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.)

• Playboy's Girls of Summer '94 June 1994.
• Playboy's Book of Lingerie Vol. 38 July 1994.
• Playboy's Playmates at Play July 1994 - pages 6-7.
• Playboy's Book of Lingerie Vol. 39 September 1994 - page 25.
• Playboy's Wet & Wild Playmates September 1994 - page 73.
• Playboy's Book of Lingerie Vol. 40 November 1994.
• Playboy's Nudes November 1994 - cover.
• Playboy's Playmates in Bed Vol. 1 January 1995.
• Playboy's Supermodels February 1995.
• Playboy's Book of Lingerie Vol. 44 July 1995 - cover.
• Playboy's Nudes October 1995.
• Playboy's Winter Girls February 1996.
• Playboy's Celebrating Centerfolds Vol. 1 December 1998 - pages 6-7
• Belly Laughs: The Naked Truth about Pregnancy and Childbirth
• Baby Laughs: The Naked Truth about the First Year of Mommyhood
• Life Laughs: The Naked Truth about Motherhood, Marriage, and Moving On.[2]
• Louder than Words: A Mother's Journey in Healing Autism

That's what I want my future wife's credits to look like when she decides to write a children's book. You know, I don't so much blame Jenny McCarthy for her newfound "momma fame" as I do the popular media. Let's face facts: If her son didn't have autism, she'd still be that chick that's dating Jim Carrey that we used to work one (or a few) out over. Fortunately for her, her son is autistic, so she's been able to extend her little known fame just a bit more. Before her kid, she was in more Playboy issues than I've got in my recliner. As she got older, she quit getting naked, since her body dictated as much. Nobody likes leather with tits. Maybe tits in leather, but that's something else all together. Then she got married to Jim Carrey, wrote 3 shitty books (Go look at the bitch. Did she write those books on her own?) about how to be a mom, and proceeded to appear on numerous daytime talk shows, such as the insufferable Oprah Show. The only thing Jenny McCarthey could tell me how to do better would be how to fellate a woman: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jenny_McCarthy.
Dear God. Have we as a society declined so much as to look to the likes of Jenny McCarthy for motherhood advice?
"Hey GUYS! Like, when you have a kid, you gotta take good care of em! And if they're autistic, write a book about them, that way you can benefit from the horrible cross your child has been so unfortunate to bear!"
Yeah, Jenny's the epitomy of motherly. The only kids who have worse moms than her are the ones who get vaccumed out of the womb like dustbunnies under the backseat of a Taurus. I know Jim Carrey did "Bruce Almighty", but I didn't think he was retarded.