It’s playoff time, and the Saints are coming to town for the divisional playoffs. With that in mind, and in the spirit of good taste and sportsmanship, I say we extend a hand to Saints fans.
Just be sure to wash that hand afterwords, because God knows what terrible primordial swamp diseases dwell on the palm of your average Louisianian. After all, the men in stat state hunt a foul-smelling, bottom feeding creature so adept at feeding that nature has seen fit not to evolve for millions of years.
But enough about the women in Louisiana, let’s discuss the wildlife. There are of course the alligators. And the poisonous snakes. And the spiders. Is it any wonder why there are so many guns in that state? Hell, you need a 12 gauge shotgun to kill a mosquito. And when the local wildlife isn’t trying to eat you, there’s the occasional stray hurricane to contend with. It’s a wonder anyone in that state lives long enough to die of a heart attack. How have these people not yet figured out that God does not want people living in Louisiana?
But enough about the state, let’s discuss the mold-ridden, fetid toothless whore that is its queen city, New Orleans. The city known for puke-ridden street parties and even better known for rampant, unchecked street crime.
But of course, there’s Bourbon Street. It’s only fitting that the most famous street in Louisiana is named after something everyone in the state drinks and nobody in the state can spell. It is of course known for rowdy, drunken co-eds partying and making bad decisions, the sort of rare sight that you’ll only be able to see on… well… weekends at any college town in the country.
But least we forget their majestic football venue? Candlestick Park holds memories of legendary players turning in some of the most famous performances in NFL history. The Superdome holds memories of assault, brutality and incomprehensible human suffering. And that was before the hurricane.
But what of the team? After decades of being so awful that the city hosted a bowl game just so they could see a decent football team, the Saints finally managed to bumble their way into a freak spell of respectability. Quarterback Drew Brees draws magical powers from the poo-stain on his cheek, while head coach and human tomato Sean Payton paces the sideline as he counts down the days until his brain aneurysm. In the meantime, they have managed to establish themselves as maybe the fifth or sixth most dominant franchise run of the last decade. Good for them.
So in summary, welcome Saints, and may the best team win.