Jilted

Fucking bitch.

I spent easily ten grand on this fucking wedding. Ten grand. Do you know how many snack packs that is? That twat bailed on my Bucky. Ten minutes before the ceremony and she goes missing. How could you bail on a cat like Bucky. Made me look bad in front of Dr. Dre, and now guess who's probably lost his record deal? Needless to say the Buckster didn't take it well...

Still, all in all I made a new friend. Let's hear it for Kristin who made the journey all the way from DC, or wherever the hell it is she's from, just to be in the wedding. The wedding that didn't happen. But that didn't stop us from having a good time.

And one celebrity stuck around for the good time. Saturday night Ludacris, Kristin and I thought we'd try and cheer Buckster up. We took him out on the town to some of my favorite Kareoke bars. Here's Ludacris and I doing "Grillz".

Of course none of this fixes the fact I'm stuck with 248 chicken dinners. Or the fact that Bucky won't stop drinking Schlitz and listening to the Cure. Look what that cunt did to my Bucky...

He looks like Nick Nolte.
Ohhhh you know who I blame for this. That Waffles!!! I'll bet he had something to do with this. He's always trying to hurt my Bucky. Yet, I gotta hand it to him. He looked pretty smart in his tux.

If I ever see that cat again, I swear to god I'll fucking wring it's goddamn neck. I mean it. I'll throw it in a sack and drown the little cum dumpster.

Reachin For That Rainbow, Ridin' That Storm Out

Hey kids, It's me Tressel, Coach Jim Tressel. As many of you out there in Tressel's world know, I'm a dreamer. As a boy, and later as a young man, I dreamed of one day coaching a team to a national title. Well, been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Now, I'm all about this rap game. Don't worry, I'm still gonna coach the Buckeyes, but artistically I need to express myself, especially during the offseason.

Troy Smith introduced me to Ludacris, I guess they're friends. I was originally going to ask Ludacris if he'd rap at my cat's wedding, which is this weekend, by the way. Ludacris said he'd probably be able to make it. Then I asked if he'd like to hear a song I'd been working on, and to put it modestly, minds were blown. He's like, "dawg",(that's what they call people they're friends with), "your science is tight." He said I should rap, and I realized that this might be the perfect opportunity to launch my hip-hop career. So I, Coach Jim Tressel, will be making my debut as both MC and DJ at the wedding of my two cute little kittie witties, Bucky and Arby.

Check out this sweet rhyme. I've been working on it for a few weeks.

Word up, son, how you like me now?
Come on in the back and I'll show you how,
We put bitches butts,
and ma niggaz nuts,
out on the floor,
I'll switch my plates if you want some more,
then get ya punk ass down to the general store,
cause they glues,
and they got shoes,
but theres only one mutha fucka whose got the moves,
and it's me,
Coach Jimmy T,
The baddest pimp daddy you'll ever see.

Check out this sweet picture of me backstage with DR. Dre after the Ludacris show at Newport.

Ludacris played my demo tape for Dr. Dre (also coming to the wedding), and he said that if he produced this track he might use some REO Speedwagon samples for a hook. What do you guys think? I call it Reachin for that Rainbow.

And the winner is...

Well, I picked a name for Bucky's Fiance...Arby. Which works out great, kind of ironic, cause I just took Mrs. T there for our wedding anniversary. Ah....young love. So congratulations to Kristin, who will be attending the star-studded Gala that is the Tressel Family Kitty Wedding.

Man, I am so stressed out planning this thing. Can you guess how much a wedding costs? I would have guessed that because it's a wedding for cats, it wouldn't cost as much, because technically they're not real people. Wrong again, Jimbo! Apparently they are real people, because planning this wedding is costing me some real mutha fuckin' cheese.

Mrs. T's been on my ass lately. I guess she's pissed about how much money/time I'm spending on this wedding. I'll bet if it was that stupid dog of hers, she wouldn't mind. Ha, as if anyone would want to marry Waffles. That stupid dog! He's so ugly, I'll bet he has to pay for sex...just like Gene Smith. Not like my Bucky, though. I doubt marriage is gonna stop the ole Buckster from gettin his mack on! Yup, you can't tame the Buckster, he's a real sex-machine, just like his old man.

Check out this cake.

Yup nothings too good for my Bucky. I love my kitty.

Happy VD day!

Dreams do come true!

Guess whose wife got him a little surprise Valentine's Day gift. Yupp, it's Tressel, Coach Jim Tressel, Hovercrafter!!!!

I guess she forgives/respects me for locking her in the Closet.

I would have written this little Valentines day post sooner but I was busy all day yesterday with my new present, Hoovercrafting all over campus, and all last night Schtupin' Mrs. T for her thoughtful gift. Let's just say my gift to her, a case of Old Miluakee and a box of rubbers, were put to good to use. I also gave her a backrub. Now that's romance! Take notes out there fellas and remember I'm more than just football. I can be quite the charmer when I put my mind to it.

