Full House

I absolutely love the hit 90's series Full House. I was just flipping through channels and was intrigued by the show's info:

A widowed broadcaster raises his three children with the assistance of his rock 'n' roll brother-in-law and his madcap best friend. Starring John Stamos, Bob Saget, Dave Coulier and Candace Cameron-Bure.

I didn't want my obsession with Full House to ever rear its ugly head in the form of a blog rant, but here it goes.  (Side note: If you somehow had any respect for my maturity as a writer, please stop reading now. And, I've got to ask, please don't read my post where I pose as Ernest P. Worrell)

This show description is wrong on soooo many levels. Let's break it down from the top. "A widowed broadcaster". Really? This is all you got ATT U-Verse. Actually, I'd prefer to get to this later. Let's move on to the first of his two assistants, Jesse Catsopolis (previously known as Jesse Cochran). "Rock 'n roll". Really? Rock 'n roll? HE WAS IN A BAND THAT DIDN'T MAKE IT BIG UNTIL BARRY WILLIAMS BECAME THE SINGER. THAT'S RIGHT. BARRY WILLIAMS. IN WHAT ALTERNATE UNIVERSE CAN SOMEONE STRUGGLE AS THE LEAD MAN IN A BAND, QUIT, BE REPLACED IN THAT SAME BAND WITH GREG FUCKING BRADY (20 SOME-ODD YEARS AFTER HE WAS FAMOUS), AND THEN, AND ONLY THEN, DOES THE BAND BECOME BIG, AND YOU STILL GET CALLED "ROCK 'N ROLL". ATT U-Verse show information writer, sir, you have some huge balls.

Madcap. I don't even know what that means. Get that word out of my Full House show info's. Unless it means "gay" (not that there's anything wrong with that), "having hair like woman" or "of or relating to someone who is likely to molest children". In which case it would be accurate... I looked it up. It means "marked by recklessness, capriciousness or foolishness". "CUT. IT. OUT."

My final rant relates to Candace Cameron-Bure's name. I'd like to get a ruling on placing a married woman's new last name on the credits for a show during which she was not married. She was Candace Cameron at the taping of the show. Do we put the Bure? Do we care? No. We don't.

This has got to be one of the lamest rants I've ever done.  Is Full House finally irrelevant?

A dick-nosed single dad does something that one of his children does not particularly care for. They argue before the 21st minute of the show, have a talk, hug and love each other by the end of the episode. In the mean time, his brother in law with a mullet follows a similar pattern with a second child, only instead of "hug" they "impersonate Elvis". His best friend with a mullet, as expected, follows a similar pattern, only instead of "hug" or "impersonate Elvis" they "tell jokes and improperly touch each other". At some point, Mrs. Caruthers grabs the best friend's ass. Starring those two twins that become anorexic whores and some other idiots who have been seen coked-out on 6th street. Yah, that's right, I saw you John Stamos.

More Information

I have just been informed that I kicked a window at a convenient store because two black guys were staring at me while I was pissing on the side of said convenient store last Friday.

I guess this could explain my vague memory of me getting into a car and saying, "we gotta get the fuck out of here."

Addendum 1 to "The Shit Show" from 8/31/2009

On 8/31/2009, I wrote:

"Friday, somewhere around 5:30, Dave and Busters
I vaguely remember stumbling into Dave and Busters in broad daylight. We were either too drunk to get into the bowling party or didn't feel like it, but the next the I remember is order a beer or vodka on the rocks at the bar and playing pool. The pool playing was a lost cause for me. I decide to try to meet some women. I have this image of myself walking up to these 3 women playing pool at the other part of the pool room. I walk up and can barely speak. I vaguely remember possibly standing behind someone. I was told later that I was talking to them and began leaning forward, almost falling. I don't believe this, but it is what I was told. I remember going back up to the bar and ordering another drink. This time I was told that I can't be served. I asked them if it was because I was too drunk. I was told yes. I saunter off with slumped shoulders, what at the time I'm sure I felt was a "victimized" look. It was honest though. I honestly felt sorry for myself that I could be served here. I believe that looking back, I can remember a larger manager type walking up from a different room. This is what we call in the bizz, "backup". They figured these three shlubs that hobbled their mangey asses in here may cause a problem. I'm assuming there was some physical aggression taking place between F and myself because I remember discussing fighting several times and I have a bruised sternum as I type this. Something happened. I remember again walking up to the bar. This time the muscle was here. I attempt to order a drink. They again tell me no, and I remember remembering that they had "cut me off." I slump the shoulder and walk back to my friends. I don't remember anything after this. I'm assuming the fact that they weren't serving me was an issue and that we felt we needed to go somewhere with more lax rules. I was told later that J had joined us in our next ride in S's car."

Since this entry, more information has surfaced regarding the actual events that occurred during our stay at Dave and Busters. All of the statements are mostly accurate, except that the actual reason we left was because were officially "kicked out". What had happened was that I, having been a little upset at being cut-off, went up to the bar with 2 or 3 pool balls and commenced to toss them into the bar area. This led to our immediate dismissal. Note that this is after I had spilled a full beer on the pool table a few minutes earlier.

And boom goes the dynamite.

Who's House? The Houston Cougar Tailgate

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CBauzHaRK9w&feature=related

Go to the link above and fast forward to 3:21. There will be a guy in a burnt orange shirt amongst a sea of red. That's me. I actually barely remember this moment, but with the help of writing a chronicle of events of Saturday, September 26, I can trace my steps back to how I ended up on TV and ended down 1 G (yes, that's $100o).

12:00 AM Pearl Bar, Houston, TX, USA
Friday had ended the way it began. Guzzling beer at an incredible rate. There's two hours until the bar closes. Midnight was somewhere between dancing to Salt N Peppa and seeing to gay guys making out at a bar (not that there's anything wrong with that). And it was 2 hours after dominating the trivia game at Dave and Busters (which led us to spend all 1400 tickets on 7 shot identical Dave and Busters shot glasses and a bag of candy (which I had to haggle to obtain)). 'Twas 4 hours after slamming a Lone Star Burger at Red Robin. And it was 10 hours after leaving the Brickhouse Tavern, which is where this long day truly began. Or did it begin months before these shennanigans actually occurred, when my cousin had decided to find a reason to road trip to Houston in search of building the 3rd greatest tail gate of all time at a non-BCS school. Wherever the origin actually is, it resulted in a ridiculous day-night double header that has become all but typical in the world of Texas Tom.

2:00 AM Washington Street, Houston, TX, USA
After a night of Miller Lite, Vegas Bombs, pissing, gay guys making out at the bar, "dancing", a burger, trivia, more Miller Lite, we all heard the dreaded words that make you feel like a kid getting told Christmas has been canceled. Last Call. We headed home. I don't remember shit about the ride home except that I'm pretty sure we were riding in S's 83 Caddy. I'm sure it also involved yelling racial slurs and cat calls out the window of this same car. There was a girl involved. She said something to me. A guy yelled something back at the car. People are laughing.

