[You're listening to the audiobook of "Fresh to Jeff" by Jeff George. Read by Jeff George]

Jeff George: And that’s why my career never panned out with the broke-dick Redskins. A Mickey Mouse operation like that with a Napoleanic figurehead, there’s no hope for even the most badass of gridiron generals. I’m just one man. A fucking gladiator, but still, one dude. There’s only so much I can do with organizational failure. Listen here, you ever wanna have success in this life, you can’t fraternize with little lying Jews and Marty Schottenheimer. One, maybe. Both? No. Fucking. Way. You just can’t. Unfortunately I was pressed into situations out of my control. Most teams couldn’t handle a QB you can put it in the endzone from his own 10-yard-line. It’s a threat to the master intricate gameplan bullshit put together by fuckwit coaches impressed with their own stupidity.

This one time I was in contract negotiation with Bill Tobin and he says to my agent, “Look, we respect Jeff’s arm strength, but his demeanor on the field has been anything but amenable to our goals as a football team.” So I get all up in his face and told him I’d plant a Hail Mary halfway up his small intestine if he didn’t give me more guaranteed money. Next thing I know my ass was in Atlanta. Fucking pussy shit, if you ask me. Respect the negotiating tactics like a fucking gentleman.

[You've been listening the audiobook of "Fresh to Jeff" by Jeff George. Read by Jeff George]

Jason Whitlock: Yo Jeff.

J F’N G: [Purposely gazes off into the middle distance]

Jason Whitlock: So when we gonna pop shit off? Hit up the IHOP and get slop-payyyy!?

J F’N G: Yeah. Yeah. We’ll get to that soon enough. First thing’s first. I got another mission for you.

Whitlock: Oh yeah, sure, Jeff. Anything. What’s up?

J F’N G: There’s this bitch in the league office I’ve had my eye on. But, y’know, things being what they are, it’d be weird for me to come up on her job and talk to her, what with teams being fucking blind and gay and not offering me work. So I need you to go up in there and drop some hints all subtle-like that Jeff George is on the prowl.

Whitlock: Oh my god. That bitch is cray-zay hot. I would totally, like, lick her pussy and sex that ass raw. [Offers fist pound which is not reciprocated]

J F’N G: Yeah, so, if you could just do that, that’d be a big help to me. And greatly appreciated.

Whitlock: This means I get to call you my friend, Jeff George?

J F’N G: Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Settle on down there, compadre. Let’s just handle the business at hand and not get all wrapped up in some semiotics shit.

Whitlock: Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking.

J F’N G: Your brain, homesauce.

Whitlock: Yeah.

J F’N G: Well? You got your assignment.

Whitlock: Right! [Shuffles off]