The following is a parody from The Cauldron.
Editor's Note: Around noontime on Sept. 9, 2015, a tourist exploring the historic streets of Quincy, Massachusetts—we'll call him "Rex" (no need to read into this)—happened upon a suspicious figure emerging from a solid-platinum Range Rover. The man in question, clad in a beige raincoat and bearing what Rex called "a cleft chin to shame Kirk Douglas," crept slowly towards the nearest sewer drain. It was then that the chiseled, trenchcoated creature, beckoning a "Deflate this, Bitches!" shriek so piercing it set off a nearby car alarm, slammed what appeared to be a cell phone through the rusted grate. It being broad daylight and all, Rex recognized the handsome litterbug immediately.
That handsome litterbug was Tom Brady.
Waiting until Brady fled the scene, Rex quickly removed the sewer trap, cramming his fertility-goddess body through the recess and into the turd ocean below. The iPhone itself was destroyed, its plastic flecks fed into the methane haze. The SIM card, however, was wholly intact. Later that afternoon, The Cauldron received a collect payphone call from Rex, who offered to turn over what he'd found in exchange for complete anonymity, fare for the Chinatown bus, and three tubes of Ibici pantyhoes.
What follows is but a glimpse into the treasure trove of data we recovered.
After it was initially reported in July that Brady had destroyed upwards of 10,000 text messages in response to the NFL's mushrooming "Deflategate" investigation, everyone was probably like, "No way one person texted 10,000 times. That seems impossible."
Turns out ... yep, he actually did. Didn't get rid of any of 'em. These are pretty much the most benign 0.008% of the messages we retrieved.
T-Mobile CEO John Legere
As you probably noticed, the last of the preceding text exchanges involves John Legere, CEO of T-Mobile, the country's preeminent purveyor of flip phones and flip-phone accessories. Incidentally, the commercial Legere referenced just happened to be one of the few videos retrieved from Brady's phone. (The rest were a mix of failed attempts to belch the alphabet, novice-level parkour tricks, and one recording of the All-Pro quarterback filming a distant signal tower, believing it was a UFO.)
These photos require neither an introduction nor explanation.
In stark contrast to his rather compulsive text-hoarding, Brady was actually fairly keen on keeping his inbox clean and clear of potential PR land mines.
Sadly, you can only stay vigilant for so long before a dispatch from Satan slips through the cracks.
Well, there you have it. As Martin Luther once said, "We've crossed the Rubicon, you guys." There is no turning back. We realize this gambit may well result in the end of this publication as we know it—or, at a minimum, the extradition of Rex (whoever he is) to some Peruvian black-site torture-palace. But that's the price to be paid for quality sports journalism in the age of memes, hashtags and stadium races featuring grown men in sausage costumes.
So until next time—assuming there is a next time—we hope you enjoyed this flagrantly illegal, in no way fictitious fever-dash through Tom Brady's disturbingly strange burner-phone rabbit hole. Stay woke.