9:15 AM Couch
Confusion sets in. That split second of confusion when you wake up after a long night of boozing in which you don't really know where you are. Typically, a little guilt sets in as you play back the TiVo in your head from the night before. The guilt doesn't last long for some of us. We laugh, smile at the first person we see and say something to the affect of "things got a little out of hand last night." But this time, after the confusion, there was silence. No one home. It set in that the rest of the Boozehounds had headed out for an all day bachelor party including golf, football, (regular) club, and a strip club. I had to forgo this opportunity at mayhem due to my prior engagement. I had agreed, months before, to tailgate with my cousin, B, at the University of Houston vs. Texas Tech. B typically goes OVER THE TOP in everything he does, so of course I was game. The bachelor party wasn't quite enough of a reason to blow this game off. I figured the tailgate would be all out. I had to meet him at his hotel by 1.

11:15 AM Couch
I awake again. This time, with less confusion. I begin my day. Shower. H-E-B. Call a cab.

12:59 PM Sheraton Hotel, Houston, TX
I make it to the hotel by 1 and wait in the lobby with my neon orange sign and my burnt orange shirt and wait for the crew. Several members of this crew know me from fantasy football. The league is over the top, of course, as are several of the members. Those are the ones that were coming. I slip my Texas hat down over my eyes and wait. I may have fallen asleep. By 1:30, I hear some chatting in the lobby and look up. It's one of the league members. Several follow behing, along with my cousin. We're ready to go. I pick up my sign and my 18-pack of Miller and head to the car.

2:00 PM Parking Lot, University of Houston
Satellite dish, TV, 2 canopies, 3 parking spaces, brownies, dip, chairs, 3 coolers, blank neon orange sign, 1 bottle opener, washer boards, big crowd.

3:30 PM Tailgate
By now I've gained true form and begin catching passes across the street in the median. I had found a pissing post across the street behind some bushes. My day was set.

4:00 PM
A small, unattended child, no more than 4, darts across the street into oncoming traffic.

5:00 PM
I lose all concept of time, but the following events occur at some point:
we play washers
I see a baby holding an empty bottle of Corona
B shows me a stash of pre-made long island iced tea, crown royal, and possibly vodka
I stick to beer
2 of B's friends try to set me up with their friend. Good idea.
A friend of the family mentions he's been on the wagon for 7 months as B is pouring him a stout Crown and Coke
By standers casually mention "yall have a hell of a set up here"
Texas routs UTEP
I get scolded for running receiver routes through traffic into the median
I text the bachelor party goers to ask when they're headed to the strip club
I see wagon guy pouring a drink
I denounce my slap-wrist-bracelet-coozie

7:45 PM
We probably started heading to the game around this time
I pour a long island iced tea for the walk
I don't remember much of this

This is the recollection of B, in an e-mail Monday morning:

"As I reflect back, I realize it was just a run of the mill tailgate – an attendee of the party was later taken to the ER, a small child in the tailgate next to us was nearly ran over, another attendee who claimed he had “been on the wagon for 69 days straight” and abruptly fell off when he was drinking my Crown Royal, I called Dish Network customer support from UH to see if I could buy additional channels for 1 day and was asked “are you serious sir?”, I had to switch seats at the game with T because I kept hitting and staining the shirt of the Texas Tech back-up qb’s dad in front of me and somehow T and I ended up on the field and took a picture with complete strangers. You know, typical us Saturday night. "

8:15 pm
Game begins. The memory is extremely foggy, but I know this happened:
We lead cheers of "WHO'S HOUSE????" "COOG'S HOUSE!!!" throughout the walkways
We buy 2 margaritas each (you can drink in this stadium)
We bring them back to our seats (4 rows up, 15 yard line, Texas Tech fan section)
A claim that a cheerleader was "eye fucking" me
I wave at the cheerleader. No response.
This was a running theme throughout the game, from beginning to end
I buy 4 beers
I get harrassed by fans of both teams (mostly Tech). Called almost every name in the book. That was by far my favorite part.
had a discussion with a Houston fan at the margarita bar about how I respected his team and will be rooting for them tonight because they are in the same city as me
had the same discussion with a Tech fan - substitute city with "conference"
I got into an argument with the Tech fans two rows behind me. I referred him to last week's game after trying to tell him I was a Tech fan (even though I cheered for both team's throughout the game at one point or another)
Realized we never wrote anything on the Neon sign... we wanted to go with "LONE STAR XII FANTASY FOOTBALL: GOING GLOBAL." Turns out we would have got some face time.
B's shirt becomes completely stained with margarita (it looked like someone had a romance explosion on his shirt)... this happened fairly early in the game
Get told by the beer guy that we can't buy beer anymore
a baby is poking me on the back. each time, I turn around and try to amuse the baby. Parent's worst nightmare.
On any first down, the stadium plays the sound of a Cougar. After which, B and I would look at each other and begin pawing at each other (every time)

Random recollection from B:

Oh and throw in the stadium security guard going to K and saying, “Ma’am, are you K?. You husband will be waiting outside the stadium for you. We will not let he and his friend back in.”

This last recollection occurred after B and I "got done" hanging out on the field. We tried to go back in to get his wife, but they would not let us. I told the lady she was pregnant. That didn't work, but they did send someone to go looking for her. This recollection was quoted from Kaylee.

One final recollection from B (I am the "friend"):

Maybe. Also, the discussion occurred in front of my father-law and a friend that literally took 195 pictures of the game with his digital camera.

Pretty sure me and the “friend” led the a large group of students in a chant on the way out of the stadium.

One couple had to leave in the first half because of the amount of tailgate fun consumed.

And I may have tried to instigate a fight with some tech fans before the game over something neither me or Tom knew what I was talking about.

And we saw Hakeem Olajowon.

11-something ish, still in stadium

Tech scores the go-ahead touchdown. My phone begins vibrating out of control. Several times. 8 text messages and a phone call, all of which had a common theme: "You're on TV. You're wearing a UT shirt. Hook 'em." and later... "did you storm the field."

Yes, Yes I did. B and I stormed the field. We were caught up in the moment. While down there, we high-fived everyone in sight, took pictures with people, got asked about my UT shirt, looked for Hakeem the dream and ran around yelling "who's house?" It was pretty enjoyable.

12-something ish

We leave the stadium. I take a few phone calls about the game and begin trying to figure out the status of the bachelor party. Are they still at the strip club? Yes.

1-ish

We get back to the hotel. B makes me a stiff whiskey drink for the road, gives me a jacket that doesn't fit him anymore and I call a cab. "Take me to Treasures."

I get a phone call telling me that the party is leaving the strip club while on my way. S agrees to stay. When I arrive, he is nearly asleep. I hand over my hat to the door people and go in. A bouncer comes up to me and puts his hand on me and says sir. I've had this feeling before. It's when you're too drunk to be somewhere, only you didn't realize it. You were in a different situation than everyone else here. I play it cool and act like I'm fine and ask him if it's alright if I put my new jacket where they put my hat. Like I've done it 1000 times. He lets me go through. I get in and sit down. Next thing I know I'm in VIP with a 24 yr old piece of trash named Andrea. Before I go any further, I may as well say that I don't get sexual favors for money. I never would and I never will. Trust me, if I didn't do it this night, I'll never do it.

3:30 ish. 30 songs later.

