Dear Terrell Owens

SHUT THE FUCK UP

For the longest amount of time, I can’t remember when and I don’t feel like looking it up, whenever professional football has been on the television, so have you. Every fucking day it is something to do with you. I honestly believe that at night when you are watching the television and you see a story about yourself you do the following: Cue up the Barry White, get the lotion out, and go off to a happy place with yourself…

It gets worse, trust me.

Ever since you caught that touchdown pass from Steve Young and were seen on the sidelines crying, looking like the new guy in Bubba’s cell after prison’s happy hour, I’ve heard about you. Now you are always talked about on a plethora of television shows just so people can wait and see what shit you do next. You have taken the media hostage whenever you see fit so you can voice your discontent with what your team is doing. Like this most recent episode with you barking up and down the sidelines about why you are in Dallas. Let me tell you what happened last week Terrell…You got fucking owned by the Eagles, plain and simple. They have a defense that shut you up. Did you really think you were going to break 4 TDs on them and break out the Eagle dance?

You are the reason that I skip over about half of NFL Live each day because I know that you are going to be the feature story. You are why I put my headphones on and listen to my audio files on Ares when I see a Sports Center story about you. I’ll gladly be the one to say this…You killing yourself would probably have been the perfect ending to your life. Although I have a different theory on how its going to end for you: You take a shitload of pills, see a couple stories about you on the tele, get the Barry White going to a good part, take out your favorite scented lotion and try to reach the promise land one more time. However, you won’t be able to do so, you’ll get out your “I’m Special” blanket that has your picture all over it, asphyxiate yourself to the point where you are ALMOST there, but not quite… and die that way. Then what I want to happen…They talk about it for one day and end it. Never bring your name up on the television again. Never bring your name up on the Internet again. Then I’ll be happy.

I’ll give you credit where credit is due…When it’s due. You are a talented receiver, but I can name a shitload of receivers I’d rather have on my team than yours…EVERY OTHER RECEIVER IN THE NFL! Hell, give me Maurice Clarett when he gets his head half straight again and I’ll pistol whip him into a punt returner that I could tolerate.

I want football back Terrell, and I just hope that at some point you get your mouth stapled shut by Donovan McNabb, Jeff Garcia, Andy Reid, Drew Bledsoe, and about six other people you’ve pissed off in your life. I know you won’t bother to learn sign language since you’ll get pissed off with that and hold out before you get to day six in the development process.

Here is my main gripe with you Terrell…If you were somebody who say made about 30,000 a year, like teachers in this country do, then I would perhaps listen to your argument. You want me to tell you how much you make? 8.3 MILLION PER YEAR! FOR SIXTEEN GAMES! OVER THREE YEARS! You want me to average that out for you? Every week assuming the Cowboys never make the playoffs, and at the rate they are going they won’t, you will make 520,833 dollars. EVERY WEEK! Do you know what the consensus of this country and people around the world would do for that kind of weekly scratch? Think up the wildest shit imaginable and I’m sure you’d get about 99 percent of the people that live today to agree to it.

I don’t care that you don’t get the ball. I don’t care if you hate your quarterback because you don’t get the ball. You aren’t even the best receiver on your team anymore. That honor goes to my boy Terry Glenn who doesn’t mind keeping his mouth shut. I’ll bet everybody that while Terrell sleeps with his special blanket and wearing his Terrell Owens slippers that have him catching touchdown passes in the end zone, he dreams up the shit he’s going to say. Do us all a favor Terrell and quietly fade away, you know like Barry Bonds did when he realized that he wasn’t good anymore. And do me one more favor… Get your fucking face examined. I look at your press conferences with my headphones on and you look like you are stoned every time. Get somebody to look into that. Randy Moss needs something to do, I’m sure he’d be down.

If anybody believes that I won’t say this to his face, just give me a plane ticket, some kind of press pass or whatever the fuck, and five minutes alone with Terrell. I’ll even let him whoop my white ass all over the locker room if he wishes. Want to know why? I’ll sue him. Want to know how much I’ll sue him for? Damn right

I’m out like Bill when Hillary wants to have sex.

Your Biggest Fan
Chris