Well, we’ve been away for a while, Claude and I, going our separate ways. We thought our work here was done: Super Bowl won, bad jokes and puns fully disseminated, Steve Gleason glorified, obscure cultural references dispensed, Bountygate fought….we did it all. And like Cincinnatus after a battle well coursed and won, we retired to farm and plow.
After the disaster that ended last year, we knew there was a need, yet thought it best to let the new leaders man the helm.
But after the last two weeks, and especially tonight, it’s clear to all that The Evil has returned, and that’s when we’re at our best, so despite the age, rust, and comfort….we know we’re needed now more than ever, so we’re back.
This is the Saints 2019 “Kill ‘Em All, Let God Sort ‘Em Out” Campaign (Claude actually came up with this, since it is initially of French origin, although made famous again somewhat more recently by U.S. Special Forces), and we have to lead it. Claude will bring a lot of the numbers, and I will bring the pain.
This team is not done, Brees open diagnosis notwithstanding, and neither are we.
So we got beat again by a combo of the Rams, the officials, and Rams owner Stan Kroenke, whose fist is so far up Roger Goodell’s ass that I’m not sure if he’s Tommy Smith or John Carlos. But so the fuck what. If you have nothing else as a Saints fan right now, you have anger, you have history, you have spite, you have Sean Payton, you have Loomis, you have Mrs. B, and you have Claude Coupee and The GOAT.
It’s late now, and we need to organized first, but Claude and I will be back tomorrow and in the following days.
We make the rules, pal [tm — moosedenied].
Kill ’em all, let God sort ’em out.