I get my bill from the waitress. I'm down a G. I've still got a hundy in my wallet I had planned to use but it's no use. I leave VIP. I check my phone. S had said it's time to go. I remember responding, actually, and check my outgoing messages. I had told him to go on without me. Great. I'm 20 minutes from home and a cab costs money. I go downstairs and see a hell of a sight. S is sitting on one of the chairs, eyes clothes. I go shake him. Doesn't wake up. Doesn't even consider it. I sit back down. My plan was to wait until four when the strippers get off work. I planned on staying at the hotel with the one I was with in VIP. I now recall already explaining to her that there was no way in hell that she was getting any more money out of me and that I didn't want sex or anything else. I just wanted a place to sleep. She said that was cool. I sit and wait. I see a stripper come up to S and shake him. No use lady. Several more strippers come up to me and try to steal more money from me. Good luck with that. It's almost time for them to go home and they're in overdrive. I could have cared less. Finally some dude comes up to S's chair and kicks it. He's staring at him. It's not a worker at the club, but some random guy. I essentially tell him to fuck off. S comes to. I tell him we're getting the hell out of here. We go outside and call a cab. S pays. I couldn't handle any more. (Somewhere along the lines I had exchanged numbers with the stripper and around this time, there is an incoming call from a woman named "Andrea". Nice. A GD stipper has my number.)

9:15 AM Couch
Confusion sets in. That split second of confusion when you wake up after a long night of boozing in which you don't really know where you are. Typically, a little guilt sets in as you play back the TiVo in your head from the night before. The guilt doesn't last long for some of us. We laugh, smile at the first person we see and say something to the affect of "things got a little out of hand last night."

Literally

Some dude on the Real World said "we're literally sitting ducks".

They looked like people. Who were standing.

Class Ring

I lost my class ring. See August 31 post "The Shit Show".

Sports Figures Who Look Like Birds

I'm currently watching the Ohio State game, when I realized that Jim Tressel, though most known for his vest-wearing antics, looks kinda like some sort of bird. I'm going to add him to my famous "Texas Tom's List of Sports Figures Who Look Like Birds, Vol. I"

1. Tony Larussa
Famous for: St. Louis Cardinals Manager
Type of bird: Owl



Undisputed Ruler of the "People who look like birds" Kingdom. For years, Larussa has perennially perched on baseball dugout benches across the country, glaring and hooting and turning his head 360 degrees, waiting for a small field mouse or meerkat to foolishly show itself within his parameters. He looks more like an owl than Rosie O'Donell looks like a human. (It's funny, I was trying to come up with a name to insert in the Rosie O'Donell place fo rthe purposes of the joke and I came up with Patrick Ewing, Nick Nolte and Rosie O'Donell. I was going to go with O'Donell and asked my sister, "Who's a famous ugly person?" Her answer was "Rosie O'Donell". Sucks.)

2. Mel Kiper
Famous for: NFL Draft Analysis
Type of Bird: Hawk


This summbitch looks exactly like a Hawk. He may look more like a hawk than LaRussa looks like an owl. I know, sounds crazy. Draft guru, sports radio host, sex machine, hates Todd McShay, looks like a hawk. I'm infamous for being able to completely describe anyone in 5 short phrases, and that's how I'd describe Kiper. In fact, they may as well put those 5 lines on his tombstone after his untimely death in 2017. What? That's not funny.

3. Jim Tressel
Famous for: Sweater vests
Bird type: Undecided

I'm going to bed.

HAHAHAH see post at 10:48 under the title "FIESTA BOWL" on Monday, January 5, 2009. In my rant, I mentioned that Tressel looks like an owl. Sweet.

A Word From Ernest P. Worrell (R.I.P.)

Hello, Ladies, I believe I'm a very desirable dude. Here's why...

I like to travel. Here's a list of places I've been:
I've been to camp.
I've been to Splash Mountain.
I've been to Disneyland.
I'm not particularly proud of it, but I've been to jail. For the record, it was false imprisonment. Cool story though.
I've been to school, and in 1994 I went back as a 45-year old man. Creepy, yes. Necessary, no.
I've been to Africa.

I've single-handedly saved the following holidays:
Christmas
Halloween
(I honestly thought I've saved more holidays than this, but oh well)

Here's a list of some of my more random and miscellaneous accomplishments and traits:
I refer to everyone as Vern, and have won a $10,ooo prize in doing so.
I've been scared stupid.
I've ridden, and ridden again.
I look and speak exactly like my Aunt Nelda. It's almost as if we were the same person, only I have a penis and she has a bigger penis.
I can slam dunk a basketball.
I joined the Army in 1998 and worked my way all the way up to Captain.

Overall, I'm a good guy who just wants to find a good woman to spoon with at night. I believe my bad looks, general clumsiness and affinity for small children has gotten in the way. But I'm ready to take the next step and all I need is a good woman to stand by my side as I save holidays and travel to random places.

By the way, Christmas is awesome. So, uh, YOU'RE WELCOME!

Love,

Ernest P. Worrell

Would humans be able to enter the Kentucky Derby?

Yesterday at F&H, I heard a story from Mr. S concerning an incident involving college, booze, not being 21, horses, police and lassoes. Accurate lassoes. I surmised that if a police officer on horseback would have tried to chase me back in my younger, faster days I would have simply outrun him. I feel that, back then, I was faster than a horse. This led to the following comment from me: "I think I could have won the Kentucky Derby." And this comment led to the question that is the subject of this blog post. Mr. J and I agreed that, no, a human would not be allowed to race in the Kentucky Derby.

And I feel that that is bullshit.

Here would be me debating myself about whether or not I could race in the Kentucky Derby. I'll use a character named to Doug to represent the guy who makes decisions on whether or not people can race against horses:

Me: Sir, I would like to sign up for the Kentucky Derby (Doug is also the guy in charge of the Kentucky Derby sign in)
Doug: What is your horse's name?
Me: This isn't for my horse. I'm signing myself up.
Doug: (laughs out loud, heartily) No, seriously.
Me: (straight face)
Doug: Are you on drugs?
Me: Not right now. I want to race against the horses. I think I'm faster than them, and I can win. I want to race with horses.
Doug: Humans aren't allowed to race against the horses.
Me: But I want to race with them.
Doug: It's a waste of time. Humans are slower than horses.
Me: (Offended) A human has every right to try his best and compete with the horses. If I lose, I lose. But I want to try and I think I have the right.
Doug: But it will make the horses uncomfortable and although it would be pretty entertaining, you would be taking a spot from another horse who deserves to have that post.
Me: It's not fair.
Doug: It's perfectly fair. It's our rules. Besides, humans have their own races and plenty of opportunity to race against one another. Go race with people. Be on a track team.
Me: But I want to race with the horses.
Doug: That's absurd. This is a publicity stunt and it will water down our sport. We are fine the way we are and just because you want to race with them, we don't have to let you. Go start your own racing league, and if horses want to join, then let them join.
Me: I don't feel like doing that, no horses would join.
Doug: Exactly. Because horses are much faster than people.
Me: That's anti-human. You're a bad person and you shouldn't judge people just because they're a person.
Doug: Yes you should. It's genetic. Horses are built differently than people. They are stronger and faster. And besides, you may get injured. Besides, one of my horses tried to join a human track team and they wouldn't let him.
Me: Either way, I want to race them. A person should be able to compete with horses if they want. Just because I am a different species of animal doesn't matter. And horses shouldn't be able to join a human track team, that's dumb.
Doug: Being a different species does matter. Now go run track, it was set up for humans and it's fun and it's the exactly same thing only you'd get to hang out with your piers instead of ruining the horse racing.
Me: Wait, this is fucking ridculous. I've seen horses run. They're fast as shit. Why am I doing this? I'll get dominated and probably cry and it won't be fun. I'll get trampled.
Doug: Exactly.
Me: Why the hell was that girl on my baseball team that one year?
Doug: I'm not touching that with a ten foot pole.

