Yup, still locked out.
Some reports indicate that this thing could end any moment.
Others say it’s nowhere near that close.
Then there’s shit like this, that just makes me want to punch myself in the groin repeatedly.
Random rich asshole owner: Oh, ho hum, guvna, no reason to be in a big rush over this thing. Let’s sit down for a spot of tea, shall we?
Jerry Jones: Tea? That shit’s for queers. Unless you’re talkin’ Texas Tea. Black gold. You know what we got in Texasss? More than queers and steers, I don’t care what you dun’ herd. Herd, ya know? Like a big group of cattle.
Jerry Richardson: Hit me with that tea, boy. Let’s have a few gallons as a matter of fact. Followed up by some aquariums full of nice southern sweet tea. No hurry at all. Make these ungrateful slav…errrr, players sweat a little longer.
Bill Bidwill: I better not have to spend any damn money.
Steve Bisciotti: (lifts tanning goggles, looks up from sunbeam-drenched spot near the window) On the players? I’m afraid they’ll be getting a bit more, it seems.
Bidwill: Well yeah that, but I meant on the tea. Refreshments are free in these meetings right?
Richardson: They damn well better be! I’ll march straight down to the Mayor’s office and demand tax subsidies for all future refreshments in owner’s meetings!
All: (raise glasses of Earl Grey, sweet, and oil, respectively.) HEAR HEAR!
Bisciotti: Say, Jerry, can you rub some of that oil on my back? I hear it gives a bitchin’ bronze glow.
For the love of all that is gridiron…END THIS.