God is dead.

He was killed by the Easter Bunny and Lady Liberty, who in turn completed the metaphysical murder-suicide by drinking Drano laced with Donald Trump’s unicorn-tear hair tonic.

Be clear: I come not to bury Roger Goodell, nor to praise him. Nor even to piss in his morning civet-crapped Uber Coffee, no matter how much the idea appeals to me.

Indeed, fellow DFOers, I come not to celebrate nor vilify Tomtastic Brady or Ted “Holy Fuck A District Court Moved Faster Than I Did” Wells, the district court judge or the sketch artist or Dorito Dink or any of the other bit players in this absurdist melodrama.

Today, one ragingly narcissistic cockwallet has temporarily triumphed over an equally narcissistic cockwallet. (It should be noted that I wrote this sentence three days ago, because no matter which way the judge went, it would be true.)

This will have relatively little effect on the actual outcome of the season- Patriots gonna Patriot, right up until Mephistopheles comes to collect and the Josh McDaniels/Jimmy Garappolo era begins. Which will look something like this:

Whoops, that’s just a stock photo of the Inner Harbor

Some off-field effects may be a bit more noticeable. Most immediately, reports are already coming in from Massachusetts that emergency rooms are overwhelmed with Pats fans whose throbbing TAWWWWMMMY erections have lasted more than four hours.

Those aren’t their arms

We can also expect a significant change in seasonal weather extremes, as the force of the football “media” collectively backpedaling from their “He destroyed his cellphone! He must be guilty!” to “He’s a hero to players and a true leader!” causes a shift in the Earth’s axial tilt.

Surprisingly agile for a semi-animate bowl of goat shit.

And now every single disciplinary case is going to go to federal court, which is fucking spectacular for me and my dark fellowship of attorneykind

BRING OUT THE ORGYBOT 5000!

So, for my updated prediction: