Hey, Cyclone fan. I know it's been awhile. Sorry about that. Let me make it up to you with a gift. It's the best kind of gift because it's one you didn't know you needed.
"What will you do, Jebus?"
I'm going to make your momma love me like she loves Mark Harmon.
We'll meet cute at Walmart. I'll ask her what time she gets off and treat her to a cup of coffee. I'll pretend I don't notice the velcro on her Reeboks and she'll pretend she doesn't know great my ass looks. It'll start out slow. I don't want her to think I think she's easily had. She's not a trick. She's a lady. I'll casually drop in to see her near the end of her next shift, not the beginning. You see, I want her greeting every new customer with "Hello, welcome to Walmart..." as she strains like a plump little prairie dog to see if I'm coming through that door. After me, her previously fake bubbly greeting will now be drenched in sadness just like the greasy meatball sandwiches from the Subway she devours on her 15 minute breaks. The sandwiches have lost their luster, just like her greeting, because she got a little taste of me. Have no fear! I'll lift her spirits by buying her a new Beanie Baby for the back window of her Chevy Malibu. I'll attach a note saying, "Fish fry with your guy?"
It's game over right there, son. But I'm not done yet.
I will take her for a fish fry out of town, maybe in Huxley, and when they deliver her Mai Tai I'll angrily send it back even if there's nothing wrong with it. I'll excuse myself from the table and make sure she sees me instructing the slovenly bartender how to make a proper cocktail for my lady. On the way home I'll select the "Special Lady" playlist I created for her and when Randy Travis starts caterwauling about loving her forever and ever I will clutch her leathery claw and gaze into her good eye. We will watch Dancing With The Stars in standard-definition on her 19-inch RCA television and during the second commercial break I'll break into an impromptu Paso Doble then I'll suggest we take a ballroom dancing class together. I will teach her how to Google. I will write my recipe for buttermilk biscuits in calligraphy on a 3 X 5 note card, wrap it in a cardinal ribbon, and place it behind "bacon" in her recipe box. I will take her to JC Penney's and acquire her a new denim shirt. I will watch Tom Hanks movies with her. I will take her to Michaels Arts & Crafts and buy her a ceramic pot filled with silk flowers. As I arrange them artfully on the mantle in front of your senior picture of you and your Grand Am I'll explain to her that real flowers die but silk is forever. I will go to the best printer in Story County and have him custom design a booklet of massage coupons for her. 1 card will just say "A Naughty One". I will make her vast vaginal crevice wet for the first time in 21 years, but it's not love's natural nectar. I will make your momma's vagina cry. Her dusty uterus will weep for my seed, redemption, and the chance to right her greatest wrong: You.
On the day I have her feeble mind, atrophied body, and empty soul in my hands I will make plans to take her on a romantic getaway to Branson to see the Statler Brothers. On the day of the trip I'll call from my luxury automobile tell her I love her and I'm on my way. Then I won't show up. See, I'm not going to fuck your mother, mother fucker. I'm going to make her want me more than she wants to be Gayle King and then I'm never going to call her again. Only then will she know what it's like to be you. When you see her broken posture and empty countenance it will be like looking into a really old mirror. That's my gift to you.
You love your program so much but they don't love you back. I'd call it unrequited but you don't know what that means. Your program is a regional laughingstock. The only thing saving it from national humiliation is indifference. No one even knows who you are. Your own AD hates you so much he went to the trouble to remove your season opener from television so you'd have to show up at the asphalt shitbucket of a stadium. OR you could pay to watch it on the internet. We all know how that worked out. Your conference even hates you. Schools are leaving and they don't even have anywhere to go. The Big 12 is disbanding right before your goopy eyes and you're powerless to stop it. In a year or two you'll go from worst team in the Big 12 North to the 5th best team in the Mountain West. How do you not see this? Your school hates you. Let me break it down for you in terms even you can understand. No matter how much you love your Cyclones they don't care. It's a black hole of disappointment and pain and you deserve it. The only thing that hates you more than them is me.
I'm done now.