J.J. Watt. The Lustful. The Minnesota Vikings. Daunte Culpepper. Fred Smoot.
“Things are about to get a little scary, man. This guy, well, he can hit ya, and then he can hit ya again.” You contemplate this sentence and fail to see its wisdom. An enormous scream escapes below you. A soul is flung into the abyss with a mighty roar – “ALL I KNOW IS – YOU MESS WITH ME YOU GOT PROBLEMS”
“Yup, that’s J. for ya.” Manning shakes his head and chuckles. “Looks like he’s sure fired up.” Out of nowhere, Peyton materializes a mayonnaise sandwich and takes a squelching bite. “Basically, J.J. throws you wherever you belong. Sorts you out I guess. The number of times his arm-brace wraps around him is the circle he throws you to. Pretty neat, huh?”
Peyton waves J.J. Watt aside. “Hey, J. We gotta get on through. Big orders from up top – you know, where all the super bowl MVP’s are.” Watt is not amused, but is forced to allow you and Peyton Manning passage through hell.
“Guess I’m a pretty big name around these parts, huh?”
In front of you a giant swirling lake emerges. In it’s center a boat is twisted and shattered against the rocks – only to reassemble and begin its voyage again. Around this boat, men clad in purple swarm – their souls contorted to fit the shape of the boat they encircle. You ask Peyton who these poor souls are.
“You guessed, bud, more Minnesota Vikings. Can’t seem to keep their heads straight- too many distractions. Especially this little party that they keep replaying over and over. ” A soul approaches. Number eleven embossed in gold on his chest. “Oh man, Daunte, how’s it down here?”
“Peyton, man, I’m telling you, I was barely even on that cruise! And then they benched me for Brad Johnson, Peyton. BRAD JOHNSON! I had thirty-nine touchdowns, Petyon, thirty-nine touchdowns, thirty-nine, thirty-nine…” Culpepper trails off and his shade is whipped back onto the lake.
Another shade appears, but he seems to be boastful almost happy to be on that lake in that maelstrom. “Uh-oh,” Peyton says, “There’s Freddy.”
Fred appears to be manipulating a large rubber object. “Fred. Get that thing outta her!” It is the angriest you have seen Peyton. “Just getting ready for a run through the okra patch.” Fred Smoot starts laughing. “Oh, geez, Fred, we don’t wanna be talking this kind of trash right now, do we?” Peyton is starting to tear up. You are confused.
Fred laughs louder and the wind picks up. Across the lake you can see the boat turning faster and faster. “Oh man that’s my party! I mean, it’s not really my party, I’m just picking up the tab. I mean, I didn’t fly in any prostitutes from Atlanta or anything, it can’t be that bad, right?”
“That’s it Fred, we are outta here!” Peyton waves his hand dismissively. Behind him you see Daunte Culpepper and Fred Smoot, back to back, faces filled with sadness, rolling their arms in celebration – completely aware of their cruel fate.