They're killing me. It's painful to watch.
This team has more talent and less heart than any team I've seen in a long time. They just don't seem to care. It's like they're all asleep out there. I think someone's piping in a mixture of Nitrous Oxide and Kenny G to the locker room before the games. Romo gets that glazed over "I just wanna to crawl back to Jessica Simpson Honkin on my Bobo" look on his face (can you blame him). TO's huffing an puffing about not getting more than 18 balls thrown his way. He's had more balls slap him than Jenna Jameson's ass. This is the same front office that drafts Marion Barber in the 4th round, but Barbie Carpenter in the first. Our secondary is better off WITHOUT our starting safety, and even then the Cowboy coverage scheme is some variation of a three dimensional twister game where three DBs each try to form a perfect triangle around a receiver without actually coming within the imaginary force-field of five yards of him that some Caribbean voodoo priestess has convince them surround WRs. Our head coach is terminally nice, and his heir in waiting boy genius is apparently playing some Princeton level chess game where he creates the cult of personality where everyone thinks he's boy wonder, but he can't figure out how to call a slant to TO, or how to run three step drops when he has a backup QB in there who obviously looked Medusa in the eyes about eight years ago.
Thank god for whiskey, perfectly formed tits, and Demarcus Ware.
Despite all this I love them. And I always will. But for the time being I'm going to console myself with the knowledge that all you haters out there can talk all the smack you want, and hate all you want, but you know in your hearts that your team wasn't, isn't, and will never be half of what the Dallas Cowboys are even when they're playing like this. You're all still talking about them, hating them and wanting to be them at the same time, so just slip back into your conveniently nondescript generic sweatshirt with whichever logo du jour you happen to wear and piss off into obscurity like good little followers
and leave the big games, big dreams, big failures, big dramas and big times to the Big Boys.
Now where's that bitch Jessica Simpson, I'm gonna slap her momma.
Just as soon as I get her autograph and look down her shirt just once.
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Hopefully Jessica Simpson will be there to cheer him on 
But finally there playing as well as the glory days in the 80's. 
