Opinion: Hey, My Girlfriend And I Saw You From Across The Bar And We Thought You Could Play Quarterback For The Browns

Hey, sailor. That’s a sharp Colt McCoy jersey you’ve got on there. At the risk of sounding too forward, I see you have two arms. And, wow, they’re attached to your torso. Both of them! Ay, chihuahua, you even have all your fingers. My girlfriend and I noticed your adequate human physique from across the bar, and we think you’ve got more than what it takes to play quarterback for the Cleveland Browns.

Don’t play ball? Don’t worry about it. We just need someone with all their body parts. Not to put too much pressure on you, but you’d be one of the first. You’d be a trailblazer, like Jackie Robinson and Bernie Kosar rolled into one. All that’s asked is that you’re willing to spend lots of time in the sack.

You won’t ever feel tied down because the Cleveland quarterback room is a polycule. This is a numbers game based purely on the fact that you’re breathing—no emotional connection or football IQ is required. Honestly, the team will hardly notice you’re there. Especially the o-line. But, between us, DeShaun Watson swears it’s better without protection.

What’s that? You don’t have a history of daddy issues, rampant substance abuse, or sexual aggression? Wow, that makes you the first. The team is gonna save so much money by not having to fit every skeleton in your closet for a uniform. They’ll probably fully guarantee your contract. Not that any of that matters. Nobody who willingly locks themselves in the Dawg Pound gives a shit about morals. All they want is the bone.

The fans expect you to lose, which makes this a win-win proposition. You can just fuck around and spend Sunday afternoon on your back. If you do manage to get a win, you’ll be the GOAT. Either way, you’re a shoo-in for the Browns Ring of Honor.