Julian Edelman’s Hairless Chipmunk

 JULIAN Julie after

BEFORE & AFTER SHAVE

While Tom Brady went on a world tour without his teammate Julian Edelman, the slot receiver created his own buzz.

Together with his own follower, Danny Amendola, the two close friends went to Mexico to learn how to wrestle. And, upon returning, won the notoriety that comes with being a nude inlay spread for ESPN’s naked athlete edition.

Posing in capes and masks may seem like child’s play, but ever since growing that mangy beard, Julie needed to compensate for something.

Now, our crack investigative skills have solved the mystery. We examined “before and after pix” of the twelve-packed short receiver in a variety of poses. We are now ready to deliver the fake news of the week.

It seems likely that Julie E and his constant donut companion Danny A have taken up the painful hobby of full body waxing.

It has paid off with an in tandem photo shoot with another Boston pipsqueak: Isaiah Thomas who bares all his tattoos in the upcoming ESPN Body Issue 2017.

Julie has spared himself the pain and agony, not of defeat, but of ink blots. Thomas, on the other shoulder and arm, has not. Both men have kept the Inkster away from their keester. Thank you, ESPN, for this salient bit of real news.

For months, Julian Edelman dropped hints that he had dropped his pantaloons for ESPN’s notorious nude issue. This year, following Gronk in 2012, five years earlier, Julie E flaunted and teased, his modus operandi in many spheres of life.

This time, he took with him another Boston superstar and admirer of Tom Brady: the chipmunk of the NBA, the effervescent Isaiah Thomas, a diminutive scoring machine of the Boston Celtics.

Both men are small for their sport, but normal in all matters not requiring mental agility and physical freakishness. Now they share the glow of healthy skin in a nude magazine spread.

It’s that glow of skin that has amused us: it was not always that way. We never forget a follicle, even if Tom Brady has had them transplanted from below his head. And now, hirsute Julie E.

 

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Secret Ceremony of Patriot Ring Bearers

Giselle & Bunch Lords of the Rings & Giselle

DATELINE:  Brady as Lord of the Rings

The New England Patriots Super Bowl party in which they were given their gaudy rings was an affair more secretive than a Masonic 33rd Degree installation.

If Aaron Hernandez were still alive, he’s accused all of  his former teammates of belonging to the Illuminati, or at least the billionaires among them.

Gronk let it be known that they were sworn not to talk about the details of the binge party. However, he did admit that Mr. Kraft knows how to throw a shebang. It isn’t difficult when you have $4 billion in your bank account.

Many of the former Patriots who have jumped ship for the upcoming season (including Martellus Bennett and LeGarrett Blount) were there. They certainly know they may never get to see another Super Bowl party with ring bearers.

Fake media was kept at a distance.

Tom Brady did come with his lovely wife Gisele who belongs to the almost-billionaire club, but you’d have to look hard for any other girlfriends or wives. We do know that Julian Edelman was right there, elbowing Giselle out of the picture.

Just to show he was the Eastern Star at this 33rd degree celebration, Tom wore all five of his Super Bowl rings. He even allowed Bill Belichick to put on those five so every finger on the Coach’s hands was covered in silver, gold, and diamonds of differing weights.

The event occurred in Bob Kraft’s mansion in Brookline, just a stone’s throw from Tom’s mansion in Brookline. Sometime in a future episode of Ancient Aliens, archaeologists will visit Brookline and say this was the City of the Gods.

We can’t tell you if the flying saucers landed, like Marshall Applewhite’s crew at Heaven’s Gate,  and which ones they took away.  We do know security took away many fake media members. ring bearers

Tom Brady’s Get-Rich Scheme

DATELINE: Co-starring Julian Edelman

 home Tom & Julie at home

The Boston Convention Center will be hosting an event on June 8 to guarantee Tom Brady will get richer quick. You will have your wallet deflated instantly.

Yes, the improbable Tony Robbins has roped in the Patriots star, and his sidekick, Julie Edelman, as guest speakers at his money-making extravaganza.

