to have this odd belief that, just because you wear some makeup, a dress, and a pig nose, one is a “passionate fan.” In the real world, one would say these people have some horrific father issues, but that’s neither here nor there. The simple truth is that dressing in drag does not equal passion (unless, of course, that’s your goal, as Pancakes would attest).
Perhaps, to you, passion means catching players when they jump into the stands after a score? Or is it flashing gang signs to your dog-killing quarterback? Making sweet love to your sister?
Do we need more fat guys to paint their bodies?
Do we need to turn the AC down to -20? The heater up to 140?
Or, like a Dallas fan, do we need to beat our wives after a particularly close loss? Is that passion to you, Mr. King?
Can you please forward me your quantifiable passion formula? Because if there’s anybody who knows about passion, you are that person.
Maybe, just maybe, we should take a moment to think the unthinkable. Perhaps, you’ve never as much as even watched a game involving the Texans. Perhaps, you don’t even like football. There are no other truly rational reasons for you to state, objectively, one of the most irrational statements uttered by a “sports” writer since Richard Justice’s latest column on the Texans.
If your idea of evoking passion was to piss off the Texans Nation en masse, mission accomplished…you fucking East coast hack asshole.
FOAD,
bfd
An Open Letter To Peter King
Jul 28, 2008 Open Letters, Peter King sucks balls, Ranting
Dear Ass-Sucking Cockmaster,
It has come to my attention that you don’t think Texans fans are passionate. Apparently, we do not consume our team with the same joie de vivre with which you consume metric tons of frosting and Brett Favre’s smegma. I find this rather interesting—in the same way I find a monkey playing with his own shit interesting—mainly because it makes no sense whatsoever. You fucking retard.
Consider, when the team opened certain Training Camp dates to the public and made tickets available, ALL of the tickets were gone within days. Most practices were full within hours of the tickets being released. Let me spell this out for you:
THOUSANDS OF TEXANS FANS DECIDED THAT SPENDING THEIR RESPECTIVE WEEKENDS IN 95-PLUS-DEGREE HEAT AND 90-PLUS-PERCENT HUMIDITY WHILE WATCHING A TEAM THAT HAS NEVER MADE THE PLAYOFFS WAS A GOOD IDEA. BECAUSE THEY LOVE THEIR TEAM.
Sure, it’s probably hot where most teams hold training camp, but until a team starts running cone drills underneath your flabby mantits, I cannot think of a less hospitable place to play football than Houston, TX, in late July and early August. Yet every single open practice is full and, as soon as that practice ends, those same fans light up blogs and message boards across the internet breaking down everything from Duane Brown’s physical shape to who the third wide receiver and/or dime cornerback are likely to be.
Don’t get me wrong, shitbreath—I am not comparing us to the Redskins one way or the other. Maybe they are crazy fucking passionate. Maybe they are the greatest group of fans in the history of organized sport. Maybe many of them have sacrificed their own children at Dan Snyder’s altar in the hopes of bringing a Super Bowl ring back to D.C.
But to simply throw out the line that “Texans fans aren’t passionate”? It sure seems like you are basing “passion” on how much the fanbase hates you and how many negative comments you get in response to your shitty columns. Perhaps if you ever talked about the Texans, we fans would feel the need to waste bytes on you. But, speaking only for myself, I tend to avoid really poorly written sports materials unless they refer directly to my team, so I don’t encounter your work too often.
That said, if it is vitriol that proves passion to you, I mean it with the utmost sincerity when I say…
I hope you get sodomized to death with a piece of white-hot rebar, you twinkie-huffing piece of shit.
I hope you choke on a dick-flavored scone.
I hope your daughter finds a boyfriend whose sexual predilections make Osi Umenyiora’s look like missionary with the lights off.
I hope Brett Favre takes you out to a nice dinner and then never calls you.
I hope someone at SI jerks off in your latte.
I hope your wife pays three guys to fist her, videotapes it, and leaves it playing in the living room when you come home.
You have any pets? I hope they bite you and then die.
I hope SI realizes that you write like old people fuck (sloppy, boring, not something you particularly want to look at) and shitcans you.
I hope the Starbucks closest to your house closes down, simply because the idea of you getting irritated about driving an extra four or five blocks pleases me.
I hope you choke on a chicken wing and no one in the restaurant has long enough arms to properly apply the Heimlich.
I hope SI’s buildings catch fire while you are taking a giantic shit, forcing you to either burn to death or run outside without wiping.
I hope Tiki Barber gives in to his primal urges and taps your flabby ass in the greenroom, then teases you about how small your dick is whenever you are around the rest of the FNIA crew.
I hope you walk in on your daughter in the middle of a bukkake circle.
I hope Brett Favre comes back this year and sucks, then blames you for all of it.
I hope Travis Johnson knees you in the skull for talking to Trent Green. God hates ugly, Peter. Hates it.
How’s that for “passion,” you obese fucking hack?
Yours in Christ,
Matt Campbell
