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swallows you think they wake you up every morning, but you don't mind. the gourds from last spring were huge. she said birds would never nest there, but you carved holes anyway. you knew you were right. you'll tease her, but only a little. life is good now. you roll over in bed and stretch. you think about your chores for the day. the lower field needs plowed. that's easy enough. the cows aren't even moo'ing yet. you got another fifteen minute. after that we'll check the traps down by the pond. pelts are selling well, and your daughter is getting good at stitching them. you glance across the room at the hat she made you. it's not cool enough yet to wear it, but you might, just to make her smile. your son is getting taller. he'll push the plow today. he hasn't filled out yet, but god, he looks like your father. later tonight you'll sit by the fire and read. your wife will lie on your shoulders as the children go to sleep. you'll make love to her as the fire crackles and dies. the lights will dim, the heat will fade, and she will roll into your arms. and as the moon rises, the light fades, and the heat dies, you'll whisper again into her ear, as you do every night... "Tom Brady was beaten by the Titans on January 4, 2020."
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Jan 5, 2020 05:25
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As I listen to the birds sing their songs, I ponder life and death.
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Jan 5, 2020 05:28
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you lay in bed, listening to the birds singing. they're such a constant in your life now that you can't imagine not hearing them upon waking. only once, you woke up to silence, and that was an ill omen. luckily, the storm only managed to put some holes in the roof and scare the livestock, but compared to your neighbors, you were very fortunate. it's still early, and you glance over at your wife, quietly snoring beside you. she hasn't awakened yet -you tend to rise a bit earlier than she does- but she should begin to stir shortly. you think about snuggling up to her warm body, but decide to stay where you are and allow her a few more minutes of sleep. you can hear your oldest moving around in the den. your son is nearly a man now. bigger and stronger than you were in your prime, but he's still not accustomed to it yet. you put on a show of still being better, but you know that he has surpassed you physically, and strangely, you're at peace with it. can't give up the game just yet, however. it's more fun this way. however, there's no getting around it... you're getting older. the aches are more constant, and seem to disappear less frequently. you nearly threw your back out a few weeks ago getting out of bed, and feigned feeling ill in order not to worry the family. a day's worth of rest helped, but it put you and the boy behind on the harvest, and you nearly missed making it out to the market in time. there's a dull pain in your hands that you find yourself massaging constantly to keep it under control. you met with the town barber the last time you were in town, and he gave you some herbs for the pain. they help, but they're hard to come by, so relief is a slim thing. despite all of that, there's one mantra that's helped you to cope with the hardships, and you whisper it to yourself: "Tom Brady was beaten by the Titans on January 4, 2020." you rise out of bed, ready to meet the day.
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Jan 5, 2020 06:51
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You try to remember if they are bird or the recordings of birds, your ship has both. Some people call it The Ark, some simply call it Generational Transport WS35. In it's giant egg shape are layers of forest, Savannah, ocean and polar areas, each corded off from each other. You work hard to maintain each ecosystem, occasionally stepping in to maintain genetic divirsity by means of the ship's giant database of species. You ponder waking or spending a little more time with your wife, exploring the smooth curves of her back. The ship rolls imperceptibly, changing the view of the stars. You look up to see the homesteader world, one with you and the crew to work on to make a near parallel to home. It will take another few months and a number of centuries to complete the work, but what is time to someone who is eternally young? In the other room your Great-Grandson is dressing and preparing for the day. A tall and strong young man, he still has much to learn. It's good that he has a voracious appetite for learning. He has a wit that must come from one of the other sides of his family tree. Tonight you will gather together and talk about the day's events. Eventually all will grow tired and return to sleep. Just before nodding off you check the packet of news that catches up with your ship. As always, the first text across the screen reads... "Tom Brady was beaten by the Titans on January 4, 2020."