Tressel Romance Tip #341: An adult film paired with a backrub and some cheap domestic beer can really set the mood for a night of hot, ball-draining love-making.

And speaking of romance I'll be announcing the winner of the "Name Tressel's Pussy" contest sometime tomorrow. You have until Midnight tonight to submit your entries. Remember a trip to the Tresselrosa for the uber cutie kitty wedding is on the line, so leave an email or a link to your website, or for chrissakes a name, or something.

Heh, I said entries.

Gettin' Some Pussy

Look what the cat dragged in...another cat. Yuppums, my cute little kitty, Bucky brought home a little girlfriend, and those two like to fuck...alot. She doesn't look too clean though. That's why I, Coach Jim Tressel, had to give her a bath, and believe you me, it wasn't easy. The only thing that hates water more than a cat, is a dirty hairless cat. Still ugly as this bitch is, can't say I blame the Buckster. Coach Jimbo likes his pussies shaved too. Still, I've never seen him like this before. All he does is fuck that cat. Reminds me of Mrs. T, and myself once. It's like they're in love or something.

Which you have to admit is pretty goddamn adorable.

So I think after a proper ceremony I'm going to welcome her into the Tressel family. We're gonna have a wedding and everything, but first we need two things.

1. A minister who marries cats.
2. And a name for my new daughter-in-law

Oh, this is going to be the best wedding ever! Maybe I'll have it on Valentine's Day. That would be so romantic. And you know who's not invited? Waffles. Ohhhh I hate that dog.

So I want all you out there in Tressel's World to submit your ideas for names. As for me, I'm completely dumbfounded. So its up to you, Tresselteers! The winner will get invited to the wedding. Hell, if you're ordained, you can perform the ceremony.

Enough is Enough

I've canceled the Spice Channel, and for that matter, all cable. It's just the big four and PBS. I've got to stop masturbating.

Federal Agents, Mad Cause I'm Flagrant

Tressel here. Coach Tressel, if you do. And you will, if you don't want a helping of my patented ass-kick salad.

Straight up with y'alls gangsta-ass bitches
I'm the Coach with the Roach, that keeps em in stitches.
You best not mess with Jimmy T,
There ain't nothin you chumps can pin on me.
I'll smoke your herb and stuff your bitch for free,
Cause you know I'm exactly who you want to be.
Don't hate the playa' just hate the game,
cause i do it all in Jesus's Name.

A little celebratory rhyme for beatin' the rap.

I couldn't talk about this until now, because my lawyers said it would be a "bad idea," but fuck them. This is such a good story. Last weekend I had all these flat-footed fucks all up in my biznits, showin' up here at the Tresselrosa with a warrant pullin their CSI bullshit. They're all like “The forensic team will need to drain your pool, Mister Tressel,” and “This investigation of your home is a serious matter, Mister Tressel,” and "you have the right to an attorney, Mister Tressel." Nevermind the fact Mister Tressel was in the middle of a little alone time with little Tressel, hell, Mister Tressel could barely find time to rub one out with all the bacon nosin around, I had to duck into the laundry room with a copy of National Geographic and a bottle of Jergens.

Seriously I need to stop masturbating.

Anyway wouldn't you know it, but Johnny Gumshoe had to go and find that hooker Troy Smith accidently strangled. So as it turns out, dead hooker parts turning up in the mulch pile are a slightly bigger deal than I anticipated. I mean dead hookers are what wood-chippers are for, am I right or am I right? It's not like I left her in the fuckin' pool. I thought I was being responsible, but I guess not responsible enough for ole Gene "my son is a coke whore" Smith, Athletic Directory, who felt the need to bring this up to the board of Trustees.

Fuck that guy.

I mean, yeah, things got a little out of hand around ol’ Jimbo’s place during the Fiesta Bowl Bash, but c’mon, it was like a month ago. Fucking get over it. That prick's probably the one who called the Feds in the first place.

Bottom line, I spent a lot of time smoothing shit out with the boosters this week, not to mention I got Gene "I think I'm so high and mighty cause no one knows I like to beat off to amputee porn with a trashbag over my head" Smith, Athletic Director on my case.

Fuck, do I miss Geiger. He never used to give a shit about dead hookers.

Yeah, so Thursday, I was craving some serious stress relief in the form of a fat sack of cheeb. Normally, Krenzel’s my go-to guy for some tasty herbage. He usually rounds up some serious skunk and doesn’t mind stopping by the ol’ Casa Jimbo to smoke me up free-of-charge. I think it's cause I have the NFL network.

