DGDB&D: a Texans blog.

(Many of these links are courtesy of Eric.  I leave it to you to figure out which ones.)

Variations on a theme.  There’s comedy, there’s high comedy, there’s transcendent comedy, and then there’s a thread BE-SF fans trying to decide if Vince Young might just not be quite as good as they think.  My favorite line from the thread: “Anybody that has the chance to have Young close at practices…please tell him that is time to wake up from the Lhorns dreamy land goal got…and get this working as soon as possible… ” I’m not totally sure what that means, but I’m pretty sure it’s not good.

Yikes.  Keith Weiland with a grim reminder of our failings in signing free agents.  There’s not much to say other than “GUH.”

David Anderson.  ‘Nuff said.

This is good news. Remember back right after Manning had the bursa sack removed when his supporters (douchebags, the lot of ‘em) were laughing about the rest of us speculating that Manning might miss regular season games?  “Morons!  Scaredy bitches!  Of course he will be back!  He’ll be ready to kick your ass Week 1!”  Well, it seems like things aren’t quite so certain at this point.  He “hopes” to be ready.  They think he’s on schedule.  There is talk that he might practice next week…or maybe not…who knows?  My own guess: He misses week 1, then struggles to shake some rust off in weeks 2-4.  And then we beat the Colts.  There, I said it.

So, I was looking through the referrals to this fine blog (something I do frequently at work, mainly because I am bored but also because I am paranoid), when I noticed someone had arrived via a Google search for “Will Demps dick.”

Okaaaayyyyyyyyy…

Well, I followed said link, just to see where we ranked in that search.  Go ahead…guess.  Nailed it, didn’t you?

(h/t Brent)

Secret Santa Says You Suck.  I’m not going to lie—if I received this as a present, I would assume that the giver of said gift thought I was a total flop at life, that I wasn’t worth the money my job paid me, and/or that I am injury prone.  (Seriously, though, the inclusion of Corey Bradford is a nice touch that screams “when we made this, we couldn’t name a third Texan off the top of our collective heads.”) (h/t Eric)

“plays [them] close” = gimme? WTF? I was going to do a big post about this piece and its line about the Texans, but then I realized my entire post boiled down to a simple message: Fuck you, Jason McIntyre. Stick to writing bullshit gossip pieces and leave the analysis to people who actually watch sports. Alternatively, die in a fire.

Bud Adams as Chet is brilliant. Hilarious thread over at TT.com (complete with some whiny BESF fans chiming in) doing [Random Titan] looks like _________.  My favorite so far is the Collins as Lumbergh. (h/t Eric)

Rick Smith: So, yeah, I figured out that if you order from Papa John’s online you can order one of the specialty pizzas — meat lovers, Hawaiian, whatever — but then add and remove toppings, so that you get whatever pizza you want at the special price.

Gary Kubiak: Wait…what?

Smith: Yeah, you can pick whatever pizza has the best deal but still get something else.

Kubiak: I honestly don’t–  You mean I can say I want a barbeque chicken pizza, but still end up with black olive and mushroom?

Smith: Exactly!  Wild, huh?!  The missus and I had QUITE the laugh over that.

(secretary enters)

Rick Smith’s Secretary: Mr. Smith, a delivery man just brought this box of donuts for you.

Smith: Huh?

Secretary: Yeah, he said that it was to be delivered to you.  It’s very sticky.  May I set it down?

Smith: (clearing space on his desk) Of course.  Thank you. (considers slapping her ass as she leaves, but doesn’t)

(opens box) Gary, look…someone FedExed me 12 donuts.  (counts again) Wait, no, 11 donuts.  Odd.

Kubiak: Are those sprinkles?

Smith: Yeah.  No, hold on…they are letters.  Someone stuck Alpha-Bits to the donuts! (takes one out)  This one says “Ron haz itch to.”  (pulls another from box) “Take Ron back.”

Kubiak: (picks up donut) “Dayne haz tal–.”  I’m guessing that said “talent” before someone took a bite out of it.

Smith: This one just says “Ron” (pauses, looks closer) and the other glaze seems to have been licked off! (drops donut)

Kubiak: “Ahman wuss Brown haz gay.”  What in the world?

Smith: “I eat ur kidz if Ron not play.”

Kubiak: This is freakin’ weird, man.

(Smith’s phone rings)

Smith: (answering phone) Hello?

Disguised voice: Did yu git muh meshizh?

Smith: Excuse me?

Voice: Muh meshizh!

Smith: Why does it sound like you have a mouth full of Funyuns?

Voice: (chews, swallows) DID YOU GET MY MESSAGE?!

Smith: Yes, Ron.

Voice: Good.  I mean, this isn’t Ron!  This is…um…a concerned fan.

Smith: Ron, your name came up on caller ID.  I told you, we have no need for your services this year.

Voice: Oh.

…

Hmm.

…

Could you return those donuts, then?

