Hey, Taylor. Taylor! Get the fuck over here, you fucking faggot you.

I wanna talk to you. NOW.

Oh, you have a meeting with some people in Hollywood? Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. fucking Brando. I didn’t know I was supposed to wait for your fucking weekly salad meeting. You fucking pansy ass fuck. You talk to me NOW, you hear me, you little prick? The fuck is the respect here? Why don’t you go moisturize your asshole a little more?

Sit down.

SIT FUCKING DOWN. Have an olive.

Now I’ve been talking to Mr. Parcells. He’s a patient guy, Jason. Way more fucking patient than I am. The fat fuck. If it were up to me, I’d fucking disown you like I’d disown any homosexual offspring. But Mr. Parcells ain’t like that. He’s more prone to rationality and all that shit. So he asked me to sit down and talk to you, man to man, to get your side of the story. All he wants to know, and all I want to know is this:

What’s with all this fucking dancing shit?

Seriously, what the fuck? What kinda man dances? It’s a fucking disgrace, is what it is. Dancing is fucking faggot shit. We all know that. What are you doing, goin’ out there in those fucking outfits fucking twirling around? In public, no less! You’re making a fucking mockery of everything we do here.

Men don’t dance, okay? Growing up in my neighborhood, you didn’t dance. If your fucking girl brought you to some stupid fucking club, you just stood there on the dance floor while she danced around you. Then she’d drift away from you on the dance floor and start dancing with her girl friends. Then you’d get all pissed and say, “Hey, what the fuck? Why aren’t you dancing with me, you stupid twat?” Then she’d get all mad because you weren’t “really dancing.” Then you’d say, “I was fucking dancing, honey. Just ‘cause I don’t shake my ass like some two-bit whore doesn’t mean I ain’t dancing.” Then she’d throw her purse at you. Then you’d drag her off the floor by her hair and kick her ass.

That’s how it’s fucking done, okay? If you danced like that, then maybe this wouldn’t be an issue. But you had to go there doing shit like this:

The fuck is this? Can you fucking explain this? Where are your fucking sleeves, asshole? Huh? And what’s with the look? Was the cock about to go in your mouth, or had it just been taken out? You understand how this makes us look? People are gonna think of dolphins as all cute and cuddly now. And what about this?

The fuck? What are you, Yul Brynner, fucko? I’m sorry, but this is fucking unacceptable. If other teams knew we were harboring a faggot, we wouldn’t be doing business with them much longer. Now the girl is hot. I’ll give you that. I’d tickle her asscrack with my mustache. But just because she’s a piece of ass doesn’t mean you can just go around wearing an untied bowtie.

What the fuck is with that? The only time that’s acceptable is if you’re drunk after your cousin’s wedding. And you ain’t drunk. I THINK YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU’RE DOING.

Did you just roll your eyes? You got a lot of fucking nerve showing that kind of disrespect, kid. I could fucking cut you today, then allow you to sign with any other team you like at an enormous salary. Would you fucking like THAT to happen? I think not.

So straighten the fuck up, kid. Quit dancing, and get back to showering with the rest of the team and slapping your linemates on the ass. Or else, something will be done.