I’m Joe Flacco, and I’m Playing for The Broncos for One Reason: to Lay Mondo Pipe in the Greater Denver Area

For starters let me say this: I have nothing against Baltimore. Believe me. We had a lot of really great years. I mean, we didn’t, but I think that’s something nice to say.

All things have to come to an end, and I owe it to my fans to explain why.

I wish I could put it in less unpleasant terms, but I can’t: I stuffed Baltimore. Stuffed it full. I truly can’t stuff it anymore. Women, men; last year I was filling holes at the practice field with microwaved jelly and giving them the business.

I found myself trying to stuff my wet noodle of a dick into a bucket of Gatorade powder and I said to myself, Jesus. You’re Joe Flacco. That’s not saying a lot, but it's saying something, I think. Plain and simple: I have no sexual energy left for The Charm City.

I have no football energy, either. But that’s obvious.

The Ravens front office couldn’t be more helpful. They said, “Joe, we more than support your decision to want to leave our team. We want you out of here. We think there is something inside you that is dark and concerning.”

Very clean, easy breakup. And kudos to them, they managed to wrangle a deal with Denver, my first choice.

Why Denver? Fair question. It’s not about the women or men. I’m at the point where I’ve stopped noticing faces or bodies, and I’ve never been one to understand the complexity of another human’s personality.

It is most certainly not about football. I can’t even remember if I throw with my right or left hand.

No, I forced my way to Denver because when I am laying pipe, the thin mountain air is constant autoerotic asphyxiation. I was blowing through belts in Baltimore. But with my general unathleticism and advanced age, fifteen minutes of standard missionary in Denver will have me waking up from a blackout covered in my own cum. That’s huge for me.

So let me end this by saying sorry, Mr. Elway: I’m not here to be a franchise quarterback. Lord knows I am not here — or anywhere — to be a winner. At thirty-four years of age, I am agreeing to play in Denver strictly on the grounds that I will be balls deep in Denver and the larger Denver County Area. Unless your intentions of trading for me were to unleash a sexual tsunami on your city, you fucked up big time.

And people of Denver: I can’t wait to meet you. We’re going to make a lot of love. I figure two, maybe three years of some straight up reptile shit. Go Broncos.