Well, Benjamin, it’s all out. The run-a-mucking, the tomfoolery, the nipple twisting, the bill-bailing, the pubic poaching, and the gerrymandering of “just of age” Jane’s and Judy’s skinny jean button flies. It’s all out big guy…but here’s a thought—he’s obviously been acting like a jack ass for longer than any of us probably know. In high school, Ben didn’t claim the starting role at QB until he was a senior, so for this blog’s purpose we’ll travel back in time to an era I remember well.
Late 90’s to early 00’s Buttfuck, Ohio—Ben Roethlisberger—baggy jeaned and rocking Wu-Wear—has just been named starting QB at Findlay high school’s spring weight room work-outs. His prom is in two weeks, thus the pimple faced ironing board who gave good handie’s and has had her prom dress since X-mas break is again dateless, but the kind of hot still awkward girl’s basketball captain vows to lose her virginity—she’s not sure where he’s going, but she knows that in a year and a half he’s getting the fuck out of Findlay.
A senior year that’s full of fame, both on the diamond and the grid-iron, solidifies a spot on a D-1 roster somewhere for Ben. His blowjob tally just rose 100%, yet Ben refuses to distinguish himself from the other two black guys in town, but no one cares—because that shit is cool. And what’s this?! Ben, you no longer have to draw a pencil thin goat-tee with your sister’s “Pretty Paula Perfume and Make-up” set—you have your own face pubes!! You go down on pre-med coed at your first college trip to Miami…a freshman fifteen poster child—she’s definitely looking YOU up next fall.
For the next three and a half years you are literally the BMOC (big man on campus). And as a junior, you lose your opener to Iowa, then barrel through 13 straight opponents on your way to the school’s first GMAC bowl victory, where you trounce Louisville 49-28, throw for 376 yards, and 4 TD’s—what a way to go my friend. That night, you have an orgy with the women’s lacrosse team. They’re a little rough and seem to be into each other more than you, but that’s ok—some foreign exchange student from Peru is giving you a reach around while another from Austria tweeks your nipples. They all ask you to tuck your sack between your legs and do the “Charlie Brown”—you decline and they hold you down while Greta the goalie sits on your face—nothing could be better.
You’re chosen as the first pick of the Pittsburgh Steelers in the 2004 draft. We actually trade up to get you. You’re legendary before you even put on your first backward Steeler hat. Maddox tears thumb ligaments in a game against Baltimore 5 months later and, from September 27, 2004, the rest is history. In an interview after the game that day (a game in which we lost, but Ben didn’t start, thus his record 13 straight regular season wins as a rookie will never be broken) Alan Faneca told reporters when asked if he was excited to play with Ben, “Exciting? No, it's not exciting. Do you want to go work with some little young kid who's just out of college?” He would eat those words—it was the beginning of a new dynasty in Pittsburgh.
So was Ben getting jerked off under tables by high-waged hookers at the LeMont then? No, that’s not what I’m saying. He let the country know that baggy slacks and Sean John button downs were cool on Letterman, but the young man is not the new fashion guru of Pittsburgh, he’s the goddamned quarterback. He’s done a ton of charity work and been endorsed by the Pennsylvania State Police (which isn’t saying much, but looks good nonetheless). He always gives the right answer on camera—his interviews sound more like they’re coming from a professional hockey player; not a high profile NFL QB. And he plays with the passion that all of you adore. It’s true he can be an ass in public sometimes I suppose. I used to pour beer at an establishment he would frequent after home games, and I’ll admit he wasn’t always the most cordial guy, but he shook my hand and looked me in the eye, and that’s enough for me.
I’m pretty sure he was nailing one of the bartenders there too, but who cares?! She was all about it. And what dumb slut from Po’Dunk, Anystate wouldn’t hop on the chance at that? These “poor girls” should have to undergo treatment as well. To make Ben look like the monster here is bullshit in my mind. Young lady, you had the chance—neigh, the opportunity—to get the screaming dolphin from Ben Roethlisberger. Not some mullet-wearing redneck from Milledgeville, GA who works at the Waffle House, but two-time Super Bowl winning QB Ben Roethlisberger—and then you have gull to essentially tell on him?—I call bullshit.
I bet you sucked a lot of cock in your young life, Ms. Garglespit, and I’m positive none of them were as prestigious as Big Ben…so don’t ruin an entire town’s hopes and dreams because your Bratz look-a-like friends are telling you about dollar signs. At the very most, I think a text requesting ten grand not to talk would have been sufficient. You’re not a hero to women with low self-esteem everywhere, you’re just a drunk girl with too much make-up and an addiction to glam and Glenfiddich.
In the same breath, Ben—no more of this. Get married and cheat on your wife like everyone else. If the money grubbing whore decides to tie the knot with you then just let it be known that when she gets fat or cranky (a.k.a on her period) you will cheat on her, and that it will be in her best financial interest to just go along with what you say. At least then, Ben my friend, you have an alibi …
ZEUS
Late 90’s to early 00’s Buttfuck, Ohio—Ben Roethlisberger—baggy jeaned and rocking Wu-Wear—has just been named starting QB at Findlay high school’s spring weight room work-outs. His prom is in two weeks, thus the pimple faced ironing board who gave good handie’s and has had her prom dress since X-mas break is again dateless, but the kind of hot still awkward girl’s basketball captain vows to lose her virginity—she’s not sure where he’s going, but she knows that in a year and a half he’s getting the fuck out of Findlay.
