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Incidentally, during her stay, a 6.6 earthquake hit near Tokyo, and Jessica tweeted about it. (If you Google “6.6 earthquake,” the first entry you get is “Jessica Simpson tweets about 6.6 earthquake while in Japan.”)
So, let’s see…Jessica Simpson visits Tokyo as a geisha, then a 6.6 earthquake hits. Hmm…
To those heathens who say that the Football Gods don’t exist, I say, “I pity the fool.”
To the non-believers who think that Romo breaking up with Jessica Simpson one day before her 29th birthday was stone cold, I think…damn, that was kinda cold, dude. Ouch.
But having ice in your veins and winning championships go together like ramma lamma lamma ka dinga da dinga dong, so I realize this is all part of your Great Plan, Football Gods.
So I praise you and I say…
So long to Bad Fuck Charms! Bring on Super Bowl XLIV! And Hallelujah, bitches!!!
Does your weiner burn? If not, we’ve reached you in time. Let’s talk.
Listen, we understand what happens when you get dumped by the most desirable girlfriend on the planet. Dude, it happens. And here’s the thing: we’re pretty sure she was never going to stay with you anyway. Not saying that to hurt you, it’s just true. Drew loves “It” guys, loves ‘em truly-uly-uly, but simply has to move on, eventually. You can’t box a cherub, you can’t cage a cuddly bird like her. She must fly and be free. On to the next indie rock singer or indie flick star or indie comedy man.
So, it’s natural to go f*ck-crazy after you’ve gotten your heart stomped on by your true love’s Converse. And after you’ve gone through the initial stage of punching yourself in the stomach and crying until your face is puffed up like a Beard Papa’s cream dessert, that seems like the right thing to do. Put your peepee in something, anything that moves.
The problem is not taking your dating bar into consideration. Once you raise the bar (for example, by bagging Drew Barrymore) the bar is high. You can date anyone on the tippy-top level forever and ever…until, you drop your standards:
Oh dear. Honey, you don’t want to go that route–smoker’s breath, a dumpy film career, crack face, droopy chest. It’s a slippery slope from Kirsten, which we called the moment we saw you guys at Sunset Junction. But we didn’t know quite how fast and low you would tumble down below until we heard that you started hooking up with Tila Tequila around Halloween.
So please take our advice, and a cold shower: Date UP. Not down. And whatever you do, beware the Tequila–could make you sick, and you’ll definitely regret it in the morning.
On Wednesday, Prez Bush hosted the New York Giants at the White House and, referring to a grave matter concerning football, said, “We’re going to send Jessica Simpson to the Democrat National Convention.” Simpson, as you may recall, was widely blamed for jinxing her BF and Dallas QB Tony Romo back in December, when she cheered him on at a game that would be his worst professional outing. The Cowboys also lost in the playoffs to the Giants this season after Romo and Simpson partied in Cabo during his bye-week.
With Bush being the most unpopular president in modern history (good job, dude!!) and Jess being a Bad Fuck Charm, the only logical course of action for these two losers is to hook up. Then she would be known as a Lame Duck Fuck, and he would just GO. AWAY.
Happy birthday to Dallas Cowboys quarterback, Tony Romo!
Playoff wins instead of playoff collapses!
Clutch plays instead of curses!
Trips to the Super Bowl instead of trips to Cabo!
Bringing the Lombardi Trophy back to Dallas and…
Aww, fuckit. Who am I kidding? Pfffffffffffft.
Prince of puss-rock and singer/songwriter/guitarist John Mayer apparently feels that he owes the world two cents on the dark cloud of judgment that has been hovering over his ex, bad f*ck charm Jessica Simpson, due to her instrumental role in ending the Cowboys’s pursuit if this year’s gold ring.
On his blog (yeah yeah, everyone’s a blogger), he writes:
Dear Dallas and Surrounding Areas,
This isn’t a sports blog, and it isn’t a publicity stunt. (but have at me if it feels right.)
This is about doing what I think is right as a person, in this case speaking my mind.
I have never known anyone to have more pride in their home state and their upbringing in it than Jessica Simpson has in Texas. I don’t really follow sports, but I have played some of my biggest and best concerts in your state, and having witnessed how dynamic the spirit there is, I’m betting emotions are running high right about now.
All witty barbs, blogs, and fashion policing aside, that girl loves Texas more than you know. It’s one of her most defining traits as a person. So please don’t try and take that away from her. (You probably wouldn’t be able to, but it’s less work for all involved.)
I just thought it would mean something coming from the guy who has the absolute least to gain from this. And if I’m out of line in having written it, too bad. I can spare a Wednesday’s worth of bad press if it means sticking up for a good soul.
Now you listen here, John Mayer. I have said very few bad things about you in the past, save for the occasional jab at your white man’s puff and mild bewilderment at your inability to channel god-given fret-burning ability into anything but songs for moms to masturbate to. But who the funk are you to tell Dallas–and surrounding areas–or anyone at all– how to judge Jessica Simpson?
