The DEFEND Cleveland Show

Pregame Belief—Exile then Hallelujah—Utah, Kansas, Whatever

joseph smith

 

I felt the surge then the surge sucked from me; whose idea? whose idea was it! I was set up with the idea that maybe we could win this week and not just from some such scum windsucking horse from 850 or 92.3 but through me and then through two drives in the soaked bar with wet feet and shoes the elastic elation eruptions of social celebratory screams of any potential successes (maybe a Gordon Lean here, a Turner Try here, the chance to gain here) everything with a spark worth screaming about because hell no one was screaming about anything us lidded boiling bogs, threeandout threeandout threeandout then what with all that worrying I came under to find a good (nay!) to find a hallelujah burner of a game summoned from the ashes of the daunting task of watching—who knew betwixt that barrage the first slow minutes that Campbell would with a hemp wick so pure and clean burn spirals in the night, the lighthouse within the sweltry fog.

Theres nothing special about it it was easy because Alex Smith sucks vampirically he is everything Utah could muster and he is nothing. I once wrote a Poem on Utah and the rapport of Joseph Smith and who comes along to claim an air heir hair of grievance but his long lost Alex, O long lost Alex how Joseph has pined for you from his mountain scripture grave and butte beams of wisdom and inserting Alex Smith where ever Latter Day Saint is writ then hence as follows: Alex Smith was a U S of A Government nationally recognized racist organization well into the 1970s—harangue Romney with him, and were my Poem not shit he would still be around here with his arms outstretched over the bannister in my living room leaning down with his own anointed doctrine and I would show you how pretty he was.

I refuse to give credit where not credit is due Alex Smith (here in place of THE CHIEFS as whole or still Latter Day Saints if you like) so something so wrong so aboriginal in their unlikeliness, Alex Smith the fraud, the point being; I made it with my unwarranted expectations and so I drink too much but still—lets watch the Campbell show let us drink his soup though how literal of us and even lamenting the loss of the surprise horror that is the Weeden Game, just sit chapped hands under thighs with me and let us watch the rest of our benighted season singing Kumbayas into the woeful Cleveland Night. Then in the dark with the Sunday Night Game glowing in the back pondering how even a Weeden is not a Ponder, thank god over yonder.

 

-Jon Conley

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Posted by on Oct 27 2013. Filed under Featured, Show Reports. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry

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