Yeah, sure I said it. But leave it to Iowahawk to get all CSI on me and uncover my true meaning. Of course I was talking about all the joyous pageantry that goes along with that first fall chill that makes men cry out to no particular person "Man! this weather makes me want to put the pads on!"
Iowahawk knows that I was talking about grown men dressing up as corn cobs or other foods loaded with anti-oxidants and holding up big sound cones to their mouth and shouting "Go Redhawks - formerly Redskins! Go!"
I am - as you may or may not know - or care - a former collegiate gridironist and therefore I possess, nay am indoctrinated with, nay on the nay, am incarnate moral authority on the subject.
What I want to say is:
Let's get back to the real meaning of the word "Gay" with all its hidden pigskin usefulness. People, when you hear or think the word "Gay" please stop thinking of corn-holing or a couple of bearded guys trying to break the slobber meter on a passionate french kiss.
Let's retun to days past when a man's man would walk away from a tailgate party and exclaim, "Man! That was so gay! Can't wait for next week's gay tailgate party!"
Don't fight the thought - as your smushing your huge ass between the armrests of your primo stadium seat: "The atmosphere for this long awaited rivarly contest is totally gay."
Hold your head up proudly as you engage the concessionaire: "I'm feeling especially gay this Saturday afternoon. Put your biggest sausage between some fresh buns, my good man, and be nimble about it."
That's all I have to say.
Oh and Robert F. Kennedy Jr. is a fucking nut-job emeritus. Holy shit! What a fucking whacko-deuche-bag! (My apologies to the many fine American vaginal hygiene product companies)
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