#211 "A Prayer For Our Pigskin Showmen"
"Ouch," I utter occasionally when I see a football player take a bone-crushing hit. Every game that I watch at least a few players
leave the field injured, and often miss the rest of the season. The level of tragedy I project upon the event
depends on the type of injury, the importance of the player to the my team's success, and whether or not the man is one
of my heroes. If the quarterback for the opposing team goes down, my inner reactions go something like this:
1) The aforementioned "ouch."
2) Is he conscious?
3) Are his legs moving?
If he is conscious and intact spinally, the following thoughts arise:
1) This bodes well for my team.
2) I hope he's out of the game.
3) I could really use another coffee and another brick of chocolate.
I don't feel his pain. Except for burning the roof of my mouth while eating piping-hot pizza, watching football is painless. I don't feel the players' exhaustion, pulled hamstrings, nagging ACL tears,
or anguish for having to stay in the closet.
LA-LA-LANDIAN: What was that last thing?
THE CREATOR OF CRUSTED SALT: I speak of gay players.
LA-LA-LANDIAN: There are NO gay players in the NFL!
THE CREATOR OF CRUSTED SALT: Okay, and I meet the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny in a Motel 6 suite every Tuesday for illicit Scrabble and tickle play.
LA-LA-LANDIAN: Really? Is that like a furry thing?
THE CREATOR OF CRUSTED SALT: Just because the Easter Bunny has fur doesn't mean she partakes in the anthropomorphic or furry fandom.
LA-LA-LANDIAN: The Easter Bunny isn't a girl.
THE CREATOR OF CRUSTED SALT: Oh, she's a lady. Whoa, whoa, whoa, she's a lady. I'm talking about my—
LA-LA-LANDIAN: No, no, NO!
THE CREATOR OF CRUSTED SALT: What's wrong?
LA-LA-LANDIAN: Stop messing with our sacred institutions, dude.
THE CREATOR OF CRUSTED SALT: Sorry, didn't mean to mind poon you.
LA-LA-LANDIAN: Yes you did.
THE CREATOR OF CRUSTED SALT: Yeah, I did. Thanks for not punching me in the face—
(THE SOUND OF A SIREN BLARES FROM SPEAKERS THAT APPEAR MAGICALLY UPSTAGE. FLO, THE COMPOSITIONAL INTEGRITY OFFICER, ENTERS. THE SIREN SUBSIDES)
FLO: (HANDING ME A TICKET) This is for you, sir.
THE CREATOR OF CRUSTED SALT: What is this?
FLO: For your uncontrolled and unacknowledged digression.
THE CREATOR OF CRUSTED SALT: This ticket is like for ninety-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents. You couldn't round off? It's not
like I was buying the ticket and you had to manipulate my mind into thinking ninety-nine ninety-nine is a much better deal than a hundred.
FLO: It is a less harsh price. We only mean to correct behavior, not give you post-ticketed stress disorder.
THE CREATOR OF CRUSTED SALT: Is that really a possibility?
FLO: Oh, yes.
THE CREATOR OF CRUSTED SALT: Oh, my.
LA-LA-LANDIAN: Suffer, dude. Suffer.
I don't apologize for digressing, but I do half-heartedly for sexualizing the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. SPOILER ALERT! Although, since all Tooth Fairies
and Easter Bunnies are parents or guardians, and some of them are into tickle play and occasional sex in animal costumes, then these mythical characters could be considered
to be sexual beings. It must be noted that not all furries are furries for sexual reasons.
I don't think I told you about the time I swam smack-dab into the middle of
the first leg of an inaugural furry triathlon—I rescued at least two dozen of those waterlogged...
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Crusted Salt comics by Jimmy Brunelle