Gump For Heisman

"Deep Thoughts" : May Edition

Gump4Heisman.com 

One time I watched the NFL Draft while I was on acid. In the 2nd round, Gargamel from the Smurfs came to the podium and announced that, with the n2 overall pick, the Kansas City Chiefs had selected the Guns N Roses album ‘Appetite for Destruction.’ At the time, it seemed like a pretty good pick. But as soon as I sobered up, I thought “I don’t know, that album is kinda overrated.”

I don’t understand why the NBA Draft has a lottery but the NFL Draft doesn’t. That doesn’t make sense. Why do NBA players have to deal with the immoral trappings of a lottery, but NFL players don’t? Is it because more NBA players are black? That’s racist. That makes me so mad. Man, I hate racism and immigrants.  

The problem with the NFL Draft is that they only describe teams' draft picks in two ways: good, or bad. Isn’t that a little black-and-white for 2008? I say, let’s not be shortsighted. I say, let’s know the real story behind that draft pick. Todd: “Mel, what did you think of that last pick?” Mel: “I think this is a dirty, whorish, potty-mouthed draft pick by the Minnesota Vikings, Todd.”  

I don’t understand why it always takes so long for people who get drafted to sign their contracts. Just write out your name. It’s not that hard. Unless your name is a mathematical equation. Then I can see how it’d be pretty hard. Especially if your name is something like $CdV$_outdt = I_b&tanh;(κ(V_in-V_out)2) .
Boy, that’d be tough, wouldn't it, $H(s)\; =\; \int$₀^∞ e^-st h(t) dt ?

What if they added a new round to the NFL Draft? And instead of choosing players, they could choose weaponry. Every team would get one pick. No trades. That way the guys with the last picks in the round would finally win. Because they could just one-up all the other guys. By the end of the draft, the team with the 32nd pick could go up to the team with the 1st pick, and be like ‘Have fun taking out my M1A2 Abrams Tank with those brass knuckles. Pussy.’

Neil McCready... TRANSLATED

Gump4Heisman.com


So, there's this Neil McCready email going around. And if true, it's pretty darn interesting.

First, the backstory.

Some of you who don't closely follow the man (evidently a lot of you) may have wondered what was going on when Mobile journalist Neil McCready disappeared from the WNSP Radio show "The Sports Drive," only to show up a few months later writing articles for the Ole Miss Rivals affiliate RebelSports.Net.

Well, he was fired. Canned. Shula'ed.

Interesting.

Because McCready once claimed fired head coach Mike Shula was "the best Alabama can realistically hope for," and described the very thought of Nick Saban-to-Alabama as "Eddie-Murphy-at-his-peak hilarious."

 And now McCready, who once aired shows  Delirious with the hirings and firings of the SEC and Alabama, was the one getting the Raw deal. What had happened? His condescending criticisms of Life in small-town Alabama couldn't have been sharper had they come straight from the teeth of a Vampire in Brooklyn. Sure, those in places like Beverly Hills Cop an attitude towards small-town life and its limitations. But in Alabama, college football is king. And the pressures of what happens on Saturday Night Live on the shoulders of everyone who makes a living from it. Take McCready for instance. For five years, during the heyday of Alabama's downturn, he was The Golden Child. But things change quickly. When McCready was on top, he mocked the squeaky clean image of Mike Shula, saying the cutthroat SEC was no place for The Distinguished Gentleman. He mocked Alabama's fan base, saying the chances of Saban coming to Alabama were as good as the chances of Fidel Castro Coming to America. Then, 48 Hours later, Saban was Alabama's coach. And, seemingly Another 48 Hours later, McCready's radio career went Boomerang. Right back to where it started. Dead. Faded into black. As dark as the sky over Harlem Nights. Things had indeed come full circle. Less than a year after the employed McCready had mocked the fired Shula, the two men found themselves Trading Places.

GUMP'S FINANCIER: "Writings Of English Writings on World of Sporting With Balls"

by PABLO ALEJANDRO GUTIERREZ JOHNSON
Columbian Drug Lord & Financier of Gump4Heisman.com

Hello beeches.

This is my belong website. Am not writer. Am money man. Am living in Columbia. Am lord of powders. Am selling heroin most every day of week if you like. Am checking emails at heroinpinata@gmail.com. Emails me. My shit will put you in clouds. Is bad for you. Don't say 'Hello' for drugs. Just say maybe. (Last part of writings is shit from cows. Is typed because of lawyer. Is scared of legal rapings. Is leetle beech of man.)

Am not good with writings of English writings. Am not speaking it good. Am not writing it good. Did not exit from vagina into country of Englishes. Am naive Columbian. Am financing writings of comedian with John Lennon haircut. Is not Beatle. Is not 1963. Is need to get fucking haircut.

