Dear Baylor,
I realize you are feeling heroic. You are feeling inspired. But here is the fact. Texas A&M is leaving this conference. You can’t stop it. You may delay it. You may stall it. But you can’t stop the inevitable. The Sip 10 is going to collapse. It’s time to accept that.
You got lucky thumpers. Admit it. A few years before her rampaged liver threw in the towel, that old lush matriarch of yours somehow managed to get you a seat at the big boy table when you should have been left at the fold up with the toddlers and your retarded uncle. You secured a spot at the table you didn’t deserve. You know it, we know it.
So your president, Ken Star. Nice add losers. Your president made his name hunting down Bubba’s nut sauce. Nice. That old, pasty, jackass carved out his place in US history by unearthing every detail about Bill Clinton’s jizz on a navy Gap dress. That’s awesome. And what did he prove? Nothing. Any non-Baylor affiliated, semi-rational being would have concluded that getting shined by the fatty intern between Cohiba diddling sessions was still a better place to be than sharing time with his carpet munchin communist wife. You wasted all that tax payer money to prove that Bill and Hillary hate each other, Clinton likes him some strange, and men in general like BJ’s. Outstanding.
You do understand the whole world hates him right? Conservative, liberal, dem, repub, indepdenent, doesen’t matter. No one hates a blow job. But everyone hates you Ken. Get it? You do realize your institution hired one of the most hated people in America? Hell, I didn’t even know he was your president until this epic Baptist menstruation began a few days ago. Neither did the rest of the country. Why? Because you’re Baylor. All over America people are saying, remember that hateful old eunuch obsessed with Bill Clinton’s spunk? Yeah, whatever happened to him? He’s the president of Baylor! What is Baylor? Some church school in Texas. Never heard of it. Me neither. But I hate them now.
And what college sports fans around the country will quickly learn is that you’re simply a repository for the off spring of semi-successful parents who require a 4-6 year summer camp for their useless metrosexual sons and soon to be sexually frustrated daughters. Speaking of which, if you keep wondering where you girlfriend is on Saturday mornings, you might find her exiting a northside dorm, wandering University looking for an ice pack and a bottle of cranberry juice. But really, who can blame them? They just want to party, dance, get laid, without getting proposed to or sent to Baptist re-education camp in the process.
You could have acted like men. You could have said FU Texas A&M, don’t let the door hit your goober ass on the way out. Enjoy the 100 year fisting you just volunteered for in the SEC. We’ll chart our own destiny, sheep humpers. Nope. Nah, you decided to be a little ***** and you know what little *****es get? Sticky spots from the tramp stamp to your shoulder blades, lying in bed listening to the shower wondering if he’s coming back. But hey, at least we’re courteous enough to throw you a rag. At least we have been open about our intentions. The sips are going to pull the strings up to the point that the tiny dancing bear is no longer of value or amusement, and then its finally going to hit you – you’ve been taking a big burnt orange dong up the chute from your abusive boyfriend in Austin, with only the hope that he’d let you keep sleeping on the couch in the pool house. The locks are getting changed. You’ll be walking the streets homeless, with a badly shaved head, nursing your orifices like a Parisian call girl that got caught servicing SS officers circa 1944. And that’s where the real fun is going to start for you green and gold ingrates. No one is going to want you. No one likes a cock block. No one likes the frumpy, b**** sweatshirt wearing tri delt with a propensity for keeping the lookers from hooking up. And no one likes sniveling, nutless old men who lie about their intentions and threaten suit in an ultimately feeble attempt to stop what cannot be stopped.
I’d conclude by saying enjoy Conference USA. But I fear that is probably out of reach for you at this point. Poor baylor.
PS – Don’t Mess with Texas Football! <snicker>
[This message has been edited by Urban Ag (edited 9/8/2011 5:25p).]
I realize you are feeling heroic. You are feeling inspired. But here is the fact. Texas A&M is leaving this conference. You can’t stop it. You may delay it. You may stall it. But you can’t stop the inevitable. The Sip 10 is going to collapse. It’s time to accept that.
You got lucky thumpers. Admit it. A few years before her rampaged liver threw in the towel, that old lush matriarch of yours somehow managed to get you a seat at the big boy table when you should have been left at the fold up with the toddlers and your retarded uncle. You secured a spot at the table you didn’t deserve. You know it, we know it.
So your president, Ken Star. Nice add losers. Your president made his name hunting down Bubba’s nut sauce. Nice. That old, pasty, jackass carved out his place in US history by unearthing every detail about Bill Clinton’s jizz on a navy Gap dress. That’s awesome. And what did he prove? Nothing. Any non-Baylor affiliated, semi-rational being would have concluded that getting shined by the fatty intern between Cohiba diddling sessions was still a better place to be than sharing time with his carpet munchin communist wife. You wasted all that tax payer money to prove that Bill and Hillary hate each other, Clinton likes him some strange, and men in general like BJ’s. Outstanding.
You do understand the whole world hates him right? Conservative, liberal, dem, repub, indepdenent, doesen’t matter. No one hates a blow job. But everyone hates you Ken. Get it? You do realize your institution hired one of the most hated people in America? Hell, I didn’t even know he was your president until this epic Baptist menstruation began a few days ago. Neither did the rest of the country. Why? Because you’re Baylor. All over America people are saying, remember that hateful old eunuch obsessed with Bill Clinton’s spunk? Yeah, whatever happened to him? He’s the president of Baylor! What is Baylor? Some church school in Texas. Never heard of it. Me neither. But I hate them now.
And what college sports fans around the country will quickly learn is that you’re simply a repository for the off spring of semi-successful parents who require a 4-6 year summer camp for their useless metrosexual sons and soon to be sexually frustrated daughters. Speaking of which, if you keep wondering where you girlfriend is on Saturday mornings, you might find her exiting a northside dorm, wandering University looking for an ice pack and a bottle of cranberry juice. But really, who can blame them? They just want to party, dance, get laid, without getting proposed to or sent to Baptist re-education camp in the process.
You could have acted like men. You could have said FU Texas A&M, don’t let the door hit your goober ass on the way out. Enjoy the 100 year fisting you just volunteered for in the SEC. We’ll chart our own destiny, sheep humpers. Nope. Nah, you decided to be a little ***** and you know what little *****es get? Sticky spots from the tramp stamp to your shoulder blades, lying in bed listening to the shower wondering if he’s coming back. But hey, at least we’re courteous enough to throw you a rag. At least we have been open about our intentions. The sips are going to pull the strings up to the point that the tiny dancing bear is no longer of value or amusement, and then its finally going to hit you – you’ve been taking a big burnt orange dong up the chute from your abusive boyfriend in Austin, with only the hope that he’d let you keep sleeping on the couch in the pool house. The locks are getting changed. You’ll be walking the streets homeless, with a badly shaved head, nursing your orifices like a Parisian call girl that got caught servicing SS officers circa 1944. And that’s where the real fun is going to start for you green and gold ingrates. No one is going to want you. No one likes a cock block. No one likes the frumpy, b**** sweatshirt wearing tri delt with a propensity for keeping the lookers from hooking up. And no one likes sniveling, nutless old men who lie about their intentions and threaten suit in an ultimately feeble attempt to stop what cannot be stopped.
I’d conclude by saying enjoy Conference USA. But I fear that is probably out of reach for you at this point. Poor baylor.
PS – Don’t Mess with Texas Football! <snicker>
[This message has been edited by Urban Ag (edited 9/8/2011 5:25p).]
