Bill Byrne: We've Never Been Licked!


Or licked others...

Howdy Ags! Howdy friends from the state capital!


Howdy!

I want to thank Barking Carnival for this forum to refute the outrageous allegations made against me by a fellow Aggie.

Namely, that I tongued DeLoss Dodds' anus. With or without jam or jelly. Or syrup. Or a gooseberry demi-glace. Or with peppermint Scope, so that he experiences a winterfresh tingling. Or any of the unguents Mickey Rourke smeared on Kim Basinger in 9 1/2 Weeks.

I am 65 years young and no one will talk to me like that.

Not even a proctologist who jars his own preserves.

I hate this Aggie - this Roger Rogge - more than crickets or bats.

It is a dark day when I must turn to a Trotskyite tu blog to clear the good Byrne name, but they've been kind enough to run my Weekly Wednesday newsletters and, not long ago, they were decent enough to provide a forum for Mike Sherman to refute attacks against his somnolent recruiting methods, to detail his rough and tumble Connecticut upbringing, and to affirm his ability to relate to the Negro athlete. Good Bull, Carnival.

Let me cut to the chase, without the requisite mouth-to-anus verbal foreplay: I have never eaten DeLoss Dodds' rosebud. His jacksy. His redeye. His bunghole. His chocolate starfish. Nor orally probed any portion of his gluteal cleft. Not once. Even after I've been in Madge's cooking sherry. Or even after I took those rohypnol at Lew Perkins' rave party.

Perky! What a character. Keeps a big cat ranch. Kills a tiger after every Missouri win. He's making a suit of tiger hide armor, like an Aztec warrior. Bathes in cat blood like Elizabeth Bathory. Anyway, Perkins exclaims," Billy, take this, it's the truth." I'm thinking it's MDMA in a Flintstones Complete. Nope. Roofy! Wake up in an Arbys' restroom covered in feces. Not human. Big cat. Liger! Belly-laugh. Because who gets shit on by a liger?

This guy!

Back to brass tacks. So what have I done with Dodds? Full disclosure. Cupped his balls. That's it. Just held them. They're large, smooth, and cool to the touch. Like an alabaster obsidian monolith. You just want to rub them against your cheek, like a labarador's silky ear. The man is hung like a Dominican pool boy. There's no way he ran hurdles in college. He'd knock down every one of them. The guy could use his balls to gauge Russian submarine depth. If Bevo ever went apeshit and charged the field, Dodds could bolo him with his nutsack. Atlas has one of Dodds' balls resting on his trapezius. Just really wonderful, vibrant, pleasant balls.

It wasn't gay. It's about saying, I am so not gay that I am comfortable doing this. Like watching The Bachelor or voting for Dennis Kucinich. Now, was Dodds uncomfortable? Hell yes. But I told him I needed this and he assented. And that's how the Big 12-2 was preserved. The only salad getting tossed was Caesar at lunch and there weren't any croutons lodged in poop chutes.

Now, Joe Castiglione is a different story. Sooners! Oh, boy! With your Latins, it's not gay if you're the one giving. Capisce? Castiglione is a power top. He'll collar Gerald Myers at a Big 12 meeting in the hallway wearing a minotaur mask and scream:

"ANUSTOYGERALDSLUT, I AM MAGOG SWITZER, COME FORTH TO RED RAID YOUR PERINEUM! YOUR ANUS IS CATNIP TO MAGOG! DRAIN MAGOG, O' FLOWER-SPHINCTER. MAGOG OFFERS EXPANSION OF THE LEAGUE'S ELEVENTH MEMBER."

And Gerald will run around making a fuss. We just roll our eyes. Castiglione is just a real flirt.


Sooner AD Joe Castiglione

Dirty Sanchez. Felching. Gaspers. Hot plates. Do people really do this? I don't believe it. Now, I do like Ambush Paddington. A lot. Let's do it to Baylor.

Look, the power bottom line is this:

During my time at A&M, I have worked tirelessly to place our programs in archery and equestrian at the very top while maintaining a healthy balance sheet, as determined by generally accepted Greek accounting practices. Yes, we are in "debt", but what is "debt"?

Debt is a promise. A relationship. Like marriage, friendship, or anonymous sex in a bathroom stall in Cleburne. If you're against debt, I bet you're the kind of chump that drives a paid-for Honda Civic when you could be leasing a BMW financed by a home equity loan taken out on a zero down all-interest home mortgage pooled with derivatives linking Cameroonian sovereign debt to Jennifer Aniston US Weekly covers.

The point is, I work hard for A&M and I don't need this sort of backstabbing by a fellow Ag. Cup a powerful man's balls once and then you're accused of something as outrageous as analingus? That's not the America I want to live in. Somebody needs to kick your ass, Roger. Not me. But someone. Like a football player or a Navy Seal; a fireman or a cowboy.

Finally, I want to thank our friends in the state capital, who are our enemies in all things, whom I despise and wish had aggressive spinal bifida, for this forum.

WHOOP.

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