I take a bow.

When I Was a Little Kid #2

When I was a little kid, I didn't understand what off brands foods were. My mom often bought things like "Crisped Rice" in lieu of Rice Krispy Treats. But she would still call these things by the brand names. I have a (redundant) memory of myself staring at a box of "TOASTER PASTRIES" trying to figure out how that combination of letters spelled "POP TARTS".

The Shit Show

Disclaimer: I did not mean for any of this to happen. I am sorry to anyone who thought I outgrew partaking in shenanigans the likes of which I describe below. Keep in mind it was my birthday.

In order to understand the extent of this next story, you've had to have gone out drinking with me at least once in your life. I don't mean gone out with me. I don't mean seen me out. I don't mean drank a beer with me, and I sure as crap don't mean seen pictures of me going out drinking with other people. Cameras don't typically make it far enough into my nights to catch anything worth a damn. So don't assume you know an eighth of what goes on in my life based on some shit-eating pictures you've seen of me on some lame ass website. What I mean is, in order to understand what the hell this story even entails, you have to have GONE OUT DRINKING WITH ME. The real people I can't stand are these assbags that feel the need to tell you the next day how drunk you were the night before. What the hell is this all about? Why were you out? To watch me? This wasn't my first rodeo and it sure as shit won't be my last. So go suck on one mixed drink and move the fuck on. You suck. Don't stand around watching me make an ass of myself unless you want to join the fuck in. I know I was drunk. I don't see any other reason to drink, and wine is gay. So fuck off. Now I'll go on with my story.  (I was very angry at some dude who made a comment about how drunk I was this one night even though he wasn't drinking at all when we all went out. For some reason, it got me hott. It adds nothing to the story so please ignore.)

Friday, 11:00 am Work
Our fantasy football draft was scheduled to begin at 11:30. We work half days on Fridays and figured we'd better get the show on the road. Like any other Friday, some of us typically have to work late. The plan was to leave work and meet up at 11:30 to commence drafting. The bar of choice was what we'll call F&H Pub. The deal is that if you bring 10 people to the bar, you get free pizza, wings and some beer. Perfect.

Friday, Noon F&H Pub
I end up getting there around 12. By 1, I've had 2 beers, 3 pieces of pizza and 0 wings. Fuck em. And the draft begins... This is where I'll introduce the first culprit of the night - Mr. F. He was a former coworker who had quit about 4 months prior to the draft. I can tell he's ready to get shit-canned today, and at one point I look at my friend Mr. S across the table and inform him that "today is going to be a shit show." If I only knew. By round 3, the racial slurs begin to fly. I inform one of my co-workers that it's 2009 and he needs to chill out with making assumptions based on race (there was one black guy in our draft and I don't remember what was said to instigate my comment). The sad part was, at this point I wasn't drunk. I was high on fantasy draft. Nonetheless, the draft wears on and I'm averaging somewhere around 1 beer per round. By the end of the draft, I had reached the point where outside influences are non-existent. When I'm out drinking, I don't give a shit what other people say and I don't think I can hear anything anyway. So it works out perfectly. I'm in my own world, and if you're not in it, I'm not interested. So after 16 rounds, we take a Vegas Bomb to seal the draft, treated by Mr. K (I think). Directly after this, Mr. F wants to follow suit and buy another round. He buys everyone what they want but insists to the waitress that I receive "the pussiest shot in the bar". After taking down my Buttery Nipple, I feel I must re-prove my manliness and take a shot of straight house tequila. So I do. Somewhere in the middle of this, we managed to input all the draft results and I can proudly brag that we made only one mistake (Jacob Hester in lieu of Devin Hester). At this point, Mr. S informs Mr. J and I that he has been drinking straight liquor on the rocks. Of course, we have to follow suit. At this point, the few stragglers from the draft that were oblivious to the circus that was beginning to take place decide to leave. The remaining players are Mr. K, Mr. J, myself, Mr. F and Mr. S. Following suit on the straight liquor idea, J and I begin drinking straight vodka on ice (house vodka). After a few of these, it becomes debatable the exit strategy that befell us. One thing we kept in our minds was that a few of us had to survive the day long enough to make it across town to Dave and Busters for the Bowling League Party. I'm not a part of this. Neither were S or F. But K and J had to make it to this function, and S, myself and F decided to follow them and just hang out at Dave and Busters. By this point, I'd say I've had somewhere around 16 beers, 3 shots and 2 vodka's on ice. I don't keep count but my tab would suggest something in this ballpark. Whether we were asked, were told or decided to leave on our own free will is still up in the air. The last thing I remember is talking shit to F for having what could only be described as prison tattoos all over his stomach. I was shocked. We begin to have a serious talk about all the fights we had or had not been in. This must be where the tequila begins to take hold. So this is where we stand now and this is where I'll make break in the story. (Surveys say K and J left and shortly thereafter S, F and I were told to get the hell out). It may be of importance to note that we're regulars at this bar and are here every Friday. I don't think they've even suggested that we need to leave until this day.

Friday, somewhere around 5, In a car
My next memory is S, F and I in S's car. F is laughing hysterically and I'm up front trying to put out the fire that F had become. I wish I could remember more of what was said, but just know that if I'm in this condition and am trying to calm someone down, then there must be some serious shit talking taking place. The next thing I remember is S flying into a parking lot and hitting the brakes. He demands F get out of the car and begins talking massive shit to him. I wish I could remember what was said but I believe I was mediating and/or laughing. But S was serious. S was going to kill him. F had no choice but to back down because this was going to get ugly. S calms down and we commence to drive again.

Friday, somewhere around 5:30, Dave and Busters
I vaguely remember stumbling into Dave and Busters in broad daylight. We were either too drunk to get into the bowling party or didn't feel like it, but the next the I remember is order a beer or vodka on the rocks at the bar and playing pool. The pool playing was a lost cause for me. I decide to try to meet some women. I have this image of myself walking up to these 3 women playing pool at the other part of the pool room. I walk up and can barely speak. I vaguely remember possibly standing behind someone. I was told later that I was talking to them and began leaning forward, almost falling. I don't believe this, but it is what I was told. I remember going back up to the bar and ordering another drink. This time I was told that I can't be served. I asked them if it was because I was too drunk. I was told yes. I saunter off with slumped shoulders, what at the time I'm sure I felt was a "victimized" look. It was honest though. I honestly felt sorry for myself that I could be served here. I believe that looking back, I can remember a larger manager type walking up from a different room. This is what we call in the bizz, "backup". They figured these three shlubs that hobbled their mangey asses in here may cause a problem. I'm assuming there was some physical aggression taking place between F and myself because I remember discussing fighting several times and I have a bruised sternum as I type this. Something happened. I remember again walking up to the bar. This time the muscle was here. I attempt to order a drink. They again tell me no, and I remember remembering that they had "cut me off." I slump the shoulder and walk back to my friends. I don't remember anything after this. I'm assuming the fact that they weren't serving me was an issue and that we felt we needed to go somewhere with more lax rules. I was told later that J had joined us in our next ride in S's car.

