Friday, November 14, 2008

The Continuing Adventures of Jeremy Shockey...

(Scene: Saints training camp.)

Shockey (singing to himself): I like pussy! Pussy, pussy, pussy! Ba-da-bup-da-ba!

(Jeremy walks into the training field house and sees it's empty.)

Shockey: What the fuck?

(Jeremy walks into the locker room and sees that it, too, is bereft of people.)

Shockey: Hmmm...Seriously, what the fuck?

(Jeremy walks into the weight room and finds Drew Brees blasting his pecs.)

Shockey: 'Sup Drew?

Drew: Hey.

Shockey: Whatcha got goin' on tonight?

Drew: Weight lifting.

Shockey: All night?

Drew: All night.

Shockey: You been doin' that all fucking week, brosef.

Drew: Yep.

Shockey: And studying game film and shit.

Drew: Yep.

Shockey: And taking those leukemia patients to see an advanced screening of Madagascar 2: Back to Africa.

Drew: Yep.

Shockey: Damn. You live a boring ass life, Drew.

Drew: Yep.

Shockey: You gonna keep giving me monosyllabic answers, Drew?

Drew: Yep.

Shockey: Betcha didn't know I could use monosyllabic in a sentence, did ya, Drew?

Drew: Nope.

Shockey: Heard Kid Rock say it once before somewheres. Say, you know where everybody's at? I gotta crush me some pussy tonight and I wants a wing man.

Drew: Nope.

Shockey: Nope? You mean "nope" to my crushing pussy or "nope" to you knowing where people are?

Drew: B.

Shockey: Fuck, you a quiet motherfucker. I gots to roll, son. See ya Sunday.

(Jeremy walks off.)

Drew: Fucking asshole. (whispers to himself.) 5,084. 5,084. 5,084. 5,084...

(Jeremy walks into the coach's office without knocking on the door.)

Shockey: What up, Coach?

Coach: Hi, Jeremy.

Shockey: Coach, where's everybody at?

Coach: Look, Jeremy, I didn't want to tell you this, but...nobody's talking to you.

Shockey: What?!? But I'm number 88!!

Coach: Yeah, uh...look, Drew's still pissed about last Sunday and he doesn't forgive and forget too easy. Know that thing on his face?

Shockey: Yeah, what about it?

Coach: He got made fun of relentlessly in grade school by some group of assholes. Ever since he got drafted, Drew keeps sending them all pictures of him in uniform holding up piles of cash in his hands. He's a calculating man, that Drew Brees.

Shockey: Shit.

Coach: Anywho, he's got the whole offensive line against you right now.

Shockey: Aw, shit no, bro? For real?

Coach: Defense, too. 'Parently half the guys on the defense don't like being on the field and they said you help contribute to their malady.

Shockey: Malady? You mean like those badass guitar riffs in Lincoln Park songs?

Coach: No, you mean "melody," Jeremy.

Shockey: You mean like that stripper I banged Wednesday night?

Coach: I guess so, sure.

Shockey: But what about the receivers and the backfield?

Coach: Don't think they like you, either.

Shockey: What about Mark Brunell?

Coach: He's still depressed that Obama won, I think.

Shockey: What about Reggie Bush?

Coach: His girlfriend won't let him make an opinion, so he's out.

Shockey: Robert Meachem?

Coach: He's excited cause I told him he might get to touch the field Sunday. He's too happy to be worried about anything else right now.

Shockey: Garrett Hartley?

Coach: The kicker? I fired him.

Shockey: You did?

Coach: No, I'm just kidding. But he doesn't like you, either. Your dropped passes and poor pass blocking leave the team too far out on third downs and put the pressure on him to make field goals. I told him if he missed one from inside 35 yards that I'd castrate him in front of Mickey Loomis.

Shockey: What about Mark Campbell?

Coach: He's being injected with Cortisone and can't speak. And he doesn't want to go out tonight, either.

Shockey: Billy Miller?

Coach: He's sleeping with the JUGS machine.

Shockey: Chris Owens? I wouldn't fuck that chick with Ronnie Ghent's dick!

Coach: No, an ACTUAL JUGS machine.

Shockey: You mean, sleeping with the JUGS machine? Or sleeping with the JUGS machine?

Coach: I don't care what he does with it, as long as he makes catches. Maybe you should consider banging the JUGS machine, too.

Shockey: Jeremy Shockey don't do that. The only threesomes he knows involve two chicks burned out on ecstasy. BOING!

Coach: Well, I don't know what to tell you, then.

Shockey: Doesn't anybody want to hang out with the Shock-Meister? Doesn't anybody like me?

Coach (stroking his imaginary beard): Well...

(Scene: Later that night: Monteleone Hotel Piano Bar.)

Joey Fingers: "Believe it or not, I'm walking on air! I never thought I could feel so free-he-he!!"

Shockey: Jesus fucking Christ, the team REALLY doesn't like me...


Wang said...

I've been meaning to comment on this post for days, but for some reason I can't comment on Google/Blogger sites in IE, only Firefox.

Anyway, outstanding. I L'd my A O.

Blogger said...

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