A senior year that’s full of fame, both on the diamond and the grid-iron, solidifies a spot on a D-1 roster somewhere for Ben. His blowjob tally just rose 100%, yet Ben refuses to distinguish himself from the other two black guys in town, but no one cares—because that shit is cool. And what’s this?! Ben, you no longer have to draw a pencil thin goat-tee with your sister’s “Pretty Paula Perfume and Make-up” set—you have your own face pubes!! You go down on pre-med coed at your first college trip to Miami…a freshman fifteen poster child—she’s definitely looking YOU up next fall.
For the next three and a half years you are literally the BMOC (big man on campus). And as a junior, you lose your opener to Iowa, then barrel through 13 straight opponents on your way to the school’s first GMAC bowl victory, where you trounce Louisville 49-28, throw for 376 yards, and 4 TD’s—what a way to go my friend. That night, you have an orgy with the women’s lacrosse team. They’re a little rough and seem to be into each other more than you, but that’s ok—some foreign exchange student from Peru is giving you a reach around while another from Austria tweeks your nipples. They all ask you to tuck your sack between your legs and do the “Charlie Brown”—you decline and they hold you down while Greta the goalie sits on your face—nothing could be better.
You’re chosen as the first pick of the Pittsburgh Steelers in the 2004 draft. We actually trade up to get you. You’re legendary before you even put on your first backward Steeler hat. Maddox tears thumb ligaments in a game against Baltimore 5 months later and, from September 27, 2004, the rest is history. In an interview after the game that day (a game in which we lost, but Ben didn’t start, thus his record 13 straight regular season wins as a rookie will never be broken) Alan Faneca told reporters when asked if he was excited to play with Ben, “Exciting? No, it's not exciting. Do you want to go work with some little young kid who's just out of college?” He would eat those words—it was the beginning of a new dynasty in Pittsburgh.
So was Ben getting jerked off under tables by high-waged hookers at the LeMont then? No, that’s not what I’m saying. He let the country know that baggy slacks and Sean John button downs were cool on Letterman, but the young man is not the new fashion guru of Pittsburgh, he’s the goddamned quarterback. He’s done a ton of charity work and been endorsed by the Pennsylvania State Police (which isn’t saying much, but looks good nonetheless). He always gives the right answer on camera—his interviews sound more like they’re coming from a professional hockey player; not a high profile NFL QB. And he plays with the passion that all of you adore. It’s true he can be an ass in public sometimes I suppose. I used to pour beer at an establishment he would frequent after home games, and I’ll admit he wasn’t always the most cordial guy, but he shook my hand and looked me in the eye, and that’s enough for me.
I’m pretty sure he was nailing one of the bartenders there too, but who cares?! She was all about it. And what dumb slut from Po’Dunk, Anystate wouldn’t hop on the chance at that? These “poor girls” should have to undergo treatment as well. To make Ben look like the monster here is bullshit in my mind. Young lady, you had the chance—neigh, the opportunity—to get the screaming dolphin from Ben Roethlisberger. Not some mullet-wearing redneck from Milledgeville, GA who works at the Waffle House, but two-time Super Bowl winning QB Ben Roethlisberger—and then you have gull to essentially tell on him?—I call bullshit.
I bet you sucked a lot of cock in your young life, Ms. Garglespit, and I’m positive none of them were as prestigious as Big Ben…so don’t ruin an entire town’s hopes and dreams because your Bratz look-a-like friends are telling you about dollar signs. At the very most, I think a text requesting ten grand not to talk would have been sufficient. You’re not a hero to women with low self-esteem everywhere, you’re just a drunk girl with too much make-up and an addiction to glam and Glenfiddich.
In the same breath, Ben—no more of this. Get married and cheat on your wife like everyone else. If the money grubbing whore decides to tie the knot with you then just let it be known that when she gets fat or cranky (a.k.a on her period) you will cheat on her, and that it will be in her best financial interest to just go along with what you say. At least then, Ben my friend, you have an alibi …
ZEUS
As a chick, I'm a tad embarrassed to admit that I laughed out loud a few times while reading this. But the ugly truth is that he went too far with her and the right kind and amount of dna and/or physical injury and/or eyewitness testimony and Ben would likely be doing the perp-walk right behind OJ. You know how this city is when it comes to the Steelers - well guess what - this city really IS pissed at him and disguisted by what he did. I think you'll be surprised by what September brings if he lasts that long. All that aside - like I said - funny as shit:) xoxo
ReplyDeleteHey - that profile pic is not a picture of YOU . So who is it?? Also, the accompanying image with the short story "a graven image" appears to be either smashing down or creeping up from behind a sonogram image. Is it hers?
ReplyDelete