Friday, around 8, Molly's Pub
I don't know if this memory is of me walking into Molly's or out of it, but I have a memory of the entrance to the pub. My throat tasted like straight vodka the next day, so I'm pretty sure I began ordering vodka on the rocks immediately. But I'm not sure. I believe K and some others joined us at Molly's, but I'm not sure. I was told later that they cut me off at some point and F began buying beers and giving them to me. Molly's is not a large bar. Of course we got caught doing this. At first, we surmised that me crashing out of my barstool onto the ground was the cause of us getting kicked out. We later learned that F buying beer for me was the actual cause. He was apparently buying pints of Guinness so I could prove my chugging prowess. I'm sure it was a work of art, if only I could remember. Nonetheless, at some point I tumped over in my barstool and fell to the ground (this could be the actual cause of the sternum issue), and at another point we were told to leave.

Friday, around 11, Sherlock's
At this point I really have no clue. Neither does J, and he was the only guy I've talked to extensively about this particular night. I learned a few things from him based on our conversation today: we arrived at Sherlock's, we drank vodka on the rocks, we tried to mosh pit, we got told not to mosh pit by a bouncer, a cop looked at me, I looked at a cop back, I stared at a cop, I continued to stare at a cop, and I got told to leave. On the way out, it's weird, because I gained some memory. I remember asking where F was. I had no clue. I didn't remember when was the last time I had seen him. I tried to call him several times with no response. He may have been drunker than I was, but we probably don't want to take it that far. I couldn't get a hold of him and I was genuinely worried. The next thing I remember, I was lead singing while playing Rock Band.

Saturday, around 1, J's house
At this point, I think I realized it was my birthday and didn't really care. I wanted nothing more than to yell into a fake microphone the lyrics to some familiar songs. I distinctly remember doing my best Mik Jagger impersonation to Gimme Shelter and sining Foghat's Mississippi. J's roommate took K's house keys and left to go sleep at K's apartment. I had no shirt on and I continuously failed at the songs I was attempting to sing.

Saturday, around 9 am, J's house
I wake up on the couch with no shirt on. My throat tastes like vodka. I try to recall some of the shit that happened. I want no part of getting my truck from F&H. I still don't know what happened to F. I recall the text message I attempted to send the night before. I'm not a "drunk texter" by any stretch. It is very uncommon. It was just a coincidence that a few people I talk to sent me text messages and I "responded". I'm still scared to check my sent box. I know that one of the responses in my inbox was "HUH?!?!" and another one was "plz don't call me tonight". I'm not really in the mood to check what set off these responses. I have to be in San Antonio by 4 to do another Fantasy Draft and I'm 3 hours away. This drive is going to suck. I'm still concerned with the whereabouts of F. J suggests we call the police stations. I don't have the motivation. We get a ride back to our trucks at F&H from J's roommate, who returned home from spending the night at K's. K was sleeping in J's roommate's bed. S was on the floor when I awoke at 6 am. But he was gone now that I awoke again around 9. I have a headache, but it could be worse. I drive back to my house, still well above a .08. I think about some of the things that at the time I had remembered, and I begin to laugh. I get home and sleep. I wake up and drive to San Antonio, picking up a breakfast burrito and croissant from Jack in the Box. I also pick up Sprite from the neighboring convenient store. I don't know why I didn't buy it at JITB. When I arrive at San Antonio, my cousin shows me a text he received after asking me "how did you draft go?" I responded "AAAAAAaaaaaaaaah asfsd". He asked to show me my first round, and my next response was "afasdf hmqvrd". I inform him that this means "hammered" I'm sure. I pick up some Lone Star Lite and commence drinking again.

When I was a Little Kid #1

When I was a little kid, I literally didn't give a crap. But I also mean that figuratively.

About Me

Honestly:

I'm game for pretty much anything...

... that won't kill me or physically hurt someone else. How often have you ever come up with an idea and heard me say, "no, i just dont feel like it"? 4 or 5 times maybe.

When I say I don't care either way, I usually mean it.

I could eat the same meal every night. I really don't care about stuff like that. If you do, that's fine.

I also like almost every type of food.

I don't complain about something I get for free.

I'm not above taking advice, and I don't give it out unless I'm asked.

I believe I could be a better man in a lot of ways. I can barely fix a flat. I don't barbecue. I am horrible at directions. I'm not brave. I don't have muscles. I talk a lot of shit. I don't hunt. I cried a lot as a kid. I can't back up a trailer. I'm not strong. I can't drive a stick shift. I can't grow a beard. I suck at fighting. I'm terrible with women.

But I believe it could be worse... I'll still pull over and help. I'll show up, eat meat and bring the beer. I bought a Garmin. I'm not a pussy. I don't wear skin tight shirts. I don't take shit from anyone. I fish. I stopped. I own a boat. I'm fast. I drive a truck. I'll grow one anyway. I'm fast. I love my mom.

I eat really fast because "I've got too much shit to do." But I never do shit after I eat. I guess I can start eating slow.

I hate throwing away things that have the slightest bit of meaning to me. Every time I move, I say I'm going to throw certain things away. But when I look at this stuff, and I smile, I realize there is no reason to.

Sometimes I think I'm pretty selfish and arrogant.

I give money to the less fortunate quite a bit.

I'm willing to talk to anyone like they're a human.

I don't belittle or patronize people.

Even if I think I'm better than someone, the last thing I want is for them to know it.

I feel really bad when things don't work out for people who had their heart set on something.

I hate seeing people's bubbles' burst. It's always so embarrassing for them. If someone has true and honest hope, you should just leave them the hell alone. Some of the only regrets I have in life are times when I've felt like I've burst someone's bubble.

I'd rather myself feel really terrible than know someone else is feeling terrible. I can handle it.

I don't like when people try to sound smart when they're really dumb. Big words don't make you smart. They can make you look really stupid though.

I don't like when people try to sound smart when they're really smart. These people are deusche bags.

I feel good when good shit happens to good people. But I also feel bad for people who go to prison.

I sometimes hope for someone to do a crappy job at something so that I can look better or because I am jealous or because I want to get ahead. That sucks and I hate it.

... I usually feel really terrible if it turns out my way though.

I haven't thrown up since 2005.

I used to dip and sometimes smoke. I hate that I did that. I didn't do it to be cool; I did most of my dipping alone in my truck. It served no purpose. I quit because I said I would.

I drink a little too much.

I think way too much.

Small, 50/50 decisions are hard as shit for me to make. But I don't really give much thought to huge decisions that completely change my life. I don't know why. I think I'm just too lazy to figure out the right thing to do. I also have this belief that decisions like that have no right or wrong answer. I justify it by saying that if it's a hard decision between two things, then I guess it could have gone either way so why go through that process. So I just pick one.

I'm not bragging about that. I just don't think big decisions are a big deal. However, deciding whether or not to cook breakfast or take a shower first in the morning gets me all f'ed up.

If I decide to compete at something, I become way too f'ing competitive. I prefer ties though.

I can talk myself into almost anything. I never try to talk people into doing things they don't want to do. I would be a HORRIBLE salesman. The last thing I want is to cause someone to regret something. (This rule does not apply when dealing with women)

I don't laugh or smile in pictures because I used to have really messed up teeth when I was a kid. After I got them fixed, I don't feel like I wore my retainer enough. I'm still self conscious. I've never admitted that before.

I'm in my own little world most of the time.

I care about what I wear but not that much.

I think little kids are the shit.

When I make fun of people, I do it to make others laugh and make myself feel good.