But this week he was bone dry, so I cruised by the Hayes Center to see if I could get a pinch out of T. Smith’s bag. No such luck. Troy told me to acks A.J. Hawk, who told me to ask Santonio, who finally told me that Clarett met this guy in the pen who would hook you up for a tossed salad or some OSU Football Tickets. Guess who's goin to openin' day? Sorry make-a-wish kid, Coach is Jonesin'. Try Disney World.

Now, me and Mo haven’t talked much since ‘the incident,’ but by then I was hankerin' so hard I figured it couldn’t hurt to call him just once. Shit, it was either him or Herbstreit--who despite his name, is a total douche when he’s high.

Anyway, so I wind up all the way over at his shithole apartment off Chittenden and North 4th, where he gives me a free rip off his 4-footer and we watch some Golden Girls on Lifetime. Now I’ll smoke anything in a drought, but these lungs are used to the kind, you know? I mean, I'm a National Champion, a Coach of the Year, I got standards. Anyway, so now I’m stuck with a whole quarter of this shit, I’m completely tweaked, with an Athletic Department board meeting in half an hour.

Well I’m sure you can imagine how that went. In the bathroom beforehand, I realized I was all out of Visine, and my eyeballs were completely fried, like the worst pinkeye you've ever had. I couldn’t concentrate at all. My fuckin' heart felt like it was gonna explode. I just sat there the whole time thinking, ‘They know…they know…they all totally know…’ I kept my head down, hoping I wouldn’t have to talk, but then Gene "my breath smells like shit because I'm rotting from the inside out" Smith piped up and was all like, “So what’s up with the dead hooker situation, Jim?” Everyone was just staring at me for what seemed like at least an hour, and as I was searching for an answer, which sucks because I was totally ready for that, and totally had the best comeback, but I was drawing a blank, you know? That’s when my hand slipped down into my pocket, as they usually do when I'm nervous, and I suddenly remembered that I had a quarter-ounce of brick-packed, meth-laced Mexican dirt weed on me in the middle of a board meeting.

Now a lesser man might have completely lost his shit in a situation like that. But this is Coach Jim Tressel we’re talking about here, kiddies. The fuckin' chosen one. So I just told those assholes that we’d distract the press from the hooker thing (which thanks to more well placed opening day tickets, is still just an allegation, and not a full indictment) by leaking another Maurice Clarett armed robbery story. He still hasn't returned my copy of The Guyver, so we embellish and say he broke into my house and stole some electronics. While we're at it, maybe pin the dead hooker thing on him too, that way Troy Smith doesn't have to sit out...again.

Serves the prick right for selling such shitty grass. So all in all, I guess my week shook out OK.

Coach's Super Bowl Brown Betty

Hey there kiddos. Here's a little recipe I've been working on and finally perfected, just in time for the superbowl.

• 1/4 c. butter, melted


• 1 1/2 c. dry bread crumbs


• 4 or 5 tart apples, peeled & sliced


• 3/4 c. brown sugar


• 1 tsp. cinnamon


• 2 tbsp. lemon juice


• 1/3 c. water


• Dash salt


• An pinch of sass

Mix melted butter and dry bread crumbs. Combine apples, sugar, cinnamon and salt. Put part of bread crumbs on bottom of greased casserole. Add layer of apples with bread crumbs, alternately, crumbs on top. Pour combined lemon juice and water over all. Cover and bake in moderate oven, 350 degrees, for 1 hour. Uncover and bake 1/2 hour to brown. Makes 5 generous servings. Rhubarb or berries can be substituted for apples.

Whether you're rooting for the Steelrs or the Seahawks, one things for certain. Your tastebuds will cover the spread! Bon Apetit.

Professional Tresseling

What do a woman and kentucky fried chicken have in common? Once you're done with the breast and thigh, all you're left with is a greasy box. Troy Smith told me that one. He sure does like chicken.

Speaking of greasy boxes, guess who's back? I'll give you two hints, she likes dogs, and she used to let me stick my dick in her.

My wife finally showed up. Turns out that she got locked in a closet during the big post game party at my house. It's not that bad - I'm eating pancakes every morning and I'm wearing clean underwear again. It has put a bit of a damper on dating, though. Coach Jimbo loves him some humps and lovely lady lumps. Don't get me wrong, I've always been discreet, but it was nice to just be able to get a little strange in my own house. Whatever, at least the driveway is getting shoveled now.

Man, life is boring when you can't ram a football up someone's ass every Saturday. I've been thinking about trying my hand at stand up comedy. Why not? The kids always laugh at Coach Jimbo's jokes. I'll usually inflict some kind of bodily harm if they don't, but it wouldn't be fun otherwise.

How does Pete Carroll find sheep in tall grass? Very satisfying.

I think I've always had it in me. It just comes naturally. Speaking of retards - have you ever noticed how all retards look alike? I think they all must have the same dad. This guy must really get around, though. He's getting laid like every night. So ladies, if you're ever in a bar late at night, and some guy comes up to you with a huge forehead and drooly, droopy-ass eyes and introduces himself as Donny Syndrome, get the hell out of there!!!