Wonderlic
by: Vince Young

This year is s’posed to be the year
That I’m gonna learn to lead a team
Or not, since I just forgot
Everything ‘Dinger taught to me
I don’t believe that they expect me
To memorize an entire playbook

Last week the word was on the street
That the fire in my heart was out
Forget I said I almost quit
Because I never really had a doubt
I don’t believe that they expect me
To memorize an entire playbook

And I’m sure the way I play this year will hurt us
But at least the guys I’m dancing with are shirtless
Our mascot is a Babyeating
Sisterfucker, too
But I don’t care!

Tenn-ess-eeee
You know I fit in cuz I can’t read
3-4-5-6
It’s my Wonderlic

I know Gage is wide open
But I’d rather just tuck and run
Throwin’ deep, man that ain’t for me
Interceptions ain’t no fun
I don’t believe that they expect me
To memorize an entire playbook

And all the fans who watch me play are meth-mouthed
And all of them have wheels underneath their house
Our mascot is a Babyeating
Sisterfucker, too
But I don’t care!

Tenn-ess-eeee
You know I fit in cuz I can’t read
3-4-5-6
It’s my Wonderlic

Tenn-ess-eeee
You know I fit in cuz I can’t read
3-4-5-6
It’s my Wonderlic

Tenn-ess-eeee
Where people just love to inbreed
Where they’ve got no shoes on their feet
Where they really think I’m a Q-B

Hello, peoples.  Travis Johnson here.  As I’m sure you noticed if you drove anywhere over this past weekend, gas be expensive as a motherfucker right now.  And everyone be complaining about it, saying how they can’t afford it and shit.  ‘Cept, when most people bitch about gas prices, they don’t consider the big picture of how those prices can affect other parts of their lives.  Travis, on the other hand, is a master of the big picture.  I actually took a class in “big picture thinking” at Florida State.

Or…wait…no…that was “motion pictures,” but same shit, ya know?  After all, good ass movies like Mission: Impossible have all sorts of car chases and exploding trains and shit like that, and that kind of shit takes fuel, meaning that rising gas prices are going to make the movies more expensive.  Unless you want to do nothing but ninja movies, since ninjas are, um, solar powered.  And, ya know, Travis loves him a good ninja flick, but eventually people are going to get tired of ninja movies, and then you have to bring back shit blowing up, and then you run into those fuel costs again.  It’s a vicious circle.

But what if you don’t like movies?  Travis hears that a lot when I be explainin’ this shit to people, like that is some kind of damned excuse.  I mean, you might not like donuts, but you can be sure that the people who do like donuts are going to be lined up waiting to get into Krispy Kreme when that “Hot Fresh Now” sign is flashin’, and you are going to be stuck in that traffic, burnin’ gas while your car idles.  It’s the same way with the movies, too, cuz it don’t always matter what you like when you start talking about global economies, dig?

No?  Damn it, y’all be dense.  Let me spell this shit out real simple like, since y’all can’t seem to follow Travis’ next-level thinkin’.

Where does gas come from?  That’s right — it’s the remains of dead dinosaurs that Jesus turned into liquid so he could power his car.  Jesus was recyclin’ and goin’ green before it was the hip thing to do, but Jesus was always way ahead of the curve when it came to social trends.  He rocked the long hair, had the original Tevas, home-brewed his own wine, knew that chicks would dig scars…that kinda shit, man.  Anyway,  Jesus thought he made enough that there would be oil forever, but he didn’t consider that some of y’all greedy motherfuckers would drive Hummers and shit.  So, now we be runnin’ out of oil, which decreases the supply.

At the same time, the people who control the oil, the Arabs, hate the people who control the media, the Jews, because the Jews have a liberal bias and they be tellin’ folks to buy, like, hybrids and shit and they keep showing shows like Two And A Half Men, which really has nothing to do with oil, but is still hated by the Arabs.  And, really, you can’t blame them because that Charlie Sheen was bangin’ the one ho from Wild Things and now he’s not, so he is like, gay, and stuff, and they hate gays.  So there is even LESS oil available.

So…yeah, because of all that shit, the price of gas is going up and that is going to affect NFL teams just like it affects y’all.  For one thing, it is going to become more expensive to scout new players, because the scouts have to drive or fly because they all think they too special to take a train because it is a scientific fact that trains make you dizzy and maybe make you throw up.  Travis knows because he took a train once…it was electric and it went real fast, but it just kept going in circles and up and down these big ol’ hills and it even went upside down at one point, and then I guess the driver forgot some of his shit, because we wound up back in the same place we started and they made us all get off and told us we’d have to stand in line again if we wanted to ride and Travis wasn’t about to stand in no line with a bunch of screamin’ ass kids when he had just been on the train a few minutes before.  And, since then, I ain’t never took no trains nomore and I don’t really blame the scouts for refusing to take them.  So, instead, they drive or fly and they use more of that $4 per gallon gas.

Oh, and get this, footballs might actually make the price of gas go up more!  I mean, we call them pigskins, but they ain’t actually made from pigs.  In fact, according to my cousin Del’ron, who watches Discovery channel when he’s high, they made from leather.  And leather comes from cows and, since we have to kill the cows to get the leather, the cows be dead and dead cows can’t make more of that fart gas alternative fuel, so people have to use regular gas.  So, the more footballs that are made, the more gas that is going to be used.  That ain’t good, peoples.  That ain’t good at all.

