I sit. I wait. The emergence of a champion. The rising of a savior. All these emotions swirl around me like Dorothy’s neighbors (insert link providing picture from Wizard of Oz). Feelings that force me to write a haiku:
A new era has begun.
Quinn, you pretty man
Throw the ball more than five yards.
Sitting…Waiting…. And now- crying…bawling… urinating… vomiting…laughing at the thought of the Browns being decent.
It’s just so hard. The Browns were dominating the Broncos for most of the game, and then POW! Right to the kisser. It doesn’t help that we have Brandon McDonald (insert picture of Frodo Baggins) covering Brandon Marshall (insert picture of a Clydesdale). Personally, I blame the coach (insert picture of Gilbert Grape). Marshall is six foot five. And you’re going to have a five foot, ten inch corner attempt to cover him??? Gee, that’s about as intelligent as an epileptic-only rave. Or betting on a diabetic to win the Mrs. Butterworth’s Invitational (insert picture of syrup-drinking contest).
We should have won. Instead getting a taste of victory, we were forced to watch McDonald get a taste of Marshall’s crotch.