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Jan 5, 2020 07:38
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The smell of pine and cedar waft through the window you left open while you slept. It had been warm last night, and even though you had misgivings about leaving the window open for fear of being eaten alive by bugs in your sleep, you are pleasantly surprised to find no vistors had made it through the screen. You slip out of bed quietly, trying not to wake your wife. Her only response to sensing your lack of presence is to bury deeper into the covers. She always slept cold, and maybe shouldn't have had that last glass of wine but watching the heat lighting roll in over the tree line on the other side of the lake with you in the dark you can't blame her for indulging and wanting it to last. Your eldest is already awake. You don't know when she stole that ridiculous hat from you, or where she got the lures to stick in it. Her mother's eyes shining up at you as she hefts the cooler makes your heart ache though. She made the sandwiches last night before bed so she could wake up and get strait to fishing, a somewhat startling bit of for site from a preteen. But she'd always been clever. Your two sons are still asleep. Even though you know they hate fishing, they never like to be left out. You'll have to take them out looking for animal tracks later on today so they don't feel left out. Your neighbor the next cabin over said they saw a badger the other day out near the road into town. That sounds promising. They'll still want to hold your hands though they won't want to admit being a little scared at the thought of a wild animal. It doesn't take you long to stow yours and your daughters tackle box under the seats of the little smokercraft the way your dad showed you when you were a kid. He probably won't make it out this year, your brother had his first recently and he was with your mother helping them run interference with his wife's parents. You take a quick moment to write a note for your wife before you head back out to the dock and putter out around the bay. "Tom Brady was beaten by the Titans on January 4, 2020."
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Jan 5, 2020 08:52
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The jolt of the train's switching from battery to diesel power jolts you out of your daze, along with the rest of your crew. You wipe the last of the evening's sweat from your brow and check the watch, 11:15 14 March 2112. That's three solid hours of sleep since coming out from below Dallas, which leaves another hour or so to go before jumping onto the truck that heads towards the Pecos Array. Barring any delays that will get you and the crew onto the Pecos some time before 2 am, so you can count on six good hours before having to duck down. In Dallas you can usually make it all the way to 10 AM before the heat forces everyone back underground, at the Pecos it's usually no later than 8:30. No later is likely to carry the day if the off cycle max temperature eclipses 130 again. Hottest March yet say the weather docs. This on cycle will be all about panel maintenance. With phases 12 and 13 running nominally again after the leftover from the February hurricane had its way with the site the crews can go back to removing dust and other blocking materials - though birds don't come this far out anymore - from the other phases' panels so they'll catch optimal energy from the Sun. More energy is more power, more power is more food and cool air, more food and cool air is more lives saved, more workers, more cannon fodder thrown onto burning topsides like some pre-Columbian tribe bleeding its young to beg the sun god for a second chance. You have to stop; that line of thinking isn't going to do anything but cause a disaster on site. With another hour of downtime, your thoughts turn back to your family. Your youngest boy should be back from his tour in the wetlands of former Houston when you get back. You were so proud when he got back his test scores, better than yours. This means he gets to spend more time in an office managing paperwork and wetlands reclamation work schedules, rather than being one of the poor souls on the deconstruction crews. You never made it to Houston but they say the nights are somehow even worse than the days. Your older son should be sending a letter home soon. He was drafted and got sent to northern Canada to assist with the massive refugee camps there. The newsgrams put a good face on them and send back nice stories about people getting by up there, but the letters have more and more redactions all the time and that's never a good sign. And then there's your wife. I mean physically she's as she's ever been, but there's an emptyness behind her big brown eyes you've never seen before. She took the empty nest hard. If it wasn't for her on cycles at the public kitchen and the social services desk keeping her mind occupied she'd have had a breakdown already. She even mentioned trying again a time or two, get another kid in while she still can bear. You're not so certain as you're both on the wrong side of 40, but if it makes her happy and the state is so generous with benefits with live births... Wait, on the wrong side of 40. That phrase takes you back, but you can't remember how. As the train begins bleeding off speed as it pulls into the company's truck depot and your next stop, you dig into your memories. Wait, this was one of your great-grandparents' stories. Way back then they had a topside game, and it was these duels between groups of athletic men who had the luxury of being paid to hit each other, and they hit each other while wearing animal heads so as to not hurt themselves so they could keep doing their non-essential job. It was a really big deal in their day before everything went to poo poo. Yeah, that's it! It was the story about the foot-ball guy named the Goat who played for a team that wore funny triangle hats, and they were really good until they played a team that wore Titan heads (something like a steel can?), and the Goat lost his job. One of the women on your crew asks you if you were okay, you were mumbling but you looked awake. She asked me to repeat what I'd said if I felt like it. "Tom Brady was beaten by the Titans on January 4, 2020." dirty shrimp money fucked around with this message at 10:20 on Jan 5, 2020 |
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Jan 5, 2020 10:08
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It's strange, normally it's not the sound that wake you up, it's the light. A dusty Ramones t-shirt is pinned to the top of the window. How long ago did the left pin fall out? Oh man it's been over a year. Why didn't you ever put it back instead of having the sun hit you in the face every afternoon? It's not like it would have been a hard thing to do. You think about maybe fixing it right but your mouth is dry. Didn't you get yourself a glass of water before going to bed? There's a few tiny bottles on the nightstand but they don't have water in them. Bananas. 99 of them of them apparently. That was your idea of fun last night. It wasn't the best idea you've ever had. You're little half steps on the way to the kitchen amuse you. This is the way your grandma used to walk. The hard floor is cold and it doesn't help the ache in your heels. Mary says you should get some good insoles, "The one thing I've learned from working in the industry as long as I have, is you need good insoles." But you love your converse even if they are the flattest shoes in the world. You used to love this stupid floor too back when he convinced you that sealed concrete against white walls would give the apartment a cool, art gallery look. Of course you'd need some art for that to happen. Haven't gotten around to making any. "Look who actually managed to be up before noon for a change." he says as you walk to the kitchen. "Maybe today we can actually spend some time together." Interesting how the guy who doesn't have a job gets to be so put upon because yours has weird hours. You look for your mug. Instead you see your keys. You find yourself a little excited to see them, like when the little Honda was new and you weren't terrified every day that the check engine light wasn't something you could just ignore. You notice the fear in his eyes as you walk towards the door. "Wait where are-" and click, that door is shut now for good. He can keep the goddamn mug even though it's your favorite reminder... "Tom Brady was beaten by the Titans on January 4, 2020."
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Jan 5, 2020 14:06
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You are awakened from a two week coma by the sound of birds chirping outside the hospital window. Through the closed blinds, the sky is amber but the world is still dark. The last thing you remember is being knocked out right before the Patriots game due to a tortoise dropped from the claws of a bird of prey directly on your head. As you come to terms with your surroundings, you realize that it's no big deal to miss that particular game. It was the tanking Dolphins and Fitzception. The Pats certainly rolled their way into a bye in a boring game. There was no way it was close or competitive. Even if Brady threw a hugely embarrassing pick-six, the defense would pick up the slack as they had for the whole season. Your eyes focus on a 2020 Patriots calendar on the wall. January is Tight End Ben Watson. There are four red Xs, which means it's the 5th of January. What luck! The coma was just long enough to miss the bye week. You didn't have to miss any of that amazing Patriots football, and also didn't need to find something else to do with your pathetic existence for a single weekend. Their defense is historically good, you know. And defense wins championships. It's fine to book tickets to go to whatever non-snowy hellhole the Patriots will be winning the Super Bowl in this year. Why don't they just have it in Massachusetts every year? That would save time. You rise from your creaky hospital bed and step onto the cold floor. No one else is in the room. Weakly holding your IV pole, you step into the long hallway, featureless except a snack machine and trash can beside