Fortunately, Travis has a plan that can help the Texans minimize the impact of these gas prices.  I call it the “Pay Travis” plan.  Because, let’s be honest here, God don’t like ugly and Travis’ current deal be ugly as that Betty bitch.  Anyway, in the “Pay Travis” plan, the Texans would pay Travis.  That’s how I came up with the name.

It’s a simple plan, really.  Since it is going to be more ’spensive to scout for new players, the Texans should lock up the players they have right now, starting with Travis Johnson.  I mean, sheeeeeiiiiiiiiiit dude, if a barrel of oil is $150 or $200 or whatever the fuck, you tellin’ me that Travis ain’t worth at least, say, eleventy million dollars a year?  C’mon, man…you know I’m right.  So, that’s the plan, you give Travis eleventy million dollars per year for, say, threeve years, and that allows you to ride out this spike in the gas prices without expending extra dollars for scouting.  Even better, since Travis plays defense, I don’t need no new footballs to practice with, so you wouldn’t have to buy so many, so other people would benefit.  Travis always doing shit for other people.  Travis loves da kids, just like Trick Daddy does.

Now, I know you might be saying that Travis’ play hasn’t been good enough to deserve a raise, even if helps cut down on the gas prices.  To that, Travis says “fuck you, bitch.”  Travis has played very well — y’all just don’t understand what defensive tackles do, man.  You want Travis on that line; you NEED Travis on that line.  That Frank Okam?  Man, that dude ain’t nuthin’ but a no-account rookie shitbag.  And, I heard that he likes to cut down trees and burn them with gasoline.  That don’t sound like the kind of socially responsible player Mr. Bob be likin’ on this team.  Oh, and Frank also leaves his Hummer running in the parking lot during practice, just so it’ll be nice and cool for him when he gets in.  How messed up is that?!

So, yeah, if the Texans are really wanting to help out with rising gas prices, they should do the socially responsible thing and pay Travis.  And cut Frank Okam.  Oh, and also, recycle.

Last year, I wrote the following:

Ignoring for a second that celebrating the Fourth of July as “America’s birthday” is akin to celebrating the day you were conceived instead of the day your mom actually crapped you out, I would just like to wish everyone a happy holiday.

Now go out, get drunk, and see what you can blow up. It’s the American way.

Finally, this entire post was an excuse to post this video, which will either be the funniest or the most retarded thing you’ll see this month.

All of that still seems appropriate, so here’s the video again.  And thanks to Will for reminding me about it in time to post it for the holiday.

I suppose it’s better than learning from David Carr. In general, you probably shouldn’t try to teach things you don’t understand yourself.  In that vein, I put Vince Young’s teaching of “proper QB technique” right up there with me teaching social grace and tact and BFD teaching about sex after 35. (H/T Eric)

Wow.  Speaking of Zoolander, I lack the words to adequately describe the shirt/hat combo he’s wearing in this picture.  I think I’ll go with “unfortunate, ridiculous, and gay as shit,” but I know that doesn’t quite get there.

Oh, fuck this. Finally, let’s just stick keep kicking Zoolander while he’s down because it’s Friday and this shit is fun.  Is that a velour hat?  And, um, that t-shirt is only funny if you get the pun, which would also make it sort of…well…inappropriate in this given situation.  Good lord, every single day I am more glad that Sandy is gone.

I don’t know why I keep quoting Tim, other than it is just a cheap form of lede for my posts and I am all about taking the easy way out.  THAT SAID, Tim once told me that no man over the age of, I believe, 21 was allowed to wear a jersey in public.

Now, that is certainly debateable.  Still, if I may offer some advice to person in this pic I took today, I think when your options are following Tim’s advice or wearing the jersey of a disgraced alleged sex offender, you should probably side with Timmy.  No matter how big a Packers fan you are.

On a related note, it is REALLY hard to get a picture of someone surreptitiously out your drivers’ side window as you roll past them without said picture being dark and/or blurry.

On an unrelated note, that’s a whole lot of pics/videos for you people today, relatively speaking.  Don’t go getting spoiled or anything.

Picking up where we left off yesterday, with the same 10-start requirement in place.

5. Corey Bradford, WR. I don’t ask for a whole lot from my WRs, but I do expect things like, oh, at least 700 yards receiving or a fuckton of TDs.  I got neither from Bradford, despite all the talk that he was going to give us a true WR1.  Instead, we got 500 yards and 4.5 TDs per season for 4 years.  Asshole.

4. Todd Wade, OT. Helluva price tag for a guy who couldn’t even play RIGHT tackle very well.  It seems almost unfair to include offensive linemen in this list since we don’t know how much better they might have looked without Captain Fetal under Center, but who really cares about “fair” when you are bitching about your own team?  Perception is everything, baby!  And I perceive Wade to have been a severely overpaid turd who couldn’t block you in a game of Connect Four.

3. Jabari Holloway, TE. Ah, Jabari…the third piece of the TE shitheap (that also included Joppru and Miller).  You couldn’t catch (they dropped you and kept Billy Miller the following season), you couldn’t block (Mark Breuner looked like a god-send after you were gone), yet you started 17 games in two seasons.  Odd.

