Hi, I'm Tom Brady. You may remember me from giving your asshole acquaintances from Boston an undeserved sense of accomplishment for the last 18 years. People ask me, "How could you, a man generally considered bright enough to tie his own shoelaces without drooling on himself overmuch, decide that it was
The team at DFO is committed to brightening the world with insights, observations, and dick jokes. This mailbag feature is just one more way in which we extend our mission beyond football to the rest of life’s broad and multi-chromatic palette. Fantasy football questions still welcome but by no means required. If you
[EXT. - NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS TRAINING CAMP.] [The sun is shining over Gillette Stadium. No clouds are in the sky, and the stadium is beautiful.] [CUT to INT. - A dark, candlelit dungeon. A tall, hooded figure sits alone at a rough-hewn wooden table, with stacks of ancient, leather-bound volumes piled high.
[INT. - A dark, candlelit dungeon appears slowly in the dim light. A hooded figure sits alone at a rough-hewn wooden table, with stacks of ancient, leather-bound volumes piled high. All of a sudden, a frantic knock is heard through a heavy, wooden door.] SMALLER HOODED FIGURE: My Lord, I’ve found it!
So last Friday the Dreamboat stopped by and threatened (promised? thromised?) to seduce every woman you ever had the slightest feeling of warmth towards. What follows is the soundtrack to his intended debauchery, and the twisted trail of emotional wreckage he intends to leave behind. There wasn't much sports action over
A phone rings in a spacious, luxurious apartment in Trump Tower. A large, dead caterpillar perched atop a molding orange answers.