it. Hungrily, you gaze at a packet of Strawberry Shortcake Rolls, but the temptation fades when you consider that Thomas "Touchdown Tom" Brady doesn't eat strawberries. Also, you have no money because you're in a hospital gown. As you look away from temptation, you see that in the trashcan there is a Patriots hat. It must have been on placed top of the vending machine and gotten knocked off by an aggressive air conditioner, you imagine. With your free arm, you reach in to the trash cane and pilfer the hat, gingerly placing it over your shaved, stitched-up cranium. Now properly enrobed to display your undying loyalty to a huge corporation, you clear your throat and call into the empty corridor. "Hello? Is anyone there? I'd like to leave this place so I can fully prepare for watching The New England Patriots and their quarterback Touchdown Tom Brady play in the divisional round of the National Football League playoffs for the tenth time in a row." There is no response beyond a fuzzy echoing. You spy a window at one end of the corridor, glowing orange from the sunrise. In your weakened state, you slowly walk towards it. Everything feels like it is spinning and standing upright makes you feel lightheaded. Fortunately, football will fix what ails you, you imagine to yourself among your quiet footfalls. You reach the window, grasping the tilt wand of the blinds and turning it until you can see through the simple metal fixture. From the 12th story window, you can see Gillette Stadium, the home of the New England Patriots. You must be at the TB12 Health and Wellness Megacomplex that's right next door to the stadium. It's certainly is not a huge loving salary cap violation. What luck! There is no better place to get ready for lots more Patriots football this winter. But where is everyone? The stands and parking lots are all empty, which make sense, because there is no reason for anyone to be here on the week of the bye, which they clearly have earned. Still, shouldn't there by night janitors or whatever around? Even vacant, the sight of Gillette fills you with happiness. It's the home of the once and future champions after all. Tom Brady, Devin McCourty, Kyle Van Noy, Matthew Slater. They'll all still be here, along with Josh McDaniels to lead them. From this window, you can see the championship banners. Six... no. Seven? Are you suffering double-vision from your head injury? No, there is a actually a seventh banner. What could that mean? You find the stairwell and stagger downward, leaving your IV drip behind. Once you reach the bottom floor, you find the emergency exit to the outside and the cold, wet New England morning. You cross the pavement, and there are no security guards or stanchions to keep you off the field itself. Hobbling to the field, you step on that famous turf that all those great patriots from the past have trod upon. Real exemplars of The Patriot Way like Antonio Brown, Michael Floyd, and Aaron Hernandez. From the field, you can finally read the banners. What is that new one? In crisp blue and white, it reads "2019 AFC Wild Card Round Participant". Why does that seem familiar? A once-reliable, now stony hand lands firmly on your shoulder. You turn around to see the zombified body of Julian Edelman, still in his uniform, helmet and all. He is covered in gore and mud. The sight of him like this brings you great pain, considering what he once was, what he once meant. "Jules..." You say, tears welling up in your eyes. "What happened?" His eyes vacant, the mouthguard falling from his jaw as he speaks: "Tom Brady was beaten by the Titans on January 4, 2020."
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Jan 5, 2020 14:10
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You're awaken by the sounds of birds chirping, but there's no sunlight shining on your face today. It's a grey, bleak sky as far as you can see. There may be some light rain later, but there certainly won't be any sunlight today. You groggily pull yourself out of bed. It's been cold these past few days, and though you hate to admit it, you're missing your wife right now. She should be back from visiting her folks in a week, and though the fires of romance seems to have dulled in recent years, there's still a familiar warmth with her that you never want to live without. You make your way downstairs to the kitchen. Ever since the children left, things are a lot more quiet. It's peaceful this way, yet tinged with sorrow of days you'll never see again. No more running around the house chasing screaming toddlers, no more pouring cereal for your childrens' smiling faces, no more teenagers' constant worrying about the most minor of things. You sigh, and brew up a pot of coffee, black. As you make your way to the front porch to enjoy the peace of nature, you think back to that big ol' mutt that used to greet you every morning. Old age finally took him last year, at least he had a good life but you still miss the rascal. Perhaps it's finally time to get another dog, to keep you and your wife company now that the kids have moved on with their lives. You take a sip of coffee, wondering how your