2. Seth Wand, OT. Wand paired with Wade to form the least formidable set of bookends I think I’ve ever seen.  Hell, Wand is the posterchild for the whole “The Texans Need An Offensive Line” mantra that the press has fed us for six seasons.  Or, at least, he would be the posterchild if he’d ever been good enough for non-Texans fans to remember who the hell he was.  I hate you, Seth Wand.  I hate you so very, very much.

1. David Carr, QB. As if there was any doubt who would be number one?

Also receiving votes: Jabar Gaffney, Milford Brown (and Tony Hollings would be on here for sure but for the 10-start thingie.)

***All stats again from Pro Football Reference.

Carr residence, 10:43 P.M.

Melody Carr: (lying in bed, next to her husband) Davey.  Hey, Davey…you feel like fooling around a little?  (inches close to him)  It’s been a little while.  Like…six months, I think.  I really miss the feel of making love to you.  I want to be in your arms.

David Carr:  (pouting) I dunno. I suppose we could.

Melody:  What’s wrong, hon?  Did I do something wrong?  I just…I don’t understand why you never want to make love to me.  What has happened to our sex life? Do you not find me attractive anymore?!

David:  Sure…I…do…. It’s just, well, I just think that maybe we should do some stuff to, say, spice our sex life up a little bit.  It’s not that I am bored, really…but, ya know…I think we need to be a little more, um, adventurous from time to time?

Melody: Like what–something other than missionary?  You want to leave the lights on or something?!

David:  Well, yeah, kinda.  But, I was thinking, you know, um…maybe we could work some costumes into the mix.  Nothing weird like Little Bo Peep, just more regular costumes.

Melody: (hesitating) Cos-tumes?  Like what?

David: (reaching under the bed for a box) Well, I got some stuff here.  Nothing specific–just a couple random ideas I had at some point prior to today.  I mean, not that I’ve been planning this or anything.  Anyway, first, why don’t you put on this wig?

Melody: That’s a blond wig, David.  I already have blond hair.

David:  I know, but this one is wavier than your hair.  And I like the shape of it.

Melody:  The shape?  David, that is a mullet.  Why do you want me in a wavy blond mullet wig?  That doesn’t make any sense at all.  (pauses) You know, what? Nevermind, this is something you want and if it’s going to help our sex life, I’m going to keep an open mind about it.  (Puts the wig on.)

David:  Very nice.  I’m getting excited already.  Now…I was thinking we could draw some tattoos on you.  Something edgy, but still artistic and classy.

Melody: Huh?

David:  (takes out Sharpie)  Yeah, some real cool stuff on your shoulder and arm.  (starts drawing on her)  Like, um, I’ll draw a big eagle head here on your right arm. (draws big eagle head on her right arm) And, yeah, in the background, I’ll do an American Flag. (in background, draws American flag)

Melody: Wow.  I, um–I had no idea that you liked tattoos.  Isn’t that a little manly, though?

David: No! Not at all!  It’s very feminine.  OK, then I was thinking that you could put on a football jersey.  I have one of mine right here.

Melody: That’s not your jersey, Dave.  That’s number 80.  That’s Jeremy’s jersey.

David:  Oh…hmm…I must’ve grabbed the wrong one on the way out.  No biggie, you can go ahead and wear it.  80, 8…same same, ya know?

Melody:  Ewww!  What is that smell?!

David: Um…dunno…maybe I grabbed the jersey from the dirty pile instead of the clean pile.  It’s just a little sweet musky odor.  No big deal, right?  I mean, you said you were going to keep an open mind about this…

Melody: No no…that’s fine.  It’s only a little smelly.  I can wear it (gags as she pulls it over her head)  EWW…it’s still damp.  David, this is gross.  I’m only doing this because I love you.  I hope you realize that.

David:  I do, honey.  I appreciate it a lot.  Now, turn around so I can see the wig and the jersey.  (mumbling) Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about it.  God, I want you to fuck me.

Melody: What?

David:  Uh…you look awesome.  There’s just one more thing I want you to put on before we make love.  It’s over there, in my top drawer.

Melody: OK.  (walks to drawer, opens it) OHMIGOD!!!  David, this is a used jockstrap with a dildo duct-taped to it!  What the fuck do you want me to do with that!?!?  (turns to see David naked, face down on the bed, clutching a giant tube of Anal-Eze) Oh Lord!! (faints)

David: Damn it!  I was this fucking close!

Is this thing on? I’ll be damned if I can find any Texans news worth linking to this morning.  We have officially hit the summer doldrums, aka “the time of year when we are forced to talk to family.”  Damn. Because there is no news, I am just going to link to a bunch of random funny stuff.

Like the real thing, only smarter. You know what you need?  A Dom Capers bobblehead doll.  The description doesn’t say whether the doll comes with an inability to coach offense, but it seems so life-like I assume it would have to. 

