The sun was slowly setting in Belize as Tom futzed with the antenna sticking out of his portable TV. (He had dropped his iPad in the ice bath after his most recent game.) Once suitable reception was achieved, Tom dug his elbows into the sand, and propped his head on the palms of his hands. It was almost time for kick off.
Football season had concluded prematurely for Brady this year after his team had been manslaughtered at the hands of Ray Lewis and the Baltimore Ravens two Sundays prior. (Midway through the fourth quarter, Tom had already begun thinking about which pairs of Uggs he was going to pack for the coast.) An early exit meant an extended stay in his timeshare in Belize, and that was A-Okay for Mr. Tommy Bahama.
A few yards away in the sand, Tom's beautiful wife Gisele was applying the day's final layer of cocoa butter. As she lay basking in the dwindling rays of sinking sunlight, Brady shook his feet like flippers in excited anticipation for the Superbowl start.
Because the Superbowl meant Superbowl commercials. And Tom had missed his fair share of good ones over the years.
Finally, after the players names were announced and the jet fighters flew over the stadium and the coin was tossed and the ball was kicked down the field and returned the opposite way for a 17-yard gain, it was time for the first commercial break!
"Hey, hun?" Gisele started.
"Not now baby, seriously, right now is NOT A GOOD TIME." Tom silenced his wife assertively.
After a few subpar commercials that fell short of the Twitterverse's lofty standards, gameplay resumed, and Tom resumed being a husband to his beautiful matrimonial model.
"What's up Gazelle? Sorry, the commercials were on."
"Can you come over here and help me get this spot on my back? I can't reach it." Tom grabbed the bottle of cocoa butter from her and lovingly obliged. He then rubbed a little on himself.
When he was back in front of the television set, the game was still on. Tom yawned and reached into his man purse for the latest issue of Playboy. The Super Bowl just wasn't as exciting when you weren't calling the plays, he decided.
Naturally, Tom Brady was the sort of man that read Playboy.
Football season had concluded prematurely for Brady this year after his team had been manslaughtered at the hands of Ray Lewis and the Baltimore Ravens two Sundays prior. (Midway through the fourth quarter, Tom had already begun thinking about which pairs of Uggs he was going to pack for the coast.) An early exit meant an extended stay in his timeshare in Belize, and that was A-Okay for Mr. Tommy Bahama.
A few yards away in the sand, Tom's beautiful wife Gisele was applying the day's final layer of cocoa butter. As she lay basking in the dwindling rays of sinking sunlight, Brady shook his feet like flippers in excited anticipation for the Superbowl start.
Because the Superbowl meant Superbowl commercials. And Tom had missed his fair share of good ones over the years.
Finally, after the players names were announced and the jet fighters flew over the stadium and the coin was tossed and the ball was kicked down the field and returned the opposite way for a 17-yard gain, it was time for the first commercial break!
"Hey, hun?" Gisele started.
"Not now baby, seriously, right now is NOT A GOOD TIME." Tom silenced his wife assertively.
After a few subpar commercials that fell short of the Twitterverse's lofty standards, gameplay resumed, and Tom resumed being a husband to his beautiful matrimonial model.
"What's up Gazelle? Sorry, the commercials were on."
"Can you come over here and help me get this spot on my back? I can't reach it." Tom grabbed the bottle of cocoa butter from her and lovingly obliged. He then rubbed a little on himself.
When he was back in front of the television set, the game was still on. Tom yawned and reached into his man purse for the latest issue of Playboy. The Super Bowl just wasn't as exciting when you weren't calling the plays, he decided.
Naturally, Tom Brady was the sort of man that read Playboy.
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