By The Chief
March 3, 2019:
Dearest diary,
Upon review of attempts to reconcile with my employer, it has become clear that our relationship shall not continue. Our noble cause of athletic prowess can no longer outweigh the clear separation of our opposing sensibilities. Nonetheless, my life exists in service of a greater purpose. I play to fuel my fire, the reason I believe myself to exist on this planet. I have dedicated my soul to the poo. I just adore it. Of course you know of this diary, but I will give my nightly explanation of the adoration I feel for poo. It is the light of my life. If a star came down and presented itself to me as a gift from the gods and lit my life up like the afternoon, it would still pale in comparison to poo. I honestly believe that I cannot display my admiration through nearly the written word. I adore the process of its creation, expulsion and mostly the enigmatic feeling of its face on mine. It is as if the morning’s own lips see me and deliver a loving and tender kiss of recycled nourishment.
Upon this knowledge is where I ask my question. I have recently been called upon by another team, in a place I do not know but know of. The city I speak of is Cleveland, home of the Browns; the mascot of poo. Is it destiny? Perhaps I shall look for a sign from the universe. Or perhaps this itself is the sign. A team named for poo has contacted poo’s greatest supporter. Imagine the increase in poo intake that I would see in Cleveland. I hear the stadium is filled to the brim. The browns have so much poo that they have failed to make the postseason each year for the last 16. I know what I must do. Diary, the next time I speak to you, I will be a member of the greatest poo franchise in history.
-Turds and Touchdowns,
Your ever faithful servant, Odell