How I Spent My Offseason, by Roc Carmichael

Heidegger was a moron.  Simple as that.  I'm not just talking about his affiliations with National Socialism, although there is plenty of room for agreement on that simple premise.  That's not enough, however, for me to classify him as a moron.  A lot of otherwise intelligent people got roped into that particular scam, so I'm not going to give him demerits for that.

But Heidegger was still a moron.  How could one read Being and Time and come up with the opposite conclusion?  Even the most perfunctory treatment must lead the reader to this judgment.  I mean, even Husserl noted that the creation of the concept of dasein was primarily a distraction from the essential challenge posed by phenomenology and not much more than a glorified exercise in philosophical anthropology.  And don't get me started on the neo-Kantian critique.  It's just too trenchant to get into here.

I'm sure you're asking yourself, "What the hell is Carmichael talking about?"  Believe me, before the draft I wouldn't have been able to read the passages above, much less interpret them in light of the struggle to place human existence and consciousness in context with one another.  But a funny thing happened after the draft.  Once the Texans picked me, I realized I needed to get better to have a chance to compete.  Also, I got a call from Kareem Jackson.  He's tired of being Cushing's glory-hole partner and wanted to fob the job off on someone else.  I figured I needed to get smart in a hurry if I was going to convince Harris to do it.

Once Brown and Cushing got busted for roids, the whole attention of the NFL turned to the Texans.  There's no way I could have started juicing with everyone and their mother paying attention to what's going on down in Houston.  Well, at least I couldn't start juicing my body.

I have to admit, I was pretty scared the first time I called Dr. Mengele.  I thought he'd sound like one of those creepy scientists from the movies.  Turns out, he sounds pretty normal.  That's a good thing, because otherwise I probably would have been too scared to take the stuff that he sold me.

But boy, am I glad I did.  Due to the lockout, we're going to have very little time to learn the Texans' playbook.  NFL playbooks aren't like college playbooks.  They're thicker.  A lot thicker.  And the coaching staff will find out right away if you replace the last pages of your playbook with pictures of raw steak, like Duane Brown did when he was a rookie.  Also, this year the Texans are going to actually have a defensive playbook, as opposed to a Chuck E. Cheese menu like Frank Bush handed out last year.

The way I see it, if I want to have a chance at starting for this defense, I'm going to need something other than a pulse.  That might have worked last year, but this year, whoever knows the playbook better will get on the field.  And I'll be damned if I'm going to let someone else spoil my shot at walking in Petey Faggins's footsteps.  

That's why I called Dr. Mengele.  

I'm not going to lie to you.  It took some time to get used to the idea of sticking myself in the ass with a needle.  But all I could think about was having to do extra "work" with Cushing after workouts.  I've heard he only showers once a month.  Yuck.  And once I gave myself that first injection, I could feel myself getting smarter.   I went from having difficulty understanding the rhyme scheme of a limerick to being able to produce a concise analysis of Gravity's Rainbow.  And it took just one day.

But there are drawbacks.  Do you know how hard it is to listen to Mel Kiper when you can solve second-order partial differential equations during a bowel movement?  I'm beginning to worry that, once I receive the Texans playbook, I will find it too prolix.  In fact, I'm contemplating secreting a copy of the Upanishads (in Sanskrit, of course) into the playbook itself in case I find it too remedial.

Complicating things no end is the fact that I can't tell anyone what I'm doing.  That means I need to continue my Twitter feed in its previous state.  Trust me when I tell you that it is a lot harder than it looks to write like an illiterate gypsy on absinthe once you've been enlightened as I have.  Fortunately, I have the good example of my esteemed colleague, Mr. Jones.  The man is a source of boundless inspiration.

Sadly, it is time for me to take my leave for now.  I'm beginning a new investigation into the collected works of Schopenhauer, which I am hopeful I won't find as tedious as the collected ouevre of Heidegger.  Hope springs eternal, after all.