Hey Stupid returns from Super Bowl XLII

Tuesday the 29th I was sitting in my office testing out my new hookah on some fine spiced tobacco and drinking a delcious bourbon when a phone call was patched through to me by our newest employee El Extraño. Apparently he hadn’t yet learned the rule that I don’t accept patched through calls, if any one truly has business speaking to me they know my direct number. Anyhow, rather than be rude I accepted the call. I shouldn’t have, it was my long time arch-rival Tom Brady.

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I should take a moment to explain why I have a rivalry with Mr. Brady, my opinion of the New England Patriots, their crybaby coaching staff and girlyman fans aside, Tom and I first met in the early 90’s when I was spending a summer visiting a relative in San Mateo, California. My aunt had a 91 Kawasaki KX125 that she let me ride around everywhere and Tom was apparently very jealous. I can’t prove it for certain, but one night he and his nogoodnik friends stole the back wheel off of it to try and ruin my fun. Ever since then there has been a lasting tension between us.

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Actually a dude!

Anyhow, Tom was calling to say that he was taking his team to the Super Bowl and he didn’t want anything to jinx a potential victory and a potentially perfect season, so he wanted to bury the hatchet between us. He offered to fly myself and the entire Hey Stupid staff out to Phoenix for the week and on Sunday we could observe the game from the Patriots’ owner’s box.

I decided to accept his offer as I haven’t been back to Phoenix since…well you don’t need to hear about that. Anyhow, I rallied the troops, Nick Fit, Stratt, Brom Bones, JaGe, El Extraño and Rufus. I informed them of the offer made to us and told them to get ready we would be leaving within an hour. As soon as everyone was ready Boddington brought the car around and we were off to the airport. When we arrived I told him not to worry about firing up the HS2 as we would be flying on the Patriot’s tab today.

We bored our flight and Nick, Brom and I quickly found ourselves drinking and discussing the upcoming event. Brom rambled on about god knows what for about an hour. He kept babbling about strange insider news and theories and statistics. Eventually he got himself so worked up about the whole thing that he pissed himself and passed out. Nick and I decided to draw on his face with a permanent marker. By the time we were done his face looked like a vagina with his nose being the clitoris.

We got to Phoenix and proceeded to our hotel rooms. Tom had his buddy Bob Kraft book us the entire club level at The Ritz-Carlton Phoenix. Its a nice place, JaGe, Stratt and myself stayed here before on our Birthday Road Trip but I didn’t have access to my humidor, my booze, or my underage Eastern European/Asian girls. As soon as I got unpacked I rung up the concierge service to procure a car for me so I could go out and get the items I needed.

By the time I got down to the lobby Brom and Stratt were already there. Apparently they were were taking some kind of city tour and then going to watch a Walker Texas Ranger marathon. Nick came down on the next elevator and asked what I was up to. I told him I was going to go look for some decent smokes and booze. After convincing him we would end the night at a titty bar he was appeased.

We walked outside to a waiting SLR McLaren Roadster, I mean sure, it wasn’t my West Coast Car but I had a feeling it would do just fine. We went screaming off into the sunset looking for adventure.

I’m not sure of exactly how it came about, but by 11:30 pm we were driving out to the desert to find a man known as “Goose” . What I do remember clearly is that about an hour before we were in town at a good liquor store buying some high-end Scotch when the man behind the counter asked, “So you boys got some money to spend on your booze huh?” We both agreed that we did have expensive tastes. He pulled a small airplane bottle out from behind the counter filled with a glowing orange liquid. He put a one shot in each of two glasses and handed them to us. We both slammed them back and almost instantly I could faintly hear the song “Lost in Love” by Air Supply and I saw waves of colors.

I walked out to the car and told Nick to find out where we could get more of this. The last thing I remember is turning on the stereo and cranking up Rage’s version of “Pistol Grip Pump”. I began having a vision that I was inside my own body driving around in a car from Bumper Cars needless to say it was a difficult time. Once I reached my own stomach in the little car I instantly threw up. It was then I realized that I had actually been driving the McLaren for the last hour and taking directions from Nick which led us out to the desert.