For $3000 you will receive priority check-in, which means Homeland Security will laugh at you. You will also have lunch in the Diamond Lounge, but Tom and Julie will be long-gone by then.

For $3000 you will sit in the Diamond Stage area and have a meet and greet with Tom and Julian. If you chose the $200 gold seats, you will be so far away from Tom that he couldn’t throw a pass to you with a bazooka.

This is billed as a “Systematized wealth plan.” Indeed, someone will be making big bucks off your ticket. And don’t ask for a refund. They claim you will love the event, but there are no money back guarantees. If Tom comes down with dyspepsia and misses out, so will your credit card.

How long will Tom speak? Our guess is about as long as the zeros in Tom’s bank account.

You will also receive Tony Robbins’ new book, which will be on the remainder table at Amazon in about a month.

We have learned that Julian has written a children’s book.  Beware, mom. It’s about a squirrel named Jules who collects big nuts. Most of them will be at this event.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trump to Nominate Roger Goodell for FBI?

DATELINE:  Whimsy & Humor

illuminati

With the big news out of Washington that President Trump has fired FBI Director James Comey, the speculation has run rampant down to Foxboro about the next man Trump may select for a grueling Senate confirmation hearing.

And, the word around is that President Trump’s good friend, Bill Belichick, might be the grandest choice to head the crime fighting agency.

Trump appears ready to buck the past precedent to hire a man who relaxes in his mother’s old dresses.

Belichick shares a disdain for talking to the media that Trump admires—and no one knows better how to deal with fake news than the head coach of the Patriots.

Of course, first choice Tom Brady wants to keep his job with the Patriots. The FBI director receives a contract to play for ten years—and Tom expects to be around Gillette Stadium for at least a dozen more seasons.

Considering the problems of a Watergate type trouble that Trump may find himself, it would surely be good to find someone familiar with Spygate, Bountygate, and Deflategate, to head the FBI job.

That leads us to the unfortunate conclusion that the best man for the job could be Roger Goodell. We don’t know if he wears dresses in his spare time, but we won’t bet against it.

Trump should nominate Goodell for the post. He can keep Belichick on ice until the head of the CIA job opens up.

 

 

 

Worst Super Bowl: Brian Hoyer v. Kirk Cousins

 DATELINE: Send in the Seconds

 

No Gropes in the Backfield

As the world of NFL prepares for a bunch of playoff games starring the costars, the real stars of the game are home resting.

Yes, everyone wants to see Cam Newton, Tom Brady, Peyton Manning—and, hunh?, Carson Palmer.  It almost seems like among the superstars, Palmer is the Ralph Bellamy of the group. For those of you too young to recall the heyday of Hollywood, Ralph Bellamy always played the star’s best friend, but was never really a star in his own right.

For this first weekend, we have to watch the midget version of titans now populated by Rothlisberger, Rodgers, and the hopefuls like Russell Wilson, Kirk Cousins, and good grief, Tom Brady’s former waterboy, what’s-his-name.

If you want to sense who the biggest stars are, you had only to hear Donald Trump predict Brady was better than anyone else, even with an ankle injury, at a recent campaign rally.

For some fans, Tom Brady is Darth Vader in a zoot suit and Peyton Manning is aging Han HGH Solo without Botox backup.

Many are hoping for a rematch of Brady and Manning in the real Super Bowl, before the actual #50.  For the oldsters of the game, it would rival something akin to the Star Wars sequels and prequels. Are we up to seven big games with that dynamic duo?

Of course, the young stud of the group—and probably Roger Goodell’s choice to represent his billionaires’ club is Cam Newton. You couldn’t ask for a more blended version of Manning and Brady.

Looking over the possible fixes the NFL can make to the proceedings, it is nearly impossible to figure out what teams will receive the blessings of the referees during the game. It would look like a box office disaster if we end up with Brian Hoyer and Kirk Cousins in the Super Bowl. So, that’s where we put our two-bits for FanDooDoo, or DraftyThings.

That’s our favorite pick for poetic justice for Roger Goodell this year.

