Saturday, March 25, 2006

Writer's Workshop

Hello world, it's me, Tressel. Coach Jim Tressel. I kinda got a problem, and I was hoping some of you out there in Tressel's World could give me a hand. As many of my avid readers may know, I'm currently working on a screen play. It's kind of a sci-fi musical, but I don't really wanna confine it to genres. Any how, the basic premise is in the year 3,000 AD, the future, there's this football Coach. He's an android. The thing is, he has a microchip that lets him feel emotions, and because of this microchip, he won't go pro, even though he should, you know, for the money. He doesn't though, cause he cares about the kids, cause of his chip.Then one his kids get's busted by the Intergalactic Space Police for taking money from a booster rocket, and he's kind of in the dumps about that. He's really tormented. So I'm kind of stuck in this scene where he confronts his creator, a scientist. He's mad, and he wants to express his anger, but he's torn, because it's his creator.

COACH: Why did you make me love. All I want is to be free. Free of emotions. Free to go pro. I could make so much money. Oh why, oh why did you make me care.

SCIENTIST: It is because I care for you, that I made you love. Look inside. You know that what I did was right. I made you love, because I love you.

COACH: But what is the point of love, if all it brings you is pain.

SCIENTIST: Love has brought you more than pain. What about all the beautiful queens of all the alien races of the galaxy. They all want you to pleasure them. Could this be without your humanity.

COACH: They only want to be with me for my sexual stamina. My robotic cock. They could care less about my heart. My fake, silicon heart. How it burns beneath my vest. My sweater vest.

SCIENTIST: I care about your heart. And your vest. It doesn't look stupid.

So basically I think this could go one of two ways.

Option 1: the Coach punches the scientist in the chest and rips his heart out. Then he kicks him out of an air-lock. Personally, I think it's the most realistic contingency, and it also provides a good plot twist. I forgot to mention this, but the scientist is also the President of Jupiter, so kicking him out of an airlock means coach is in a lot of trouble. I mean from there it would get really exciting, and basically it writes itself.

Unfortunately I wrote this really great musical number that Coach and the Scientist could go into. The Coach would sing about the paradox of his humanity and his imortality, his longing to be free, and the Scientist would sing about how he's always wanted a son, and now he kind of has one, but it's too bad his son is angry at him. It ends with them embracing in mutual love and forgiveness. It's a tear jerker, but it results in some serious writer's block.

I don't know. What do you guys think would make a better story?

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Look at my fat fucking cat!

I'm really worried about the Buckster. Ever since his old lady skipped town, he's done nothing but eat Ringdings and watch Maury Povich. Speaking of which, that Maury Povich is a sick fuck. Truly the most evil person on this planet, yesterday's episode was "My Baby's Daddy, just Might be my Daddy." I'll be honest, it made me want to put a gun in my mouth, that's how fucking sad it made me feel for humanity. But that was a breif stint of suicidal tendency. Bucky's been on suicide watch for the last three weeks. Clarette doesn't help much; he's been hanging around alot, as well. The other day I came home from a recruiting trip, and Bucky and Clarette are on my couch, eatin' Ringdings, drikin' Shclitz. The place reeked of skunk-ass dirt weed. Enough was enough. I was like, "Get a job....both of you! Quick mopin' around and feelin sorry for yourselves already." Man, the two of them are just not good for each other at all. Talk about your co-dependencies. I think Maurice and Bucky have both pretty much given up. Maurice said he's just gonna eat Hostess snack cakes until he's fat enough to qualify for workman's comp, an Idea I think he got from an episode of Maury Povich. He's also talking about jumping in front of cars and suing the people that hit him. Another idea from Maury Povich.

Can cat's file for workman's comp? How do they fill out the forms without opposable thumbs. That sound's like another episode of Maury Povich. "My cat is so disgustingly obese, he want's to file workman's comp." Could be good. Those two need to get laid, seriously. Only problem is I don't think the Buckster could find his pecker.