daughter's doing. She just finished her first semester in college, and seems to be having a good time. She's upset she got a B- in one of her classes, you're not sure which one or if you could even pronounce it, but you're still proud of her for even making it in college. She's had a boyfriend for two months now, and last time you talked she mentioned bringing him over next time. There's a bit of unease in you about it, but if he can make her happy, then you feel you'll be happy. The sky seems to get ever gloomier. You think of your son, fighting in the war to protect his country. He always wanted to join the army, despite his mother's wishes, and he finally got his chance two years ago. He's already rising in the ranks, and though he hasn't seen any combat yet, he's stationed pretty close to one of the combat hot spots. You don't want to admit it in front of your wife, but you're just as worried about him as she is, and you secretly hope this fighting will end soon so your son can come home safe and be with the family once again. You see the figure of the mailman strolling up the path. You get up and exchange pleasantries, talking a bit about the going-ons in town. Poor Gus is having to retire from the hardware shop due to his arthritis, he's having trouble even unlocking the door now. His daughter is probably going to take over, and she seems capable enough, though you both worry she's shrewd enough to start raising prices, and everyone's struggling to get by as is. The mailman hands you your mail before going on his way. A couple bills, a plea for donations for the local fire department, and...a letter from the army? Your heart skips a beat for a moment. You haven't had correspondence with your son for two months, thinking to yourself that no news is good news. This may be a minor issue or notification, but what if... Hands trembling, you open the letter, and holding your breath, you begin to read. To Whom It May Concern... "Tom Brady was beaten by the Titans on January 4, 2020."
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Jan 5, 2020 14:17
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You are "woken" by birds chirping. You're in an alley way, the brick of the surrounding buildings intact enough for you to surmise that this isn't one of the apocalyptic timelines, not like last time, but there's still that tingling in your right arm, the sign that you're still unhinged, without tether. You check the ground for newspaper, find you're in a timeline where English is still a lingua franca, common enough, and in a timeline that still has newspapers, far more rare. You need to eat. You're afraid to eat. Something about digestion usually makes you shift again. The sensation of shifting feels like being fit, all 210 pounds of you, through a straw, a straw being squeezed by the hand of a strongman. When you first experienced it, it was just after being told that it'd be a one-off visit. Jack had been so adamant the tether was in place. He liked to mock you, go on about, "Yes, even though it's invisible, it's there," as if you both were talking about faith rather than timeline hopping. Faith and science rarely mix. What you experience now, though, you can't qualify as either. You take no notes, not enough time to, and you make no pilgrimage to Mecca. Though, you suppose, there's one fact you hold onto, the center of your own Hajj. Wind slices through the alley. You exit it to find an urban pond, children laughing at its edge as they fish, their guardians smiling at them. This timeline, you realize, is better than yours. In your world, this is a parking lot. But they did something beatific with it here. That's the rough part, not finding the dead universes, but the far more vibrant ones, where there's trolley cars instead of traffic jams, local businesses instead of endless chains, cleaner air, more greenery than asphalt. It creates a temptation never to go back, but where does someone like you stay? And having found solace in that world, whatever it may be, would Jack finally figure out the tether and rip you out? Ask you how your trip went? All while you kept from punching him right in his smug face? So it's best to see these worlds as nothing permanent, sand castles on a particularly turbulent beach. Only one thing keeps them all consistent, though, an axis of all reality. You ask one of the fisher's parents for a phone, say you need to call your wife. Maybe in this universe you have one, you have two kids, so on, so forth, unlike your own reality. But you don't look for signs of that. You search instead for that central truth. The one that you know happens in every reality. Sometimes you find it spray painted on a ruined mech. Sometimes you find it preached by an apocalypse cult in Hindi. Sometimes nothing really tells you, but the ground mutters it, like in that old bible story. In this reality, though, it's easy. You Google it, it comes up, and you can breathe a sigh of relief. That some things don't change. They can neither be improved upon nor detracted from. You read it again for full measure: "Tom Brady was beaten by the Titans on January 4, 2020."
