The Truth Behind the Texans' 2010 Season

Somewhere, deep inside an undisclosed location, a bald, suit-wearing Frank Okam, the Evil Genius, addresses his gang of evil-doers at the headquarters' conference room...

Frank: Grand tidings to you, my cadre of pernicious perpetrators.  Our master plan is coming along magnificently.  Our nex-

Will Demps: Will Demps looks good as a German Nazi chick.

Frank: - well, yes, William, your appearance is most -

Will: I especially like the skirt.  I can just reach in and touch my snake of love.  Oh yeah, Will, Will feels good, don't he?

Frank: William, please!  Once again, please keep your masturbatory pleasuring to the privacy of your boudoir.

Will: ***blank stare***

Frank: Don't tug it here, William.  Tug it when you're not around us.

Will: Will tries to keep his hands off Will, but Will makes no promises, Mr. Dr. Evil Genius.

Frank: That's all we ask of you, William.

Petey Faggins: Why do I have to dress up like a leprechaun?  Do I look like Tim?

All look around the room confusedly.  Will sneaks in a quick touch.

Frank: DeMarcus, we've deliberated this point repeatedly.  In order for our plan to work, we must all properly play our roles.  Frank pets a hairless chihuahua

Petey: Frank, you damn -

Frank: You will address me as Dr. Evil Genius.

Petey: - yeah, right whatever.  But Dr. Evil had a hairless cat, not a damn dog.

Frank: Who's Dr. Evil?

Morlon Greenwood (dressed in traditional Arab garb): Ja, dat bwoy's half eediat, but he right, mon --- da Doctor had 'im a cat in dat movie. And mi naa waan fi frock like mi some bobo dread no more. Da turban make de bald heads tink mi some kinna Arab. Dem shot at mi two times today!

Frank (stands and pounds the table):  That's enough.  All of you.  We are squandering valuable time.

Door to the room creaks open.  An obviously drugged Frank Bush enters with a stoned-like grin on his face.

Frank: Ah Franklin, right on time, as always.  It does help that I control you with the mind-altering technology I painstakingly invented.  Report, dearest Franklin.

Bush (speaking with a monotone, almost robotic voice):  The plan continues on schedule, Dr. Evil Genius.  For next week, Kubiak has asked me to observe the game from a blimp while wearing a black lace garter belt.  He wants to shake things up.  I will still be calling plays, Dr. Evil Genius.

Frank (makes finger-tenting motion):  Excellent.  The plan proceeds as scheduled.  The Texans never gave me my chance.  Bill Kollar likes small, agile linemen, does he?  While sitting on the bench, I was plotting revenge.  How could I, with my magnificent brain, destroy the Texans?  Not from the outside, no.  But from the inside.  This is where my infinite genius lies.  We've had Bush drugged since the fourth game last season.  We built up the team's hopes and dreams, and then we crushed them slowly, death by a thousand pin pricks.  Our stock in bleach has skyrocketed.  This is my revenge!  Nobody cuts Frank Okam and gets away with it!  NOBODY!

Room fills with evil cackling.  Will touches himself.

Morlon: Yeah, mon.  Morlon can play better than Zac Diles today, mon.

Cheers from around the room.

Will: Will doesn't think that Bennie Pollard can cover any better than Smoove Will.  Smoove Will had coverage skills, especially with the sweet ladies.  And you know Smoove Will could bring the wood (flops penis on table).

More cheers.

Petey: I got screwed!  I'm a much better cornerback than that whipper snapper Kareem Jackson!

Silence.