Pray for them.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

My Lyrical Street Science is Tight – So Are My New Pants

Word up, Tresselnation. It's me Jimmy T, here to drop some more wisdom on your dumb, cornfed asses. That Q&A session really wore me out and killed the sweet tussin and listerine buzz I had going yesterday. Obviously I had to get out of the house, so I went to the mall to by some new pants. There's nothing like new pants to put a little zing in the coach's step, well almost nothing. Man, did I find some sweet pants.

Today I got bored so I stopped by the office in my new pants. I picked up my mail, slapped some coed chicks on the ass, played some Unreal Tournament on my laptop and generally just broke balls for a few hours. But I did it with a whole new confidence and finesse. It seemed like every chick I walked past was zoning in on the way these pants perfectly frame my package.

I felt so good that when I got home I did a couple whipits and chased the misses around playing her favorite game "Order in the Court". Once I was done swingin' the old meat gavel around I went straight to the studio to lay down some tight lyrics. Because I love my new pants so much I'll share this with you.


pants pants
my new pants
as I strut past
ho's are late for class
it's just the way I wear it
never droopin' like Clarett

they make my crotch bulge out
hear the ladies shout
all the pretty heads turn
checking out my unicorn

I don't keep the ladies guessing
they all need some sweater vesting
they can't stop ingesting
my ass kick salad dressing

pants pants
my new pants
pull yours down
and we'll do a little dance

you know you're a freak
don't be shy give me a peak
gotta check out the goods
before the bed springs go squeak

pants pants
my new pants
check it, bitch

Whoever wrote this book should be tied to a tree and have there balls eaten by a goat with herpes. What's wrong with people?

Sunday, March 12, 2006

More Tasty Tidbits

Wake up, fuckos! It's me, Tressel. Coach Jim Tressel. I'm going to do this big stinking pile of crap called the world a favor and open this blog up to a little Q and A time. And no, that doesn't stand for Queers and Aardvarks, although they are certainly invited to participate. It stands for Question and Answer. One rule, no football questions. That's what the call-in shows and press conferences are for. Ask me about my screenplay, ask me about my rap career, ask me about my cat. I'm willing to make an exception in regards to Clarett. I'd like to set a few things straight. So bring it on, bitches!!!

Monday, March 06, 2006

Oscar Recap

Hey Kids, It's me, your old pal, Hollywood Insider, Coach Jim Tressel. Well, another Oscars has come and gone, and I must say, yet again a perennial Tressel favorite has been snubbed by the accademy. When is Tim Allen gonna get his due? So what if he's a Michigan fan, have you seen Jungle to Jungle? I'll tell ya, thee don't make 'em like that anymore. That new movie, Shaggy Dog looks pretty good, though.

Ha, I'm just kidding. Tim Allen totally sucks. Remember Home Improvement? That thing was gayer than Truman Capote holding a three dollar bill in the back of Krenzel's PT Cruiser. Speaking of things that are gay, if I hear one more Brokeback Mountain/"I wish I could quit you!" joke, I swear I'm gonna put my fist through someone's fucking head. And what's the deal with Felicity Houghman? Is she a dude or not? One night I was rubbin' one out to her while watching Desperate Housewives, and then during the commercials, I see a preview for this Trans America movie. Does that make me gay? Answer carefully, if you don't want a big bowl of my patented Ass-kick Salad.

Gotta say, how is it that the 3-6 Maffia won the Oscar? I've farted better raps than that, and Dolly Parton has nice cans, so how's that for Injustice? Crash, you can suck it. Maybe my rap act needs a little interpretive dance. Pete Carrol may be bumpin' elbows with the Stars, but Coach Jimmy is bumpin' uglies...

All in all, I gotta say the highlight of the night for yours truly was the four-way I had with Tom Hanks and these two broads. That's what a Fiesta Bowl Championship'll get ya. The broad on the right had some nice cans, didn't she? Coach likes him some pancakes.

Well, that's all for now. Until next time keep it on the QT and very hush, hush.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

My Balls Itch!

It's true they do. I gotta powder them donuts.