THAT’S YOUR BRO-PINION! Fantasy Football Leagues are “Not At All Like Beauty Pageants” Insist Bros

Contestants perform before the judges in tight clothing, showing off their bodies. They do everything they can to catch a judge’s eye and impress. The competition is intense because of all the money on the line. There are coaches for every aspect the contestants need. There’s physical training, mental training, media training, even social media training.

A horde of men, many rich and creepy, observe the human stock. Who among the preening prancing parade would make the best investment?

Selected lucky contestants know it’s a life-changing event. Their family rushes to them. There’s a lot of hugging and crying.

“And that’s why the NFL draft and fantasy leagues are like beauty pageants,” concluded feisty pre-teen, Britney Connors. She put her hands on her hips and tilted her chin for maximum sass, modeling her stance on the wise-cracking younger sister characters required to appear in every comedy show or movie in the entire universe.

“Shut up,” snapped her older brother, Tyler Connors. “Fantasy Football and the NFL draft are nothing at all like a beauty pageant.”

“You got all these hopeful contestants who will do anything to be chosen. They show off their bodies for the public. People rate them on how they look and how they perform. Sounds like a beauty pageant to me!”

“Bro, get your little sister out of here,” said Tyler’s friend, Scott. “She’s messing up the whole draft.”

“Yeah man,” echoed Aiden, their fellow fantasy football league team manager, “I can’t concentrate.”

“Get out, Britney,” Tyler told his sister. “Git!”

“No. I want to hang out down here.”

“I said get out!” Tyler screamed. Britney burst into tears and ran up the basement stairs, slamming the door behind her. Tyler was about to restart the drafting process when his mother called from above.

“Tyler!”

“What, mom?” Tyler whined, exasperated.

“Your sister is crying. Can’t you let her play with you? She said something about a beauty pageant.”

“It’s not a beauty pageant, mom! It’s a fantasy football league. And no! She can’t.”

Tyler’s mom stomped away.

“Bro, your little sister is annoying,” said Mike.

“No kidding,” said Tyler.

The draft could now continue. Tyler read the description for the next player available for bidding.

“Look at this stud. LaDean Trevell. Ohio State. Receiver. Six three a solid one ninety-five. Arm length 36 inches. He’s a deep threat, but also a competent short-range guy. And, in a pinch, can fill in on defense. Trevell is the whole package. Sexy, huh?”

“Me likely,” said Scott.

“I want him bad,” said Aiden.

The room fell silent. All three young men cleared their throats.

Aiden quickly added, “I mean, for my team, of course.”

KILLER PAJAMA PARTY! History’s Worst Mass Murderers Admit to Romantic Crushes on Republican Party at Sleepover

“Mao’s got a crush! Mao’s got a crush!” chanted Joseph Stalin and Adolf Hitler.

“Stop it,” whined Mao Zedong, as he lazily swung his Hello Kitty pillow at them. Hitler dodged, but Stalin was hit in the chest on top of the embroidered fairy that adorned his fuzzy pajama onesie.

“You both like them, too!” Mao screeched. The other two hid their faces and giggled.

Every month, Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, and Mao Zedong sneak up to the attic, eat sugary snacks, wear pajamas, and watch old movies long into the night. And gossip.

Especially gossip.

It’s a chance for human history’s most brutal murderers to relax and wind down.

“Okay, fine, it’s true,” Joseph Stalin said, covering his mouth to hide his sly grin. “I love me some Republicans. You guys! They’re SO GOOD at killing! There’s a plague raging and they tell people to avoid doing simple things that would save their OWN lives! Things doctors recommend, like getting a vaccine or wearing a mask. They are literally helping murder people and telling those SAME people it’s to defend freedom. And the proletariat BELIEVE them!”

Stalin pantomimed wiping sweat from his forehead. “That’s SOOOO hot.”

“I know, right?” Adolf Hitler squeaked. “Back in our day, we had to murder people AGAINST their will. These Republicans? They get folks to kill themselves! It’s dead sexy.”

Hitler fanned himself with his hand. “They convince rubes that buying guns guarantees freedom. Then those gun owners use their weapons to threaten fellow citizens and they say THAT’S defending democracy! The government doesn’t need to oppress people! Their citizens are doing it for them! Even better, lots of them end up shooting themselves accidentally!”

Hitler sighed heavily. “Even I never dreamed of that! I should have armed the Jews!”

“O.M.G. guys,” Mao said. “Republicans take murder to an art form. They make genocide look easy! They let industry pollute drinking water, and then convince the rubes that any regulations against that is oppression. They vote for their own destruction!”

Mao swooned. “It makes me tingly all over! And don’t forget about how they deny climate change science. They’re going to do nothing as the entire world becomes unlivable for humanity! The whole world!”

At the prospect of all humanity annihilated, the attic was filled with a cacophony of ecstatic squealing. As the giggling dissolved into sighs, all three mass murderers fell silent, their cheeks flushed.

After a brief pause, Hitler asked, “Should we watch Mean Girls again?”

“Def!” said Mao. “We all love torture! Why not some self-torture?”

“Oh, goody!” cheered Stalin.

RELEGATED REGULATOR! Militia Regulatory Agency Waits to be Called Upon After Being Ignored for Over 200 Years

”A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms shall not be infringed.”

So reads the Second Amendment to the US Constitution. Much debated and hated, memorized and loved. You can find many interpretations, but it’s rare to find anyone who insists the USA is not a mostly free country.

But if the USA is free, then as the second Amendment states, there must be a well-regulated, citizen-sourced militia. So where is this well-regulated militia? And who regulates it?

“I do,” says Ebenezer Thaddeus Zechariah, head of the obscure Militia Regulatory Agency.
The MRA was formed immediately after the drafting of the Second Amendment in the late 18th century. The agency’s purpose is to oversee the forming of militias across the nation. It will deploy these militias when needed to defend the values of the constitution.

“We’re the best kept secret in all the Crown’s colonies,” said Zechariah. “I haven’t had a visitor since I was appointed Militia Regulator by the Continental Congreff.”

The MRA’s office is difficult to find. It’s behind an unmarked door in the twisting underground tunnels beneath the Capitol. Once inside, one must climb over a broken water cooler and a defunct paper shredder while dodging several heaps of rat droppings.

“I stand at the ready,” Zechariah said, his long white beard stretching five feet to the floor. “It’s taking longer than expected. I thought we’d be busier. True citizens should be arriving with details regarding their militias. We need numbers and how they might receive orders to coordinate. Tell me, good sir, have they solved the problem of bumpy rides in horse-drawn carriages? I do get so nauseous when traveling afar, such as, say, five miles.”

Mr. Zechariah was profoundly surprised to learn that well over two hundred years had passed since the formation of the MRA.

“Egads! But then who is regulating the militias? Without organization, any pub-sop loonabout could brandish a musket and cause mayhem in the town square. Hooligans could amass and terrorize the countryside. Without coordination, ‘twould be anarchy!”

Well, yeah. Exactly.

“Kind sir, I need you to immediately dispatch messenger on the swiftest horse with hellfire urgency! Notify the the citizenry that should they wish to honor the Second Amendment, they must report to me. Until then, that’s a dishonest reading of the clause, and the nation is not free!”

Zechariah ran his fingers through his curly white wig, jostling loose a cloud of dandruff.

“Zounds!” he said. “To separate arms from organization be the height of foolery! To consider otherwise ‘twould equate patriotism with the nonsensical ravings of a carnival clown!”