“Tom Brady got hit in the shoulder by one of those falling biscuits.” Charlie said to everyone in earshot, as he slid up onto the bar stool.

“It was a Muffin. Blueberry,” Frank said, passing him a beer.

“Muffin. Biscuit. It could have been a strawberry frosted cupcake for all I care.”

“So with all the carnage that these manna muffins from heaven caused, you’re worried about some stupid quarterback’s shoulder? You know old lady Adel got clobbered with one of those muffins. All that’s left are her liver spots.”

“Yeah, I heard ’bout that,” Bill interjected as he ordered another beer. “Did ya hear that ‘lil Tommy Johnson got hit in the buttocks so hard that he might have brain damage? Gods honest truth. I was standing right next to him. He’s in emergency arse transplant surgery right now. They say he may not make it through the night.”

“Charlie, I thought you were a Packer’s fan anyway. So why the hell do you care so much about Brady?”

“I’m just saying; there goes my fantasy football league.”