Hello. My name is Lionel Messi and my balls feel fantastic.
Allow me to clarify. I am not referring to my three Balon d’Ors. No, the globes that I am talking about are not made of gold, but of flesh. I am, of course, referring to my testicles. My cajones. My Puyols. My Piques. My el clasicos.
Why do they feel so good you ask? 3 simple words: Crushed. Velvet. Underpants.
You see, I delight billions across the world every week with my actions on the football pitch. However, my skill and artistry have done more than just brighten the world of football, they have also made me obscenely rich.
And just as I use my skills with the football to enliven the world around me, so too must the use of my bank account. Ordinary men would cover their genitals with a simple pair of boxers. How droll. A typical rich man would drape their crotch in some manner of silk undergarments. Please, would you serve a finely cooked French meal with Mountain Dew?
No, Lionel Messi must take the road less traveled. The road that cannot be afforded by the ordinary man nor conceived by the wealthy. Where the Sunday league player zigs, Leo must zag. Where a chav like Zlatan gets a Chinese character tattooed on his neck, Leo must translate Marca’s back page into mandarin and etch it onto the skin of a shaved cat.
That is why Lionel Messi wears crushed velvet underpants. Because every Sunday, Leo caresses the football like it is being massaged with pillows by Egyptian Eunuchs. Do not Leo’s own balls deserve the same privilege? This sea of crushed velvet that surround my testicles is the intersection of wealth and genius that only occurs in Lionel Messi.
If most men were to win their third consecutive Balon d’Or it would occur to them to go to Brooks Brothers and pay thousands of dollars for their finest suit. Perhaps if they were a Swedish striker, they would get a plaid baseball hat to wear sideways to the ceremony. But such juvenile, pedestrian choices are why they are not receiving a third consecutive Balon d’Or. It is why they are not wearing crushed velvet underpants. Leo, however, knows what it takes to achieve such levels of genius. That is why he not only matches his suit and tie, but he must also match his suit with his luxurious crushed velvet underpants, so that they are like one of Voltron’s lions linking up with another.
Would the cost of this suit have fed a neighborhood of small African children for several months? But of course. If the cost of my underwear was included it could have feed half of Africa. But would those children have created such a beautiful, velor memory? Leo thinks not. That is why every week, just as Leo improves your life on the football pitch, Leo will be here to improve your life on the internet. He will show you a life of obscene wealth and items of finery that only those of us who play the beautiful game are rich enough to afford and stupid enough to buy.
Is this arrogant? Perhaps. Is it insensitive? Allow Leo to say this: If my mother is going to cut my hair, I deserve to treat myself. So stop looking at me like that and finish washing my car.