Goddamn it Brett Favre. Here we fucking go again.

You know why I hate Brett Favre? Because I used to like the guy. He popped pills, he pounded beers, he beat the Cowboys (FUCK the Cowboys), he won a Super Bowl, he stayed with his wife when she was sick (FUCK John Edwards), and he seemed like he didn’t take himself too terribly seriously.

Now, motherfucker acts like Hamlet. To play or not to play. Who gives a fuck? Shit or get off the pot. I get it, you’re old and football is physically (and mentally and emotionally) exhausting. But fuck. Play. Or not. Either way, stop talking about it. Stop making Peter King talk about it. Fuck.

Worse even than the will he-won’t he-bullshit is this:

Wranglers, motherfucker. Wranglers.

Really, dude? Wranglers? The fuck?

Are you broke? Just trashy? I don’t get it.

And beyond the questionable taste in denim, 3 out of the last 4 years (Note: maybe not a real statistic…) you’ve thrown awful, awful season-ending interceptions.  That one against the Eagles? Horrible. Against the Saints last year? Are you trying to foreshadow the fine work of Payton Manning? Fuck. Worst of all, the one against the Giants. You broke those bikini girls‘ hearts!

Just quit and be done with it. Or play. Whatever. I’m tired of hearing about it. Your ankle … blah blah blah.

I hate you. I fucking hate Brett Favre.