11 and 2.
Not a bad record to have at all. It looks strong. It's better that 2-11, that's for sure. There is no reason to jump off of a cliff, get your Texans throat tattoo scrubbed off with a wire brush or to paint your house.
But during last night's Texans-Patriots game, a lot of us did very much feel like the world was ending, a whole week earlier than the Mayans predicted. Those of us at local watering holes no doubt helped up sales, and we all hugged our loved ones a little tighter when we came home.
But let's be real, a lot of us yelled things at the TV that would make the devil blush. It's true. I conjugated cuss words like a champ, and so did some others at my bar. I am sure that some of you at home scarred some of your kids for life, or at least enhanced their vocabulary.
Eat shit horsedick.
Goddamn bastard son of a bitch.
Scissor whore. Dumpster hooker.
"Yes, another whiskey. Thanks!"
(Halftime comes. We don't give up any points. All is well.)
Kick it down their balls!
Tom Brady more like Tom Lady. Fuuuuuuuuu.....
Eat your ass.
Eat my ass.
(coughing followed by rich, Ric Flair-style "Woooo!")
Bite his shit off, JJ! Make his wife a widow!
Bleeding Christ on a hockey stick.
"Sorry, I got a little loud, it's just that the game...yeah. I'll take another."
You effin' b-hole.
Fiddly-dee-dee, that's a real letdown!
"No man, I don't want a shot of that Purell. It goes on your hands, silly."
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