That last one makes me feel like shit.

I'm completely unsure about God and religion and the role He plays in my life. That's very hard to admit, but if we really knew things like this, there would be no such word as faith. Deep down I feel if I do what is right, all things will work out. Maybe that's why I don't sweat those huge decisions.

When I drink beer, I say some ridiculous shit. You'd think it flies out of left field but really it's just some passing thought that came through my head earlier in the day when I was sober. Sometimes I'll even say to myself, "dude please don't say this shit out loud when you're drunk." But it never fails, I'm eventually gonna say that shit. And it's almost never the way I really feel about something. I'll say some shit like, "Fuck dude. Tommy Tubberville is a top 10, no top 5! coach in college football. Every damn year he puts a top 25, no TOP 15! team on the field in the FUCKING SEC!!! THE FUCKING SEC!!! I went to Texas. I'll admit: the SEC is the best conference BY FAR in the country every year. So fuckin' fast. Fast as shit mother fuckers in the South. And fuckin T-Squared consistently, CONSISTENTLY!, goes 10-2, 9-3 every fuckin year. Sometimes 8-4. Then the mother fucker goes 13 and fuckin Oh, and they don't even give him a damn shot at a champion ship. Did you know that not a single member of the AP even gave him a number one vote (*COMPLETELY UNTRUE*). It sucks. IT SUCKS! He got fucked that year. Fuckin Pac-10. He easily top 3... What fucking time is it in this shit?" And it all started 4 hours soberlier when I was watching something about Auburn on ESPN and said to myself, "Tommy Tubberville is a little underrated as a coach. What else is on?"

I do not know how to have a middle ground. I either go all out, or I'm gonna give the most ridiculous half-assed effort you've ever seen.

I really did only study the night before tests in college. Yes, I'm proud of that. No, I didn't learn anything. I'm also ashamed of it though. What a waste. Real reason: laziness and a general lack of interest in any long term goals.

I hated my GPA in college. It was actually pretty good though.

I'm lazy as hell but I've been known to work my ass off every now and then.

I deal with the moment as it comes. I don't look to the future all that much. I do what I feel is right, and as long as I don't die sad I'm fine with whatever happens in between.

I can't handle corniness. It makes me feel fucking weird when someone says something corny. I wish I could muster up a fake laugh to help out, but I never can.

I do things to avoid socially awkward situations for other people.

I take up for people when I know they are about to look stupid. I can soften the blow.

Despite the way it seems, I do get excited about stuff. I don't show it that often because, for some reason, people act really f'ing surprised when I get excited. Or they ask me why I'm laughing, even though they are too. So i just stopped showing it. This way no one has to stare and ask to make sure I'm actually excited. And sometimes it's just awkward.

I'm pretty good at arguing, but I really do look at both sides. I tell people when they're right about something. I'll tell them I was wrong. It's kind of hard to admit when you're wrong, but not really.

If you're intelligent enough to understand the topic, you will know when you are wrong because you will understand what the other person said. You will also understand what you have said. At that point, if you are wrong then you will understand that fact as well. If you keep telling the other person that you are right, you are ignoring what you just came to understand. Then, in my opinion, you will have just become ignorant.

If you're not intelligent enough, you will honestly think you are right when you are wrong. It's no one's fault.

To me, the word ignorant comes from the word "ignore". You are ignorant if you ignore something. Having racial prejudices does not make you "ignorant", so please come up with a new word for it.

I'm not making fun of people who have a different race than me. I'm just asking for a new word to describe these assholes.

Come to think of it, the phrase "ignorance is bliss" is really untrue. While they are not mutually exclusive, you are not necessarily blissful if you are simply ignoring something you know to be true. I think "Obliviousness is bliss" would be a better way to make the point.

The dictionary has a different definition of "ignorance". It means "lack of knowledge" or "lack of awareness". If that's true, then everything I've just said is wrong. See not that hard. It doesn't change who I am or how I feel about anything. It just means I was wrong.

I feel embarrassed for people who talk straight out of their asses. It just sounds so terrible. Just listen to Baltimore Ravens linebacker Ray Lewis. I get goosebumps and feel sorry for how stupid he is. I'm not making fun of him, I just feel sorry for him.

(This is where the comment comes: "I wouldn't talk shit about that mother f****r. He's crazy." Well, if Ray Lewis gets pissed, comes to my house, beats the shit out of me and then stabs me to death, then I will gladly go out that way, with my final words being, "how in the hell did this mother f****r find my blog." Maybe he'll get convicted this time.)

Here's a few quotes I scrounged up:
“We spoke out on the grass to a group of people, consoled them, let them know we understood this was a traumatic, life-changing situation. Some had tremendous reservations about relocating to a state they knew nothing about.” --Ray Lewis on what I can only assume was the original Cleveland Browns' move to Baltimore. "Tremendous" reservations. That just kills me. Wait, he might be talking about Katrina evacuees. Either way.

“That's the most physical football game I've ever played in my entire life, ... McFadden is a great back, especially being a true freshman, but they have a big, physical offensive line, too. For them to be a 2-5 team is unbelievable.” --Ray Lewis on Oakland Raiders Rookie running back Darren McFadden, who was a true freshman 3-1/2 years prior to this comment while playing in college at Arkansas. He had to be a bad ass and use "true freshman" instead of rookie to sound smart.

“You bet. We own the Titans. I remember the good old days when I would blow up Eddie George with a big hit. Now, they've got another running back with two first names, Travis Henry, whom I plan on blowing up in the same manner.” --Ray Lewis. Here, "same manner" is, of course, referring to "with a big hit". I love the "whom" also. I also love the singular habitual activity of "a big hit". It was the exact same big hit every time he, hence not "big hits". And how about the hilarious two first names comment coming from a guy named "Ray" and "Lewis".

“I already believe I am the best linebacker in the game. Now, I have to show one more thing: that I am the most dominating, influential person in the game and the best football player to ever put on a pair of cleats.” --Ray Lewis. You really have to hear the tone in his voice to realize how retarded this one is. He paused between "dominating" and "influential", seemingly trying to come up with the biggest positive adjective he could come up with.

As long as I get some benefit out of something that happens to me, I am glad it happened. I have very little regrets.

I could have been a way better baseball player than I turned out to be if I would have not been so damn nervous. Aside from my friends and family, I don't know if I care about anything more than I care about baseball.

I make judgments about people more by how they choose to present themselves than by the color of their skin. Though I pass judgments on ethnic groups as a whole just like anyone else, I treat each individual regardless of the things they can't help. I don't think anyone should ask for anything more than that.

I help people even if they're doing their job.

Working sucks, so quit treating people in the service industry like they owe you something. Yes, you will be paying for your meal. But if you don't like the service, you have every right to never come back again. You also have every right to complain to the manager and every right to be a complete dick to the server. You also have every right to tip the server any amount you choose. But all you have accomplished is showing that you're a dick. And no, I've never worked in the service industry. If I did, I would get fired within a day.

On that note, I think people as a whole should quit being so fat and lazy. Push your f'ing cart back to the designated area at grocery stores. Don't put it in a f'ng parking spot. It's a cart. Not a damn car. And don't put frozen goods three isles down in a non-frozen section because you decided you don't want it. Someone has to put that back or, even worse, throw it away after it melts. And no, I've never worked in a grocery store. It's just common courtesy.

