Des: Welcome to the only
edition of the Chicago Bears football pregame show for 2019. The Bears face off
against the Denver Broncos, a team that has gone 22-1 at home in weeks 1 and 2
since 2000, but since none of those players are part of the Broncos now, that
stat is completely irrelevant.
Sally: Tim Tebow is still on
their roster.
Des: Again, completely
irrelevant. Will the Bears dominate the NFC North again and drive further down
the playoffs than the Cubs this year? Or will Mitchell Trubisky’s Zero
Dimensional Offense (trademark pending) force Matt Nagy to use five specialist
quarterbacks per game as the Bears manage to eke out victories against cities
that probably shouldn’t have NFL teams? (Ahem--- Los Angeles; cough—cough Washington
D.C.)
Des: To answer these, and similar questions, is our
panel of experts: Concord Wainwright Peabody. Captain Silas Charles “Micronaut”
Redbeard. Modre, the trans-Western Guru, Drunky McDumb-Ass and Dr. Sally
McChesty.
Redbeard: ARRRH, mateys! Like
the Kraken that only arises to destroy every land-lubbing civilization that
befouls the serene majesty of our vast merciless oceans, I awaken from my
decades-long slumber to give my annual Treasure Map to the Super Bowl and also
to predict the tragic outcome of the Bears season.
Once again, my Treasure Map to the Super Bowl be an exercise
in futility as the New Patriots will ultimately win this Super Bowl and every
Super Bowl until the last misbegotten member of the Trump family completes his
dark reign over the shattered remnants of America’s Empire as naught but the
puppet of Empress Jenna Bush, which those of us in the know totally saw coming.
Gazing upon the Edmund Fitzgerald-esque wreck that is the
AFC, I foresee the Patriots, Steelers, Colts, and Chargers dominating their divisions
in the sense that the Pats win 15 games and the other three teams somehow get
in with losing records, with the Chiefs and Texans sneaking into the playoffs like
a random Facebook comment by some racist you’ve never even met.
Meanwhile, in the NFC, I envision the Eagles, Vikings,
Falcons, and Seahawks conquering their division by winning more games than the
others, with the Saints and Bears conniving their way into the Wild Card Round
with the style and finesse of an extended warranty robocall.
And now for the outcome that is more predictable than every
political debate: the Patriots will defeat the Seahawks in a rematch of one of
at least ten Super Bowls in the previous decade.
Sally: Captain, what grim fate
do you foresee for the Bears?
Redbeard: I was too late to
predict their loss to the Packers, but I envision the Bears emerging victorious
over the Washington Team Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken, the Broncos, the
Chargers, the Lions twice, the Rams, the Giants, and, sadly, my beloved
Raiders. But they will fall to the Saints, the Eagles, the Cowboys, the Chiefs,
and the Packers and Vikings twice for an overall record of 8-8. That said, the
Bears will still get into the Wild Card round.
Sally: Thank you, Captain. And
now to reveal what’s not really a ret-con of Modre and dirty Beret del Mundo so
much as an acknowledgement of what everyone already knows: that they are
essentially the same charcter. So here is Modre/dirty Beret’s non-linear poetry
to finish things off.
Cold
Cold in your never majestic
catastro-phonic mansplanners
of overindulgent Lucifer-mystic laundromats of unwashed
money frauds of tomorrow’s debt to an already foreclosed yesterday
Your plan-nan-nan-net-net-net Earth
Your Planet Earth
will not survive the third and final conflagration
sparked by the dying embers of the last living loquacious
wounded warrior witness
whose living stories cannot be denied
but whose written digitized testimony
will be instantly, brutally digitized
into a series of ones and zeroes
which will not die the dignified death of
Orwell’s darkest memory hole
but will re-emerge, re-ordered into naught
but a chartreuse hue
coloring the caustic commentary of Kermit the tea sipping
frog
that is none of anyone’s business
Save that of numerous machine learning bots
slithering down the code changing corridors
of too much misinformation
running through my reptilian hind brain
like a bio-electric mushroom cloud
that cannot cope with the sensory overload of
a simple tangerine, let alone, please,
for now and for all unknown futures,
the random packers of information,
spooling and unspooling, pleading, cajoling us to
pick a card, any card, from the 20 worst childhood games
ever played,
shuffled into a 5000 card deck.
This mighty, unrandomized card deck
of pointless diversity,
sprinkled with demands from Monopoly, Uno, Risk, Candyland,
Careers, Payday, Bonkers, Mille Bornes, and lo, Pokemon, all mesh into the most
horrifying, eternal deck of Cards Against Humanity… yet, somehow, despite this
kaleidoscopic maw of color and fint size and imagery, every card reads:
“Go to Jail, Go Directly to Jail.”
Sally: Thank you, dirty Beret.
End transmission.
