(In the car, on a cross-country road trip, age 8.)
Irv Favre: Ok guys, we're about to cross the George Washington bridge during rush-hour traffic. Does anyone need to go to the bathroom before we get on?
Brett: I'll be fine Dad; you don't need to worry about me.
Irv: Are you sure Brett? You've been pretty quiet back there, and you didn't use the bathroom when we were driving through upstate.
Brett: Don't worry, I'm good for now. I've only had one Capri Sun since the last rest stop, and my bladder remains blissfully empty.
30 minutes later
Brett: Dad, I changed my mind, I really need to go.
Irv: Brett, we're in the middle of the bridge! There are cars on either side of me, and no exits for a few miles. Can you just wait?
Brett: What, I'm the quietest kid in the back seat, I never spill my juice box, I never ask whether we're there yet, and this is the treatment you give me?
Irv: I'm sorry son, but we can't do anything about it at this point in time. You told me you didn't have to piss, and so we moved on. What more can I say?
Irv: Oh SWEET CHRIST, WHAT IS THAT SMELL?
(In college, at the Sig Ep forma, age 19)
Trent: Bro, did you see Brett tonight? He's 10-0 on the beer pong table!
Reid: Dude, that guy is an animal. He played through a sprained finger, a mid-game puke, and some guy coming at him with a broken Bud bottle. He's such a competitor.
Trent: Plus, he just loves playing the game. Once you get him on there, you just see the light in his eyes. Plus, he takes the most unorthodox shots. Did you see that bounce shot earlier?
Reid: He's a gunslinger, bro. Plays the game like it's meant to be played.
Brett: All right guys, it's been a good night, I think I'm gonna go out on a high note.
Trent: Good call bro, it's like 4am anyways, and it's getting to be pretty late.
45 minutes later
Reid: Dude, we gotta peace outta this joint Brett, the dude who owns this place is pissed, he said he's calling the cops.
Brett: The cops? On me?!? Bro, I've been a courteous houseguest, I paid my 5 bucks, and I'm the pong champ tonight! What's this douchebag's deal?
Trent: Well, the sun is coming up, and it is a Tuesday
cmon man, let's just get the hell outta here.
Brett: Well, if I have to leave, I'm leaving in style
Reid: Oh SWEET CHRIST, WHAT IS THAT SMELL?
(At the retirement home, age 83)
Brittany Favre: Daddy, don't leave me!
Nurse: There, there dear, your father is in very good hands. There is nothing more we can do for him at this point though, the best thing we can do is make him as comfortable as possible.
Brett: She's right Brittany. My time has come. I've led a good long life, had the best friends in the world, and accomplished everything I've ever wanted to accomplish. I'm ready for whatever God has in store for me now.
Brittany: Are you sure, Dad? We all love you, and respect your decision, but there could be so many things to do in your last months in this world
Brett: I've already accepted my fate Britt; I'm heading towards the light. Just unplug the machines and let me be.
Nurse: All right Sir, I'm unplugging the machines now
He's in a better place now sweetie, don't be sad.
(45 minutes later)
Nurse: I don't get it, his pulse was so faint, and his heart stopped for a full 30 seconds
Brett: You soulless strumpet! How dare you unplug #4! You're trying to get at my assets already, aren't you? You're both worthless sacks of bladder waste!
Brittany: You said it was time, Dad, what were we supposed to do?
Brett: After I lead a pious life, full of selfless acts and unconditional charity, this is the treatment I get? You're willing to just let me vanish into the ether, become a mere memory? Trust me, I've got time left on this planet, there's nothing wrong with me that a few choice painkillers won't fix
Nurse: He's flat-lining again, he can't possibly last much longer.
Brett: Well, if I have to leave, I'm leaving in style!
Brittany: Oh SWEET CHRIST, WHAT IS THAT SMELL?
Nurse: Well damn it all, I guess we'll have to wash this bed up. (Calls to other nurse) Go tell the man in the reception room that he's going to have to wait about an hour before we can get him settled.
Aaron Rodgers: Son of a