And don't put your shopping cart in the grass off to the side. You're not helping anyone. That's just ridiculous.

Teachers should get paid way more...

If you are a teacher, don't applaud what I just said. I don't think you should get paid more. I think teachers should get paid more so that more qualified people would have interest in becoming a teacher. No offense.

I don't expect anything from anyone.

I don't suck up.

I don't like hypocrites at all.

FIESTA BOWL

I got off of work late, so I decided not to go to the Fiesta Bowl party. As I'm watching the game at home by myself, I decided it might be kind of cool to blog my inner thoughts during a football game involving my Alma mater, the University of Texas Longhorns. Those of you who know me know that I am a notorious sports pessimist. If I was a betting man, I would tend to bet against the team I am rooting for on any given night. (This is not because I feel I am unlucky or that nothing goes right for me.The actual reason I do this is to hedge the happiness of my life. I am a glass full type of guy, so at the end of any sporting event, I either win money or my team wins a game. I'm happy no matter what. But for the effects of this blog, let's just say I would bet against my team because my teams never win and that I am a pessimist.)

Before getting started, I want to toss out some of my beliefs about sports in general. (It's half-time right now, so I need to kill time)

I'm the only person I know who is honestly not a homer in any way. I don't make arguments based on things that I like or root for. This goes for anything in life and it translates to sports. That being said, I believe Florida would CRUSH the University of Texas Longhorns if we played them in the national championship. I love Texas and if the season played out that way, I would root my drunk ass off for the Longhorns. But I would still believe that we are going to lose. I would just hope something happens that would make my beliefs wrong.

In this case, I would not bet on either team because there is a chance of being sad at the end (assuming Florida is favored). If I bet on Texas (underdogs), I would be sad if Florida won by more that the spread because I would lose the game and lose money. If I bet on Florida, I would be sad if Florida won but it was within the spread (however, there is a better chance of happiness in this situation). I'd rather just take my chances and pull for my team to win. If we lose, hell, at least I didn't lose any fuckin' money, right?

Now, let's take a look at tonight's game. I bet that Ohio State would cover the spread (+8). There is no way that I will be sad at the end of the game. Since, I'm a glass half full type of guy, I will be happy if either I win the football game or if I win money. Therefore, it's impossible for me to be sad at the end of this game. If Texas beats Ohio State by more than 8, I am happy because Texas won. Sure, I lost money but who gives a shit. Texas won! If Texas beats Ohio State by less that 8, that's the perfect scenario. I win the game and I win money! If Texas loses to Ohio State, who cares. I don't know these people. I won money!

Side note: I hate badly officiated games, ESPECIALLY when it is IN FAVOR OF me or my team.

Now we can watch the game from my perspective.

9:13 PM
Ball kicked off to Jordan Shipley, who apparently tripped over some "trip wire", according to the Walrus announcing the game.

9:14
McCoy passes to Kurkendall (sic?) for the first down. Sweet. He follows this by handing it off to Ogbannaya (sic?) and then Foz (sic?) Whitaker. In games like this, (besides Colt) I want to see Cosby and Ogbannaya with the ball in their hands.

9:16
McCoy looks flat today. I think the time off got to him or something. He's not in any kind of rhythm, and he's not running the ball. Pass interference call for us.

9:17
OSU defense stuffs Whitaker. This defense looks fast. Or we look slow. One thing I'm noticing is how well OSU tackles in the open field.

9:18
FINALLY Colt takes off an runs the damn ball. Commercial break. Beanie Wells had 96 yards in the first half. This game could make him the first RB taken in the 2009 draft.

9:21
Cody Johnson rushes the ball (3rd and 1) and loses a yard. All year, I've noticed Johnson has a huge ass. He looks like one of those short black kids who always gets mad when nobody picks them to play basketball so they go pout and cry and stomp their feet so people will look. Those kids always have big fat asses from eating candy all day or something. They're always so bitter too. Go Cody.

9:22
Punt formation. We should go for it. Fake punt. First down.

9:23
Another failed 3rd down attempt as Shipley falls short of a first down. I hate 3rd down routs that are short of the first down marker. Makes no sense to me. Going for it on 4th. Tonight we're playing with all 4 downs, so It's all good. First down Big Ass.

9:25
Looked like Ogbannaya might break it open on a short pass but is tackled by the legs. These fuckers can tackle. Roughing the passer called. Complete bullshit. I hate being at DK Royal stadium when a perfectly legitamite flag is thrown against the Longhorns., yet all the fans (from: "fanatical") boo and scream bullshit. I guess I'm not a fan. Call me crazy, but I don't really want an unfairly called game. If my team can't win without bullshit flags called for us or completely legitmate calls not made against us, then I don't really care if our shitty ass team loses.

9:27
McCoy runs it in for the touchdown. Nice run. 10-6 Texas.

9:31
Footage of McCoy on the sidelines. McCoy looks like a grasshopper.

9:33
3-and-out. That's exactly what we needed. In the first half, we couldn't stop Wells. It was scary.

9:34
Before the game, I was worried Pryor would have a 2005 Rose Bowl (year before our National Championship) Vince Young-type performance. I didn't think it would happen, but I was worried because there was a chance that it might. It doesn't look like it's happening though. He's not an unstoppable runner yet. Of course, Young was a redshirt sophomore and Pryor is a true freshman. He's got time. Pryor is 6'6". Big sommbitch.

9:39
We have just been informed that unless McCoy throws 63 more passes tonight and they all fall incomplete, he will have the highest single-season completion percentage in the history of college football. That's pretty sweet considering Texas does not run a gimmicky dump-it-off Texas Tech-style offense with a bunch of short passes. It's a legit record.

9:41
We're forced to punt after a pretty flat series. Texas is looking good, and Ohio State's defense isn't giving in to the momentum. This is turning out to be a good game. Ohio State is still covering the spread and Texas is winning. Double sweet.

9:45
Lamar Houston pops Beanie Wells behind the yellow line. Another 3rd and out. Defense battle. A "barn burner" if you will.

9:47
First down Shipley. Barring a turnover, it looks like we have the momentum and can blow this thing open. Still 10-6 Texas.

9:48
Another first down pass to Shipley. Who again, according to Walrus face, trips on trip wire. Whitaker runs for 6 and someone else runs for the first down in a hurry-up-style offense. Offsides on OSU. Our line is opening up huge holes right now. This is a good sign. I'd run with Ogbannay here.

9:49
11 yard run by Ogbannaya on an option-style pitch. Sweet play. No effing turnovers for the love of God.

9:50
TOUCHDOWN PASS TO COSBY. Flag on OSU. Declined. TOUCHDOWN. My boys, Ogbannaya and Cosby. 17-6 Texas.

9:52
Text from my cousin Roz received at 9:13: "McCoy looks like Shane Falco in the '94 Sugar Bowl... Quicksand."

Well, now he looks like Shane Falco after the regulars return but the replacements play against Dallas anyway, giving the replacement Washington Sentinels their last shot at glory. "Pain heals, chicks dig scars, and glory lasts forever."

9:54
Sack by Hillard. 3rd and 24. End of 3rd quarter.

9:58
Boekman is in. Pass play fo shizzle. Holy crap beautiful pass and catch OSU - 48 yards. If this were NCAA 2007, the little momentum meter would shake and move a little toward the OSU side, though it is still like a +7 (units?) overall for Texas.

