Don't Even Try To Sit On Me

Dear Albert Haynesworth,

Washington, DC is all abuzz with the news that you want to be traded from the Redskins.  Well, whoopty-doo.  Guess what, Al?  We want to get rid of you, too.  In fact, many of us haven't been pleased with you since...oh, when you were signed for a $100 million contract.  You wouldn't have been worth that insane amount of cash even if you had stayed healthy and hadn't had to sit out to regain your precious breath after every play where you actually did something worthwhile for once; you definitely weren't worth $55,000 per snap.  You weren't worth one of my addicting butterscotch cookies per snap and I give those babies out like they're...well...cookies.  Or babies.

Since you seem to be completely uninterested in anything awesome pertaining to the Redskins, you may be unaware that this is my slow time when it comes to writing letters, but here I am anyway, popping up to let you know that you're a tool and not even a very good one.  You're like an electric drill that stops working when the batteries die, when all anyone really needs is a screwdriver.  Or a broken escalator when people just need stairs.  Or Jay Leno when everyone under the age of sixty-five just wants Conan O'Brien.

In conclusion, you suck.  Don't let the stadium doors hit you on your fat behind on the way out--if you can walk out under your own power without stopping for a hit off an oxygen tank first.

Looking forward to getting money back for any other player ever (besides Tony Romo),

Karen

P.S.  Don't even try to sit on me.  I've been working out and I can outrun you!