The scene begins with a sharply dressed Tom Brady, elequent in black slacks, white collared shirt, and tie, riding a bicycle. As he cruises the neighborhood for heathens, he spots a woman hastily retreating into her house to draw her curtains. Tom grabs his pamphlets and launches into action.
Tom: Excuse me! Madame! (slides arm into crack of doorway) If you have a moment, I'd like to take this opportunity to share with you a word about Jehovah
Woman: What the fu Aren't you Tom Brady?
Tom: Uhh yes ma'am. As I was saying, the Lord has a special plan for your life
Woman: Randy! Hey, Randy! Get your ass over here! Tom Brady's a J-Hoe and he's come to our house!
Randy: (from somewhere in the house) Fuckin women talkin bout fuckin Tom Brady, I swear ta Gawd
Woman: So, uh Tom, how bout an autograph?
Tom: I really don't do that anymore. Last week I got convicted about all the cheating we did to win those championships, so I quit to make it right, and I've been trying to spread the good word ever since. It's just so difficult with all the recognition.
Woman: You sure look cute in your bicycle helmet. Whatever happened with that Brazilian you were dating?
Tom: She uh well, she left me. Said she didn't date guys in cults. Look, if I could just leave a pamphlet with you
Woman: Now hold on a minute, I ain't done looking at you. I bet you get all hot and sweaty ridin' round on that bike all day, huh? Probably need to take that shirt off
Tom: God, here we go again Ma'am, I'm just trying to spread the good word. I don't play football anymore, I don't date models, and I certainly don't take my shirt off for women. I'd love to leave these pamphlets with you to read and just head out. I've got a lot of blocks to cover today.
Woman: Fine! Just get on your Huffy and get on down the road! We're good God fearing Christians 'round here, and we don't celebrate no Jehovah or the Patriots anyway! (Slams the door)
Tom: (Sighs and looks skyward) God? Am I doing what you want? Will this be enough for my penance?
God: Hey Michael! Come check this out. Brady's trying to talk to me again! Ha! That punk thinks I've forgotten he beat the Colt's a couple weeks ago. Call up Satan and tell him I got three to one odds the next house he stops at sicks their dog on him!
(If you have ideas for Tom's next misadventure away from football, post a comment. So far, Tom's thinking of donating plasma or working as a nursing home orderly.)
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