Brett Favre announced his retirement from the NFL today, and I’m sure that this one’s for keeps. I’ve put all of five minutes into thinking about it, and I’ve come to the conclusion that Brett just needed the equivalent of strange pussy to finally close the books.

Stick with me gentleman, as I take you on a stroll down memory lane. Back to the days where your biggest concern was nickel beer night and crushing pussy.

In Junior High, you met a girl. It was puppy love, you swapped some spit, touch some boobies, and before you knew it you were moving on.

Yes, you moved on to what would be your High School sweetheart. The one that you thought would last for ever. Her family loved you, you never fought, and she took your virginity. She took your virginity!

One day, out of nowhere, she caught you off guard with the old “it’s not you , it’s me” routine. It was over. She had already moved on. At first you want to be friends and you figured you’d go off quietly into the sunset, but then you went graveling back. All you wanted was one more chance, one more chance to show her it was a mistake.

She made the mistake of letting you back into her life, and almost like it was scripted it didn’t work out. She wanted you out of her life for good. Again, you pretended you’d go quietly, but you wouldn’t have it any other way than to be with her.

That was until local law enforcement got involved. Police Chief Goodell knocked on your door and delivered a restraining order telling you to stay away from her. You vowed to get vengeance by banging her bitter rival Vicky, but Vicky wouldn’t even touch you after all the trouble you had caused.

So as the Fall approached, you left for college. You left with a heavy heart, hoping that every time the phone rang, it would be her asking you to come back. But she never called and had moved on to a younger, more athletic guy.

For weeks, you sat in your dorm room depressed. Sick of your pissing and moaning, your roommates dragged you out to Lucky’s Saloon & Game Emporium. You put on a display that night. You did shots, you hit the dance floor and grinded with fat chicks, you sang karaoke, and you woke up the next morning with the town whore.

That morning, you realized that you were never in love with your high school sweetheart. It was purely physical, and nothing else. And as you lay in bed wondering if your roommate’s cat had shit in your mouth while you were sleeping, you realized that all it took was some strange pussy to let you move on.

Brett, if your reading this, I hope you enjoyed the strange pussy. While it might have helped you move on from Green Bay, I’ll always remember you as the guy that banged that fat chick from New York.