Fuck the Goddamn Devil

The devil Aaron Rodgers welcomes the Lions to Lambeau for another soul sucking, where he will mount their skulls next to poor Raven Mack’s sister’s who he claimed after getting her hooked on meth, and right now he is getting along just fine with his wunderkind new head coach Matt LaFleaur, and what does all this mean for the Lions aside from a theater of gross pain? Just more of the same really, which is a shame because they have the opportunity to flip the proverbial script here and crucify the devil and draw even with the Packers at only one loss on this young season.

But you and I both know that probably won’t happen but it sure would be cool if it did, right? Right.

It starts with stopping the devil himself, which is no easy task when you are swarmed by a legion of Failure Demons built up by more than sixty years of heartache and sorrow and now they are joined by the biggest demon of all, the devil Aaron Rodgers. Yes, we need an old priest and a young priest here, probably a virgin to sacrifice or two, a shitload of holy water and good spirits by all of us. That, of course is a virtual impossibility given those more than sixty years of heartache and sorrow, but fuck it, what else do we have to do? So, here we are, continuing our Sisyphean struggle And what the fuck, let’s just do it this time.

So how does one beat the devil at his own game these days? It starts with disrupting his passing game and that means getting some unholy pressure on him and getting to his receivers, aka his head Failure Demons, which might be an easier task than normal with Davante Adams hopefully out in this game. Take care of those unholy receivers and then it’s just a matter of containing a mediocre running game and what the hell, maybe we can beat the devil after all, or at least stay one step ahead of his evil ass.

To do all of that means the Lions defense has to come ready to play. Don’t listen to Uncle Paulie or Fat Matt and just bring whatever god given abilities they have to this never ending fight against evil itself. Get the ball in Matt Stafford’s hands, let him continue to hook up with Kenny Golladay and Marvin Jones, Jr. and what the fuck, we got a stew going baby.

Of course, all of that would be helped immensely if Kerryon Johnson could pick it up and the Lions flailing running game could get going here in the mouth of hell itself, Lambeau, but baby steps, you know? It’s disappointing to see him only rocking the ball at 3.4 yards per carry while the Lions offense struggles against the unholy bonds of mediocrity, which isn’t made any easier by the fact the defense is struggling even worse, foundering somewhere near the bottom third in the league in defense, which makes it all somewhat of a miracle that they’re even here, struggling with the devil for something approaching adequacy. It’s ugly as hell here in, uh, hell, and the best you can hope for is to suffer alongside the devil instead of weeping at his feet while assorted Failure Demons eat your liver.

Get out of this alive, leave the devil looking for answers and maybe, just maybe you can see some light at the end of the tunnel as the schedule opens up with some winnable games and then who fucking knows what lies on the horizon, maybe even a little light? Sure, why not?

Look, it’s hot as fuck here in hell, and the only way out is to keep grinding and look for a miracle escape. We don’t even have a Virgil to guide us through this Dante’s Inferno, but we do have a Matt Stafford and maybe that is enough? Who even knows? Fuck Dante and fuck the Devil, I am sick of this shit and I know all of you are too.

Escaping the devil and hell is no easy task but we have to start somewhere. That begins with leaning on Stafford as he continues to reel against this unfortunate life he has fallen into. He’s cruising along pretty well though in this, his eleventh season as our beloved number nine. He’s seen all manner of hell and Failure Demons try to eat his liver in a Promethean nightmare, but he’s still here, still alive and maybe one day there will be some meaning to all of this, but probably not. It’s all getting your liver eaten while gods laugh at your pain here at Armchair Linebacker, but we have been here forever and those gods can eat a big fat dick.

Challenging gods is never a good idea, but I’m all out of answers, you know? All I can do, all any of us can do is hope that one day this will all be made right, but how long, Lord? How long? That, of course, remains the eternal question.

The Lions are somehow miraculously still alive in this young season, only a heartbeat away from remaining undefeated in the defiance of those gods, all those damn Failure Demons and the devil himself. But they are not, and it’s easy to see this sliding in another direction, the bad direction we all know and loathe. But fuck the devil in his ass, get them Failure Demons to stop pecking at our liver as we stand here, chained against the mountainside, and maybe, just maybe we can eat some of that stew we got going.

3-1-1 sounds a hell of a lot better that 2-2-1, which is, on its own, a sort of tolerable mediocrity at least. Just put one over on the devil and his meth slinging ass and we can start to believe in a new future, one we haven’t been able to believe in for far too long, since the days men wore Stetson hats on the streets along with suitcoats and ties, long before the days of jeans and a tee-shirt, which is what the Lions have been forcing us to wear for far too long.

Have we become almost too comfortable in these grungy ass comfort clothes? Probably, but what the hell, it beats crying as your liver gets pecked and as you struggle to roll that boulder uphill and keep your head above the goddamn water. It’s never an easy day here in hell, but it’s all we fucking know.

I can’t wait for the day when we get to dress up and be actual living breathing men instead of the hideous caricatures of ones we find ourselves these brutal days.  I am not one for pushing Fales Hopes, nor am I one for gibbering on stubbornly in hideous misery for no reason at all other than a sort of miserable wallowing. It ain’t easy being a fan of these Detroit Lions, less so when the goddamn devil himself decides to toy with us, but I don’t have anything better to do and neither do you, so onward we press, hoping against hope that we can fuck the devil in his rotten ass at least once before the whole hideous nightmare claims us all and we drown in an ocean of shit and misery.

I’m going to say fuck the devil and get on board with a Lions victory before this thing turns into a lolololol nightmare of the soul because honestly, what else to I have to do? This is all I know, and how long, Lord? How long indeed. That remains the eternal question, the eternal struggle and all I have to offer you is some laughs here on Armchair Linebacker dot com even if that isn’t the goddamn address anymore which is a  stupid metaphor for this whole hideous journey. We have even lost our own basic identity in this morass of pain and suffering, but fuck it all, my friends, my beautiful dudes and lady dudes. Fuck it all.

That is what I have for you on the eve of yet another brutal buttfucking at Lambeau, but what I have for you is very real and it is better than the meth fueled promises of the devil, who speaks in lying tongues and will leave us burning here for all eternity if we don’t say fuck it and fuck him and take one last shot at this. So . . . yeah, fuck it and fuck him and I am out. Peace, y’all, I am Krishna and I will see you all in Valhalla.

Lions 34, Packers 20