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Between family and the NFL

Terry

By Terry
in NY Jets Forum

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Shadetree

Shadetree

Posted
Posted
2 hours ago, T0mShane said:

There are many rules but few laws in this league. Once, driving with my wife in her dad's old '86 Impala, as I turned the knobs on the radio, she asked me about Lyle Alzado, and the more we spoke about Lyle, the more I wanted to be inside of her, there, in that car. My erection strained against the harsh texture of my corduroy pants. On the radio, Karen Carpenter was singing a song about peace. All I could think of was Lyle Alzado, cunnilingus, and how Vietnam had changed me. The Impala was going to die soon and my wife was expecting me to replace it with the new Chevy Malibu she saw at a dealership in Manasquan. 

 

But those were the salad days.

 

Lyle Alzado was a white man, a maniac, a drug abuser, an early addict of the crude steroids the Russians were using, which had rumored to cause their once petite gymnasts to sprout micro-penises. There was the Rodney King thing, and Watts, and Orchard Beach and this was before the Internet, so the newspapers and Tom Brokaw did all our heavy lifting. We were gladly and willfully naive. Bill O'Reilly was a regular news anchor, and Channel 11 WPIX. We had no idea. My wife laughed. We pulled over in the Vince Lombardi Rest Area and she rode me vigorously for ten minutes. This was late fall and the windows fogged quickly, and we were already late for the game, but I didn't care. The Jets have never been good in my lifetime. Neither was I. I have never been good, but in that moment, with her straddling my waist, cupping her breasts under her Wesley Walker jersey, I felt good. And that was enough: the transitory adoption of an otherwise untenable ideal. I came and she climbed off of me, and we got back on the turnpike. Wesley Walker was blind in one eye.

 

We drove again. Things were good.

 

I thought about thug culture. I slipped an EPMD cassette into the radio and played it loud, the coagulating semen gluing the head of my cock to the inside of my corduroys. Louis Farrakhan was always in the news, intentionally I suspected; a stand-in for what the Caucasian media wanted us to believe was the entirety of black society. He was angry and menacing, and those ostentatious glasses were everything terrible. He, with the help of the networks, made me posit the idea that, one day, a backup QB might protest the Star Spangled Banner. And I shuddered. What would I do? How would I feel? Would I ever get a job in the tech industry? I was young, then, and thinking these thoughts helped me grow up. I never even applied for a job in the tech industry. My wife was screaming at me about Ken O'Brien, about his advanced stats. I explained to her that advanced metrics weren't invented yet. We smiled, shared a joint, and I switched out EPMD for some Kool and the Gang. She asked me how I'd feel about her showing her t!ts on the spirals again. I wasn't pleased and I knew then that I loved her and always would. 

 

Lol

yeah, I definitely want to meet you at the game this Sunday. 

I just don't want to shake your hand.

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Shadetree

Shadetree

Posted
Posted

Oh, and why would this guy terry write a manifesto like that on an NFL fan site? He and his wife and his  home-schooled kids sound like loads of fun!  Jeez, how many BBQs did this guy ruin this summer? He'll be raking leaves this fall, wondering, "why doesn't anybody invite us over on Sunday's anymore?"

i hope he has a brother who recognizes that manifesto, and has enough courage to report him to the FBI.

lighten up, Terry. It's football. 

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Maxman

Maxman

Posted
Posted
12 minutes ago, nycdan said:

Max, can we make an executive exception and allow some T&A pics in this thread?  It would be like a salve for the hurting this put on my brain.

If someone is going to pay the $400 web hosting bill this month when we lose all the advertisers then sure we could consider it lol.

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Integrity28

Integrity28

Posted
Posted
6 minutes ago, joewilly12 said:

No way in hell not until I hook up with this smoking hot oriental chic on a dating site advertised here. 

The ads aren't the same for everyone. They are based on your browsing history. 

I get ads for deals on Amazon. Sometimes travel.

LOL

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Maxman

Maxman

Posted
Posted
9 minutes ago, Integrity28 said:

The ads aren't the same for everyone. They are based on your browsing history. 

I get ads for deals on Amazon. Sometimes travel.

LOL

Laugh out loud doesn't do the sound that just happened here justice.

AWESOME!!!

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FlaJetsFan

FlaJetsFan

Posted
Posted

$400 web hosting?

You guys are seriously seriously overpaying for hosting. i run several ecommerce sites. check out siteground's forum hosting price points, if you wish.
i have no affiliate ties whatsoever to them. i just pay them a low monthly cost to host my ecommerce sites.
their support is first rate, their costs low, and their uptime is phenomenal.
again, i have nothing personally to gain from this.

now let's get back to the subject of this thread, which I think was Tom Shane's amazing literary talents. ;-)

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Ken Schroy

Ken Schroy

Posted
Posted
3 hours ago, fltflo said:

 

Interesting post, was just talking to a friend today about certain aspects of the game celebrations we see from many of our young players.

 

I mentioned to him about Cam last night and how I would love to see him find the Ref and hand him the ball after the TD and just walk off. To me that's just about as classy as it gets like "hey I done this before,no huge deal", aka Barry Sanders.

 

Yet I am old school, and it's a kids game after all. Yet ,what I really feel the NFL needs to ban

 

Is all this so called "signing". I am not sure it's all Gang related but its roots are there and we need not glorify that life

 

In regards to the original OP, I translate much of what he said into," I don't want my kids or family around black people". Surely another solid vote for Mr. Donald Trump and the new nationalism.

 

As far as not standing for the anthem, as a former veteran of the United States Air Force, I would become afraid, when people no longer have a choice to stand or sit.

 

Eventually that will lead to your papers please, no you can't read that book, can I see your passport, as you try to go from one state to the next.

 

Let us not lose a constitutional freedoms in the name of respect

Please don't go there. It will surely get you banned also.

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Powpow

Powpow

Posted
Posted
3 hours ago, T0mShane said:

There are many rules but few laws in this league. Once, driving with my wife in her dad's old '86 Impala, as I turned the knobs on the radio, she asked me about Lyle Alzado, and the more we spoke about Lyle, the more I wanted to be inside of her, there, in that car. My erection strained against the harsh texture of my corduroy pants. On the radio, Karen Carpenter was singing a song about peace. All I could think of was Lyle Alzado, cunnilingus, and how Vietnam had changed me. The Impala was going to die soon and my wife was expecting me to replace it with the new Chevy Malibu she saw at a dealership in Manasquan. 

 

But those were the salad days.

 

Lyle Alzado was a white man, a maniac, a drug abuser, an early addict of the crude steroids the Russians were using, which had rumored to cause their once petite gymnasts to sprout micro-penises. There was the Rodney King thing, and Watts, and Orchard Beach and this was before the Internet, so the newspapers and Tom Brokaw did all our heavy lifting. We were gladly and willfully naive. Bill O'Reilly was a regular news anchor, and Channel 11 WPIX. We had no idea. My wife laughed. We pulled over in the Vince Lombardi Rest Area and she rode me vigorously for ten minutes. This was late fall and the windows fogged quickly, and we were already late for the game, but I didn't care. The Jets have never been good in my lifetime. Neither was I. I have never been good, but in that moment, with her straddling my waist, cupping her breasts under her Wesley Walker jersey, I felt good. And that was enough: the transitory adoption of an otherwise untenable ideal. I came and she climbed off of me, and we got back on the turnpike. Wesley Walker was blind in one eye.

 

We drove again. Things were good.

 

I thought about thug culture. I slipped an EPMD cassette into the radio and played it loud, the coagulating semen gluing the head of my cock to the inside of my corduroys. Louis Farrakhan was always in the news, intentionally I suspected; a stand-in for what the Caucasian media wanted us to believe was the entirety of black society. He was angry and menacing, and those ostentatious glasses were everything terrible. He, with the help of the networks, made me posit the idea that, one day, a backup QB might protest the Star Spangled Banner. And I shuddered. What would I do? How would I feel? Would I ever get a job in the tech industry? I was young, then, and thinking these thoughts helped me grow up. I never even applied for a job in the tech industry. My wife was screaming at me about Ken O'Brien, about his advanced stats. I explained to her that advanced metrics weren't invented yet. We smiled, shared a joint, and I switched out EPMD for some Kool and the Gang. She asked me how I'd feel about her showing her t!ts on the spirals again. I wasn't pleased and I knew then that I loved her and always would. 

 

Who needs football.

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Powpow

Powpow

Posted
Posted
18 minutes ago, FlaJetsFan said:

$400 web hosting?

You guys are seriously seriously overpaying for hosting. i run several ecommerce sites. check out siteground's forum hosting price points, if you wish.
i have no affiliate ties whatsoever to them. i just pay them a low monthly cost to host my ecommerce sites.
their support is first rate, their costs low, and their uptime is phenomenal.
again, i have nothing personally to gain from this.

now let's get back to the subject of this thread, which I think was Tom Shane's amazing literary talents. ;-)

Actually the subject was TomShane's first porno movie: TomShane Does Chic in Wesley Walker Jersey.

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Larz

Larz

Posted
Posted
2 hours ago, predator_05 said:

Imagine the look on Terry's face when his prim and proper, incorruptible, sweet-heart, cupcake of a daughter brings home Bronx high school legend Shaq'won Howard, 3 star offensive line recruit from Big State..."daddy,....you remember that guy i was telling you about....well.........i....want  you to meet my....."

 

depressed-old-man-hand-face-19898072.jpg

I wonder if he will ever figure out why his wife loved those high school football players so much, lol

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jgb

jgb

Posted
Posted
Oh, and why would this guy terry write a manifesto like that on an NFL fan site? He and his wife and his  home-schooled kids sound like loads of fun!  Jeez, how many BBQs did this guy ruin this summer? He'll be raking leaves this fall, wondering, "why doesn't anybody invite us over on Sunday's anymore?"

i hope he has a brother who recognizes that manifesto, and has enough courage to report him to the FBI.

lighten up, Terry. It's football. 

Yeah you beat me to it. This guy probably thinks it's a coincidence that he has only been invited to one game.

Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

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Flushing Roots

Flushing Roots

Posted
Posted
9 hours ago, T0mShane said:

There are many rules but few laws in this league. Once, driving with my wife in her dad's old '86 Impala, as I turned the knobs on the radio, she asked me about Lyle Alzado, and the more we spoke about Lyle, the more I wanted to be inside of her, there, in that car. My erection strained against the harsh texture of my corduroy pants. On the radio, Karen Carpenter was singing a song about peace. All I could think of was Lyle Alzado, cunnilingus, and how Vietnam had changed me. The Impala was going to die soon and my wife was expecting me to replace it with the new Chevy Malibu she saw at a dealership in Manasquan. 

 

But those were the salad days.

 

Lyle Alzado was a white man, a maniac, a drug abuser, an early addict of the crude steroids the Russians were using, which had rumored to cause their once petite gymnasts to sprout micro-penises. There was the Rodney King thing, and Watts, and Orchard Beach and this was before the Internet, so the newspapers and Tom Brokaw did all our heavy lifting. We were gladly and willfully naive. Bill O'Reilly was a regular news anchor, and Channel 11 WPIX. We had no idea. My wife laughed. We pulled over in the Vince Lombardi Rest Area and she rode me vigorously for ten minutes. This was late fall and the windows fogged quickly, and we were already late for the game, but I didn't care. The Jets have never been good in my lifetime. Neither was I. I have never been good, but in that moment, with her straddling my waist, cupping her breasts under her Wesley Walker jersey, I felt good. And that was enough: the transitory adoption of an otherwise untenable ideal. I came and she climbed off of me, and we got back on the turnpike. Wesley Walker was blind in one eye.

 

We drove again. Things were good.

 

I thought about thug culture. I slipped an EPMD cassette into the radio and played it loud, the coagulating semen gluing the head of my cock to the inside of my corduroys. Louis Farrakhan was always in the news, intentionally I suspected; a stand-in for what the Caucasian media wanted us to believe was the entirety of black society. He was angry and menacing, and those ostentatious glasses were everything terrible. He, with the help of the networks, made me posit the idea that, one day, a backup QB might protest the Star Spangled Banner. And I shuddered. What would I do? How would I feel? Would I ever get a job in the tech industry? I was young, then, and thinking these thoughts helped me grow up. I never even applied for a job in the tech industry. My wife was screaming at me about Ken O'Brien, about his advanced stats. I explained to her that advanced metrics weren't invented yet. We smiled, shared a joint, and I switched out EPMD for some Kool and the Gang. She asked me how I'd feel about her showing her t!ts on the spirals again. I wasn't pleased and I knew then that I loved her and always would. 

 

If this doesn't get the Nobel Prize for Literature, nothing will.

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Mogglez

Mogglez

Posted
Posted
11 hours ago, T0mShane said:

There are many rules but few laws in this league. Once, driving with my wife in her dad's old '86 Impala, as I turned the knobs on the radio, she asked me about Lyle Alzado, and the more we spoke about Lyle, the more I wanted to be inside of her, there, in that car. My erection strained against the harsh texture of my corduroy pants. On the radio, Karen Carpenter was singing a song about peace. All I could think of was Lyle Alzado, cunnilingus, and how Vietnam had changed me. The Impala was going to die soon and my wife was expecting me to replace it with the new Chevy Malibu she saw at a dealership in Manasquan. 

 

But those were the salad days.

 

Lyle Alzado was a white man, a maniac, a drug abuser, an early addict of the crude steroids the Russians were using, which had rumored to cause their once petite gymnasts to sprout micro-penises. There was the Rodney King thing, and Watts, and Orchard Beach and this was before the Internet, so the newspapers and Tom Brokaw did all our heavy lifting. We were gladly and willfully naive. Bill O'Reilly was a regular news anchor, and Channel 11 WPIX. We had no idea. My wife laughed. We pulled over in the Vince Lombardi Rest Area and she rode me vigorously for ten minutes. This was late fall and the windows fogged quickly, and we were already late for the game, but I didn't care. The Jets have never been good in my lifetime. Neither was I. I have never been good, but in that moment, with her straddling my waist, cupping her breasts under her Wesley Walker jersey, I felt good. And that was enough: the transitory adoption of an otherwise untenable ideal. I came and she climbed off of me, and we got back on the turnpike. Wesley Walker was blind in one eye.

 

We drove again. Things were good.

 

I thought about thug culture. I slipped an EPMD cassette into the radio and played it loud, the coagulating semen gluing the head of my cock to the inside of my corduroys. Louis Farrakhan was always in the news, intentionally I suspected; a stand-in for what the Caucasian media wanted us to believe was the entirety of black society. He was angry and menacing, and those ostentatious glasses were everything terrible. He, with the help of the networks, made me posit the idea that, one day, a backup QB might protest the Star Spangled Banner. And I shuddered. What would I do? How would I feel? Would I ever get a job in the tech industry? I was young, then, and thinking these thoughts helped me grow up. I never even applied for a job in the tech industry. My wife was screaming at me about Ken O'Brien, about his advanced stats. I explained to her that advanced metrics weren't invented yet. We smiled, shared a joint, and I switched out EPMD for some Kool and the Gang. She asked me how I'd feel about her showing her t!ts on the spirals again. I wasn't pleased and I knew then that I loved her and always would. 

 

Now this...this I care about.

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ZachEY

ZachEY

Posted
Posted
12 hours ago, T0mShane said:

There are many rules but few laws in this league. Once, driving with my wife in her dad's old '86 Impala, as I turned the knobs on the radio, she asked me about Lyle Alzado, and the more we spoke about Lyle, the more I wanted to be inside of her, there, in that car. My erection strained against the harsh texture of my corduroy pants. On the radio, Karen Carpenter was singing a song about peace. All I could think of was Lyle Alzado, cunnilingus, and how Vietnam had changed me. The Impala was going to die soon and my wife was expecting me to replace it with the new Chevy Malibu she saw at a dealership in Manasquan. 

 

But those were the salad days.

 

Lyle Alzado was a white man, a maniac, a drug abuser, an early addict of the crude steroids the Russians were using, which had rumored to cause their once petite gymnasts to sprout micro-penises. There was the Rodney King thing, and Watts, and Orchard Beach and this was before the Internet, so the newspapers and Tom Brokaw did all our heavy lifting. We were gladly and willfully naive. Bill O'Reilly was a regular news anchor, and Channel 11 WPIX. We had no idea. My wife laughed. We pulled over in the Vince Lombardi Rest Area and she rode me vigorously for ten minutes. This was late fall and the windows fogged quickly, and we were already late for the game, but I didn't care. The Jets have never been good in my lifetime. Neither was I. I have never been good, but in that moment, with her straddling my waist, cupping her breasts under her Wesley Walker jersey, I felt good. And that was enough: the transitory adoption of an otherwise untenable ideal. I came and she climbed off of me, and we got back on the turnpike. Wesley Walker was blind in one eye.

 

We drove again. Things were good.

 

I thought about thug culture. I slipped an EPMD cassette into the radio and played it loud, the coagulating semen gluing the head of my cock to the inside of my corduroys. Louis Farrakhan was always in the news, intentionally I suspected; a stand-in for what the Caucasian media wanted us to believe was the entirety of black society. He was angry and menacing, and those ostentatious glasses were everything terrible. He, with the help of the networks, made me posit the idea that, one day, a backup QB might protest the Star Spangled Banner. And I shuddered. What would I do? How would I feel? Would I ever get a job in the tech industry? I was young, then, and thinking these thoughts helped me grow up. I never even applied for a job in the tech industry. My wife was screaming at me about Ken O'Brien, about his advanced stats. I explained to her that advanced metrics weren't invented yet. We smiled, shared a joint, and I switched out EPMD for some Kool and the Gang. She asked me how I'd feel about her showing her t!ts on the spirals again. I wasn't pleased and I knew then that I loved her and always would. 

 

Was this from Jaws?

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