Playoff Prayer

For those of you wanting to enjoy the same luck skillful navigation through a challenging playoff and season race as I have - consider this advice.

Prior to the last game in which my team of accidental giants brilliantly managed athletes, I wrote a comprehensive prayer. Drunken Painstaking effort led to this emotional tome which clearly caught the ear of all those managing affairs upstairs (I understand that the Virgin Mary finds homosexual jokes gut-busting hilarious, often spitting out mouthfuls of cheese doodles at terms like "knob-noodlers").

Dearest Lord Jesus, Jehovah, and to all it may concern in and around the heavenlinesses:

It's with a heavy heart, soured by the demon alcohol and poisoned by fatty foods, that I come to you, grovelling like a bitch. It has been a very long time since I've been good at anything - except making fun of your precious children, especially the gay ones and the ugly ones (both of which are omnipresent in this Iceball League). And I think if you check your Inbox for the last few decades, you won't find any messages from me asking for anything.


And so in that spirit of, 'you owe me, pal', I do solemnly and humbly beseech thee to smite the f*** out of my dearest brother, Kelp this weekend.


Despite the fact that I deserve a break here, Kelp needs you to teach him a lesson. I have it on good authority that he was fired from his last job because he spent so much time doing fantasy football research, that all his duties were ignored. And masturbating. He pumped his wand a lot and did fantasy football research. That was pretty much it.


I suppose you already know that, but I'm trying to make a point here, so cut me some freaking slack.... uh... oh Lord of Hosts... and various other... uh... good things.


So anyway, he needs to repent. He can't be rewarded for this sort of behavior. My beloved brother needs to get smited so friggin bad that he can no longer get a chub over a Wednesday morning waiver wire pickup like he does now. Kelp's bewildered wife has learned that asking for a nooner on a Wednesday is like asking Snookie to not look disgusting.


I'm sure what that means, but I think it must be current and relevant because I mentioned Snookie.


Anyway, Kelp needs to get his life back on track. He needs a good team-f*** - Praise the Lord!


So if it pleases you, oh Christ Almighty (ha! I usually use that term in a different way, Dearest Jesus...), give me the strength to pummel my unworthy brother, Kelp this weekend. I think a margin of 40 or so points should properly jam the exclamation point of his awfulness right into his consciousness. I've heard that the mountain of callas built up on his hands from constant pickle fiddling has made it difficult for him to even hold a pen.


He really needs this, Lord. Having me be your vessel to unleash devastating humiliation is what we nowadays call a "win-win." It's good - trust me.


And so, dearest Lord, I conclude my prayer and hope you will serve up that skeez-bag wench - alleged "cousin" - for my bloodthirsty hoard to crush into a pulpy oblivion in the final game of the season!


Oh - and, uh, happy f***ing birthday, home boy.