7:17pm -- I'm well into my 3rd glass of Jameson's, the Den is hazy with lingering smoke from my last tighly rolled insence stick...and the phone rings. I know its the phone because I removed everything else from the Den that rings to avoid confusion. Its Terrell Owens calling from California...and yes, he was crying. Its been a while since we talked, I ask him how the ankle is doing and offer my congratulations on a great season that ended too soon. As per usual he asks to speak with my wife, but she was in the shower. After calming him down a bit, I asked Terrell why he was so emotional after the game and I roll another inscence stick. "T Bizzle, (He called me that one day when we were working out in my driveway, and it just stuck), he says, "Jamie Lynn's pregnant" I said, "I know, wierd stuff"... Terrell just started crying again and it became obvious. He ended the call by saying that he only regrets two things in his life, 1. Spiking the ball on the Dallas midfield star and 2 believing Jamie Lynn was on the pill... Getch Gerber Baby Food Ready.
8:42 pm -- I dosed off watching Fox News Report while I Decide (I guess lies make me drowsy)...but before the recliner caught on fire, the phone rings again. It was an unfamilar female voice screaming hysterically in pain with heavy bass rythms in the background. Calmly I said "Put Pacman on the phone honey, I'll take care of this. Strange vibrations on an otherwise unassuming Thursday night. I opened my trusty Sucrets case, found the pill with the smoothest edges and downed it with haste.
9:26 -- I stare intently at the near empty bottle of Jameson's sure that my previously untapped powers of telekenesis will refill the decantur with more precious drink...this didn't happen and I all at once felt the sorrows of Capt. Jack Sparrow when the Rum ran out. The phone rings again, almost on cue to lift my spirits. I, having learned my lesson, check the caller ID--> VICTORIA SECRETS Damn!, Tom Brady again. I answer, frustrated and with no time for plesantries. "For the last Time Brady, NO! suggesting a 3-way is NOT a good means of reducing Baby Momma Drama". I of course know this isn't true...but who has the time to deal with his crap? Please note ALL Baby Mama Drama can be easily settled by employing the wonders of a 3 way with your current woman and said Baby Mama) -- see 2girls1cup.
9:34 -- As soon as I hang up the phone it rings again. I reach for the bong...flick, gurgle, inhale...answer! "Hey Turbo!, it's me Phillip, are you gunna watch the game Sunday?" *A long pause* "Sorry, you wrong numba, you call for Chinese food...so sorry! *Click* Freeking Rivers gets on my nerves...quit callin me!
11:00 -- I wipe the tears away after the rivetting ending to Lonesome Dove, Comanche Moon. Even in my weakened state, the irony that we as a country can still villify Native American's for a profit is not lost on me. I snap myself out of an introspective nose dive and remeber I have big plans for the evening...come on phone, Ring! And it did, finally....it was Pacman, he was out front and I was ready to start my night. I drove, not because I was sober, but Pac said his hands were aching from knocking girls around and making it rain for hours on end. I couldn't sympathize, but Pac's got enough going on without worrying about who's gunna drive.
Talk to you soon friends, until then...send booze and breakfast burritos....it's gunna get cold.
Written from Rodger Goodell's secret bunker in WWII Germany,