I should probably start with how I woke up this morning, it was a typical morning for me. I woke up in the morning feeling like p-diddy, I grabbed my glasses I’m out the door I’m going to hit the city, before I leave brush my teeth with a bottle of jack, cause when I leave for the night I ain’t coming back. I’m talking about the fact that I can see parts of the future. I have very similar powers as Raven from the hit 2000’s show That So Raven, also known as the last card of exodus. Similar to that show my visions do not always come true, different that that show I try to make them come true. As many of you know by now, I am a bit of a masochist. I saw someone standing over me with a bloody knife. You may be thinking, how did I know it was my blood. Well, I know because I bleed sterling silver, and the knife was rather shiny with my shiny blood.
I enjoy getting stabbed, but something seemed different this time. I have been to many of the afterlives, and have always come back but I seem to be running out of places to go once I die. I do not want to go to the duwat, the Egyptian afterlife, because of that one time I stole all of the ibis’s in the world. Isis was not happy with me after that. This time I am talking about the goddess Isis, the wife of Osiris, not the terrorist organization. The organization likes me a lot as I committed a lot of voter fraud to help them take over the infidel infested country we live in. Back to the Egyptian afterlife, the only good thing that could come from going there is that I already worship cats, and there are many more cats to worship there. Bast, the cat goddess, and I used to date so I have a bit of good fortune with her. We broke up because despite popular speculation, I am not in fact a cat. I have an article about that coming in the future.
While I was worrying about what would happen after I died this time, I neglected to pay attention to my surroundings. I found myself standing in the middle of the river Styx, and I mean in the river. While I lay at the bottom, I saw all of the cats I love bap the water to try to pull me out. I also for some reason saw a guy in Trojan battle armor standing next to a small replica of the Trojan horse. He was yelling at me to pick a spot to anchor my mortality, I chose my belly button because I have an inny and anyone trying to stab me there would need to stab slightly further to be able to damage me. I get out and find that I went through the same process as Achilles, so I suppose I have an Achilles belly button.
Having my entire body immune to damage except for my belly button if it weren’t for the fact that I forgot today was sumo wrestling with knives night in my house. I put on my giant cloth pants and was quickly stabbed by my brother. While I laid on the floor bleeding out with my brother standing over me, I saw my vision come true. Right then I woke up with Bast and about 100 other cats curled up next to me. It turns out my previous assessment of why I do not often die is that I have so many connections with different gods that they all either want to help me stay alive or they hate me so much that they can not stand having me in their domain. In this case, Bast had given me 9 lives like a cat. Sorry if I am cutting this story short, but I need to get back to the bathing pile where all of the cats pile on top of each other and bathe themselves and others in the pile.
Reports from University of Pittsburgh police early Sunday morning disclosed that Pitt football head coach Patrick Regan Narduzzi was taken into police custody at around 3:45 AM, and was charged with public urination, excrement consumption, resisting arrest, first-degree scumbaggery, twelve counts of “actions detrimental to the honor and tradition of college football,” and just being a moron in general. Which, after an embarrassing stretch of performances including four straight losses suffered against the entire wolf population of North Carolina, Boston University, the University of Coral Gables, and an absolute annihilation at the hands of some French preachers from Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris, are not surprising infractions at all.
Coach Narduzzi was made available for comment before spending the bye week in a dark, dank jail cell, thinking about what he did wrong. Unfortunately, most of the questions from reporters were not questions at all. Instead, the press conference quickly degraded into disgusting comments joking about what a stupid little dumb idiot Pat Narduzzi is, or how he is such a stupid idiot nerd, or how he’s so dumb and stupid, and annoying, and sucks at his job, or how I hate him, or how he looks like an ostrich, or how he’s too braindead to stop using power run with a 5’8” running back, or how he made me waste $25, four hours, and a piece of my soul to watch my poor panthers get curb stomped by a coterie of Catholics, or how his defense is so godawful that a white guy with the first name Iancarved his pride and joy up like a jack-o’-lantern. Please do keep in mind that all of these insults are unprofessional, not at all funny, and should never be repeated. I was able to get in a few completely unbiased questions amidst the chaos and general rioting of the crowd. Below is a direct transcript of the Q&A with Narduzzi.
