Way out East there was this fella — fella I wanna tell ya about. Fella by the name of Darrell Reid. At least that was the handle his loving parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. Darrell Reid, he called himself Darrell Reid. Now, Darrell Reid — he didn’t make a whole lot of sense. And a lot about where he lived, likewise.
When I got there again I seen that them men had got in two little bitty bunches down there real close together, and they voted. They did. They voted and elected one man apiece, and them two men come out in the middle of that cow pasture and shook hands like they hadn’t seen one another in a long time. Then a convict come over to where they was a-standin’, and he took out a quarter, and they commenced to odd man right there! They did. After a while I seen what it was they was odd-manning for. It was that both bunches-full of them men wanted this funny-looking little pumpkin to play with. They did. And I know, friends, that they couldn’t eat it because they kicked it the whole evening and it never busted.
That Gatorade looked a bit flat. I think we need to form a committee to investigate this disturbing turn of events. I’m also relatively sure that the two buckets are not married, and their their hideous spawn is not as legitimate as we’re being led to believe. The truth is out there, people, you just need to make stuff up to find it.
I’ve always wondered what football players were saying on the sidelines in between bouts of smacking their heads together and rolling around on the ground. I assume that what they actually say is no less absurd and incomprehensible than what the video shows. If they were all good public speakers, and could coherently string sentences together, there’s a good chance they wouldn’t be professional football players. They’d be off doing something infinitely more productive and making infinitely less money. As with most things in life, it pays to receive catastrophic daily head trauma.