Not so much funny, as awesome.  Sticking with the bobbleheads for a second, here is an Andre Johnson Draft Day ‘head.  I’ve never even seen this before.  Of course, it’s going for $54.99, so it ain’t cheap, but nothing good ever is.

Ice, Ice Baby. I know I’ve linked to this once before, but MJD’s take on David Carr being “too cool to QB” still makes me laugh.

Wasn’t me. Brandon Jones, another WR that Vince Young has little use for, was arrested for trying to take a gun through airport security.  Said the flanker, “uh, yeah…I, um, grabbed the wrong bag.  I meant to grab my suitcase and, instead, grabbed the bag where I haphazardly keep my LOADED firearms.”

Parting shot.  My wife, after reading the long post on the 4-3: “You make football sound like it takes thought to play it.  I read the first two paragraphs, but the rest are sounding like the teacher in a Peanuts cartoon.”

Game Show Host: Aaaaaand, we’re back! It’s time for the lightning round. You all know how this works; You pick a category, I ask a question and, if you get it right, I ask you another one. If you get it wrong, the next person gets a chance to answer. The first person to answer five correct wins. Travis, as the only person without a negative dollar amount following round one, you get to go first.  Please choose from General Knowledge, Human Anatomy, and Authors.

Travis Johnson: General Knowledge.

Host: OK…name the first President of the United States.

Johnson: George Washington–

Host: Correct!

Johnson: Carver.

Host: Um…incorrect.  Ms. Raley, your question.

Anna-Megan Raley: What?

Host: It’s your turn to answer the question.

Raley: What question?

Host: Name the first President of the United States.

Raley: Sam Houston.

Host: Ugh.  No.  Vince, please, who was the first president of the United States?!

Vince Young: Oh, that’s that dude on the dollar bills I put down those strippers pants at JR’s.  Oh, what’s his name…um…Washington!  Yeah, George Washington!

Host: Correct!  Next question: In the equation 2x+4=6, what does x stand for?

Young: X?  Hold up! This is a trick question, dawg.  X is a letter, not a number!

Host: Good god.  I mean, seriously…sweet holy Jesus.  Travis?

Johnson: (dancing to music no one else hears) Word.

Host: What does X stand for?

Johnson: Shoot, I dunno…one?

Host: Wow…that’s right!  OK, what is the capital of Texas?

Johnson: Ha, that’s easy, dude! The letter T!

Host: What? Oh. No. Anna-Megan?

Raley: (two octaves higher) Uh huh!

Host: Ow.  What is the capital of Texas?

Raley: AUSTIN!!!!!

Host: Yes, but please calm down.  You still have to answer four more to win, ok?

Raley: OK!

Host: (sighing) Jesus.  In the sentence, “the dog bit the cat,” what part of speech is “dog?”

Raley: I love dogs!  What color is he?!

Host: WHAT PART OF SPEECH IS THE WORD “DOG?”

Raley: The tail?

Host: (stares blankly at Anna-Megan)

(stares)

(stares)

(considers the sweet release of death)

Host: Moving on…Vince, what part of speech is “dog?”

Young: (removes shirt) A noun, dude.

Host: I honestly have no idea how you knew that, but correct!  

(bell rings)

Host: Oh, we are running short on time!  That means it only takes THREE correct answers to win the lightning round.  Vince, if you can answer this, you will win.  How many sides are there on a dodecahedron?

Young: I don’t know nuthin’ ’bout dinosaurs.

Host: (muttering) Goddamnit.  Travis, dodecahedron, sides?

Johnson: It burns when I pee.

Host: (eyes fill with tears)

(stabs self in the chest with pocket knife)

(dies)

Johnson:  Whoa.  That’s some fucked up shit there, dude.  (looks at Raley and Young)  Yo, Vince, you wanna stuff this broad like a pair of Chinese finger cuffs?

Young: (rubbing nipples) Nah, dawg. You know I don’t get down like that.  (realizes what he said)  Um, with, uh, white women.  Yeah, that’s it.  Nothing to do with guys at all…no, no sir, not me. Not that, like, there’s anything wrong with that, but, you know, I ain’t, um, like that…

Johnson:  Whatever.  (to Raley) Yo, bitch, you ever get yo’ shit rocked by a big ol’ dude like me?

Raley:  Puh-lease…how do you think I GOT my job?  Let’s go back to your place and I’ll show you why they called me “Ol’ Three Hole” in college. (pauses) You’re wearing a condom though…Lord knows I don’t need another inflamed elvis.

I’m feeling a little sappy tonight, so bear with me. First, a shout out to Liston and hope he’s doing well (and toast should always be eaten above the head, when possible). I’d take Liston over about 99% of professional comedy writers. Secondly, total thanks to Eric for doing the leg work on this post.

We’re now a couple of days post-draft hangover (a vicious Zima hangover, if you’re Tim). I’ve already given my take on the draft, so let’s take a tour around the rest of the delightful internetz and get some opinions from the “experts’ on how the Texans performed (and, by “opinions,” remember that if they don’t match ours, they are wrong. Of course.).