So there we were under the moon light by a cactus listening to Oxy Moron and waiting to meet our contact. At or around 11:55 pm there was a rustling we could here a few yards out. As we allowed our eyes to adjust we could see a man approaching on a donkey. He jumped down, looked us over for a moment and said gruffly, “You fools got da money?” If I couldn’t see that he was obviously very skinny and very white I would have thought he was Mr. T. This was not the same Goose I had met before.

Nick tossed him the cash, which for some strange reason he had stuffed into one of his socks. I think you may be misinterpreting my visual here so let me explain. It was that he folded the money neatly and placed it in his sock for safe keeping, he had removed his sock, shoved the money inside then drew a dollar sign on it so it looked like an old timey money bag.

The man tossed down a magnum bottle of the stuff and said “enjoy”. Just before he disappeared back into the cool desert night I yell, “what’s this stuff made from anyway”, “Horse piss and banana skins” he replied. With that we jumped back in the Benz and headed back to the hotel. The rest of that night and most of Wednesday are still relatively hazy so I will instead fill you in on what the rest of our crew was up to.

As you remember, I met Stratt and Brom in the lobby and they were on their way to see some city tour. As it turns out it was a duck boat tour. Now I know what you’re thinking, “why the fuck is there a duck boat in Phoenix”. Trust me, the details aren’t important, What is important is that Stratt and Brom didn’t think it odd enough to question and got on the boat.

Apparently the duck boat was cruising around the city for a good 20 minutes before either of them noticed there was no water to facilitate the need for a duck boat. It was the that the ever astute Brom, a.k.a. DB noticed the tour guide was a tranny dressed like an amalgamation of Steve Irwin and Richard Chamberlain in one of the Allan Quatermain flicks from the late 80’s. The really bothersome part for DB though was that the tranny sounded EXACTLY like Marv Albert.

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Another 15 – 18 minutes later Stratt had finally caught on that something was amiss, but by then…it was too late. The tranny guided duck boat was entering a secret cave door much like the Batmobile in Burton’s 1989 smash hit, only instead of Kim Basinger being in the seat next to him it was DB (who was wearing a long blond wig but we’ll get to that later). The door closed behind them and the tranny stood up and shouted “Sic semper tyrannis” and with no explanation punched DB right in the face. Stratt screamed like a little girl while kicking wildly at the mangirlbeast.

Stratt must have gotten in a lucky kick as the shemale went down hard. He used the opportunity to toss DB o’er his tiny shoulders in an attempt to rescue him. As they were approaching the exit of the cave they heard what they described only as a snarling.

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They looked back and to their horror they saw the tranny bearing down on them. Rather than run, DB stripped down to his red underwear and screamed, “TONIGHT, WE DINE IN HELL!!!” Stratt in what I can only imagine as being caught up in the moment tore off his shirt to reveal his Tully Blanchard shirt.

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The two stood firm, but when the tranny struck, heshe struck with the force of 1000 trains and our two heroes were taken down. A skirmish ensued, but it wasn’t really that fantastic. It was less like a fight and more like two nerds getting beaten up by a tranny. In the end Stratt and DB were tossed in a cage which was in turn raised over a like of fire deep under the city of Phoenix. We’ll get back to them as well.

JaGe awoke early on Wednesday morning to have a breakfast of grapefruit and Tostino’s Pizza Rolls. As he watched the sun come up he thought about what a beautiful it would be, a beautiful day for mouth-raping the shit out of strippers. After a 40 minute shower, as is his custom, the JaGe put on his totally not gay lime green Thom Browne shirt paired with chocolate corduroys and a pair of tan Sperry Top-Sider Cabo 2-Eye shoes. Totally not gay.

