Dear Mr. Favre,
It has been a while since we last met but I can remember the day as if it was just hours ago. You were staring across the line of scrimmage, scanning the secondary for weaknesses. I was hurtling full speed across the field like a white Fulcher, ready to wrest the day from your weak old man hands.
You didn't see me coming until the last moment, but by then it was too late, I snatched your shit and you didn't know what to do. Have you forgotten how embarrassing it was for you when you got owned on in front of 65,000 people at Paul Brown Stadium? I know how old people can start to forget important life lessons, like the one that says, you've gotta protect your valuables around me otherwise you ain't gonna have them much longer. Greg Gall is not a man to carry a breadbasket near. I am a lethally quick drunk man that can only be stopped by several large yellow jacket wearing security officials and their tasers. And you have not seen the last of me. I hear that Metrodome security is weak near the endzones, or is it the visitors side 30 yard lines? I guess you'll just have to keep an eye out for me wherever you are on the field. Because before you know I'm going to be on you.
PS - Enclosed with this letter is a picture to refresh your memory of what very well may happen on Dec. 13th.