There have been a lot of cowards around here, whispering that they are terrified of our next opponents. The acrid scent of urine is awash among many of the thighs in this room, and I am damn tired of it. I see your hands shaking over there, and I see the sweat that beads upon your brow. Well, shut that bullhonkey down right now! We will never back down from the Denver Broncos, and I don't give a flying funion what Dan...
Are you sure?
This just in: We have an early Bye week,
Alright, calm down Twitter Warriors, The Drunkard is just sitting here fucking with y'all. The fact of the matter is that in this all out war...every battle is important, and whenever you step on that field, if your intent is not murder and mayhem, you may never crawl off of it. Jaguars are five-hundred pound (227.3kg if you're scoring in London) killing machines that lurk in the darkest shadows of the jungle, and claw the faces off any hapless man who wanders where he is forbidden. They track you by your shit-stink, and no nook and/or cranny is safe from their raking claws.
So stow all that dross about this being a "freebie", strap on your Russell damned helmet, and let's go to work on these giant pussies! (they are large cats). They are a Gus Bradley led battalion, a force that sprung from the loins of Seattle, and they deserve the respect of a quick and glorious death at our hands. We shall honor them by showing no quarter, and as the steam from their freshly-spilled viscera rises into the chilled sky like the souls of our fallen friends, we will spread their blood upon our pads. We owe them nothing less.
The Jaguars fall on Sunday, as gravity cannot be ceased, but we will carry them with us, and smite our enemies using weapons adorned with their life-force.
I hear you out there, doubting The Drunkard. "False" you whisper behind your trembling hands, "The Jaguars are too fierce, they are too many. They will come into our citadel and slay us." Somebody slap that dipshit. I like the Jags, but they ain't holding shit but a dick-in-the-hand. We have many advantages in our favor, but one stands above the others...
The Storm God walks amongst us.
Sheets of mercurial aquatics course down from the broken, grey sky above. Spears of alabaster light streak through the toiling clumps of vapor and dust overhead, accompanying our bloodthirsty cries with their cacophonous bellows. Our citadel is doom-tinged and rain-blessed, its very shadow striking terror into the fibrillating hearts of our foes. Come, vermin. Come and break yourselves against our marine wall. Come and see the watery end that awaits you.
We are nightmares on wax.
Alright, enough with the melodramatic catshit, let's look at some actual football film:
1. How many points do you think, the Jags will score?
2. I have seen their Defensive Line, and I expect The Beast to bottom them like...
3. But I caution you to be wary, cats are proficient at striking back when struck down.
4. I mean, if I'm being honest? I'm actually super terrified of the Jaguars. They might actually destroy us!
5. Now, a lot of people are saying "Leave them alone! They aren't on your level yet, and don't deserve to be obliterated!" To that I say...
6. Ospreys won't stop for shit. We'll put you on your knees, and ace you to peace with a killshot.
7. But knowing Gus-Gus, he'll probably do something absolutely
8. Like do some weird ass Florida Man trick play.
9. Gus will laugh and laugh, and think it's cool. But it's not cool. We're not fucking friends anymore, Bradley.
10. Russell will stride on the field, and put together a 99-yard drive the equivalent of a hammer in an elevator.
11. Kam Chancellor will gaze across the field, and apologize for what is imminent.
12. Pete will walk to the middle of the field, shake hands with Forsett, and big time Gus.
13. Big Cat Country will get all awkward with us.
14. But that's just the price of victory. Cowboy up, Jaguars.