DGDB&D: a Texans blog.

Mr. and Mrs. Glass

Feb 20, 2008 Faggination, Fake Conversations with Real People, Jerome Mathis got hurt reading this, Johnny Fisterbottom, Pro Bowl 2008, Too far?, Tremendous Busts, Will Demps makes love to the...ladies?

February 15, 2008. Manvel, TX. 10:30PM.

Jerome Mathis: (in car, to himself) Damn. DAMN! I have completely fucked up. Fuck. She is going to be pissed, too. Why the fuck did I let the dogs get out? After the year I had…man…I’m fucked.

(pulls into driveway, goes into house) Erica! Erica?! You here?

Erica Smith: (from upstairs) Yeah, I’m upstairs. Hold on. I’ll be down in a minute.

Mathis: (to self) Fuuuuuck. OK, Jerome. Hold it together. You’re a Pro Bowler; you’ll get a job somewhere. And she loves you for you…y’all having a baby together and shit. OK, here she comes. Stay calm. Don’t get defensive… (to Smith) Hey, baby! How was your day?!

Smith: Motherfucker, how do you think my day was?! I am fucking pregnant. I threw up this morning, then I was tired, then my feet started hurting, then I threw up again, then I had to nap for a while. That’s how MY day was. But that’s not what concerns me right now. What concerns me is whether you talked to McNair about what we talked about last night.

Mathis: Yeah, I did.

Smith: And?!?

Mathis: He said the team wasn’t entirely sure if they were going to bring me back. He said the pit bull incidents really having him questioning whether I have the right kind of character to be a Houston Texan.

Smith: You ignorant motherfucker! I told your stupid ass to chain those dogs up! Did you listen?! Fuck, no, you didn’t listen. You just let those mutts go out and maul some people. Brilliant. Asshole. Did you at least mention that you were a Pro Bowler not that long ago?

Mathis: Yo, you need to ease up off me a little bit. I thought I told you I wasn’t going to put up with that kind of tone anymore.

Smith: Fuck you, jack. Who the fuck do you think you are? Motherfuckin’ Ron O’Neal or somethin’? Talkin’ ’bout I better not talk to you like that.

Mathis: Look, bitch, seriously…I’m not going to put up with much more of this lip.

Smith: Whatchu gonna do, then? You ain’t gonna hit a pregnant woman. Besides…remember what happened last time you tried to pick a fight with me. You want your ass kicked again?

Mathis: Bitch, I told you I had a sinus infection. And I was kinda drunk. You can’t take me in a fair fight and you know it!  I’m in the NFL, goddamnit.

Smith: Yeah…that “F” stands for “Fragile As A Motherfucker.”

Mathis: I am leaving before you make me break my foot off in your ass.  (turns to leave, pauses, turns back) Hey, where the hell is my phone charger?  I need it–my Blackberry is dead.

Smith: Just like your career, apparently.

Mathis: Shut up. Just go get my charger. (shoves Smith)

Smith: Make me, bitch.

Mathis: That’s it.  It’s on now! (grabs Smith by the throat) Yeah! You like that?! You like…wait…what the fuck…LET GO OF MY NUTS!!! OW OW OW OW OW!!! FUUUUUCK!!!! (begins weeping)

Smith: Yeah! You think you’re bad?! You ain’t bad! You ain’t shit!! Get the fuck out of my house, bitch! (throws him out the front door, locks it behind him, heads back upstairs)

Will Demps: (from closet) Everything cool.

Smith: Yeah, baby. It’s cool. Come give mama some of the black throbbing Jesus before I call the police on his unemployed ass. I love me some Pro Bowler sex.