Dear Santa,

High five! Please for the love of God get me a Super Bowl win this year. I know I’ve already got one, and I know I always ask. But I also know it makes you smile, Santa. You fat dork! Headlock time for you the next time you come to our Christmas party and you smell like Daddy’s whiskey!

Hey, Santa, I would like to do something different this year. You know how I usually ask for things and you get them for me and write out the card for each present in Ash’s or sometimes Momma’s handwriting? This year, I don’t want any presents. I want to give back this year, Santa. Here’s my list of personal requests:

1. I would like Eli to get a girlfriend. I would let him ask for this himself, but he doesn’t believe in you, no matter how many times I smack him with a whiffle ball bat.

2. I would like my other brother Cooper to have the ability to walk normal again. The other day, the douchebag walked into the family dining room, using a cane, and he said, “God bless us, everyone.” Momma started crying and she hugged the fraud bastard.

3. To all my fans, please do not give them any gifts. I hate them all. They are fair-weather, and they like Tom Brady better than me and they deserve to be on your bad list. It will teach them a lesson, which is what they really need.

High five, everybody! Due to the popularity of my last blog, during which I mentioned the Homo List that I keep, I have decided to drop a Homo Bomb on the NFL. You asked, “Who are the other players defying the NFL’s Don’t Ask, and Don’t Be Gay Rule?” Today, I reveal my top five.

If you see one of these guys out in public, DO NOT APPROACH HIM. Call me and I’ll come and give him a wedgie! How funny would that be?

5. Ray Lewis. This guy has every fan fooled with his Scary Black Man routine. But all you have to do is put him to the Gay Test – picture him wearing a fuschia feather boa. Doesn’t he look gay? Who’s with me? Man, that guy would even look gay while stabbing two people to death.

4. Dan Marino. I know what you’re saying: “Dan Marino doesn’t play football anymore!” And I say, “Shut the hell up, Schneebly!” What you don’t know is that Disco Dan still “plays” with NFL players. He and Garo Yepremian’s annual South Beach party is the place where they lure naïve rookies into their homo fold. It’s awful.

3. Brian Urlacher. Covered him in my last blog. Very pink lips, wears Polo cologne while playing football. Somebody please stop this gay pit bull of a man.

The other night I had a horrible dream that I was sacked by Brian Urlacher. From behind. But then he wouldn’t get up, and he started humping me right there on the field. Like a big pit bull!

It’s for this reason that I think Brian Urlacher is gay. Pit bulls, I feel, are also homos, which explains why they are so angry and defensive. (And it’s basically why I wasn’t upset about that Michael Vick thing. When it comes down to it, homos just don’t have feelings — besides being angry and defensive.)

But another thing about Urlacher: He’s very clean, and homos are known to be clean. And if you close your eyes and picture him with his lips pursed, he looks gay. Who’s with me? But then I look gay with my lips pursed, so scratch that.

Eli was so upset when I got home from my game on Sunday, and at first I couldn’t figure out why. He was huddled on the couch between Momma and Ash, and his eyes were all red. I thought it was because he sucked it up in his game against the Cowboys. I was getting ready to call him a Homo Fag Dorkbomb Disgrace to the family.

But when he saw me he said, “Get away from me! Get away!” And he ran off to his room.

“What the hell’s that kid’s problem?” I said to Momma and Ash as I sat in Daddy’s armchair. They were watching “Dallas” on DVD.

“He’s been worried all night, because you threw so many interceptions,” Ash said, still watching the TV.

“So?”

“He said you told him that for every interception you throw, that’s how many times you’re going to make him lick a cow’s ass,” Ash said.

Photo by st0rmz via Flickr.

Last night, after me and Eli went trick or treating, while Ash was in the kitchen making sure our candy was safe, me and Eli went and spied on Momma and Daddy. They like to do it on Halloween, wearing quarterback and cheerleader gear, and when they are done they like to talk about their sons.

So there we were, standing outside their bedroom door, listening to them, and you won’t believe the funny crap that happened.

Daddy says to Momma, “I don’t think Eli could handle a game against Tom Brady and his Patriots right now. We’ve spent years trying to deny it, but he is a chicken shit.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Momma said.

Eli, the little homo … His face scrunched up and he ran upstairs to his room and locked the door and started tearing the place apart. It took me a second to figure it out. I mean, of course he’s chicken shit, everybody knows that. But then it hit me. For so long I had told Eli he was adopted … I had gotten into that kid’s head so bad, he
really thought he had just heard Daddy admitting he was a shit laid by a chicken. (High five!)

The other day, I walked into my room and Tom Brady was sleeping on my bed. I grabbed my Ugly Stik and I whacked him across the head. That’s when I realized it wasn’t Tom Brady; it was Eli’s life-sized poster of Tom Brady. He had put it in my bed to trick me, the little squirt.

Sometimes, Eli is a dorkoid. But other times, he’s one funny kid. Like, all last week, in the middle of the night, he would sneak into my room while I was sleeping and go, “Woooooo. Wooooooo! I am the ghost of Tom Brady and I am here to haunt you! Woooooo! My team is going beat your team! Woooooo!”

When you wake up and see Eli dressed in his Tom Brady outfit that he got for Halloween, and he’s pretending he’s Tom Brady’s ghost, well, you just have to give the kid a high five.

My “other brother” Cooper beat me up today for no reason. He came in my room while I was reading my comic books, and he started swinging. He smashed my face into the alarm clock, and then hammerlocked me and made me lick my poster of David Lee Roth right between the legs.

I said, “What the spunk is wrong with you, Crippled Cooper?”

I shouldn’t have said that. He’s very sensitive about his spinal condition, and so he rubbed dirty underwear — Momma hasn’t done the laundry yet, and Ash is still learning — right in my face. I never get used to that.

But what am I supposed to do, fight back? Against a crip?

So I went and beat up Eli. It was hit fault anyway. When I asked Cooper why he was making me smell my underwear, he said, “Because you hurt Eli’s feelings!”

And I said, “Eli’s a homo. He doesn’t have feelings!”

Have you ever noticed what a good actor I am? I was over at Momma and Daddy’s house the other day, watching The Brady Bunch when Joe Namath was on it. I think Joe might have been a homo. But he was also a terrible actor. Who’s with me?

I’m a good actor mainly because I look like I’m having fun with the other actors. And I hate those hosers, every sorry one of them. Dude, when the camera is off, those dorkoid actors come up to me and ask me for my autograph. And I say, “Sure, Hammy, here’s my autograph,” and I moon ‘em. High five! Then I gave them wedgies, because that’s what they want anyway.

Everybody laughs. I am a quarterback and I make people laugh at actors. That’s how good I am. I want to be in a war movie. I want to shoot some Muslims with footballs from my missile arm.

Associated Press

Did anybody see? Did anybody see? I was wearing black shoes the other night. High five! I wore black shoes because Ash told me too. She says it makes my honkoid feet look smaller. I think it makes me look tougher.

Before the game, some locker room boy saw my shoes and said, “Hey, Johnny Unitas!” And I said, “Right, Hammy, that’s who I am. Come here and give me a high five.” And I wedgied the little freak up to his tiny neck. Me and the guys all laughed about that for a long time.

Maybe I should wear a black helmet then, too. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but where most people have foreheads, I have more head. It’s a size sixteen — huge! I wish my pecs were big.