A Brett Favre Breakup Letter, Part 4

Dear Brett,

I just spent five days on a bender in Florida. I even tried seducing a fifty year old Puerto Rican woman, who owned a cigar shop, because in my stupor I thought she said her name was Brian Brohm.


I apologize if you received any drunken text messages from me while I was walking the streets of Ybor, outside of Tampa. Over some Cuban sandwiches and jalapeno poppers, I might have confided in my friend Andrew about our situation; it may have even turned into some poorly freestyled rap lyrics, peaking with the lines: "how far can I go without Favre?/ these other qb's signal barks/ sound like they're coughing up sars/ love hurts love scars/ I get so dizzy I see stars,/ and I'm not talking Bart/ I'm talking Brett 'you're our only hope' Death Star farts."

Brett, I'm just saying I need some time to think on this. I got back into Virginia today, and I checked my phone and email for the first time in days. My box was full, and each message was more confusing than the one before. You seemed to be making a lot of demands of me, and I'm not sure you're in that kind of a position. I do technically have rights to a lot of your contractual property, but I don't want to get into that.

We need to find a solution that we can both be happy about. I'm trying not to get angry. I'm trying not to involve other people. Let's keep this decision between the two of us, and for the moment, I won't mention Aaron or Brian if you promise not to mention Chicago or Minnesota. If you can agree on that, then I'm more than willing to sit down and talk face to face later this week. I just need to get my head right first and figure out what's best for me. Let's just take a step back and evaluate what each of us needs right now.

Sincerely,
a Packers fan

P.S. Please, reconsider working out with high schoolers to make me jealous. Mind games aren't going to win me back, and there's a strange Michael Jackson with a football quality to the whole thing.