Me (my rational side), Myself (my hyperactive, homerish, irrational side) and I (dumber than three-dollar bill) are back at it again. This time, we talk about thrashing the Vikings in week two, plus predictions for week three.
The Vikings have a strong defense, and the Steelers just hung 26 points on them. How do you feel?
Me: Well, [points at Myself] Grumpus Maximus is actually smiling, so I assume he enjoyed the game.
Myself: I enjoyed watching Case Keenum run for his life all day long.
Me: The Steelers only managed two sacks, though. If I recall correctly, you once said anything less than five is unacceptable.
Myself: I guess I’m getting soft in our old age.
Me: We’re only 37.
Myself: [Looks at I] Well, he has the mentality of a six-year-old.
I: [Stops spinning in circles to answer] I do not!
Myself: Case rested, your honor.
I: You’re a poopyhead!
Myself: Anyway, in football years, 37 is, like, 174.
Me: So what does that make James Harrison?
Myself: Older than dirt. Do you want to tell him?
Me: As badly as I want Chuck Norris to kick me in the juevos. What else did you like about the game?
Myself: Martavis Bryant is a god among men.
Me: I really, really, really hate agreeing with you, but I think I have to.
Myself: Yeah, but you’re kinda stealin’ my hyperbole-laced thunder if you don’t find some other way to say it.
Me: [Rolls his eyes] Oy vey. Okay...Martavis is an exceptional talent.
Myself: Better. But you need to tone it down more. You’re too boring to pull off “exceptional” without looking like you’re trying too hard.
Me: [Glares silently]
Myself: Now it’s too boring, even for you. You have to say something.
Me: [Slowly, mocking someone struggling with English] Martavis...is...real...good.
Myself: Nailed it! Now you sound like yourself.
Me: [Looks at I] You’re right, little buddy.
I: [Stops spinning again, stumbling from dizziness] About -- [catches his balance] — about what?
Me: He’s a poopyhead.
It’s only been two weeks, but the Steelers’ defense is third in the entire league in total yards. What’s the difference from 2016?
Myself: Um...they’re giving up fewer yards per game, genius. What the heck kind of question is that??
Me: [Shakes his head] I think it’s specifically asking what caused that change, you twit.
Myself: [Thinks for a moment] Who is actually asking those questions, anyway?
Me: [Looks confused] ...I...really don’t know.
Me & Myself: [Both look at I]
Myself: No. No way it’s Doofy the Wonder-Derp.
Me: I said “derp” last week and you made fun of me for it.
Myself: Well, now I said it. So now it’s cool. Oops, sorry. Squares like you would say it’s “hip”. [Makes air quotes with his fingers]
Me: Do not drag Huey Lewis into this. He’s done nothing to you!
Myself: Awww, that’s sweet. Your “heart of rock and roll is still beating” for him.
Me: Get back to the question, you brainless prat.
Myself: “Twit” and “brainless prat”. Your insult game is [mockingly] en fuego tonight, Bro.
Me: [Glares] Anyway...
Myself: Look, this is the best front seven in football, by far. Cameron Heyward is unstoppable, Stephon Tuitt may be even better than Heyward once he gets back, Ryan Shazier is a friggin’ blur on the field, and Vince Williams is a run-stopping machine.
Me: Hype level: Expert.
Myself: I haven’t even mentioned Bud Dupree and T.J. Watt yet, man. Those guys get after a quarterback like a dog chasing bacon balls.
Myself: [Quietly and menacingly] So? What’s your point?
Me: Just that there are several other teams with very good fronts right now.
Myself: [Gets right in Me’s face and quietly speaks] Do you want to take this outside?
Me: Exactly how are we going to do that? Through an ear canal?
Me: Okay, timeout. We have a great front seven. Maybe the best, or at least most-complete, in the league. Happy?
Me: Alright, what do you think about the secondary?
Myself: Playing lights-out. They’re the best ever. They—
Me: Oh, good Lord.
What about predictions for week three against the Bears?
Me: We should win handily, but probably not by the kind of margin a lot of people think. We just seem to struggle on the road, especially early in the season.
Myself: [Looks dumbfounded] Dude, do you make a regular habit of listening to those stupid voices in your head?
Me: “Dude”, we are the voices in someone’s head.
Myself: [Looks like he’s trying to figure out the square root of pi in his head] That’s very...
I: [Very studiously] Existential.
Me & Myself: [Look at each other in confusion]
Myself: Did you teach him that word?
Myself: Me either. Could it be he’s not as dumb as he looks?
Me: He looks just like me. And like you.
Myself: Yeah, but he’s got that thousand-yard stare, and he has never — not even once — zipped his fly without getting his shirt stuck in it.
Me: Yeah, when he remembers to zip it at all.
I: Hey! Forgetfulness is a sign of a genius!
Myself: Forgetting where you left your glasses, maybe. Not forgetting to get undressed before you shower.
I: I only did that once!
Myself: You’ve done it three times this week, kid.
I: Oh yeah. I forgot.
Me: Back to the topic. Predictions for the score?
Myself: I think we will score 34 points.
Me: That’s...surprisingly rational. I’m proud of y—
Myself: Before halftime.
Me: Last week, you said 77-3.
Myself: See? I was close.
Me: You were off by 57 points.
Myself: But I correctly surmised the Steelers would cover the spread.
Me: Careful — if you move those goal posts any closer, it’ll be an automatic safety.
Myself: What about you, oh Boring One?
Me: It’s not gonna be anywhere near what you think.
Myself: Let go of the Ford Escort, the unbuttered toast and daily doses of Metamucil! Live on the edge, man!
Me: Fine, 31 to 13.
Myself: By the end of the first quarter,or the first half?
Me: The game, Einstein.
Myself: Never gonna happen.
Me: Says the guy whose prediction for last week was off by more points than the game’s over/under.
Myself: It’s not about being right, man. It’s about being bold.
Me: Then you’re the all-time champ.
Myself: At being bold?
Me: At being wrong.