JaGe knew the others wouldn’t be up this early so he decided to pull on his Kangol (not gay) hat and head out for adventure. When he got to the lobby he found that Tom Brady was there sitting in a leather chair and reading the paper. The JaGe walked over to Tom to thank him for all his hospitality and the two began talking. Tom eventually asked the JaGe if he wanted to come down to the UofP stadium to see Tom Petty and the Heart Breakers rehearse. At first (not gay) he was cautious (not gay), but eventually (not gay) the JaGe (not gay) realized (not gay) he (not gay) just (not gay) couldn’t (not gay) resist (not gay) those (not gay) perfect (not gay) cheekbones (not gay) and rugged (not gay) face (not gay) scruff (not gay) and they were off (not gay).

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Not Gay *wink wink nudge nudge*

Shortly after TB and the JaGe left, Rufus was banging on El Extraño’s door demanding that he wake up. “Come on you wetback Jew, I am bored and I want to go get some beer. You know I don’t speak Spangrish and I need you to help me order muchas cervezas.” Once he heard El Extraño grunt in replay he pulled on his headphones and cranked up some Five For Fighting. Not that ANYONE would ever admit to listening to Five For Fighting. Seriously, that band’s garbage.

It was about noon when Rufus and El Extraño got on their way. Their first stop was at the Phoenician golf course. Neither one really knew anything about golf, they just figured that a golf course was s good a place as any to start drinking in Phoenix. Just as they broke over the hill to the third hole Rufus caught something in his peripheral vision. He nearly dropped his vermouth and rubbed his eyes when he saw…ALICE…COOPER.

Rufus ran over to Alice and fell to his knees screaming “Please Mr. Cooper, welcome me to your nightmare!!!” Alice reacted not only the way and celebrity would, but rather more like any human would that Rufus spoke to and pretended not to notice hoping he would just go away.

When Rufus returned to find El Extraño he quickly realized that he was nowhere to be found. Rufus ran to the top of the next knoll and far out on the horizon he saw the unmistakable silhouette of El Extraño being drug away by two men. Being washed over by sheer terror Rufus realized that he made the mistake of leaving a Mexican unattended by a white person on a private golf course. Surely El Extraño would be dead soon. Rufus ran after him to try and save him.

Meanwhile at UofP stadium, JaGe was sitting on the sidelines watching Tom Petty and the Heart Breakers warm up. Though he enjoyed the music he was a little upset that they didn’t get Phil Collins again, or maybe even the Weather Girls, “Ooooo or aPointer Sisters reunion”, he thought. Unbeknownst to him something wicked was afoot. As he sat there clapping along to “American Girl” he felt a sharp pain in his neck and suddenly everything went black.

When The JaGe came too he was in a cage suspended above a lake of fire. He looked to his right and saw cages containing Brom Bones and Stratt. “What the hell is going on” he asked. “We have no idea. We were mugged by a tranny on a duck boat tour” Brom told him. Suddenly to giant stone doors opened and a procession of about 60 people in long black robes entered the room beneath them at the edge of the lake of fire. Then a solitary figure in a dark red robe was brought in on a golden chair carried by four young men in loin cloths. The figure in the red robe stood and all the others pulled back their hoods and knelt. Their faces were painted in all manner of colors and patterns. The began to sing a strange chant that sounded like, “Oooo wa ah ah oooo gol tu-lok wa ah ah”. They did this while shaking back and forth for a good ten minutes until the figure in the red robe pulled back his hood to reveal he had the skull of some unfortunate animal over his face, blocking it from view.

The red robed figure pointed up at the three men in the cages, our heroes, and said a long chant. Though JaGe, nor Brom, nor Stratt could make out every thing he was saying, the last words he uttered were undeniably clear, “Kali Ma Shakti de“. If the Indiana Jones films were any sort of guide to everyday life on par with the bible and the Quran (which they totally are) this could only mean their hearts were going to be ripped from their chests and shown to them.

It was nearing 6:00 pm when Rufus finally made it back to the hotel. He immediately ran into my room and started screaming about El Extraño. He explained to me that they were at the golf course, he was hauled out by what looked from a distance like two security guards, but rather than just removing from the course and they shoved him into a limo. Rufus decided to hijack a scooter and tail them. When the limo stopped the two men got out, but know they were wearing long black robes. The pulled out El Extraño and walked up to solid rock wall. The next thing he knew the wall “opened” and the men walked in. He told me that he ran over to the wall but he had no luck opening it and came straight back here.

