If you’re reading this then there’s a pretty good chance you’ve at least met me in person. It’s just demographics; I get it. Then you also know that when it comes to our physical bodies, I’m no longer working with a well-kept, precision machine. As a matter of fact, my body has become a monument to our accelerated aging, poor decisions, and a bloodthirsty lust for high-impact, adrenaline-fueled mayhem. So why would I choose to stay in it all the time? Well guess what [dramatic close up] – I don’t! Why, just last week I left my body for an entire afternoon so I could attend a clash between two of the greatest chuckers of dead pig flesh in the history of the NFL, Tom Brady and Peyton Manning. Wanna hear about it?
As everyone knows from second grade biology class, we each possess the ability to leave our bodies at will, through focused brainfulness and mindtration. Or drugs. Drugs are great. With a little practice you can be outside of your body, floating effortlessly from Detroit all the way to Flint, all without ever leaving the comfort of your needy spouse’s powerful arms. Now, I know what some of you are saying: “But, Chad – if you’ve got the entire cosmos and all of time and space to explore, what the fuck are you doing in Michigan?” Let’s be honest, here; I’m just one man. While I’m alive I plan to use my powers for fun and sports and watching people shower. As distracting as the idea is, I’ll have plenty of time to explore after I’m dead.
So here’s my play-by-play account of this year’s AFC Championship Game between the Broncos and the Patriots, as I remember it from the astral plane:
- I’m sitting in a comfortable chair in a dark, quiet room. I focus on my breathing and try to relax. Before long, I’m feeling heavy and lethargic, so I begin to recite my mantra: “Boooooooooooobs. Booooooooooooooobs…” And so on.
- Within seconds, my abdomen grows warm and I feel an uncomfortable pressure, and I know it’s coming. Almost here. And……..[loud burping sound]
- Now that I’m fully relaxed, my brainwaves begin to alter. I pass through the hypnogogic hallucination stage, bowing in reverence to King Poseidon on my way by, as all loyal subjects should. It’s finally time to let my body sink away below me..
- With a sudden jolt, it’s happened – I’m outside of my body looking down on it from above. Never ceasing to amuse myself, I’ve apparently left my body with one hand down my pants. The sight reminds me of my mission: I’m going to an NFL game!
- As I tear through the sky towards Colorado, there is no cold, no wind, no noise. Only silence, and the sound of my incessant shouting of “FOOTBALL! FOOTBALL! FOOTBALL!” My real life is just a fading dream.
- I arrive at the bright lights and marijuana smog of Denver, and instantly I’m at Mile High Stadium. Ironic that for my first trip to Mile High I actually arrived from a mile above it. That shit’s cosmic, man.
- I’m early – the game doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes, so I make my way towards the bathrooms, as per my usual creeping. You see, leaving your body divorces you from most earthly desires and needs, but I’ll be damned if I don’t still love to watch a pretty woman urinate. I get my fill and head back to the field.
- On the astral plane, there is no time. I may have watched one woman take a piss or I could’ve watched every kooze in Denver leak and not known the difference, time-wise. When I get back to the field, I’m disappointed to see that it’s already halftime. Lots of peeing to watch this time, I guess. Oh well.
- The halftime show appears to be a bunch of carefully-dressed dudes with guitars. Guess I’ll go explore the town a bit.
- Final score, 26-16 Broncos. Don’t even start, okay? Yes, I missed the whole fucking game. You think I don’t know?? I’m telling you, there’s no time on this side, and I guess I spent way longer in that maternity-wear dressing room than I thought. Related side note: Man, those pregnant girls can PEE!
- With my voyage complete and my astral spank bank filled to the dripping brim, I focus my intention on my body and almost instantly snap back to it. I awaken suddenly, with a jolt and a loud fart, which amuses me greatly. I check the game to see that Peyton Manning threw for an even 400 yards while leading the Broncos to another Super Bowl appearance. Then I remember that I’m the same age as Peyton Manning, and proceed to eat eleven burritos, each with ice cream chasers, all in an unconscious attempt to shut this stupid body down for good.