You don’t watch sports. The closest you’ve come to Texas Stadium is a show you played at the Smirnoff Music Centre where everybody likely sat down through the performance. Come on, muthafucka!
Do you even know what it means to care about a football team? Do you know what it’s like to spend year after year after year of your life trying to show your support, acquiring clothing for all weather types in your team color, spending your Sundays biting your nails, following your instincts to turn your hat (or rally poncho) backwards (or inside out) or whatever it takes to give your wide receiver sticky hands or the QB a laser eye (sometimes it works, just ask baseball fans)? Have you ever teared up watching that squirty little ball get knocked out of a running back’s hands just before he crosses into the end zone? Have you ever felt your head fall to the floor in disappointment after a missed field goal attempt? DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO LOVE FOOTBALL? I HIGHLY DOUBT IT. BECAUSE IF YOU HAD ANY MINUSCULE GRASP OF WHAT IT MEANS TO CARE ABOUT THE GAME, YOU COULDN’T POSSIBLY DARE TO CALL IT “DYNAMIC SPIRIT” OR “IMAGINE” THAT “EMOTIONS ARE RUNNING HIGH.”
EMOTIONS ARE ALWAYS HIGH. THAT IS WHAT IT MEANS TO LOVE FOOTBALL.
So how dare you, you pansy-ass, sports-ignorant, weight fluctuator… how dare you speak to football fans as if you have any idea how they feel? How dare you base a statement on such paltry research (i.e. putting your dick in someone), and ask Cowboys fans not to place blame for the destruction of their hopes and dreams on the talentless, blonde moron who could not wait for football season to be over–in less than a month–to spread her legs for the quarterback? Who the hell are you? Don’t you ever, EVER tell them how to think or what to feel or who to blame ever again! Do you read me?
Come on dude, they’re Texans. They’re gonna do whatever the fuck they want to. And that’s a promise.
Name: Tiaina Baul Seau, Jr.
Also Known as: Junior
Occupation: NFL linebacker
Known for: Playing 17 seasons in the NFL (the Samoan Seau turns 39 next week), getting elected to 12 straight Pro Bowls, being the one bright spot on the San Diego Chargers roster for over a decade, receiving the Volunteer Service award from President Bush in 2005 as part of Asian Pacific American Heritage Month, finally returning to the playoffs this season with the Patriots after 12 years of nothin’, still scaring the lycra pants off of quarterbacks and running backs when he settles in a two-point stance.
Even though the New England Patribots bore us to zzZzZZzzzzz, we’re rootin’ for you, Junior! Happy Birthday and enjoy that ring!
Name: Tony Romo
Also known as: Tony “A Place for Ribs” Roma, Tony Cabo, Tony No Mo’, Tony Lame-o, Tony Go Home-o
Known for: Woefully poor taste in women, mistaking a bye-week for Spring Break, pissing away home-field advantage, losing to lesser teams, sucking in the clutch, making huge plays at the end of playoff games (a bobbled snap last year, an interception in the end zone yesterday) that result in his team having to go home and hang their heads in shame.
About his decision to go to Cabo during the Cowboys’ bye-week, Romo said, “When I made the choice to do those things I thought I was making good decisions like not going to Vegas and drinking for two or three days.”
Good decision, indeed. Asshole.
So, here’s the upshot…
Wait for it…
Here it comes…
…Go Green Bay?
Some people just don’t listen.
Fine! I get it! I’ll just soliloquy then.
- It’s called a bye week. Not a buh-bye week.
- You do realize that the Cialis you bought tonight in that sweet little Mexican pharmacy is fake, right?
- Nice shorts.
- If the Cowboys lose on Sunday to the New York vaGiants, I will
seriously lose my shitkeep my head up high, knowing it was all your fault.
2007 – After being blamed the world over for causing her current boy toy’s Tony “Roma” Romo’s worst NFL outing, Jessica Simpson brings bad fuck to her own box office. “Blonde Ambition,” a romantic comedy starring Simpson and Luke Wilson, opens the weekend before Christmas in extremely limited release (eight Texas movie theaters) and earns a whoppin’ $1,322, the exact cost of Simpson’s last botched lip job. Luke Wilson, meanwhile, makes a New Year’s resolution to never shoot another movie with a fellow Texan whose name doesn’t end in…”Wilson.”
To read the complete Bad Fuck Charm Timeline, click here.
Heeheeheeheehee…I’m sorry, I just can’t stop giggling since Greenie sent me this morning’s Page Six headline: “Texas Vs. Jessica.” T.O. was apparently P.O.ed about the havoc the Bad Fuck Charm wreaked on Sunday, resulting in Tony Roma’s worst career game, and said:
“Right now [she's] not a fan favorite – in this locker room or in Texas Stadium.”
Yo, Jessica. Don’t mess with Texas Stadium, y’hear?
[update: T.O. has since apologized, sayin' he was just joshin'. Pussy.]