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S.O.B. Guest Post: Samer Ochocinco’s ‘A Visit With Joe Mauer’

With yours truly splitting time between the Sportress and With Leather for the rest of this week, trying to adhere to my usual posting schedule will be erratic at best. That being said, I was fortunate enough to be contacted by Samer Ochocinco, the brilliant chap behind the excellent football blog, Second-String Fullback. He had a concept for a post that didn’t quite fit in with his traditionally NFL-themed musings at SSF, so he asked me if I would publish it here at the Sportress. From the get-go,  I was more than happy to oblige but then after I read it, I was even more pleased it would be gracing the Sportress.

So, without further ado, Samer’s “A Visit With Joe Mauer.” Enjoy.

[Enter Joe Mauer’s house, where Paul, an artist, starts a conversation with Mauer’s assistant]

Paul: Hey, I’m here to start the job on Joe Mauer’s house?

Assistant: Oh good, you’re here. I’ll get 11-Inch Big Balls Joe Power for you in a second. He has a very specific painting request.

Paul: Excuse me?

Assistant: What?

Paul: Who did you say you’d get for me?

Assistant: 11-Inch Big Balls Joe Power. Everyone who works for Mr. Mauer is required to call him that. He’s a man with many demands, but thanks to his new eight-year, $184 million deal he pays handsomely.

Paul: Jeez, I thought he was a pretty humble guy. He never seemed to let the money get to his head and always focused on the game.

Assistant: Yeah, well, there’s a lot you don’t see in the press conferences and interviews.

[Joe Mauer crashes through a door in a neon pink golf cart with the words “VAG MAN” spray painted on the front]

Mauer: WOOOOOOOOOO!!! JOE MOTHERFUCKIN’ POWER HAS ENTERED THE ROOM!!

Assistant: Glad you’re here 11-Inch Big Balls Joe Power. This is Paul, who will be painting your special project. Now, to start off-

Mauer: Hold up a sec dickhole, I need you to go do somethin’ for me before I talk to this here paintmaster.

Assistant: What is it?

Mauer: I need you to go get me a big ol’ flour tortilla, put some monterey jack on it, nuke that shit in the microwave, and when it’s done, in Grey Poupon, write “Joe Power has the biggest Johnson in the United States. And no other country matters because all their dicks are tiny.” I want every “i” dotted with a maraschino cherry and the periods to be made of pomegranate seeds. Then, throw it at a homeless person.

Assistant: I’m sorry to inform you, but we’re out of maraschino cherries-

Mauer: YOU THINK I GIVE A SKATIN’ FUCK WHETHER OR NOT WE HAVE MARASCHINO CHERRIES? FIGURE OUT WHERE TO GET SOME AND DO IT!

Assistant: Right away.

[Assistant leaves]

Mauer: Alright, now where were we? Oh yeah, the paintin’ project thing. Alright, Paul, in the middle of a haze caused by mixin’ gin and Robitussin, I call it Robituss-gin, I had one of them mirages.

Paul: A… mirage?

Mauer: Yeah, one of them visions. After I woke up on my roof, I realized that I had to make sure that this vision would last forever, which is why you’re going to paint it on my living room wall.

Paul: Sounds like a plan. What is this image you have in mind?

Mauer: Glad you asked. Alright, so it’s me, on the moon. And, like, there’s Don Cheadle riding a camel on the side. Also, I’m eating a tuna melt. So I’m sitting on the moon and in front of me, while I’m eating that tuna melt and Don Cheadle’s chillin’ on that camel, Wonder Woman and the Snapple lady are 69ing. Just straight up goin’ at it. And me and Don Cheadle are pumped about it. Also, the camel’s wearing a fedora. Oh yeah, I want my shirt to say “Chocolate Thunder” and I also have a six-pack of Rolling Rock next to me, but on the side that Don Cheadle and the camel aren’t on. You got all that?

Paul: Are you serious? That makes absolutely no sense.

Mauer: Of course not, I was on Robituss-gin when I saw it. Shit does crazy stuff, man.

Paul: Do you have a sketch or something I can look at?

Mauer: You’re a paintmaster, aren’t you? I don’t have no sketch, man. Just take all that stuff I said and swirl it around in that paintmaster head of yours until you envision that shit.

Paul: I’m sorry, but you’re asking a lot from me. You want that whole scene that you remembered in your head while ingesting alcohol and cough medicine painted by me on a living room wall?

Mauer: Well, I actually forgot the last part. You have to do it in condiments. I’ll give you ketchup, mustard, mayo, and barbeque sauce. That’s like all the colors, right?

Paul: You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m out of here. I don’t care how much you paid me, but that’s the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.

Mauer: Whatever, cocksweat. I’ll find ten other people who’ll be honored to put that shit up on my wall.

Paul: Good luck with that.

[Paul leaves]

Mauer: Psh, that guy was a gash anyway. ASSISTANT BITCH! I NEED YOU TO DO SOMETHING ELSE! OUT OF GUMDROPS AND TOOTHPICKS MADE OF REDWOOD TREES, MAKE ME A DIORAMA RECREATING THE TRIAL OF TED BUNDY! HOP TO IT!