Take my wife... A. J. Hawk does while I film it. But seriously folks, do you know what the cannibal did after he dumped his girlfriend? He wiped his ass. Man, it's just too easy.

I called up a prostitute the other night for me and the boys. A pretty average Tuesday night, right? Well she shows up and she had a runny nose, so I asked her if she was full. Whatever. Maybe that wasn't so funny, but when I said it, Craig Krenzel blew a line of coke right off her tits.

I just bought a new car. My wife will probably hate it, but fuck her. She'll end up back in the closet it she flaps her cakehole. It's got some serious bumps in the trunk, so I've been crusin' for pussy all week bumpin' to the song "grillz". That's where I'm headed right now. Oh, just so you don't feel like you left empty-handed - why do women have vaginas?

So men will talk to them...

Is this thing on?

Celebrity Playlist

Tressel, here. Coach Jim Tressel. So as many of you in the Tresselnation may know, I recently got one of those ipod videos for Xmas. Love it. Seriously it's up there with penicilin (something I also use alot of), as perhaps the greatest invention of the last hundred years. Add Two-a-Days to that list as well. Anywho, I heard Death Cab, one of my all-time favorite bands, had a celebrity playlist. I decided to check it out, and I must say, it was pretty good, but it got me thinking. Why don't I have a celebrity playlist? What the fuck did I ever do? Just win a national championship? Beat Michigan? Fuckin Cooper couldn't beat Michigan!

So here it is. My Celebrity Playlist. Steve Jobs, if your listenening, how 'bout it?

1. Trapped Under Ice -Metallica: The baddest-ass fucking band, back when they used to be bad-assed and not a bunch of primp and primmed pussy willows. Now-a-days, they couldn't even open for Grim Reaper, but once upon a time, this band could rip your fucking heart out and show it to you before you died...with music.


2. Numba One Stunna - The Big Tymas: As far as Crunk goes, this is the crunkest. How can you not love a song with lines like, "James Bond, Jackie Chan, and that Bitch MacGuyver," or "I like to get 'em in the ass while you beat up the pussy." Genius. I keep trying to get the OSU marching band to learn this one for gameday.


3. Rocket Queen - Guns and Roses: How often do you find a song that's good to both fuck to, and lift weights to? This is one of them.


4. Soul Meets Body - Death Cab for Cutie: The softer side of Coach loves himself some Death Cab. I don't know what it is about these guys. The lyrics are so honest.


5. Computer Love-Kraftwerk: Fred Armisen had a Kraftwerk song,Pocket Calculator on his playlist. I gotta say, I thought that was pretty cool. This is another good song off the same album. Sometimes I like to put on a black leotard and really explore my space.


6. Trucker's Atlas - Modest Mouse: Not a big fan of their new album, but AJ Hawk has been into them since forever, and he turned me on to their older shit. Fuckin' Kick ass song.


7. More than a Feeling - Boston: This used to be me and Mrs. Tressel's song. What happened to us?


8. Clampdown-The Clash: This song is about not taking shit from anyone. Fuck you, Charlie Weiss.


9. Modeling Sucks-Handsome Boy Modelling School: Another band that used to be sweet, but now they sold out and totally suck. Still, this is one of the funniest tracks off of one of the great albums in Hip-Hop history.


10. Some Girls-The Rolling Stones: "Black girls wanna get fucked all night, but I ain't got that much Jam." I know how you feel, Mick. Now fucking retire already. You and Paterno, I swear.


11. Brother Love's Travellin' Salvation Show - Neil Diamond: The Jewish Elvis. The man is a god. He still rocks btw. Good to see him team up with Rick Rubin.


12. Entertain-Sleater Kinney: These chicks are hot. Guess what? I fucked 'em. True story. Good music to work out to.


13. Strawberry Letter 23-Shuggie Ottis: This song always reminds me of that scene from Jackie Brown, where Sam Jackson stuffs Chris Tucker in the trunk drives around, then shoots him. I've always wanted to do that to Chris Tucker, but I guess Krenzel will have to do.


14. Against All Odds-Phil Collins: Say what you will about Phil Collins, this song has gotten me through some tough times.


15. Little Sister-Queens of the Stoneage: I couldn't end the list with Phil Collins. Had to go out on a rock-out. Dig the cowbell.

Well that's it. That's my mix. Hope you like it. If not, fuck you!!! Check back later for updates. I might add some songs.BTW, special thanks to all you Michigan fans who left Coach Jimmy some love the other day. I don't care what they say, you're not all fags, at least not in my book. Wait...yes you are. And to my fellow chronic masturbators, you gotta stop, seriously. I'm trying. Lord, I'm trying. Also, the wife's still MIA. I'm starting to worry. I'm out of clean underwear and canned soup.