Evan Rafferty (ER): “Alright Coach, this has obviously been a tough last month or so for your football team. It certainly could have gone better, but setbacks like this could be seen as an opportunity to bring out the best in players and people in general. That being said, what in the name of God was going through your head this time, and, follow up question, why are you so stupid?”
Patrick Narduzzi (NARD): “Alright, uh, yeah. Gimme a second to sober up here.” Narduzzi then did a set of pushups, took off his shirt, and threw up into a nearby trash can. “Football? Yeah, football. Basically, what happened was, things were going great, right? Just playin’ some football, guys being dudes, what could be better than that? Then, all of a sudden, this big old half-bald white guy standing next to me looks over and says-”
ER: “You’re referring to Mark Whipple, your offensive coordinator?”
NARDZ: “I don’t know, I don’t really pay attention to names and all that. I just shove a couple of bennies in some guys’ pockets and let ‘em goof off for a few hours every gameday. Not really my problem. Anyway, that nipple guy or whatever looks at me and is like ‘Hey, the game’s over. We lost, again.’ And then I look up at the scoreboard and I’m like, ‘Oh, shit, what?’ I don’t know how to read it anyway, but I see all the people in the other colors jumping up and down and celebrating, which I’ve learned is what people do when they win something.”
ER: “Wait, so, you can’t even read? How old are you?”
NARD: “That’s an off-topic question, shut up and let me finish. Basically, I forgot to score more points than the other team. It’s that simple. I trusted all these nerds that I hired to remind to score more points and I guess they just didn’t tell me. Then I ask for a score check and some dweeb next to me tell me we’re down by forty-two. Like, what the hell, right? So then, after the Notre Dame game, my wife doesn’t let me in the house, and I have to drag my ass all the way back to my mom’s place just to have her make fun of me for an hour and a half. It’s not fair, you know? So after the fifth or sixth round of her telling me to get my act together, and kick the bath salts addiction, I packed up my stuff and made plans to crash at my boy Brad’s place in South O for the weekend. Apparently, I had a couple more Appletinis than I could handle before I got there and the next thing I remember is pissing in the Schenley Memorial Fountain and some sirens going off behind me. I guess having to take a leak is a crime now. It’s nature!”
ER: “So, what are you going to do now? Will you retain your position as the head coach of Pitt football?”
NARD: “Oh, obviously. Those geezers up at the AD’s office are paying me over $4,000,000 to lose to Boston College every year. You’re stuck with me unless I’m dragged out of Heinz Field and shot.”
ER: “As tempting as that sounds, you don’t think that you might be on the hot seat after you’ve disappointed and underachieved for the last five years? Maybe with your severance package, you can give me back my $25, pay for my hospital bills after I broke both of my hands from beating the devil out of the poor chair in front of me every third down, and bribe your wife to let you back in the big house instead of crashing with Brad every weekend and spending your Sunday mornings too plastered to even attempt to become literate.”
NARD: “What the- Who the hell are you, anyway?”
In fear of attracting the attention of the security guards, and the potential that my poorly put together Pittiful News press pass that I had to pay seven of my hard-earned cents to print might be discovered as a fake, I was forced to flee into the vents of the police station and make my escape back into the safety of the darkness.
Let this tale serve as a message to all those who stand with Narduzzi and his plans to destroy the sanctity and extensive tradition of Pitt football from the inside- I will be waiting. Once Heather Lyke returns all of my phone calls, emails, texts, love letters, and fruit basket messages, you’re all as good as gone. #FireNarduzzi, and, as always, hail to Pitt.