And here we are. The motherfucking HarBOWL. Fucking gag me already. Any human rooting for the Ravens in this situation can get their dick ripped out at the root. The vision of Ray Lewis hoisting another Super Bowl trophy over his head is enough to make me want to dig out my eyeballs with a melon baller. Lucky for all of you I happen to have a cousin that works for the Ravens organization. He is a terrible, terrible human who happens to work closely beside John Harbaugh. I'm pretty sure he has punted babies into lava pools at some point in his life. After the Ravens had beat the Patriots on Sunday I received the following email from him. Which is weird because we never talk to the point where you would think he doesn't even exist. Enjoy.
/John Harbaugh runs to midfield as the game expires.
John: Nice game, dick lover! How did you like us ass fucking your shit stabbing QB all fucking night? You probably loved it since you're gay as fuck! Tell that cock jockey Brady to stick to what he knows best. Lotion, scented lubes, anal toys and beating off to pictures of ejaculating dicks!!
Bill Belichick: Uhhhh. Okay. How about a lesson in humility?
John: /in a mocking tone Uhhhh. Okay. How about you go the fuck home and suck your wife's black dick? Move along, loser. Back to the locker room so you can SpyGate naked pecker. WOOOO! FUCK YOURSELF!!
Moments later...As the Baltimore Ravens board the plane John Harbaugh's cell phone rings.
John: This better be sexy pussy or the President calling this phone or your fuckin ass is getting hung up on.
A muffled mystery voice on the other line
Mystery Voice: Cock sucker says what....
MV: /snickering Cock sucker says what...
John: WHAT??? SPEAK UP, FUCK FACE!!
Jim: AHHHHHHHH!!! COCK SUCKER!!! I TOTALLY FUCKING GOT YOU!!!
John: Well if it isn't little fuckin brother...
Pilot: Sir, you're going to have to power down your phone.
John: Hold on...Yeah, I'm not doing that. You obviously don't know who the fuck you're talking to.
Pilot: No...I'm well aware who I'm talking to and in order for us to take off safely I'm going to need you to kindly...
John: Drink my diarrhea. Not happening, shit lips. /back on the phone. Okay...where were we? Oh yes! I was just getting ready to remind you to bring your abortion bucket to New Orleans on February 3rd. It's gonna be messier than the time we killed that hooker in your bathtub back in '94.
Jim: FUCKIN PLEASE!! Like I'm afraid of a sour clam who can't even control the actions of his own team! When that half retarded ape linebacker of yours isn't bawling like a rape victim, hes wearing a t shirt of a homosexual dead man while he dry humps an unsuspecting victim from behind. Not very threatening, Johnathan.
John: Don't fucking call me that! And Art Modell was not fucking gay! HE WAS A SAINT!!
Jim: Then explain the late nights at the Model home and why the crotch of all of your underwear used to smell like skid marks and bourbon.
John: /blushing. That never happened. Wait...how did you know my underwear smelled like bourbon?
Jim: Uhhh, what? Lucky guess! Nevermind. So here's a question for you. When you shave your wife's chest hair...do you donate it to charity or glue it to your pelvis to make your pussy extra bushy?
John: HILARIOUS!! Enough of the child's play you greasy twat. Can you fuckin believe this shit?! We both made it to the Super Bowl. I mean...I knew I would be here since mom and dad like me more and I have the more superior brain. But you're kind of a surprise to make it this far since you couldn't coach your way out of a gorilla's asshole.
Jim: Yeah...the only thing that sucks about this game is that it's in New Orleans. The stench of dead, black, criminals still rot the streets. I was there two weeks ago giving this skank the Stiff Jimmy in a run down hostel. When I was done clapping those cheeks, I opened the window since the smell of her moldy beav was making the paint chip. Had to get some fresh air, ya know? Welcoming in the New Orleans air actually made it worse!! It's really off putting and furthers my point that blacks should not be allowed by cities in close proximity to water.
John: I heard they're like Gremlins...you can't get them wet or they start looting and raping white girls. *gasp* I bet that's why your darkie Crabtree forced his warty dick into that sweet, innocent, vanilla snatch!
Jim: Nahhhhhh. It's because he doesn't respect women. But I'm okay with that because no one should. Women are lower on the totem pole than garbage men and plumbers. And I throw balloons filled with my own piss at my garbage man every week if that tells you anything.
John: What about your plumber?
Jim: I just drop a juicy turd fillet in the crapper and leave it to marinate for a few days when I know he's coming. Just to really drive it home that I fucking hate his guts and know I'm better than him and always will be. Enough of people I don't give a fuck about. So let's talk strategy. How do you plan on stopping my brilliant zone read plays? I mean...those plays even work when that dumb coon Gore goes the wrong way on the read fake! He's so fucking dumb! HAHAHAHAHAHA!
John: Easy. I'll just have my linebackers hold up signs that say "Kaepernick's parents loved drugs more than keeping custody". And others that read "Adopted kids are fetuses parents couldn't afford to abort." As a secondary strategy I've actually found Kaepernick's birth mother and convinced her to throw interference by trying to reconnect. It didn't take much...just a dirty heroin needle I lifted off Garrett Reid's body before he was buried and box of Timbits I wrestled off of a homeless guy. Only have of them were soaked in his piss. She didn't seem to care. Better question for you. Now that Joe Flacco is an ELITE quarterback, how do you plan to thwart our top flight passing attack?
Jim: Ha! Simple. First I plan on grabbing Torrey Smith by his dirty fucking dreads before the game and telling him that his brother deserved to die and I'm happy one less criminal is off the streets. Next, I will show Flacco a picture of naked tits. By my calculations it'll take about 14 seconds before his brain explodes assuming his balls don't rupture first. That should just about do it.
John: Solid plan. Almost as good as mine. I've had enough talking because I really don't like you that much. I'm hanging up the phone now so I....
John's phone buzzes with a picture message from Jim. It's him jerking off.
John: That little pecker hung up on me!
Pilot: GOOD! Can we please take off now?!
John: One second. I need to go to the bathroom for about 4 minutes then we'll be good.
That's where the email ended and I can only imagine where it went from there. According to my piece of shit cousin, the HarBRAHs are close friends with Chip Kelly. My only hope is that sometime in the future we can get them in the same room together and really take in the atmosphere. That's it for me. Enjoy your time with the HarBRAHs courtesy of my fake...err...my cousin who works for the Ravens.