Am finally convincing lanky comedian to let me punch keyboard. Is very difficult. He is not letting other people punch keyboard for blogging. He is goofy piece of fart. Now is let me. Because finally I pay him. So is my left turn to comment hilarious comments on world of playing with balls.

Holy toilets. Is busy week for sporting of balls. Cannot believe in LSU quarterback was pushed off team. Is very good news. LSU quarterback is one of biggest personal heroin sellers. Is used to make me good money. Is free up for now more sellings of heroin. Fuck the yes's!

Am very much finally having respect for Les Miles. Kicks bad man off team. Makes country of United Americas finally say ‘Good from you Les Miles.’ LSU picture appears better in mirror. Miles grab respect from newspaper cult. I make more money for future heroin dealings. Everybody is 1-0.

Kevin "White Poppa Chocolate" Scarbinksy: ‘Bama’s draft was whack yo!’

By Kevin “White Papa Chocolate” Scarbinksy
(AKA ‘K-Scar’)

What is happening players?

Players of bitches. Are you playing bitches? I am. I am White Poppa Chocolate. But you may pronounce me by the also-in-use moniker of K-Scar.

Yes yes you guys.

White Poppa Chocolate is playing bitches like these whores were not in fact bitches but were Playstation 3’s. Check out my suit. It is capable of aviation, yo. It has more buttons than a PS3 controller. It is whiter than bird defecations. Holler.

Do you play bitches like White Poppa Chocolate plays bitches? I imagine you do not.

Yo, to all of my canine mammals, what is occurring with your life at this exact moment in time?

Yes. Yes. Eternal damnation yes. For auto-biography y’all. For auto-biography.

Do you have knowledge of what I am vocalizing?

K-Scar is the man, have knowledge of what I am vocalizing.

Do you have affection for these whores? K-Scar does not. K-Scar does not have affection for these whores.

Yes yes you guys. Yes yes. K-Scar does not have affection for these whores, K-Scar is out of the entrance through which he came.

G’s up, H-I-J-K’s down. Yes yes you guys. Fornicate the bitch-ass alphabet. For auto-biography. Yes yes.

That is the topic I am currently talking about, bitches.

Roger Clemens: "I Heart Dumpster Pussy"

by ROGER CLEMENS
SPECIAL to Gump4Heisman.com

Hi folks, I’m Roger Clemens.

Perhaps you know me from such noteworthy events as playing for the Red Sox, playing for the Yankees, or being Roger Clemens.

But I’ve come to you today to talk about something else entirely:

Dumpster pussy.

Don’t knock it until you’ve knocked it.

In all those years of watching me gain weight and throw 102 MPH fastballs, you probably never thought ‘Hey, I bet as soon as this game is over, that fellow there is going to slip his engagement ring into his pocket and penetrate a baggy-eyed coke-slut.’

And my, how wrong you would have been.

You see, all of these years Roger Clemens has been known for Cy Youngs. And a rapidly expanding head. But what you guys haven’t known, is that Roger Clemens bags more dumpster pussy than a homeless Brad Pitt.

Dumpster pussy is not to be confused with Grade-A bush. This is the kind of pussy you scraggle together when you’re truckin-for-a-fuckin at 4 in the morning. When you’re in sleazebag mode, which for me is pretty much a 24-hour-a-day gig.

Dumpster pussy. Cheap, Grade-D, poor-quality, makes you regret it afterwards. It’s like the Taco Bell of poontang.

But, nevertheless, it is so much fun for everyone involved. Including the dumpster.

"CASEY AT THE DRAFT," a Poem from Gump4Heisman

Gump4Heisman.com

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Alabama seven that day:
The Draft had gone six rounds, with but one round left to play,
And then when Kiper kept talking, and Todd McShay did too,
A pall-like silence fell upon the formerly-in-Crimson crew.

The hungry few who'd given their all, and the spoiled rest
Clung to the hope which now arose anew in Casey’s breast;
"If only they'd seen this mighty Casey master his craft –
They'd put up even more money to land Casey in this draft."

But Brandon Coutu preceded Casey, as did also Carl Nicks,
While the latter issued blocks, the former only dealt in kicks.
Indeed the 7th Round brought on a most melancholy phase,
For there seemed little chance of Casey-to-the-stage.

Then it was Flynn to the Packers, to the surprise of all,
And Marcus Monk to the Bears, to go catch the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what occurred,
There had been Dunlap to the Eagles, and Hester in the third.

From two-hundred-and-fifty throats had come a huge yell;
It had rumbled through the valley, it had rattled in the dell;
It had pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For they had been told by the league, ‘You’re coming to bat.’

There was ease in Casey's manner as he sat inside his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to his family, he pointed to the screen,
No one in the room doubted he would find himself a team.