Let’s start with the scorched earth version of Emily Post, Texans blogger Steph Stradley. With her harsh, septic take on life, you knew there was no way she could be complimentary of the Texans. She proved this by giving a completely unfair B/incomplete. Perhaps, one day, she will come to embrace life. For now, I just hope Kubiak wasn’t within back-hand distance when Duane Brown’s name was called (You know, after re-reading this paragraph, I think I’m a little bitter about not being invited to this. Steph, this situation at least calls for some in-depth probing. And I promise: it won’t take long at all.).

Dr. Z is one of the few mass media types I enjoy because he’s not afraid to get technical with his audience (why, yes, I adore Ron Jaworski). This is what he said:

Houston Texans: So their venture into the O-line arena in the first round nets them a finesse guy, Duane Brown, after they traded down eight places. What I’ve always felt about this team is that linemen should be brought in by the truckload, not on little tippy toes.

The grammar channeling of a Chron writer aside, I think he sums up well some of my concerns about Brown. He didn’t give a grade, per se, but it wouldn’t be too pretty.

The hair-opshere reference? Oh yeah, that’s gotta be all about Mel Kiper. He gave us one of the worst grades, a “C”, but I don’t fully understand why from his write-up. Fortunately, Kiper has reached the point of that aunt of yours who knows every-little-fucking-thing in the world, but she earns minimum wage at the local car dealership answering phones. Or is that just my family?

ProFootballWeekly doesn’t hand out grades but seriously echoes of Dr. Z with their write-up. Personally, I think it’s a fair summary of our draft.

Jason Cole at Yahoo! Sports gives us a B, but he adds something I hadn’t seen before:

Okam, a former defensive tackle, is likely to shift to guard, a clever move by teams that realize that non-athletic DTs can make for cheap, athletic G’s.

I argue the part about Okam not being athletic, but this is a really interesting take. Evidently, Okam scored a 39 on the Wonderlic. which just kinda verifies what we already knew: he’s a smart MF. I’m not buying the G angle, but it’s something to consider. Props to Cole.

Finally, Gregg Rosenthal and Evan Silva at nbcsports.com give us a B-. They did give the Babyeating-Sisterfuckers a D+, so I think they put some thought behind it.

So, what can we learn from all these grades? Well, nothing. This exercise reminds me of some advice my father never gave me: opinions are like assholes, and yours stinks.

If there is a takeaway from this grade-wankery, it’s that there isn’t a ton of deviation between opinions. Duane Brown was a stretch and he’s a project. We got some bargains at the end of the draft. BFD + cheerleaders = more complimentary write ups. No surprises once you think about it.

Let me end on this. Mike Florio at PFT has a write-up about Kyle Shanahan and Reggie Bush. Now, aside from this sentence of stupidity:

So, basically, Shanahan thinks Bush is a third-down type player. Which is an accurate assessment of him now.

No. I call bullshit. I don’t know many people who actually thought he would be more than that. And the insinuation that Shanahan had anything to do with this pick, which is asinine beyond belief in the context of the 2006 draft, is just silly.

But the rest? Basically, even though we all know that Shanahan is Chris Simms’ bitch, I have a little place in my heart for him.

Edit: Completely remiss if I don’t add this must-read article by SOLIS on Super Steve Slaton.

Gary Kubiak: (on phone) …uh-huh…yep…really, him? OK…no, that’s fine…I just didn’t…I didn’t know he was Catholic…I’ll tell him. (hangs up, dials Travis Johnson’s cell phone)

Travis Johnson: (singing) And IiiiIiiiiIiiiiiIIIIIIiiiiieieeeee, will always LOVE youuuuuuuuuu, IIIIIIIIII will always love youuuuuuuu… (answers phone) ‘Sup, coach?

Kubiak: Hey, Trav. How’s it going? I just got a call from the strangest person.

Johnson: You mean someone pretending to be Mayor McCheese? That’s not so weird; I get that all the time.

Kubiak: (sighing) No, Travis…not someone pretending to be Mayor McCheese. I have no idea–nevermind. Anyway, I got a call from the Missionary Oblates of Mary Immaculate.

Johnson: The fuck is an oblate?

Kubiak: You know, the people who provide priests for your church here in Houston? Shit…ANYWAY, it seems that the Pope is in the U.S. and he wants to invite you to have an audience with him. This is quite an honor, Trav, and–quite frankly–I am petrified that you will do something monumentally stupid and turn every Mexican in Texas against us. Please don’t fuck this up. Please?

Johnson: Shit, baby…it’s all to the good. I loves me some Pope.

(later that evening, in the rectory of St. Patrick’s Catholic Church in Houston)

Johnson: Hi, Mr. Pope. Nice hat, dawg.

Pope Benedict: Hello, Travis. God bless you.

Johnson: So, what’s up, man? What’s good? What’s the word? (does elaborate, thirty-eight step handshake, points to the sky)

Pope: (looking startled) I…I…well, it is certainly wonderful to meet you, Travis. Father McHale tells me that you are setting a wonderful example for Catholic youth in Texas. He says that you–

Johnson: Oh, hell yeah, dawg! I be doin’ all sorts of shit fo’ the little kiddies. Why, just the other day, I took ten kids to the Mall to let them watch me buy some shoes.

