Rob Gronkowski

Dear Journal of My Dreamz,

I have dreamed again.

It all started after practice. My boy Timmy Dubs challenged me to drink three gallons of Gatorade and then do wind sprints for a half an hour. Just so you know – I Gronked the shit out of it and won a sweet Andrew Jackson paper money slip.

Anyways, I bent over to kiss my leg muscles and thank them for their power, but I must’ve passed out. I felt the blood rushing to my head and the hot sun on my face and I got all tilt-a-whirl dizzy. I think I must’ve blacked out because, I opened my eyes and I was on a beach. Beaches don’t just happen, you know? Nothing but sand as far as I could see.

Oh yeah, it was a desert. Deserts are beaches without water. Right.

Anyways, I’m walking for a little bit when I started hearing someone yell. I look over and I see this little kid running towards me. He keeps looking back, like somebody’s chasing him until he gets right in front of me and he falls flat on his face. Turns out he’s not a kid – he’s a guy, but like a tiny baby guy.

“Help me!” he said.

“Uh?” I said. Then I see what he’s running from. It was this big, ugly snake dude coming up over the hill.

“Finally I have you! Today shall be your last!” Snake Dude said and he pulled out this net with his snake hand.

Oh yeah, when snakes have hands they’re lizards. Right.

Now I didn’t know what the gronk was going on, but more people look after babies then look after lizards, so I punched Lizard Dude right in the nostril socket. I’ll give it to Lizard Dude though – he as tough. I usually don’t need more than Jamma to knock a guy out, but he was still standing, so I gave him a mouthful of Slamma and knocked him right out.

Oh. Slamma and Jamma are what I call my arms.

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