Dearest Brooke, from whose waters flow the secret of love everlasting:

Enclosed in my letter is the $5,000 you requested for school and dental bills. With it, I hope that you obtain the best hospitality degree and dental veneers that money can buy. I give this without reservation, as I will the next time you demand it of me for speaking to you. The outpouring of my heart cannot be staunched, no matter the cost.

But, if I may be so bold, I would like to make a entreaty of my own. I understand that this violates the very strict terms that you have laid out regarding even the most basic of our interactions, but I do not care. For I am a man so desperately in love that I am willing to take any risk, shoulder any blow, so long as it does not mean that I have to go over the middle of the field. F*ck that. I’m not getting a concussion.

I want you to marry me.

The truth is, I’ve always wanted you to marry me. From the moment my eyes first alighted on your heavenly frame, broadcast as it was to my TV as I sat skipping practice. There you were, winning the Miss Texas pageant. There I was, unable to think of what to do with myself. I had made a big mess pleasuring myself to your image.

A confession: I am a wealthy man, perhaps far more in the material than the emotional sense. Oftentimes, I feel adrift. I am not popular with my teammates. I could be streaking down the field, open by 20 yards, and my quarterback would still try to check down to a running back before trusting my hands to haul in an easy catch. One time, Tony Romo was being attacked in an alley. I heard his screams and came to his aid. When he saw that it was me there to assist him, he just went limp and told his assailants to get it over with.

The Bible asks what good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul. Well, I don’t have the whole world – not even close – so it’s safe to say that you could still be my soul. I mean, I didn’t lose it, obviously.

Remember last Thanksgiving when I fumbled away the game against the Saints? Do you recall how the cameras caught me showing that stupid grin on the sideline immediately afterward? That was all for you. I knew at the moment, for better or for worse, that I had captured your undivided attention. You could be cackling and guffawing along with the rest of America, but your gaze was still fixed upon me. Me alone and none other. Not a single moment in my life do I treasure more.

That is, until you agree to be my wife.

Now, I understand that this is a big imposition. You have said in the past that I am not to speak to you without at least 20 others present. That is why I am proposing through the mail. This is an act that behooves privacy and this was the only way we were going to get it. With others around, judging, perhaps openly mocking me, you would be likely to reject. With time of your own to think about it, your answer may be different. Either way, the ring is yours to keep. It is a testament of my love for you, whether you accept or reject. After all, if I am anything, I am not a petty man.

Your eternal beloved,

Roy Williams (no, the other one)

Dez Bryant: clearly not burdened with carrying AT&T’s nation-wide network

Cowboys rookie receiver Dez Bryant has so enamored football pundits that he has almost single-handedly vaulted Dallas into the role of preseason NFC favorites, even though they have pretty much the same weaknesses they had before and Wade Phillips is still the coach and don’t we go through this every year? In what is either evidence of looming rookie intransigence or, more likely, that Dez was quick to learn that no one cares what Roy Williams wants, news has come out that Bryant is refusing to carry Williams’ pads during camp. This is a horrible violation of The Rookie Code, which states that first-year players happily submit to hazing and subjugation on penalty of bitchy comments to the media about their commitment.

As usual, the media is fixated on the controversy but not the underlying issues behind it. KSK, as always, is better informed and better attuned to the interests of its audience. Here, then, are some actual reasons as to why Dez Bryant will not carry Roy Williams’ shoulder pads. Surprisingly, fewer than half have to do with being the son of a prostitute.

Deion Sanders told him he didn’t have to.

Dez doesn’t see why he should have to carry his backup’s shit.

Dez too busy carrying crates for Humpty Hump.

At Bengals camp, carrying safety’s pads.

Jerry Jones specifically hired cage dancers to haul bags during camp. Avoiding redundancies in labor is key.

While his mother serviced johns, a young Dez Bryant was forced to watch Dunston Checks In. Evokes bad memories to this day.

Roy Williams even offered several blintzes for his pads to be carried, but Dez later countered that those blintzes were terrible.

David Buehler challenged Dez to a Roy Williams pad carrying race. Such contests having been recently banned at Cowboys camp, the rookie’s hands were tied.

For reasons known only to him, Dez likes to imagine that he plays for Eric Mangini.

Dez was running late for Vernon Davis’ curling tournament, and if he didn’t get there in time he’d have to sweep.

Having been identified by Jason Garrett as a low-born functionary, Dez is unfortunately on pruning duties while practice is scheduled.

Roy Williams is also a whore. Dez knows better than to show them respect.

“Ever since I’ve rededicated my life to Christ I’ve caught way more persecution now,” he said. “But it’s a beautiful thing because I know it’s a breakthrough coming for me. I welcome it. What makes me any better than Christ? He was persecuted and I’ve been persecuted. My teammates know where my heart is. They know where my mind is at.”

It’s good to see Roy finding his inner-messiah. Hopefully he’ll continue to horse collar all of the non-believers into submission.

Bad MS Paint by Flubby

The Oklahoman via FanHouse