There once was a man.
No, a legend.
A legend that liked to have sex with skeletons.
(Yes, his name is Bones. His name would be Pigpen if it were 19fucking70. Charles Schulz is dead, there is no Great Pumpkin, and that Christmas tree was pathetic. Get the fuck over it. MOVE ON.)
Where did Bones come from? No one knows. Sure, people say 'Coastal Carolina.' But as far as I know, that's not a state, that's a state of mind. Sure, they didn't have football two years before he got there. But you know why? They had no need of football before Bones Thigpen showed up.
Then he wound up in Minnesota. Which sucks. You know why he was cut? Because he didn't suck enough. And he wasn't an overrated flash in the pan that likes to get hammered and play Road Rash the real-life version.
So he ended up with us. Oh, what's that you say? He looked terrible last week? He scored a fucking touchdown in a National Football League game. What did you do? Oh, that's right, you didn't throw a touchdown in a National Football League game. You watched Bones Thigpen throw a touchdown in a National Football League game. Was he bad? Yes. You know why? Not enough skeletal sex. But this week? Let me show you what's on tap for this week.
That's what's coming. He's been on a limited skeleton sex diet while he's been learning the offense. But tomorrow? Tomorrow he is unleashed. The Falcons will no longer fear hell, for they will know what it's like to get skeletalfucked by Bones Thigpen.
HERE! IS HIS BOOMSTICK!
And then, when he gets back and adornes himself in praise and hype and celebrity, enjoys a tasty Boulevard (the last real Missouri beer now that those watered down St. Louian Budweiser fucks have been bought out by Belgians... who gets taken over by Belgium?), and enters into greatness, he'll have a special surprise waiting for him.
Now that's what I call Daisy Dukes. Suck on that Romosexual.
It's not just a name, it's a verb. It's not just a nickname, it's a movement.
MAWK IT DOWN!