Pope: I’m sorry? Do you mean you bought them shoes?

Johnson: Shit, no, man. I bought ME some shoes and I told them, “y’all practice hard and, someday, you’ll be able to afford all these shoes fo’ yo’ damn selves.” They were feelin’ me.

Pope: (looks slightly frightened and confused) You…bought yourself shoes…I…I don’t know what to say.

Johnson: I know, right?! Shit was great, dog!

Pope: (suddenly rethinking the entire meeting, changes subject) Tell me, son, is there a prayer you would like to say with me?

Johnson: Nah, dawg. I’m good.

Pope: Well, perhaps there is something you’d like blessed?

Johnson: Wait…whatchu sayin’? That you can give, like, super Jesus powers to something?

Pope: Not exactly, my son, but I can bless you or someone you love.

Johnson: Fo’ real?

Pope: Yes.

Johnson: Fo’ really real?

Pope: (sighing) Yes.

Johnson: Awwwww, SNAP! (unzips pants) Bless this, Pope.

Pope: What?!!

Johnson: Look, here’s the deal. I gots these two dudes on my team–Will Demps and, uh, this other Ivy League brotha we just signed–and they are both packin’ some SERIOUS dick, Pope. And, to make matters worse, they are both pulling more ass than a Texas Mormon, ya dig? So, I’s thinkin’ that, if you blessed my little Osceola, I could use my Jesus Dong to compete with those two.

Pope: (aghast)

Johnson: (looks at dick, looks at Pope)

Pope: (frightened)

Johnson: (looks at dick, looks at Pope.) Man, you gonna sit there slack-jawed like some motherfuckin’ Trent Green or you gonna holify my shit?

Pope: (looks for nearest exit, making blessing motion in Travis’ general direction) Ego contemno meus vita.

Johnson: (zipping up pants) Now THAT’S what I be talkin’ about, ya heard! 20 minutes ago, I had a lot of respect for the Pope. Now, I’m all like, HELLZ YEAH, THE POPE IS THE SHIZZNIT, BABY!!!! Vatican City in the house! Florida State in the house! My holy dick in the house!!!

Pope: (scurries out the side door)

Travis: (yelling after him) Yo, dawg, I’ma give my cell number to that dude out front in the big red hat! Holla at a playa if you are back in town! Tell Jesus I said what’s up!

You didn’t think I was going to let this slip by, sans comment, did you? It seems a certain group of incestual infantivores have been buying copious amount of hydro green green from a Nashville drug dealer.

An undetermined number of Tennessee Titans players regularly purchased high-dollar, hydroponically grown marijuana in ounce quantities from a Nashville drug dealer, according to court records recently filed in the drug case of a former Nashville police officer sentenced to federal prison.

Of course, in typical, Titans-players-are-dumber-than-shit fashion, it seems they were paying for less weed than they were actually getting.

Corey Cecil was asked about the transactions, “The people that were sending you those wire transfers were connections that you had made on the streets when you more or less were a hydroponic marijuana dealer to the stars; is that right?”

Cecil asked Strianse what he meant by “To the stars,” and the attorney replied, “Tennessee Titans players, you would set them up with ounce quantities of high-quality hydroponic?”

Cecil then replied, “Yes, sir.”

Cecil also confirmed in questioning that he was “pinching out” seven grams of each ounce and selling it to the players as a full ounce with the Titans players unaware of being shortchanged.

According to Cecil’s testimony in the transcript, he would purchase the marijuana for approximately $650 per ounce, then after removing the seven grams, would sell the drug for “Like a grand.”

Let’s do some quick math: 1 oz. equals roughly 28 grams, so $650/oz = $23.21/gram. He pinched out 7 grams, so he was selling roughly $488 worth of weed for $1000. Either Cecil is the greatest marketer in the whole world, or it was clear to him that he was dealing with some total idiots.

Oh, wait.

(h/t Eric.)

Houston Texans lockerroom, 9:35 pm

Will Demps: (singing to himself) It’s my dick in a box, my dick in a box, girl / Christmas…dick in a box / Hannukah…dick in a box / Kwanzaa…dick in a box / Every single holiday, a dick in a box / Over at your parents house, a dick in a box / Mid-day at the grocery store, a dick in a box…

Kevin Bentley: Hello, William.

Demps: Whoa! Will Demps didn’t see you there! Why are you sitting in here with no music on? (turns Justin Timberlake CD on) I’m bringin’ sexy back…

Bentley: I was conjugating irregular Latin verbs from memory, William.

Demps: Conju-what?

Bentley: You know, “sum, erum, ero…” You have no idea what I am talking about do you?

Demps: Will Demps caught his reflection in the mirror and totally stopped listening to you.

Bentley: Anyway, William, much like our last encounter, it is fortuitous that I have again encountered you.

Demps: Speak English, motherfucker. Will Demps doesn’t speak uppity college jibber-jabber.

Bentley: (sighing) Cretin. Like I was saying, it’s good that you are here. Let me preface this by asking a question–you consider yourself quite the ladies’ man, don’t you?

