DOLLARS, TEXAS

Now, y'all may have heard the rumor floating around that Deion is thinking about declaring himself an independent candidate for president. I can't confirm that news this afternoon, but if he should become the nation's chief executive, Deion has personally assured me that he'll slip away from meetings with the joint chiefs of staff and crises in the Balkans in time to give us at least six or seven good, hard plays on defense every third week or so. And whenever we play them hippie commies from San Francisco, he promises to work an entire quarter of fuhball--not a second less.

Naturally, many members of the Dallas Cowboys family have made personal sacrifices in order for us to sign Mr. Deion Sanders. Here are just a few examples. As you know, quarterback Troy Aikman has "restructured" his multiyear contract and moved into a pretty nice little trailer park over in Garland. Wide receiver Michael Irvin is working the swing shift at International Harvester to help make ends meet, and Jay Novacek, our outstanding tight end, reports he's doing lively trade with his new taco cart in Turtle Creek. 'Course, this here's everybody's task. The famous Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders have all volunteered to work nights--for a man named Smoke, I think it was. Home-furnishings bidness. The mayor of our fair city has cut police and firefighter salaries by one third and shut down a couple of public hospitals in order to plump up the Deion Fund, and so far no one's bellyachin' one bit. We like winners in Dallas.

Even Jerry Jones, my ownself, and head coach Barry Switzer have personally taken on second jobs for the good of the team. Next time you spot Coach Switzer movin' them orange pylons around up on I-35, give him a honk, won'tcha? He's doin' it all for you.

Will this whole thing be worthwhile? Will the Dallas Cowboys, led by Deion Sanders, get back to the Super Bowl and kick the livin' snot out of whoever the pissant AFC sends to the show? You can count on it, pardner. I'm here to tell you that Destiny and Deion are on our side--at least when we're not playing fuhball on the man's bowling night. So y'all can take them "Tuck Fexas" bumper stickers and them crude bathroom jokes and them sorry stories about how folks from Dallas act when they're skiin' in Vail, and you can stick 'em where the sun don't shine. Cause America's Team is back big-time. Unnerstand? Good. That's that.

Now, if one of you cowpokes is going my way, I'd be much obliged for a ride. I gotta drop this here case of Pepsi bottles off at the Piggly-Wiggly for the deposit money, and I still got three or four rooms left to clean back at the motel. If I ain't done by 3:45, the boss'll more'n likely personally kick my butt as if I's a wet dog loose in the front parlor. Like my Aunt Elvira used to say, a horse's ass don't fit in a saddle. Whatever that means. Probably heard it that time she was out in San Francisco.

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