JoePa's response to an Aggie Cheerleader

GUMP4HEISMAN.COM

Below is Joe Paterno's un-cut, un-edited response to the Texas A&M cheerleader who, on Thursday night at a recent pep-rally, told a crowd of Aggie supporters that Paterno was "on his death bed" and "someone needs to find him a casket."

WARNING: This is not your father's Joe Paterno.

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Hey buddy,

What are you trying to say? What, that I’m old? That old people die? That old people die sooner than young people?

Well build me a ship there Christopher Columbus. You’re a fucking revolutionary.

That’s a pretty innovative and radical life theory you got there. Where did you learn it?

Did you graduate from the School of Obvious Shit? Well I’m sending out an S.O.S. on that ass, bitch. Because I will fucking sink that little gay ass Aggie Battleship of yours quicker than you can say “don’t fuck with JoePa.”

What are you, 12?

Congratulations. Here’s your free meal at O-Charlie’s. Fucklick.

Oh, by the way, in case you haven’t met me, I’m Joe Fucking Paterno. I've gone undefeated more times than you've jerked off.

What, you think I've turned cold? I’m 81 and I still breathe hot sex. Do I have trouble getting my dick up? Fuck no. I have trouble getting my dick down. Because lil’ JoePa has a mind of his own. A crazy-ass, out-of-motherfucking-control mind. And I love it.

That’s right nancy-boy. I put the “living” in “living legend.”

And you’re right. I do need a fucking casket. But not for me motherfucker. For you. And your dead-ass, lame-ass football program.

Who do you mistake me for? Bobby Bowden?

My fourth nut is more coherent than Bobby Bowden. That guy couldn't coach in Dynasty Mode. But Bobby Bowden senile is still better than Coach Fran in his prime.

Coach Fran? That guy couldn't coach a game of RBI Baseball.

I am Joe Paterno. If I wanted to, I could coach football on Saturday afternoons and bang strippers on Saturday nights. Hell, I could bang strippers on Saturday mornings if I wanted to. I then I would show up to games with stripper-glitter on my face, and lipstick on my belt and look at the referees and be like "What? What? I'm fucking Joe Paterno."

I coach like there’s no tomorrow, and I fuck like there’s no tomorrow. And I fuck coaches over like there’s no tomorrow.

Do you know who I am?

I coached against Tom Osborne.

I coached against “Bear” Bryant.

I coached against Knute Rockne.

I coached against Moses.

And no, not Moses Malone. The original Moses.

And I made him my bitch.

Do you not know about the secret 11th Commandment that says “Thou Shalt Not Piss In Joe Paterno’s Cornflakes?”

Well you did piss in my Cornflakes you little bitch. And at my age, I need my fiber motherfucker. So I can take you down. And I will take you down.

What, you don’t think I can handle some punk-ass cheerleader homo? You must be wearing your pants too tight bro. Because it’s fuckin’ with your mind.

I mean, are you really talking shit about another man?

You are a male cheerleader. You know what “cheer” rhymes with?

“Queer.”

I repeat, you are a fucking male cheerleader. A boy toy. A dick tick. A press-pass pressed-ass. A mega-phono mega-homo.

You are a cocktopus. And you can’t wait to wrap yourself around things that rhyme with tentacles.

What does the “12th man” stand for anyway? Your most recent belt-notcher?

Good for you. Assboy.

I am Joe Paterno.

My morning shits are more meaningful than your life.

When I take a piss, it’s a news story.

When you take a piss, it’s on another guy’s chest.

I am 81 years old.

So yea, cheer-boy, I may wipe a little drool off my chin. But at least it’s not sperm.

JoePa out.

Comments

[Taco Bell Soft Tacos]

nice work