Let’s check in with the Steelers shall we?
Hiya, imaginary self-united husband of mine Daniel Sepulveda!
Don’t get all shy on me, but, YUM! Oh, whatever. I’m your imaginary wife. I can say that in a public forum if I want. Now put down your Bible and get over here.
Jeff Reed. Hiya, foul dwarf.
Yeah, that works. I’m sticking with it.
Hiya, Jeremy Bloom! Is that you? You’re kind of far away, but I can still see the hot from here.
Speaking of far away, I’d like to say to the Steelers photographer that if the Steelers said, “PittGirl, here’s some money, a camera, and complete and total access to the Steelers during their workouts,” that the resulting pictures would be clear, detailed, sometimes shirtless photos of the Steelers in such close-up high-res proximity that you would be able to see the sweat of Daniel Sepulveda’s sweat. That’s right, his sweat’s sweat. I would also at the very least carry around some ice cubes to offer up a bit of tantalizing, cool pectoral and abdominal six-pack refreshment to our men. I’m not asking for a lot here. Just some wet nudity.
I’d even throw in some pictures of Steely McBeam, the giantest vacuum of suck ever, being violently accosted by a gang of angry Furries.
Pictures like this are worthless to me:
Is the secret to the Steelers football game-winning prowess this year going to be their ability to walk like sumo wrestlers about to bring the hurt?
Also, phase two of the Toss Your Cookies Diet = Google images search for “sumo wrestler.”
You will surely vomit.