By Dylan Aciel
I was born on a warm summer’s day in 1960s Sweden; a country ravaged by war, famine, and blonde hair. My parents, April and Cocumba, made sure from an early age to show me the virtues of being kind and caring to others. “Dylan, please stop stealing your classmates toys and then selling it to other kids for a profit”, my father said to me one day, which instilled in my heart very early on a hatred of authority figures and tall blonde men.
At the age of 6, I learned how to read. The first thing I read was the back of my father’s head, where he had a tattoo that read “OKC OKC OKC OKC”. I asked him about it, and he sat me down on his lap and said, “stop reading the back of my head Dylan”. This sent me into a deep, dark spiral filled with unhealthy coping mechanisms too harrowing to mention here. I decided it would be my life’s journey to figure out what this mysterious message fortold.
I traveled around the world searching for an answer, stopping for gas several times – cause I drive an Audi Q7 and those things EAT gas. I documented these travels on instagram, quickly gaining 17 followers including my Mom, Dad, and Uncle Jerry. Alas, my search appeared to be in vein. Nowhere was the prophecy seen, or heard, or even gossiped about. I fell into a deeper rut than before. Causing public disturbances became a daily occurrence. I thought that all hope was lost, until I found the messenger.
I had been sitting alone in a cornfield, watching Minecraft ‘Let’s Plays’ when a man appeared before me. He said, “Greetings, o’ lost one. I am Cameron Irvine, and I need your help. The world of the SFL is under attack by the four horsemen of the Bitpocolypse: MightyXD, horseman of Conquest, Anthony Ynoprobowl, horseman of War, Frank Shoppingmall, horseman of Famine, and Peepee Namechange, horseman of Death. Now all I need is your parents credit card number, the three digits on the back, and the expiration month and year, and I can defeat them”. I didn’t have my credit card, but I did have a rumpled 20 dollar bill, which Cam then turned into an origami swan. “Come fly with me,” said Cam, “and let me show you the world of the SFL”.
The world of the SFL was a magical place, filled with hope, wonder, and incredible amounts of toxicity. I had barely enough time to take it in before I was kidnapped by a gang known as the 62-3s, where I was forced to labor for two years, churning out interception after interception to please my masters. Me and my fellow slave, Scott, both hatched a plan to escape. Scott would climb up through the air vents and out to freedom, while I would distract the guards by singing ‘Despacito 2’. It turned out this plan was very lopsided, and I was arrested by the league Sheriff, Dee Peepee.
Jail was actually kind of nice, and I wrote a lot of poetry, leading me to win a Pulitzer Prize. Upon my release I exacted my revenge upon the SFL community, writing anti-SFL propaganda for the Beat Team until finally the front office chat imploded in on itself, resulting in serious head injuries to several owners, most notably Andy Hamilton, as he proceeded to sign Tom Pepper to be his quarterback.
It was at this point that I got banned from the league.