I put out the call for the action squad to assemble, but the only person who showed up was Nick Fit. It was only 6:30 on a Wednesday night, where the hell could everyone else have been. We began formulating a plan to rescue El Extraño when we suddenly started to have the realization, what if it were a set up. What if The Jage, Brom Bones and Stratt were all imprisoned by these same cloaked men as well. “BRADY!!!” I shouted to the heavens, “If your war is with me why not strike me?!?!?!”

The three of us ran down to the lobby. I was going to signal for a car when I realized that Brady would probably have the ability to track any vehicle we were given by the hotel and know our every move. My mind was racing, there were no cars parked anywhere close and public transit would take to long. Traffic was moving pretty good so there was no stepping out in front of it to get someone to give us their car, what the hell could I do. Then it hit me like a bolt from the blue. I ran back inside to the hotel bar and bought a bottle of beer.

I ran back outside and tossed the bottle into the back of a passing truck. Like a possessed madman Nick jumped into oncoming traffic and ran after the truck like he was a T-1000 and the beer was John Connor. We heard the screeching of breaks and traffic began to slow. Rufus and I ran over to the truck, pulled the driver out and we all sped off to find our captured comrades.

Rufus was able to guide us back to the wall he saw the men enter and we slowly got out of the truck. As we approached the wall we had no idea how we were going to open it, or what the hell we were going to do once we got inside. As we were standing there formulating a plan we heard a twig snap in the bushes. We all got into a prone position, but it was too late. The whole thing was an ambush. We were surrounded by 50 men in long black robes and on in a long red robe. As the three of us closed in back to back to try and fight our assailants off we were ensnared in a large net. The “leader” walked over and looked into each of our eyes as we struggled to get out of the net. Finally he flattened his right hand a blew a cloud of dust at us. Within moments we were all out cold.

The torture went on for what seemed like an eternity. They didn’t even ask us any questions. I could hear the constant screams of the rest of the Hey Stupid team but there was nothing I could do and that was perhaps the worst torture of all. We were beaten, broken, poked, prodded, stretched, electrocuted, waterboarded, sleep deprived, sensory deprived and forced to listen to “Big Willie Style” on repeat for hours. Alright, I guess that was the worst form of torture.

It seemed as though days had gone by. When we weren’t being tortured we were kept in our cages above the fiery lake. We had lost all hope of escape. Suddenly there was the sounding of an alarm. People we screaming, the sound of steel weapons clanking was echoing through the great underground chamber. Within moments the cloaked figures filled the area next to the lake. Just then sunlight began to shine in from the other side of the room. My eyes had become so acclimated to the darkness that I couldn’t make out what I was looking at. The image slowly came into focus, it was a man on a white stallion swinging a flaming (hint) sword.

He had no mercy as he slaughtered the cloaked followers of the man in red. Three dead, five dead, nine dead, eleven dead, soon all but five or six were laying on the ground lifeless and motionless. The man in red called his last followers back and told them to lay down their arms as they were defeated. It was then I could see the man’s face. It was none other than Tom Brady!!! We were being rescued by Tom Brady, but why? Who then was our captor/ Could it for some reason been Eli Manning, or perhaps his brother Peyton still angry about the time I referred to him as, “kind of like the Jolly Green Giant but white and gay and semi retarded”?

The man in red knelt before Tom and removed his hood. Then he took off his skull mask. It was none other than…

…Randy Moss!!!

That’s right, when Mr. Red Robe removed his skull mask he was revealed to be none other than New England Patriot and Brady team mate Randy Moss. Tom made Randy lower us to safety and free us from our cages. Tom smack Randy in the face and sternly pointed at him while saying “That’s a bad Randy. Now you only get to do your weird ass chiken taunt 98 times during the game instead of 100”.

