It was the day before Christmas and snow was falling on the small town of Shanksville on the Sun. All the citizens of Shanksville were filled with holiday joy and Christmas spirit. All except one. Poor Melido Perez the Lobster was not a happy lobster at all. Melido Perez the Lobster did not want to be on the Sun, he wanted to be swimming in the vast oceans of Earth with his family and lobster friends where it is cool and everything is not on fire. Of course he knew that this was not possible, because someone had to run the shoe store. If he did not run the shoe store, then where would the citizens of Shanksville get their shoes? They would not, and their feet would burn. And so it was solemnly that Melido Perez the Lobster closed his shoe store and walked home that Christmas Eve. He was looking forward to seeing his only friend when he got home, a plant named Boris. Melido Perez the Lobster liked Boris and often Boris was the only reason he wanted to go home at all after a long day of selling shoes. He worried that he would never amount to anything and would spend the rest of his life and eventually die in his tiny shoe store. It was not a very profitable shoe store because he spent much of his time crying and eating soup and crying into his soup when he should have been helping customers and making them pay for shoes.
When he arrived home, Melido Perez the Lobster received a great and terrible shock. Boris would not kiss him under the mistletoe. Boris would not kiss him mostly because Boris was a plant and plants cannot kiss lobsters, but also because Boris was dead. Melido Perez the Lobster was heartbroken. He ran out into the street and into the forest. "I cannot take this any longer!" he shouted at a tree. "Tree! I am going to jump down a well! Don't try and stop me!" The tree did not try and stop him.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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