Back to the Drawing Board for Belichick

DATELINE: Three Coins in the Fountain

Back to the Abacus

As Bill Belichick now must deal with the worst decision of his coaching career, he has taken to justifying it. Talk about making matters worse. He claims he was making a list and checking it twice when the infamous coin flip seems to have flipped him a bird.

The diabolical Hoodie of yore would never have stood on the sidelines, playing with his etch-a-sketch, which some commentators have mistakenly called an iPad.

Everyone knows Roger Goodell has made a $400 million deal with the famous toymaker to give coaches something under their Xmas tree. The blue bauble appears to have no Internet connectivity, let alone an off switch.

It was on this little blue tablet, often called a Surface at Microsoft, that the New England braintrust seems to have drawn up one of the worst plans of the regular season.

The NFL Etch has no memory, no statistics, and no known reasonable function. Yet, Belichick used it to decide to kick a ball to the Jets in overtime, thereby giving them a chance to score instantly.

Technophobes like Belichick then could use the device to prove that Steve Jobs was a bad movie about knock-offs.

Since Belichick’s defensive schemers were unable to stop the March of the Jet Toy Soldiers, the Etch-a-Sketch turned Tom Brady into Betsy Wetsy. Matt Patricia, the erstwhile Defensive Coordinator, was degraded to using #2 pencils to work it out.

It seemed like the Jets took the old-fashioned Slinky hop and bounce over the Patriots D-men.

It appears that the motto, “In Bill We Trust,” has been deflated.

Sly Accusation Becomes Peyton’s Pain in Neck

DATELINE:  Pizza Pie in the Face

 

A rock from outer space just landed on Peyton Manning.

After having besmirched Tom Brady at every corner of the universe, the NFL suddenly had been caught in the outhouse with its premiere star. Some pharmacist named Sly has accused Manning of using human growth hormone to recover from his neck surgery in 2011.

This verboten substance may be miraculous for anyone with a medical problem, but the NFL has made a point of banning it.

Now they are facing the love of their league in a situation where Manning voided the banning.

We suspect that, if this vile story is true, Roger Goodell will hit Manning with a one-game suspension because he has pity on a suffering human being, desperate to cure his pain.

Tom Brady, on the other hand, in the alternate universe of Goodell, has merely caused pain to 31 billionaire owners.

Manning, of course, denies that he ever heard of someone named Sly and never had any illegal substance delivered to his wife at their various addresses.

We tend to agree that Manning is too smart for such a plan of action. If he had the substance sent to his various addresses, it would go to the butler. Yes, the butler did it.

No, Patriot fans, we don’t mean Malcolm Butler.

Peyton’s places are sundry. He has homes all over the country and his wife remains a woman more private than Greta Garbo. So, any investigation will simply cause anguish to people wanting to stay above or below the fray in elite zipcodes.

We refuse to believe the story is true, just as Patriot fans refused to believe ugly stories about Brady are true. Does this put the shoe on the other foot?

It likely means that sticky dirt has to be scrubbed off, whether Peyton is innocent or guilty. This is worse than a pizza pie in the face.

 

 

Black Bats and Burning Crosses: Symbols of Victory?

DATELINE:  Panther Rallying Cry!

 

Bring on the Black Bats?

The Black Bats of the Carolina Panthers now have been revealed as an elemental part of their winning season. It’s a good luck charm used to intimidate the opponents.

We have never seen Bill Belichick’s teams resort to black bats. One wonders if black bats trump deflated footballs as a black eye on the integrity of the game.

The NFL prevents players from wearing any article of clothing that they deem detrimental to the game: like a pink shoe to honor a mother who died of breast cancer.

However, Goodell’s NFL goons and goose-steppers will gladly allow the crypto-Nazi symbol of a black bat. If we had gangstas doing this on the streets of New York, the police would have their tasers at the ready.

You may well ask how a baseball bat fits in the uniform policy of the NFL, which generally does not allow the swung bat to stop the receivers.

Panther apologists include their coach who notes that it is merely a symbol or a metaphor that the players are swinging for the fences—again a baseball reference to hitting a home run.

Why not carry a lacrosse stick? They are longer and have a more deadly reach. Why not drive a tank onto the field to fire up your team with Patton’s blood and guts as a symbol?