Demps: Does a bear shit in the woods? Will Demps has been in more bush than Crocodile Dundee. Will Demps has plowed more fur fields than John Deere. Will Demps has bon–

Bentley: Christ, I get it! OK, that said, I think you realize that there can be only one, William.

Demps: What kind of Highlander shit are you talking about?

Bentley: This lockerroom–nay, this TOWN–is not big enough for both of us. There are only so many fine young females to go around, you know. So I have come up with a solution…if you have the courage for it.

Demps: Motherfucker, Will Demps has all the courage in the world. Will Demps once let a hungry fat girl go down on him; you have any idea what kind of courage THAT takes?!?

Bentley: Glad to hear it. Here’s the deal–a Contest of Sexual Conquest. Except, rather than sheer numbers, there is only one lady who matters. Bed this prize and you win; I’ll ask to be released so that I can go finish the Great American Novel. But, if I win, you must leave Houston and never return.

Demps: Shiiiiiiiit, holmes. Will Demps has never met some red snapper he couldn’t filet with a quickness.

Bentley: Is that a yes? I rarely have any clue as to what you are saying.

Demps: Fuck yes, it’s a yes. Wait…who’s the Golden Vag?

Bentley: Rhonda.

Demps: Rhonda? Rhonda who, Will Demps don’t kno–WAIT! You mean Rhonda KUBIAK?!?!

Bentley: Indeed, young William. Indeed. You see, I have found that the only prizes worth chasing are the ones that require the most risk. Much like how, once a man has killed another man, mere hunting of dumb animals never satisfies his blood lust again.

Demps: (looking confused)

Bentley: (exasperated) Yes. Rhonda Kubiak. Bed her and you win.

Demps: Will Demps is not so sure this is a great idea…but Will Demps loves him a challenge. Let’s do this. May the best man win.

Bentley: Oh, I shall, William. I shall.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Hello, peoples. Travis Johnson here. As the team’s resident expert on St. Patrick’s Day, I wanted to share some of my learnin’ with y’all. I live to edumacate the masses.

First, you are probably wondering why I am the team’s expert, seeing as how I don’t exactly look Irish. That shit is RACIST, dawg. My great-great grandfather, Seamus McJohnson, came over on, like, a boat and shit. What, you didn’t know that there were black Irishmen? And y’all think I am dumb. Sheeeeeiiiiiiit.

Anyway, the point is I know a lot about St. Patrick’s Day and I am going to spit some of that knowledge your way.

Now, St. Patrick was this dude who lived in Ireland, like, WAY back. Like before Christopher Columbo even found Texas. His real name was Maewyn, which is really gay, so he just started going by Patrick. When he was, like, 16, he was kidnapped by some other Irish dudes and sold into slavery. I think he had to pick potatoes and shit. He escaped from the kidnappers and ran away to France, which was called “Gaul” back then because French people is stupid.

While he was in France, Patrick studied Christianity from…um…Jesus and he was all like “Yo, dude, this Bible shit is tight. I’m gonna go back to Ireland and tell my whole posse about it. Thanks French Jesus!”

Patrick drove back to Ireland and started telling all his boys about Christianity. He was straight spittin’ the Word to anyone who would listen. This made a rival gang, the Celtic Druids, mad. They snatched him up a bunch of times, but Patrick kept escapin’ like the motherfuckin’ birdman. Caw, bitches.

Peoples axe me all the time, “Travis, why do we have some of the St. Patrick’s traditions like parades and corned beef and shamrocks and shit?” Simple, my friends…those are all things that Patrick liked. Parades? Patrick used to round up his posse and C-walk through the streets, talking about “Jesus saves, bitch! Northside Jesus, what?!” This pissed the Celtic Druids off like whoa, but Patrick did that shit anyway. Corned beef? Well, a lot of those hoes back in old ass Ireland had the syphillis, but they called it “blarney dick,” and it made your thang look like corned beef. Nowadays, we just eat the corned beef because that shit tastes good as long as you don’t think about dicks. And shamrocks? We all know Patrick liked to fire up a little of that sticky green–who doesn’t?!–and it don’t get stickier or greener than some hydroponic Irish shamrocks. Oooooweeee! That shit is the fire, yo! I ain’t even playin’ with ya…I mean, uh, that’s what I’ve heard. Travis don’t smoke the green no mo’.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, so Patrick did this preachin’ and convertifyin’ in Ireland for, like, 30 years and then he retired. He died on March 17, so that’s why this date was made into a holiday. And that’s the story of St. Patrick’s Day. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my “Suck Me, I’m Irish” t-shirt and go suckerpunch some old ladies.

Considering I have been incredibly lazy around here lately (due in no small part to my sleep being in three-hour intervals), I am going to give myself a little credit for being only eight days late in announcing the winner of

The DGDB&D “Design A Richard Justice T-Shirt” Contest!!

The winning entry, submitted by The Count, will be made into a t-shirt shortly and I will post the link. I will also mail one of the shirts to Dick himself (and to The Count) and, with luck, some form of hilarity will ensue. (Note: The authors of this blog take no responsibility for any lack of ensuing hilarity.)

UPDATE: