Jack Kukoda

Uh, this is getting a little ridiculous. How could I get so drunk to let something like this happen again? And this time, I’m not just embarrassed, I’m a little scared. A lot of people are going to be angry when they realize the Lombardi Trophy is missing. And they’re going to be even angrier when they find out it was up my ass.

Once again, I have no idea how any of this happened. All I know is that I woke up this morning on the floor of a motel room in Detroit next to someone in a Tommy Maddox jersey, although I didn’t check if it was actually Maddox or just a fan with his jersey. There were also about fifteen other people strewn about the room. I’m not too clear on how I ended up on the floor. Shit, I don’t even know how I got to Detroit. From what I can remember, as late as Sunday morning, I planned on watching the Super Bowl at my cousin’s house in Queens. I must have boarded a flight to Detroit sometime yesterday afternoon because, well, I’m here. And I sure as hell didn’t walk.

For all its corners and odd angles, this thing came out surprisingly easy.

So, uh, anyone know what the best course of action would be here? Should I call the Steelers to apologize, and hope they’ll understand? Or should I just leave the thing in a dumpster somewhere? They’ll eventually find it if I just drop it somewhere, right? Damn! Why do I keep getting myself into these situations? I know! I’ll put it in a non-descript cardboard box and then I’ll mail it back to Pittsburgh! They’ll never be able to trace that.

In the meantime, I think I’ll take a little break from drinking. This time I’m serious. No booze until the end of February. This would be a good time for a break. Especially since I’m going to Las Vegas in a few weeks and there’s a pretty good chance I’ll end up shitting out an albino tiger.

This will be the last post of this nature for a while. The premise has stretched itself to the limit.

Previously: I Just Shat Out A Gutenberg Bible
I Just Shat Out A Faberge Egg