In a jarringly subtle Fuck You to the American male public, Tom Brady posted his dusty never used resume on Facebook. Brady’s credentials include schlepping coffee with his balls tucked in at Merrill Lynch and hawking golf equipment at a pro shop where he snuck free fountain sodas. Of course Shark Tankers like Giselle Bundchen love their men regardless, but odds are he’d have been shut down whilst presenting this flimsy doc to her at a Marriott wine mixer. For Bundchen, love at first sight happens when you pause flipping channels. Once you Google the chap’s contract and have your publicist arrange a meet and greet your love becomes truly unconditional and is conceived once your in house doctor scans his smelly ween with a black light.
A bad draft combine and Brady ends up as the smiling sales rep with the too high khakis at Ann Arbor Toyota. You’d call your buddy and make fun of him after he up sells you a Tundra. His pudgy wife in tow, Brady would genuinely chomp at the bit to tell you of the addition to his 800 square foot rambler as you signed the papers. Now he wants to rub it in your face that he vacations on clit mountain in Ibiza and the constant grind you’ve been measuring your life on could have been eradicated had you watched 8 Mile before your sophomore football tryouts and stood up straight. Brady got drafted on hustle, and I’m sure he hustled just as hard for those shanked balls. Having drive is good, but only when you become a kick ass NFL quarterback. Otherwise you’re just that overly enthusiastic dude working at the golf course showing irrevocable love to your muffin top fiancee while your boss makes you clean the beer off the carpets.
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