After Tom led us out of the cavern he explained that it was now Sunday and only two hours until kick off time. Tom signaled for a lift and within seconds there was a helicopter with a patriots paint scheme landing not ten yards from us. On thechopper ride to the UofP stadium Tom explained that he came to pick us up for the game when the hotel desk clerk explained that none of us had returned to our room since late Wednesday night. He said it was then he realized that Randy had mentioned earlier in the week that he was worried that having us all at the game would make for bad karma and that the Patriots would surely lose the Super Bowl if we were in attendance.

He quickly put two and two together and knew he had to rescue us from the grasp of the cult of Randy. We touched down in the stadium parking lot and made our way to the owners box. We greeted by Patriots owner Robert Kraft, his son Johnathon andone very special guest. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There in front of us was the man, the myth, the legend, the undefeated, undisputed Battle of the Balls winner Snake Pliskin a.ka. Jack Burton a.k.a. Kurt Russell and his daughter Kate.

I was speechless. He feigned a smile then rolled his eyes and whispered something to his daughter but before I could lean in to eavesdrop the coin was in the air.

As the game, neigh BATTLE raged on on the grid iron below I was trying to muster up the strength to actually speak to good ole’ “Gabe” Cash. “Mr. Russell”, I finally said, “It is an honor to be here with you today”. I had a big dopey smile on my face as he turned around to address me. “Listen you weird little shit, if you open your mouth to me or my daughter during this game even one more time I am going to break your scrawny neck. I don’t care about your rediculous website, I don’t care if I win every single one of your nonsensical tournaments and I sure as shit don’t care how many of your staff members dressed as me for Halloween. You got me?” All I was able to make out was him saying, “Please, let’s be BFFs for life”.

I sat there grasping at my vocabulary trying to find something to say, “Mr. Russell, I would be honored to be your BFF. You are my hero. When you were able to pull off the demanding schedule of portraying Stunt Man Mike AND win the Battle of the Balls for the fourth time in a row, I knew without question you were a true hero”. He looked at me in a state of what I can only describe as disgust and said, “Fuck off”.

Now a lot of people will ramble on and on about the game itself, but the truth is, unless you live under a rock you watched it for yourself.

We continue our story just before half time. The JaGe, Stratt, Rufus and El Extraño were all on their way to go watch Tom Petty perform from the front row. Nick was passed out in the corner of the box with his pants around his ankles and his dick in a squeak toy. Apparently in the time we had been there he had consumed no fewer than 63 Heinekens. Kurt was on the phone with his agent. I heard him saying “You’re fired, you’re fucking fired. I don’t care. No you shit he’s not just here at the game that fucking freak is in the box with me. Yeah. Well, I hope your fucking family dies.” I could only assume he was talking about having to sit with John Kraft, I am sure we all felt that way.

I decided to strike up a conversation with his daughter Kate. “So, what’s it like having “Captain Ron” as a father?”, she sat stone silent. I decided to try again, “Man, it must be cool to know your dad inspires an entire generation, and I mean, I guess you’re o.k. too. I wouldn’t mind slathering your boobies.” Again, nothing. She sat in silence. It was then I realized that she must be deaf. Now I felt bad for making fun of her shitty performances in, well, everything she’s ever been in. Think of the adversity she had to over come. Being deaf and yet delivering her line with out sounding like she was trying to swallow a whole potato while speaking the way most people do.

“Hey, fuck shit. I warned you about talking to Kate. Now I am going to stomp in your fucking skull”. I looked over and saw Kurt in all his glory with his hair just a flowin. I saw the crazy in his eyes and I knew he wasn’t kidding. His agent and having to sit with John Kraft must have enraged him so much that he snapped and thought I was Cuervo Jones. He began running at me and I took that as my queue to get the hell out of dodge.

As I ran for my life toward the concession stand I realized that maybe, JUST MAYBE, Goldie had finally gotten Kurt to snap and he truly wanted to fight me. Either way, I had to hide in a trash can until the end of the game. As the game ended I was able to make my escape. I saw that the Giants ended up winning which made me all warm and fuzzy inside. So what if Tom Brady rescued me on a stallion, he is still a dick. Fuck that guy.

You probably want more to this story, but I am tired of writing it.

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