Friday, December 28, 2007

You told me I'm the only one; sweet little angel you should have run

By Agatha Moonfry
Staff Writer


The NFL Playoffs are drawing near, my serpents, leaving only a handful of teams to please me with their defensive schemes and heartthrob quarterbacks. Truly, the best quarterbacks in the league are akin to a good lead vocalist -- mysterious, talented, and always -- whether on the stage or in the bunking area of the tour bus, pressed tightly to the sinister curves of Agatha Moonfry -- in control.

I have seen and slept with numerous lead vocalists in my time, some scintillating and smoldering (Richard Patrick, Filter), and some so boring (Scott Stapp, Creed) that I had no choice but to inject them with diazepam so I could escape before being politely asked for coffee the next morning.

Several of football's quarterbacks remind me of rock stars past and present.

Tom Brady, Patriots (Chris Cornell). With penetrating eyes that leave me requiring further penetration, Cornell's looks are only matched by his talent, as the powerful siren at the front of Soundgarden. Despite Brady's tailored suits and empty supermodels, the man's ability is unquestioned. Cornell did, however, commit one of rock and roll's grandest errors when he took the reins of Audioslave. I can see a similar fall from grace in Brady's future.

Ben Roethlisberger, Steelers (Layne Staley). Shaggy, reclusive, riddled with drug problems, and genius -- the Alice In Chains lead singer was all of these things before his tragic passing. Roethlisberger has demonstrated a similar rugged style and also a similar inattentiveness to his own well-being. God that makes me hot.

Tony Romo, Cowboys (Freddy Mercury). Even the straightest of men must feel disarmed by Romo's smile, similar to the way Queen's lead singer lit up the stage with his beaming whites throughout the 1980s. Like Mercury, Romo is talented, commanding, and most certainly a homosexual.

Brett Favre, Packers (Ronnie Van Zant). Even I have a longing for Southern charm once in a while, and the defiant, classic rock of Brett Favre reminds me of a climax I shared with a middle-aged man at a Texas restaurant while "Sweet Home Alabama" played over the speaker system. Unconventional, but oh my God, so effective.

Peyton Manning, Colts (Rivers Cuomo). The nerdy brilliance of Cuomo as Weezer's frontman has been well-documented, though I was highly disappointed when he rejected my advances during a tour on the Blue Album, forcing me to climb through his bus window and threaten his drummer. Manning attends to every detail, which even the darkest of souls can appreciate.

Philip Rivers, Chargers (Pete Wentz). Whiny little bitches who will someday get their asses kicked (by me, most likely), the Fallout Boy mastermind and San Diego quarterback have a lot to learn. But if Philip is ready for his education, I'll put on my teacher's skirt. Bring an apple, Phil.

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