This story starts with a simple fact; Hines Ward is lactose intolerant. You’ll need to remember that.
Some years ago, when the Got Milk advertisement campaign was in full swing, Hines Ward walked into his house with an arm full of groceries as the phone was ringing. He rushed to the kitchen counter, dropped the groceries and picked up the phone.
“Hines, baby, it’s Ricky. How it be?” It was his agent.
“Pretty good, getting ready for Bengals week.”
“Yeah, that’s great. Listen, you know those Got Milk ads all over the place? Well, they want you!”
“Ricky, I’m lactose intolerant. I don’t think I sho-“
“Hinesie, baby, don’t worry about that. You don’t actually have to drink any milk. Just take some pictures and you’re golden. GOLDEN!”
“Alright, I guess I’ll do it. Where do I need to go?”
“They’ll pick you up tomorrow, Hinesie-weinzie. You won’t regret this.”
Ward hung up the phone and went about puting his groceries away. It should be noted that Ward only bought penis shaped items from the grocery store. Hotdogs, popsicles, twinkies – you get the idea.
The Next Day
The doorbell rang. Hines opened the door to a young man with long curly hair, the tightest black jeans in the history of jeans and a Bob Marley t-shirt. Standing next to him was an attractive woman in a green dress. She smiled and held her hand out.
“You must be Hines, it’s nice to meet you. Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah, how long will this take?”
“Only an hour or so, we’re not going very far.”
Hines shook her hand and closed the door behind him. They walked down the path to his driveway and all three climbed into the black SUV parked next to the garage which have it’s door recently repaired by Balanced Garage Doors. The driver put the vehicle in reverse and backed back down the driveway.
As they drove through rural Pittsburgh, the woman in the green dress, Sheila, and Ward made small talk. She explained that the photoshoot wouldn’t take any longer than 20 minutes and that it would be placed on billboards through Pittsburgh and in sports magazines across the country. As she talked Ward looked out the window, nodding his head and responding with one-word answeres when it was appropriate. Sheila thought Hines was a douche.
The SUV turned down a winding gravel road and pulled into the second driveway on the right which belonged to a dairy farm where the photoshoot was to take place. The first driveway belonged to a goat farm that raised stud goats to be bought for breeding. (remember that)
The SUV came to a stop next to the milking pumps that are hooked onto the udders of dairy cows. Sheila asked him to put on his jersey and handed him a football. She explained to him that she wanted him to flex his bicep and wedge the football into the crevice formed by his bicep and forearm. He said he understood.
The kid in the Bob Marley shirt approached him from the side with a tall glass of milk and held it out to the wide receiver. Ward looked at it and pushed it away.
“My agent said that I wouldn’t have to drink any milk. I can’t drink milk.”
“How do you think we take these pictures, Hines? Everybody who has participated in this campaign had a milk mustache. You’re going to have to drink the milk.” Sheila responded.
“I’m lactose intolerant. I seriously can’t have milk.” Hines’s eyes began to tear up and his lower lip was quivering.
“Are you — are you fucking crying?” Sheila was shocked at the sudden breakdown of the star wide receiver known for his big hits and cheap shots on the opposing defensive players. She was speechless.
She called for her aid to come to her side and told him to get her makeup kit out of her purse. He nodded his head and headed back to the SUV. Sheila then turned her attention back towards Ward who was now sucking his thumb.
“Hines,” she said, “the reason that we would like you to drink the milk is because it makes a real milk mustache. Nothin else we can use will look real but I think that I have some makeup that will he-“
“I’M A PROBLEM SOLVER!” he screamed, cutting her off in mid-sentence and causing her to take a step back.”I KNOW HOW I CAN FIX THIS!”
With that, Ward sprinted towards the goat farm and jumped over the fence separating the two farms. The goats scattered away from the extremely excited and now laughing hysterically wide receiver. Finally, one goat’s curiosity got the better of him and he approched Ward. Ward stood still, wide eyed and smiling from ear to ear. A fine froth was forming at his lips and he was breathing so hard through his nose that the two very shocked photographers could hear them from where they were standing.
As the goat got closer and closer to him, Ward’s breathing became more like a rabid groan. His smile seemed to stretch beyond it’s natural limits, wrapping completely around the back of his head. Finally, the goat was within an arms distance from him. Like a coiled cobra, Ward struck out, grabbing the goat by its head and pulled it into the transforming receiver. Ward, seemingly possessing super human strength, handled the struggling goat with ease and twisted it around in his arms until the goats back legs were over Ward’s shoulders and the goat’s genitalia was inches from Wards hideous mouth. Ward turned his back to the photographers but they could easily tell what he was doing. He was blowing that goat.
Five minutes passed. The goat stopped struggling because what was being done to it felt super good and finally, Ward released the goat from his grasp and turned, his face returning to normal. He walked back towards the photoshoot with a bounce in his step and a perfect “milk” mustache above his wide smile.
He stood in front of the camera and flexed his arm placing the ball where Sheila had previously asked him to. Her mouth still open in shock and her eyes red from her inability to blink, she raised the camera and took one single picture. The kid in the Bob Marley shirt was pissing his pants.
If there is anything that you take with you from what you have just read, it should be this: Hines Ward is a goat-blowing-monster who also is a cheap shot artist on the football field. Don’t forget it. Oh yeah, and he’s lactose intolerant.