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HOW TO MAKE LOVE TO A ________ FAN: TEXAS EDITION, Y'ALL.

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On vacation...but you must love autoposting. And you must love Texas Gal for providing this boozy peek into the inner sanctum of a Texas fan's lovesoul as the next chapter in our "How to Make Love to a ______ Fan" Series. Enjoy this and the rest of the Ladies work over at Ladies...if you dare.

How to Make Love to a Texas Longhorns Fan

Hello, darlin'.

I can tell by that special glint in your eye, that only appears once a year around the second week of October, that you've got two tickets to Texas-OU burnin' a hole in your pocket, and you're just itching to ask me to be your date for the weekend. I won't sit in a guy's SUV (with Ducks Unlimited sticker) for the three-hour drive to Dallas for just anyone, baby- you gotta put on your best burnt orange button down (bonus for pearl snaps), polish up your best belt buckle (not one of those icky big ones the cowboys wear- the pretentious kind with sterling silver shotgun shell caps, like the Texas Cowboys wear) and scuff up your oldest pair of Red Wings. I want you to go all out, like Roy Williams reaching for the end zone. You like it old school? Then I'm looking for a Priest Holmes level effort, sweetheart. (if you were looking for a Tyler Rose or James Street reference, my dear, you're way too old for me.)

Looking for you to score like Priest Holmes.

Can I go ahead and request some Cory Morrow, Ragweed and Reckless Kelly for the drive? It's mood music that will get me ready for our weekend of lovin'. I can't wait to see the swank, $65 a night hotel you reserved for us for the weekend.

Who am I kidding, baby, I know it's a motel- the doors open to the outside of the building- but we'll rock that pink carpeted, Ansel Adams prints on the wall, complimentary coffee breakfast joint like it's the Driskill. We won't be spending much time there anyway- all that matters is that it's got a bed for bangin' at night, and a toilet for pukin' in the morning.

Your dance moves out in Deep Ellum on Friday night will be legendary- in fact, I'll just call you VY. No, I don't mind skipping dinner so we can get straight to drinking. The smell of Shiner on your breath, and spilled down the front of your shirt, is like musk to me. And I will love the way you randomly curse out Sooners on the streets, and get in 3 near-fights and one all-out brawl. You know I love it when you go all Stonie Clark on those land thieves, taking a stand and robbing them of their dignity.


No one robs Longhorns fans of their dignity...except Matthew McConoughey.

When it's time for the game on Saturday, you know I'll be in my cute heels and top and skirt, and you'll be wearing the same sexy, sweaty, beer-stained clothes that you drove up in from Friday. That's hot. No, really- it's hot in the Cotton Bowl, so you'll need to pull that flask out of your boot and get me liquored up. Nothing's better than Maker's that's warmed up to a toasty 85 degrees thanks to the heat from your sexy body. What's that? You pack two flasks, one in each boot? Honey, I can tell this is gonna be one hell of a weekend.

And when the Longhorns beat the hell outta OU (again), I'll totally let you cop a cheap feel (or three) in the stands. You'll deserve it, baby- you'll have made it through 4 quarters (well, except for the first part of the 3rd, when you'll puke in the trashcan up underneath the stadium)-- and all without cussing out that little Sooner kid next to us. You'll try to drive home (of course), until one of your friends take your keys away, and then you'll cuss him out, and then you'll make up and give a man-hug and sing a Willie Nelson song together while we're walking the eighteen blocks back to your SUV, (parked in someone's front yard in the sketchiest neighborhood in Dallas).

Lovin', football: always on our minds.

I won't even complain when three of your buddies and the chicks they picked up at the bar all crash on our floor. I just wanna kick it through the uprights with you, Phil Dawson style.