We've all been there

Tutor

unread,

Oct 5, 2010, 6:32:27 PM10/5/10

to

But still, this made me smile:

From Finsnation.com

http://www.finsnation.com/fins_nation/2010/10/special-reamed.html

F**k this f**king team.

F**k the bullshit hold it's had on me since I was a child, teasing me
with promises of happiness and elation, only to rip my f**king heart
out again and again and again.

F**k you, Dolphins.

F**k your traditions and your heritage. That shit died eons ago.

F**k your shitty stadium with its shitty art deco post modernistic
bullshit decor. It's a f**king football stadium, not the inside of a
f**king Little Havana hair salon.

F**k you, Stephen Ross. You shrunken headed goblin faced f**k. F**k
your ideas to make this a glitzy team. Nobody f**king cares, you cock.
F**k your night clubs and your bullshit orange carpets and your
bullshit celebrities. You've turned this franchise into the f**king
Titanic. Just because you grew up not being invited to sit at the cool
kids' table at Beach High doesn't give you the f**king right to
utterly ruin my f**king football team with parties featuring hackneyed
celebrities who haven't been f**king relevant since the Clinton
administration, and who never had any f**king talent to begin with.

F**k the f**king dipshits who actually attend these clubs during
games. F**k your bullshit "look at me" faces and your steroid infused
bodies and your botoxed faces and your disproportionate fake tits with
the nipples pointing in different f**king directions. F**k your waxed
chests and your Ed Hardy t-shirts, swinging your tiny dicks in my
f**king stadium. You're not fooling anybody, assf**ks. You're all
worthless little f**king people and you f**king know that shit deep
down in your dark f**king soulless hearts. Get the f**k out of my
city.

F**k you, Bill Parcells. You wanna f**king bail? Bail. You overrated
potato shaped stack of equine shit. F**k your New York Giants Super
Bowls and the reputation you garnered on someone else's hard work.
F**k your old school mentality. Oh I don't talk to reporters, they
bother me. F**k. You. Man the f**k up. Take some responsibility. F**k
your golf cart and your f**king race horses. I hope they f**king die
in a fire. F**k your absolute refusal to draft play makers and instead
going with the tried and true formula of drafting giant statues with
no f**king speed and no discernible football IQ what so f**king ever.
Your f**king son-in-law is one hundred times the personnel guy you'll
ever be. For their sake, I hope to f**king Christ your grandkids
inherited his genes and not yours, you worthless f**ksack. Go away and
waste another franchise's draft by drafting the next Drew f**king
Bledsoe.

F**k you, Tony Sparano. You're on f**king notice. The honeymoon is
over. Take off those f**king shades and get to f**king work. You
f**king Parcells lackey. I'm sick and f**king tired of your in-game
brain cramps that ruin our f**king seasons time and time again. At
this point, you're no better than Cam or Nick or any other f**k face
not named Shula to walk through those f**king doors. Fire that
worthless shitstick of a special teams coach right the f**k now. Fix
this shit. To-f**king-day, or we'll ship your ass back to f**king West
Haven where you can slowly die of boredom because what the f**k else
is there to do in Connecticut.

F**k you, Jeff Ireland. You Napoleon-complex ginger f**k. Your one
accomplishment in life is when you asked a college player if his
mother was a f**king hooker. Is your Mom a f**king hooker? F**k your
bullshit philosophies. F**k your complete and utter f**king lack of
understanding that f**king players get f**king hurt. F**k your
decisions to put Will Allen on IR or let Matt Roth go. We sure as
f**king shitfire can use those two f**kers right about now. F**k your
draft system. It's not a system, you f**king midget. It's an art. You
draft play makers, not numbers and color coded charts. F**k you.

F**k you, Chad Henne. F**k your underachieving overrated robotic
f**king ass. I am sick and f**king tired of defending you. F**k your
complete inability to evolve as a f**king quarterback, you f**king
robot cockrocket. You've been staring down receivers since you were
f**king conceived, you giant mental ward haircutted asshole. Big arm?
F**k you. Quick release? F**k you. Learn how to read a f**king
defense. Is looking off a safety now and again that f**king difficult
to comprehend? You f**king waste of another f**king draft pick on
another worthless piece of shit good-for-nothing-but-soul-crushing-
interceptions quarterback.

F**k you Dolphins. F**k this franchise and its inability to find
people who know what the f**k they're doing. I swear to Shiva I can
f**king turn this worthless shit of a team around in two years and
make them a contender. In two f**king years. F**k this team. Take
Vontae, Jake Long, Cam Wake and The Beast and tear this shit down and
build it back up from scratch. Let the fires rage and purify this
f**king thing.

Of course, it will never happen. We will never get better. Never rise
above the middling shit soup. We'll just keep sucking dick until the
sun burns out.

F**k me for always coming back.