Is it my hair? Is it out of place? I used gel. And mousse. Oh it can't be my hair. Coach always says my hair is perfect. Then he pats me on the butt. And sometimes he squeezes. I like it when he squeezes. It lets me know I did a good job. I'm gonna miss him. I even enjoyed the 3 a.m. doughnut runs he used to send me on.
But enough about coach. Why is my draft stock slipping? Did I not bat my eyelashes enough? Was my mascara running? Oh god I hope it wasn't. I tried not to cry after the Sugar Bowl, but they just beat us so bad. And now JaMarcus is going to get picked first. First he beats me on the field, now he's going to get paid more money than I will. And then he'll probably boink my girlfriend. Lord knows someone has to, and lord also knows that somebody isn't me. There's something about her I just don't like. I think it's that thing between her legs that isn't a penis. Oh, I wish she had a penis.
But enough about my girlfriend. Why don't the scouts love me? Didn't they get the nude photos I sent? Weren't my stares seductive enough? Oh I know they were. Is it because I never won a meaningful game in college? And what if the Browns don't take me with the third pick? Then people are saying I might slip all the way to like, oh I don't know, I can't count that high. But it's high. Higher than seven. I can't go later than that. I won't be able to afford my Hollywood Tans membership if I get picked too late. That thought just sent a shiver down my spine. I need to cuddle someone, someone who will tell me how pretty I am and that JaMarcus is fat. All I want is to be loved. Is that so wrong? Somebody hold me.
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