Welcome to the new NFL where everything is stupid! In order to get the scoop we're going to talk to one of our sports reps; well known hick and pill addict, Brett Favre!

BF: Thanks for the interview.

AB: Why are you covered in blood?

BF: That's a league matter.

AB: Ah. I see. So the NFL has finally decided to pussify itself and try and get rid of hitting, which is totally not why anyone likes it or anything. Are you upset that your whining was the root of this?

BF: That's a league matter.

AB: That Stroger broad is super hot, but why would you send a picture of your old gray, dead-looking, small, sickly, decrepit, flaccid dick to her on your phone. Everyone knows that you send pictures of flaccid dicks to your friends to make them roll their eyes or scream in repressed surprise while they are in line at Taco Bell. However, in the words of Thomas A Edison, founder of ripping people off on a grand scale, "you send hot broads pictures of hard dicks, preferably pretty ones that aren't yours." That quote begs the question, are you dumb or something?

BF: (cackles, makes obscene hand gestures, then giggles like a murder) That's a league matter.

AB: Are you ashamed of yourself?

BF: That's a league matter.

AB: Are you a robot?

BF: That's a...No, no of course not.

AB: You're in a desert, walking along in the sand when all of the sudden-

BF:Is this a test to see if I'm a robot now?

AB:Yes. You're in a desert walking along in the sand when all of the sudden you look down-

BF:What one?

AB:What?

BF:What desert?

AB:It doesn't make any difference what desert, it's completely hypothetical.

BF:But how come I'd be there?

AB:Maybe you're fed up, maybe you want to be by yourself, who knows? You look down and you see a tortoise, Brett, it's crawling towards you-

BF:Tortoise, what's that?

AB:Know what a turtle is?

BF:Of course.

AB:Same thing.

BF:I've never seen a turtle -- But I understand what you mean.

AB:You reach down, you flip the tortoise over on its back Brett.

BF:Do you make up these questions, Mr. Bonner, or do they write them down for you?

AB:The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun beating its legs trying to turn
itself over but it can't, not without your help, but you're not helping.

BF:What do you mean I'm not helping!?

AB:I mean, you're not helping. Why is that Brett? -- They're just questions, Hick-Favre. In
answer to your query, they're written down for me. It's a test, designed to provoke an emotional response. -- Shall we continue? Describe in single words, only the good things that come in to your mind about... your mother.

BF:My mother?

AB:Yeah.
BF:Let me tell you about my mother...(Then as per usual Favre shoots me, throws himself through a window, and sprints away crying.)