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**Inspired by Doperbo's Lack of Focusness post from BC. Great read.**
I'm so fired. This shit happens every year, the day before the RRR always drags along at a snail's pace and I possibly destroy my future employment due to increased laziness and cynicism on the job. When I return back to work on Sunday, I'm sure my director will have a nice pretty pink slip waiting for me.  Let me just give you a run-down of today and what the next 20 hours holds in store for me.

I'm going to start with last night's PB-Scipio Tex's podcast because thats when it all began to go downhill for me.  After the show, I had the usual pure hatred running through me veins that each of you have for the bleak meth lab-filled land formerly known as Oklahoma.  I tried to fall asleep last night, but the visions of the 1/32(th?) Cherokee that is Sam Bradford kept running (and falling, grimacing in pain as Sergio pulls out his boot from Sam's ass) through my mind.  Tress Way kept rolling on the field clutching his knee acting like Aaron Williams just plowed him, when in reality he never touched the diva/punter.  These thoughts kept racing until around the time for when my fucking alarm clock decided to hoot and holler, advising me to wake the hell up at 5 am.

After hitting the snooze button 5 times, I realize I'm late. Wonderful.  I take a quick morning Sooner, followed by a shower that involved me using body wash as shampoo, and conditioner as body wash.  At least I smell like Cucumber Melon.  At 5:30, I struggle to get my unform on as if by some chance the woman who does my clothes decided to wash it on "lava-hot" setting making it 2 sizes too short.  Thanks, honey.  Thats 1.  She then proceeds to bitch at me for drinking her student's pedialyte last night (dont keep them in the damn fridge) with my bottle of Tito's, and has the fucking audacity to try and say, "Its just a game, Kasey" when I tried to explain why I'm drinking pedialyte.  Took every ounce of my dignity and well-being not to strike her down at that point.  I to keep telling myself, "She's an Ole Miss girl...She's an Ole Miss girl".  Thats 2.

Arrive at work at 6:15, just a fwe minutes late, and I get to listen to my Hitler-esque director bitch about me being late as I'm the supervisor of the shift and yada yada yada.  Didn't pay much attention because in my mind all I could picture was Sam Acho form tackling the bitch.  Of course me laughing at that imaginary sack pissed her off even more, so the start of my shift was quite pleasant to say the least.  **Background update: My Director is an Aggie grad which is bad, but what's worse is that she's one of those women who worked her way up in a male dominated field and she thinks that she got there based on her ability, but in all actuality it was based on the fact that she will cry foul if something isn't handed to her because she's a woman.  She plays the "gender card" very well.  I'm praying for that glass ceiling to come crashing down on her soon**

While on shift, I'm staring into oblivion, dreaming of counters, true screens, double moves, and everything else that Greg Davis probably won't call.  Wishful thinking. All of the sudden my supervisor phone rings, which means that the rest of my crew is getting their asses handed to them, so now the 911 lines go directly to me.

Me: Fire and Ambulance
Caller: HELP! My baby can't breathe!!! He fell in the bath tub!!
Me (cynical and non-chalant): Well m'am, thats something you should have thought about before you left him unattended, you little Mommy Dearest.  M'am.  I have your address, we're sending help your way.
Caller: Click.
Me: (Reality sinks in) Oh Shit!



After my boss gets word of this, we have a few words with each other, and she calls me some names, most of which I dont pay attention to because I'm lost in thought about Colt picking apart the piss-poor excuse OU calls a secondary.  I end up calling her a inbred P.O.S, and she tells me to get the hell out of her sight. As I walk out the door, I tell her to Reverse Cowgirl a sheep, and thats when my other boss walks in.  Now this guy is a UT Alum and is over my Nazi-of-a-Supervisor, and proceeds to hear the last part of our conversation.  After a meeting he convinces her to just let me go home for the day instead of canning me, mostly because normally, I'm the best damn guy they have....and that guy is also experiencing the same shit the day before Armageddon as I am.

I was so close to being canned for my obsession with whats going to happen in 20 hours.  A brutal beat down of epic porportions that will thrust Texas into the head of the pack for the NC game, and will force OU to go into the fetal position up until their Alamo Bowl defeat by Wisconsin.

Regardless of what kind of jeapoardy my job was in today, nothing will be sweeter than walking into my office on Sunday with a huge grin and "hookem" to my boss as she sulks over another Aggie loss, not paying attention to my extension of my middle finger in triumph as she turns away. Damn it feels good to be a longhorn!