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Who Dat Rootin’ For Dem Saints?

January 18th, 2010 | 4 comments | Posted by Diana

"I hate Brett Favre."

It was with heavy heart that I state the obvious: Jen’s and my teams are out of the running for this year’s Super Bowl ring (my freakin’ Steelers, defending champions, didn’t even make it to the postseason).

I can’t speak for my illustrious writing partner, but this year I find myself (for the first time in my life) hoping that an NFC team takes home the big prize (Dear lawd, do not let Continue reading Who Dat Rootin’ For Dem Saints?

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You Stay Out of This

January 16th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

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.”


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.

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A Threat to Internal Affairs: Tony Romo

December 13th, 2007 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

If you are an avid reader of DISGRASIAN, you may have picked up through the f’ball talk that Jen and I are supposed to be at war. She is a lifetime Cowboys fan and I a Steelers devotee. If you don’t know/care about the NFL, just know that Pittsburgh and Dallas are longtime rivals. Ne’er are the two meant to be friendly-like, not in the 70s, not in the 90s, and not now.

From birth, I remember hating the Cowboys. Their clean white uniforms, the big blue star. The rivalry was just in my blood, because my blood runs black and gold.

But something happened over a few years ago. I realized that Jen is always going to be a Cowboys lady, and she is so with such conviction, and I love Jen, and I like football fans, so I had to really respect her devotion. She also supported my team when we went to the Super Bowl in 2006, which caused our solidarity to grow even more. Hate became “respectful and civil not-hate”, though I couldn’t quite admit it out loud or to my family.

And then came Tony Romo.

I first saw Tony “A Place for Ribs” Romo on the field as he helped smash the joy of the Colts in November of ’06. He made Peyton Manning sad, and that made me happy. Who was this guy? Why did he have such a friendly-looking smile? Would he make Peyton Manning say “fuck!” in frustration again? If so, I’d be happy to watch.

And this season I’ve watched more Cowboys games than I ever have. On a good day, Romo is so damn impressive–he looks so great in the pocket that I wonder if he has eyes on the back of his head (but that would kinda be cheating, which is more of The Patriots’ strength). On a bad day, he’s humble, apologetic, and overly thankful to his team for helping to save his sorry ass. Basically, he’s an all-around nice guy, and the Cowboys are doing great this year, and as much as I can’t believe I’m gonna say it, I’ve started liking the Cowboys. Yup, that’s right. The deal has been sealed by the young Mr. Romo.

So it was with great disappointment that I discovered that the alleged relationship–which I long denied–between Sir Romo and that awful, disgusting, stupid, pointless, useless, irrelevant celebutard Jessica Simpson has now been confirmed, if only by the paparazzi photos of him joining her family to pick her up from Burbank airport this weekend.


This is way more intense than y’all think. And so I’ve got a little message for the douche–er, dude:

Dear Tony Romo,

What’s up? How are you? Is there any way you can get your hands on a Cowboys starter jacket circa 1982 for my friend Jen? Her brother has a bitchin’ one that he won’t let her wear, but she really wants one and would wear it every day. Just a thought!

Anyway! Jen and I are really good friends, and we write this blog DISGRASIAN together, we’re writing partners, yknowwhatimean? We’ve always agreed about almost everything, except I’m a Pittsburgh fan (sorry) and she loves you guys. Which is cool, we’ve built a bridge over a number of years, and we now collectively support both teams AND remain friends. It’s a beautiful thing.

But here’s the thing, and this is where you get incolved. You are threatening this bridge and this friendship and this partnership. You could be the end to DISGRASIAN.


Because I cannot with good conscience be a fan of you if you are dating Jessica Simpson. It’s gross, and it’s lame, and I worry that if you think that much with your dumb dick, you’re never going to be able to take home a Super Bowl ring. Just a thought.

So please, please, please end this now. It’s early enough to just nip it in the bud, and I think it’ll be better for you overall. Just think of the good you’ll be doing, the lives you’ll be helping. You don’t want to KILL DISGRASIAN, do you? You don’t want to END WHAT IS SUPPOSED TO BE A LIFELONG FRIENDSHIP, DO YOU????

Oh good.

Then have a great post-season.


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