"Peyton, seriously, shut the fuck up."
"See? Headphones. I'm not listening, so shut the fuck up. And you can pout all you want, because I'm not looking, either. No, I didn't look. I know you're pouting because you always fucking pout. Stop it. Stop it and go away."
"Yeah, I hear you. I been hearing you. And I'm tired of hearing you. Just shut the fuck up, will you? I'm tired of your whining. I'm tired of your stinking breath in my face. Just shut up, will you please?"
"I'm not listening, Peyton. See? Headphones. Just move along now."
"Didn't I already tell you to just shut the fuck up? Why don't you take off that helmet so I can punch you in your enormous fucking forehead. C'mon, take it off. It's not like it matters. I'll be back driving a beer truck in a couple weeks anyway. Fuck you. And pull Sorgi's nose out of your ass while you're at it."
"Fine. Fuck all you guys. Who are all you, anyway? I mean, Jim Caldwell? Curtis Painter? Who are you kidding? I'm Peyton Manning, and I spell my name M - V - fucking P. I don't need any of you."
"Fuck all those guys, anyway. Who needs 'em? At least you got my back, Eli."
"I will kill you in your sleep, Peyton."
"I will kill you in your sleep, Peyton."
3 comments:
Bwaaaaahahaha! "M-V-fucking-P" indeed.
Wait - do you see what I see? In the second to last photo - is Veronica nearby? Because I think I see the image of Jesus on that towel.
This guy hates life. Just look at him - always in pain. He never experiences joy. He is wrapped way too tight. When things go wrong, he's in agony. When things go right, he's waiting for something to go wrong. Did you see him hoist the AFC championship trophy? No joy. Someday he's going to blow up.
So stop picking on him.
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