Thursday, December 14, 2006

Continue This Story

Donovan NcNabb took to one final drag from his cock-shaped crack pipe before falling into bed.

"It ain't easy being me.", he muttered, curling into the fetal position.

"Computer. Music. Kid-A."

Donovan's high-powered, voice-controlled computer system responded to his command in less than 30 milliseconds by piping "Everything In Its Right Place" into the room.

Donovan started to rock slowly from side to side as the warm tones washed over his crack-infused conciousness.

McKnabb's life goal had always been to acquire enough money to purchase a lifetime supply of crack then retire.

He had made it and was now living the dream.

Suddenly came a knock on the bedroom door.


[Someone add more stuff here.]


  1. "Computer. Door. Open. Hot." The words flowed out of the once-great QB's mouth as if he had given this command many times before, which he had, of course. His ACL had been torn so badly that just speaking caused immense pain in his testcles and the sack in which they were encased.

    It was of no surprise to McNabb that Ricky Williams walked through the door, accompanied by clouds of sweet sweet cheeba that always followed in Ricky's wake like a trail of conservative bloggers behind Tony Snow.

    "What's up my brotha, eh?" Williams statement was very typical for the negroid culture, except the "eh" at the end. After playing in the Canadian Football League after being expelled from the NFL for testing positive for Marijuana the 17th time, Williams had picked up this strange verbal tick. It always made McNabb want to get up, rip Ricky's throat out, and then feed him his own throat.

    Unfortunately for Donavan, even if his knee wasn't a garbled mess of sports medicine hackery, he was in such a zone of crackery, all he could do was focus on Ricky's famously ridiculous dreadlocks...

  2. "Yo, man, you all right, eh?" Ricky's query went unanswered as Donovan just stared off into space. "Whatever eh. You mind if I burn one down?" Ricky brought out a huge blunt, enough for several lesser mammals.

    "Sure dawg, light us up" Donovan finally managed to mumble, thinking about how he'd have to smoke some more crack to offset the weed. Just then the phone rang.

    "Computer.Phone.Answer.Speaker." The computer willingly obliged, pumping the conversation out into the now hazy room.

    "This had better be good as I got some serious business to attend to" Donovan muttered.

    "Yo, what's up BigD, it's yo favorite cracker!" the caller enthusiastically cried out.

    "Oh man, is that you Limbaugh? Come on man, what you bothering me for, I just hooked you up like last week." Donovan replied.

    "I know man, but I'm hurting real bad here. I just need a little something to get me through the weekend." There was more than a little pleading in Rush's voice.

    "Man, don't you have like a nanny or pharmacist or something who takes care of this for you? Why you gotta keep calling me up?" Donovan paused momentarily to take a huge rip from Ricky's blunt. Nothing like a bit hit to take the edge off.

    "Come on, man. You know I got cut off from my oxy supply. Man, I'm begging you here, help a brotha out. You're not still mad at me, right? I mean, we blazed all that behind us, right?" Rush was starting to sound desparate. "Come on, what do you say? Can I come over. I'll bring the Natty Ice."

    "Ah man, you're not gonna let that fool come over, are ya? Man that's going to ruin my buzz, eh" Ricky muttered.

    "Hey, Ricky, is that you? What up! Come on, don't be hatin on me" Rush exclaimed.

    Ricky turned to McNabb.
    "If he's got the green, I've got the rock. Better bring over a couple of 40s too, Limbaugh."

    "All right dudes, I'll be over in 20."