9:59
Pryor in. Almost picked by Earl Thomas on a diving try. Son of a bitch! Gotta catch that. 4th down. Field goal. 17-9. Push.

10:02
McCoy has 302 passing yards, 129 to Cosby (10 catches). Just found out the spelling of Foz Whitaker's name: Foswhitt. Foswhitt Whitaker. Thanks Mom.

("Ogbannaya" is spelled Ogbonnaya. And "Kirkendall" is Kirkendoll.)

10:04
Texas ball. McCoy runs. I still stay we try to pound a little with Ogbonnaya.

10:05
Pitch to Ogbonnaya, just short of the first down. First down pass to Shipley.

10:06
Go for the dagger on 1st down Mack. Nope. First down pass to Collins.

10:07
Coaching staff made some great adjustments at the half, especially deciding to go with the hurry up. Takes away some of the coaching advantage Tressel and his staff has over the Lonhorn staff. Don't give them time to think or react. Nice. MCCOY GETS CRUSHED. Ball flies out of bounds.

10:09
Hilarious Tostitos commercial where the black dude goes up to the bag of chips and starts to analyzes how they're like food luggage. "Would you like to check that baggage sir." "No i'll eat it."

10:11
Went for the bomb but pass goes out of bounds. Beautiful catch by Williams but he couldn't stay in bounds. Bad pass. McCoy actually went at Jenkins deep. Shit. Another incomplete pass. Punt.

10:15
Nice catch by OSU. I'm hungry. Going to get some Kap'n (sic?) Krunch.

10:16
It's Cap'n Crunch. Go figure.

Reviewing the catch. It's good. If this were a home game, fans would be booing even though the footage clearly shows it was a good catch. They would want the bad call. I really don't get it.

10:17
Nice run by Pryor for the first.

10:18
Pryor passes to the tight end, who bends over attempting to catch the bad pass. God he looked so white.

10:19
Nice run by Pryor. Scary. I hope they don't realize he could do that all day a la Vince Young.

10:20
Boekman in, Pryor out wide. Goes for the TD, no dice. They're talking about how Boekman is still the leader of this team and how well he handles it (being benched before the season as a senior). Get off the field. No one cares. What do you want him to do. Quit the team? Hell, that's what I would do.

10:21
I don't want Muschcamp as our head coach. He's a defensive coordinator. Just throwing that out there. I know it's 10 years away, but still.

10:22
Touchdown pass from Boekman to Pryor. Nice play. QB to QB. Can't wait to hear the Walruses discuss how special this is. OSU should go for two. Anway, spread is now covered. 2 pt conversion failed. 17-15 Texas.

10:27
Texas ball. 1st down. Almost picked. We are passing the hell out of the ball. 47 attempts already. short pass complete to Cosby.

10:29
Incomplete pass to Collins. 3 and out. Not a good sign.

10:32
I spaced out for a while. 4:32 left in the game. Pass to huge white guy for OSU.

10:33
Pryor's trying to go into Vince mode. Not quit there yet. They're playing Boekman on passing plays and running Pryor when Pryor's in at QB. We should really key on this.

10:35
Earl Thomas made a great one-arm jersey tackle save the first down/touchdown. 2nd and 2. Footage of Mack gritting his teeth. He has no lips. TOUCHDOWN OSU. Texas is going to lose. However, I'm getting some money out of the deal. CHA CHING. 2 pt conversion to Pryor. 2:02 left in the game.

10:37
Apparently, the DB and the QB (playing WR) pass interfered with each other. Replay the 2 pt conversion. Pryor now playing QB. 2 pt conversion no good. 2:05 left (gained 3 seconds somehow during 2 2-pt conversions tries).

10:38
This is why you bet against your team when your team is a decent favorite. I get to cheer for a touchdown in which my team wins and I also win money. If Colt chokes and we don't score here, I get a consolation prize: MONEY.

10:40
This is it. Prototypical 2 minute drill. Short pass play then a first down pass to Cosby. Then a dangerous throw across the middle to Cosby, almost picked off. Colt takes off and runs out of bounds. 3rd and 8.

10:41 pm, 1:07 left in the game
FREE PLAY OSU OFFSIDES. 1st down pass to Brandon Collins. 13 yards. Ball at 50 yrd line.

10:42, 0:52 left
Pass to Collins, heads out of bounds for 8 yrds. GO mother fuckers.

10:43, 0:51 left
Another attempt to Collins, incomplete. Good god he's gonna throw a pick. Son of a bitch....

10:44, 0:47 left
Quit fucking around Colt! Does one of the Tebow jump pass bullshits... batted down

10:45, 0:43
4th down....
FUCK...
????? RIGHT ON THE FIRST DOWN MARKER TO KIRKENDOLL. WAS HE SHORT???? FUCK COME ON. I HONESTLY FEEL FORWARD PROGRESS STOPPED IN FRONT OF THE LINE, BUT IT'S CLOSE. SHIT.
COME ON.
GOOD SPOT FOR TEXAS. THIS SHOULD BE A FIRST DOWN. TRESSEL'S PISSED BECAUSE HE'S A OSU'S COACH. WHY WOULD HE CHEER FOR A FAIR SPOT?
FIRST DOWN TEXAS!!!!
YES, WALRUS AGREES. GOOD SPOT. UNBIASED.

10:46, 0:38 left
Sweater Vest is challenging the spot of the ball. We should be ok, though. The replay looks like it was a good spot. Inconclusive at worst. Play stands. First down... phew.

10:47, 0:38 left. 2 timeouts remaining
What a game. LEt's go Colt. DOn't throw a pick you fuck.

I don't want to hear about Crabtree. Shut your fucking mouth Walrus face.

10:48
McCoy to Collins, first down. Go to guy down the stretch. Go Collins. CALL TIMEOUT YOU JERK OFF. OK GO GO GO GO GO GOGO GO GOG G TOUCHDOWN TEXAS!!!!!!!!!!! COSBY!!!!!!!!! DIVES INTO THE ENDZONE LIKE A BAD ASS. FLAGS???? OF COURSE?!?!?!?!? WHAT FOR?!?!?!? SWEATER VEST LOOKS LIKE AN OWL. EXCESSIVE CELEBRATION. YOU FUCK. HE SAID "DEMONSTRATION" INSTEAD OF CELEBRATION. YOU DICKASS.

10:50
OSU still has a chance. 24-21 Texas. Monies. Monies. Monies. Wins. Monies. Win. Gold. Monies. This is why you bet agianst your team when favored. 16 seconds left. McCoy over 400 yards. 171 to Cosby.

10:52
Kickoff to OSU. TACKLE THAT FUCKER! Goooooooood. Goooooooood. 14 receptions, 171 yards, 2 touchdowns. There you go Quan.

10:53
Boeckman in. SACK THAT FUCK! why is Quan 26 years old. Oh yeah. Baseball. Knew I liked him.

10:54
HAIL MARY HERE IT IS!! KNOCK IT DOWN YOU FUCKER!!!! I win. $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$


For those of us on a high right now, I'd just like to say, NO, this does not prove we are the best team in the country. We had to scrape and throw the ball 58 times to beat Ohio State in the final minute by 4 points. We needed an absolute blow out to legitimately argue that we have the best team in the country. We need a play off, but playing a great game against the 10th best team in the country does not prove that we are the best team in the country. Sucks. But true.

Damn Gideon.