The notion that a black bat is an innocent article of sportsmanship is nearly as ludicrous as the notion that calling Oddsmell Beckham a ballerina is all part of the fairness of love and war.

Where is your overbearing NFL, fans? We think wearing white hoods and holding burning crosses might also intimidate other teams or their star players, but we haven’t seen that in the pregame rituals–yet.

Sing Along with BB (Music Man Belichick)

DATELINE: with a Capital D

Patriot Receivers

 

There’s trouble in Foxboro City with a capital T.

There’s no protection for Brady, which starts with a ‘p’

And ends with a sack.

We’ve surely got trouble, as our old pal the Music Man used to tell us.

Friends, the injured is receiver is the opponent’s playmaker. Yep, we got trouble right here in Bradyland.

Watch for the tell-tale sign of a rushed passer. The moment the ball leaves his hand, does Brady end up in a heap under two men?

Is there a nicotine stain on his white pants? Is there a playbook lost in the turkey stuffing?  Has Brady stopped memorizing the names of his O-line, or does he call them all “Rex Ryan”?

We can only hope that Tom remembers the Maine, the Alamo, Plymouth Rock, and the Golden Rule!

Are certain new words creeping into his vocabulary, like “Help!” and “Swell!” Mothers of Patriot Fandom, keep your sons from losing their shirts at betting sites like FanDooDoo. Oh, we got trouble.

Friends, fantasy football is Goodell’s playground.

If so, there is Trouble in Josh McDaniel’s play calling with a capital T.

That game with inflated balls is in Goodell’s playground.

Oh, we got trouble, trouble, trouble. Gotta rhyme it with D. And that stands for Denver where they give BB plenty of T.

We’ve lost E, which stands for Edelman, N which stands for Nate, and now A, which stands for Amendola.  And we can’t buy a vowel. We can only pray that G will give D plenty T.

G stands for Gronk in this formula.

NFL’s Gabbert: If You Need a Friend…

 DATELINE: CLOWN HUMOR

 

In San Francisco the only big news is an earthquake. Suppose the 49ers throw a press conference and no one shows up.

Starting QB Blaine Gabbert showed up for his press conference, and he ended up having a front row seat. He waited for the party to begin and put on his funny hat and blew his noisemaker. No one was there.

Send in the clowns. There ought to be clowns.

Alas, war should be so much fun. Suppose they throw one and no one came.

Tom Brady may have seen the reports and had a wishful moment back in Boston. The day he walks into an empty room, the world must have ended.

No rap on Gabbert’s rapping ability, but his third-rate team forgot to notify the media sycophants that their weekly meal was available. Usually tape worms are running the tapes 24-7.

Gabbert had to feel like he was picking up team meds at CVS, open 24 hours, and found no one home. What will you do without pain killers? In the NFL, you play with a concussion.

When you find no one at your presser, you may wonder if you had a concussion this week. If he’s lucky, his opponents won’t show on Sunday.

Next week we recommend that Gabbert pull an Andy Warhol and send in a double. The assembled media probably will not know the difference. Then again, neither may his San Francisco team executives.

As long as they sign the paycheck, Gabbert will show up at non-events any time the team wants him there. This is the magic bullet you take for your teammates.

NFL Puts Lips Together & Blows

whistlegate

DATELINE: WHISTLEGATE

That’s Buffalo Bob’s Bills, Howdy Doody Rexy.

The Bills have come due—and whether Belichick has cash on hand, or credit up his hoodie sleeve only the four quarters will tell. Magician T-Rex Ryan plans on pulling quarters out of Tom Brady’s nose.

T-Rex’s defensive attack tormented Tom Brady, but truly befuddled the officiating crew, one of the worst Roger Goodell could send to Foxboro.

The big game did not test the ability to stay up late. It was paranoid fun.  It does test the ability to rise on Tuesday morning to work as per usual, but it sent Patriot fans into a frenzy of paranoia beyond their usual fringe.

Inadvertent Whistlegate showed up on Goodell’s doorstep screaming like a newborn banshee. Yes, blame the NFL for Whistle-gate.

