Aggie Fan

Aggie Fan
We all know them, but for those unfamiliar...

Aggie Fan has little in his life to celebrate, therefore any thimble of success is reason to collectively hold hands in solidarity as men in uniform and then later use that same grip to rejoice by ejaculating inside a ruminant.  Chances are he’s got home and away Troy Aikman jerseys in his closet and wore both of them at some point last week.  Aggie Fan is married to the first woman he had sex with, his wife however is having sex with a black guy from her work.

I may not need to tell you this, but Aggie Fan fights dirty.  Have your Baylor friend bring up the 2 point conversion in OT to random Aggie Fan and be prepared to witness an eyeful of thumb or some glass thrown.  Point out that R.C. Slocum went 3-8 in bowl games as head coach at A&M or that Stephen McGee is a penis toucher and chances are you’re getting punched in the back of the head.    

In every 32 Aggie Fans, there is Aggie Woman. A stocky female, forged from the hardened cowpies that litter the streets of Bryan/College Station, Aggie Woman shops for clothing in BBQ restaurants and has seen more trucker penis than a urinal off I35. Her nipples are like fighter pilot’s thumbs, she’s got a vaginal canal that could pass a U-Haul and she menstruates Pabst Blue Ribbon.  Aggie Woman is like the white guy in a southeast St. Louis off-shoot of the Crips; you don’t know how she got there, but she’d cut her own mother’s throat out in the name of respect.

Grampa Aggie is a gentleman by nature, until game day when Kentucky Deluxe and deer sausage turn your family butcher/taxidermist into a belligerent maroon hurricane who vomits okra casserole on his dying wife whilst pridefully spouting antique racist slurs, not bespoken since The New Deal, and calling the Aggie secondary "a bunch of fucking mooncrickets." He’d dive head first into his burlap-sack-wearing pregnant daughter-in-law, if he thought it might help his team get a first down.  Grampa Aggie attended A&M during the rapiest years of sheep raping, and still can’t be trusted around the family collie.  

...should you ever be unfortunate enough to meet one of the aforementioned, simply place any visibly shiny objects on your person in a small pile and cover said pile with a mixture of Mint Copenhagen Long Cut, giblet gravy and nacho cheese, then run as fast as you can downwind.

Hook 'em

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