The story I’m about to tell you is completely factual and absolutely happened… But on the off-chance that Brady Quinn stumbles across my poorly-written, second-rate blog and tries to sue for libel or defamation of character, I will officially state that this all allegedly happened. Allegedly is my second-favorite word in the English language when it comes to my writing, just behind butthole. It’s been said that buttholes are the last frontier of comedy and I agree. But I learned that by using allegedly, you can say almost anything you want and get away with it. It happened, but again, it allegedly happened, emphasis on happened.
This was back in 2014 for a friends wedding. Without giving too much detail, the bride is best friends with my ex-girlfriend from college and she married one of Brady’s teammates and close friends at Notre Dame. Brady was a groomsmen at the wedding and I was a reluctant invitee. I was no longer dating my college sweetheart at this time but the bride is an awesome human being so we remained friends, even after the turmoil-filled breakup. Don’t worry, there’s a higher probability that Brady Quinn reads my blog than the percentage chance my ex-girlfriend does.
It was a beautiful 103 degree day in Nashville, perfect for sweating uncontrollably through a cheap (and now racist) polyester H&M suit. The ceremony was just lovely, you guys. I teared up a bit but it was just my allergies. They always act up when when something sentimental happens.
The reception was at this really cool rustic barn and had an open bar full of Tennessee moonshine. My very imprecise strategy as a single guy at wedding receptions has always been to drink until something suggests itself, especially if I don’t know anyone there. That typically means drink until I see an attractive girl to make a fool of myself in front of. However I didn’t care about strange beaver at this reception. I wanted to talk to Mr. Quinn. I have always felt like an unaccredited counterfeit type of journalist, kind of like someone with a journalism degree from Northwestern. So this was the time to prove that insignificant self-proclaimed label. This was a very small ceremony, 100 people tops, so I knew I had a unique opportunity.
The wedding reception ended and there was a giant party bus to take all the young fun people out on Broadway to a private upstairs bar.
Now I am in noway insinuating that Quinn is homophobic, although he has had previous reported instances of being so. But a few of the other guys at the wedding? Clearly. It’s very possible Brady was just annoyed and it had nothing to do with the fact they were gay. I am not famous so I don’t know what it’s like to be bothered every time I go out.
But how do you not love the gays? As a heterosexual male I fucking thank God for the existence of gay dudes every day of my life. First off, they are incredibly complimentary. If I’m ever struck with a feeling of low self-esteem I just stroll into a gay bar. I am so fuckable! I am the #1 overall pick in the Gay Bar draft, not the embarrassing 22nd pick. I have never felt so good about myself than when in a gay bar.
Secondly and more importantly, they take themselves out of the running in the race for vaginal procurement… Good! Good! More for me.
Traditionally, gay guys are well-groomed, good-looking, in-shape dudes who would plow through pussy like a cornfield if they were straight. The fact they choose to fuck each other instead of beautiful women is amazing and quite possibly the greatest benefaction to the straight man of all-time. You could go as far as to say that I would never get laid if not for gay guys. No other context necessary, just quote that sentence. I actually try to coerce my good-looking buddies into being gay all the time. “Come on dude, just try it out! Come on out the closet! Have you ever tried it? No? Well then how do you know you’re not gay. Be gay!” Everyone knows being gay is a choice and I thank the altruistic men who make that choice (quick reminder this website is satire).
However, it’s pretty safe to assume that Brady has never had a problem getting women. Also, he is married to an absolute smoke-show and 3x olympian, but still, I thank the gays for their service. Not lesbians though. Fuck lesbians.
At any rate, Brady came and stood next to me while this altercation was brewing and I never pass an opportunity to be a troll. I don’t care if you’re famous and smarter than me, I am going to make jokes at your expense. If you can’t take a joke, fuck you. Last time I checked you don’t need a license to shoot the shit. You want to be treated like a regular guy? Okay well I’m going to shame you for boisterous gay guys hitting on you because it’s funny to me.
I stayed as far away from Brady as possible the rest of the night. I actually ended up going home with one of the gay fellers. Just kidding. But they didn’t get beat up or anything. It was just textbook brainless bar drama… Dudes peacocking without anything actually happening. What a tease. I had +275 moneyline on the gay guys.
I doubt Brady remembers any of this and again, it allegedly all happened. After all, I was considerably intoxicated as well. In fact, let’s just pretend this is a fictional piece of writing. I don’t need a cease and desist letter like that gay dating website got for using Quinn’s pictures on their ads.
And for the record I have always really liked Quinn in the media and he does a lot for charity, but my blog stinks… I need celebrity mentions in order to get clicks.
NOW I’M DONE!