Every game is different—and blowing out the Bills, a la the earlier game, may be like blowing smoke rings. You can’t have a Super Bowl ring unless you can blow smoke rings around your most arrogant and semi-talented opponents. The NFL just blew their whistles like Lauren Bacall did to Bogie.

Between the referees’ attempts to throw the game back to the Bison, Belichick prevailed—and the sight of Rex Ryan throwing an F-laden tirade on the sidelines made the game a classic of ineptitude.

Former Pat Rodney Harrison has said he hoped the Patriots would lose this one in order to relieve the pressure on them for a perfect season. It’s like wondering if the Patriot O-rings resemble the old NASA problem. We know the inevitable is closer than ever after last night’s victorious fiasco.

The Bills have been sent to clean the outhouse for another season, and they ought to be joined by the so-called officiating crew.

Gronk’s Party Cruise Ship: Mal de Merry

 DATELINE: Sink or Swim

Gronky

 

No one told us! We have discovered there are few spaces left on the party ship to set sail for the Bahamas in February. Gronk is hosting a party ship. Move over, drydock. Look out, Andrea Doria.

We presume too that this may be a Super Bowl party combination.

All guests with reservations on the ship actually will be able to pose with Gronk for a photo. At least we think it is the real Gronk, not a cardboard cutout. We already have one of those pix from Dunkin’ Donuts.

This continues Gronkonomics, a means for the Gronk to make money hand over fist without cashing a single paycheck from the Kraft family sports team.

Gronk’s parents appear to be on board this party ship as chaperones. His brothers will be there to prevent assaults for deranged women looking to make a husband out of the New England tight end.

The few balcony rooms left for our delectation will cost $1500 per person for the three days. We will need to find someone willing to spend three days and two nights with us in a small room. This is especially important for those with a tendency to be seasick after imbibing many drinks.

Whether this is another overblown publicity stunt by the master of gathering attention is unknown. We are leery of ships going out into the Atlantic in iceberg season.

We have not even considered the likelihood of coming down with a stomach virus, which we always see on the news when cruise ships are stalled out at sea.

If you are pickled with Gronk, we suppose neither iceberg nor viral infection will slow you down.

Jets Tank Half Empty After Media Blow Up

DATELINE:  Cue the Baying Media Hounds

Featured imageSheldon is Heard!

Some people actually have been concerned with this week’s opponent for the New England Patriots: the New York Jets, formerly the plaything of T-Rex Ryan.

There’s a new coach roaming the meadowlands, and he has tried to convey a sober, down-to-earth, bluster-free endzone. His players have lost the swagger, the locker room fighting, and the butt fumbles. These Jets are not exactly playing button-down Wall Street games, but they are trying to fly under the radar.

The flight plan was going well until Jet nitwit Sheldon Richardson allegedly guaranteed a victory against the Patriots.

If you want bulletin-board material to fire up a team already on a mission to decimate every rival that challenges them, the Jets had made a giant misstep. Todd Bowles, the new coach, seemed a tad disjointed over this—and the revisionists noted that Richardson, a loudmouth suspended substance abuse kind of guy, had been misquoted.

Richardson, in the grand tradition of those with a habit of inserting foot into mouth, charged the media with taking liberties with his inane words. He never guaranteed anything. He went a giant step forward for mankind by blaming Roger Goodell for forcing players to speak to the media. Now that’s a wordsmith defense worthy of Goodell.

If you mix two combustible chemicals, you are bound to end up with publicity to inflame the masses. In this case, we have another imbecile player and sensation-seeking ESPN types. Stir gently.

The result is the NFL profits but the player loses his soul. Then, said player recants, and the media licks its chops at a delicious double-scoop of tutti-frutti cotton-candy. Sheldon shall not lick his chops again any time soon.

In the meantime, the damage is done. The Patriots likely have been irked to the degree that they will mean business when they disingenuously say it’s just another notch on the gun belt while they pummel the Jets into oblivion.

The Jets have once again caused passengers to fight in flight over reclining seats. Yep, another butt fumble.