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Jan 5, 2020 15:20
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you jerk awake, shocked to hear birds inside the arena. you look around, trying to spot a bird, or someone on the phone with chirping as their ringtone, but no, you're alone in the locker room. you lean forward on the bench and rub your eyes. gently caress, how did you doze off? you have an important fight, maybe the most important of your life, and you just... doze off? you don't feel tired. maybe it's stress. you're not sure, and a part of you starts to panic, wondering if you missed everything... but a glance at the clock tells you that you were only asleep for a few minutes. still plenty of time to get ready. it's a wonder your trainer hasn't stormed in here and started yelling at you for slacking off. you strip off your warm-up clothes and grab your outfit out of the locker. turning around, you pause momentarily as you catch a glimpse of yourself naked in the mirror. you've fought hard for this body. all the training, every scar, every grueling surgery and recovery... and the looks. the judgment. you used to hate seeing yourself in the mirror, especially naked. you felt disgust, anger, and a sense of wrongness about it, ever since you were a kid. you tried to explain it to your parents just before turning twelve, and gently caress, was that a disaster. your father seemed to be willing to hear you out, but your mother... it got ugly. real ugly. there was a time where even though you both lived in the same house, you thought that she would never speak to you again. but it got better. she listened and learned about how... off you felt. how everything just seemed wrong. you listened and understood her fears, and did your best to assuage them, with all the confidence you could muster at the age of thirteen. you both aired everything out, and came to an understanding. without your mother, you don't think you would have made it through your teenage years. she became your closest ally and best friend, especially during all of those trying times. every time you went in for a procedure, she would be the last face you'd see as the drugs took you away and the first one you'd see after waking up. she, the tiny slip of a woman, was even the one who suggested taking up fighting after.... you shake your head to remove the thought from your mind. the less said about that, the better. even though without... that... happening to you, you never would have discovered how much you loved fighting, and how far that love would take you, it's still not something that you like thinking about. It's a memory that both motivates you and causes a good amount of pain. without it, you wouldn't have pushed yourself to the limit, to be in the best shape you can be... and to take that final step. it's not perfect, but you're happy with your body now. it feels much closer to who you are as a person, and who you want to be as you continue to grow. you hear a voice coming from the far side of the locker room, and it snaps you out of your train of thought. your trainer walks into view, cell phone in hand. she sees you undressed, and the look of surprise on her face is easy to see. she expected you to be ready by now. she starts to berate you as you finish getting dressed (with you mostly tuning her out at this point), and you both start walking out to the arena. as you hear the dim roar of the crowd echoing down the empty hallways backstage, that painful memory flashed inside your head once more.... "Tom Brady was beaten by the Titans on January 4, 2020." instead of shaking it loose, you embrace it, and the fire inside is lit.
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Jan 5, 2020 15:51
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i didnt read any of the posts in this thread lol
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Jan 5, 2020 15:56
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Sour Diesel posted:i didnt read any of the posts in this thread lol "Tom Brady was beaten by the Titans on January 4, 2020."
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Jan 6, 2020 02:24
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You wake up in a morning much different than the ones that came before. This one is different, as you feel a sensation you never had before. It's this strange, unfamiliar feeling of not having the urge to eat. Does this weird sensation happen to everyone who wins a Super Bowl? Unphased, you get out of bed and prepare your usual breakfast, a hamburger covered in bacon set between two stacks of ribs. You're going to be very busy today, but you're not going to let that stop your usual routine. As you sink your teeth into your breakfast sandwich, it tastes the same as any other you've made before, but this time it seems...filling? Now that you've had what you've wanted for so long, perhaps the hunger is finally gone. After the brief breakfast, you head over to the computer and log onto your favorite website. There are a lot more notifications than usual, many congratulating you and offering you a free lifetime supply of ribs. You're now set for life, but somehow you don't really feel affected by this. There's no will to eat anymore, no desire to taste all the delicious ribs and burgers waiting for you across the country. Eventually, after clearing through your notifications, you notice one peculiar message by a one "Rubert K". Curious, you open it to read... "Tom Brady was beaten by the Titans on January 4, 2020." The hunger returns.
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Feb 3, 2020 15:14
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You awaken to the sounds of... is that birds chirping? This time of year? You look out the window, snow and ice as far as the eye can see. A familiar sight around these parts, especially since that time. As you rub the sleep from your eyes, you stretch out, still looking for what made that sound. There is no movement outside, and the few trees scattered around are completely empty. You try to forget about it as you head into the kitchen to make your coffee. Your husband and kids are gone already, having headed off to work and school already. Ever since high school started, you haven’t had to wake up as early to make sure everyone is off, that hasn’t needed to be done in almost a year now. You think you hear those drat birds again, but still see nothing around. You screw up your face again as you get your mug and water ready. As you fill the carafe with water, you are startled as the sound of birds seems to be coming from the family room, and drop your favorite mug. You look down briefly at the shattered mug, irritated right before you recall what caused the mug to drop in the first place. You close your robe around you a little tighter as you slowly make your way through the door into the living room, and are startled for a different reason. On the mantle of the fireplace, you see a bird, but it’s odd. It appears to be a finch, but far too large, almost crow sized. As your hand slips up to your mouth, the bird looks directly at you. It opens its beak as your eyes widen with fright. “Tom Brady was beaten by the Titans on January 4th, 2020”
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Feb 3, 2020 19:16
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The birds cause you to stir, and more pressing matters force you out of bed. Shuffling to the chamber pot, you make water and then replace your robes. Marie will take care of the pot. Hobbling over to your desk, the gout flaring up worse and worse each day, you sit and prepare to write. The quill accepts the ink as you rack your brain to remember what portents your dream revealed. Since the publication of Les Prophéties many have asked for more visions, but not all visions are equal. You let the pen move on it's own, letting the words flow. After a minute, you look to the parchment and see the following words: “Tom Brady was beaten by the Titans on January 4th, 2020” Quelle est cette merde?
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Feb 5, 2020 00:33
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you don't wake up
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Feb 5, 2020 00:49
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Antonio Clown
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Feb 5, 2020 01:15
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Sour Diesel posted:i didnt read any of the posts in this thread lol The unanimous MVP was beaten by the Tennessee Titans on January 11th of 2020, friend.
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Feb 6, 2020 04:56
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who the gently caress is tom brady
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Feb 6, 2020 16:37
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some forgettable system quarterback
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Feb 7, 2020 07:19
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FizFashizzle posted:swallows you think Buddy, I know
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Feb 7, 2020 18:47
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Tom Brady was driven out of New England forever by the Titans on January 4th, 2020.
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Mar 18, 2020 01:57
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gently caress off
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Mar 18, 2020 02:00
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Ok. Sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry Sorry that “Tom Brady was beaten by the Titans on January 4th, 2020”!!! Titan up
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Mar 18, 2020 02:03
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Mar 18, 2020 02:12
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Mar 18, 2020 02:22
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thrilla in vanilla posted:Tom Brady was driven out of New England forever by the Titans on January 4th, 2020. 
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Mar 18, 2020 03:22
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Refresh my memory...what was Tom Brady's last pass as a Patriot?
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Mar 18, 2020 07:00
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Kirios posted:Refresh my memory...what was Tom Brady's last pass as a Patriot? I wanna... wanna say it was a completion... pretty sure it was a completion... trying to remember the receiver's name... blanking really hard....
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Mar 18, 2020 07:28
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thrilla in vanilla posted:Tom Brady was driven out of New England forever by the Titans on January 4th, 2020. No way, that's clearly impossible. Brady will be a Patriot forever, because an ego-driven, business-conscious athlete is certainly going to continue taking the abuse for 20 years without getting sick of it, especially after having a lot of success to deaden his drive and when the team is going to be mediocre anyway. I am also confident that even if something happens, that the team will own up to not wanting him, and would never frame the incident like Tom's the one being irrational here.
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Mar 18, 2020 11:24
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Probably Magic posted:I wanna... wanna say it was a completion... pretty sure it was a completion... trying to remember the receiver's name... blanking really hard.... Yeah, it was a touchdown pass.
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Mar 18, 2020 13:17
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Mar 18, 2020 13:52
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| # ? May 5, 2024 23:12 |
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I am outside with a cup of coffee, having just woken up. The birds are chirping. Tom Brady is dead.
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Mar 18, 2020 14:01
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