86300603JM021_NEW_YORK_JETS

Mark Sanchez: Jesus, Shonn. We’re having a bad month.

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Sanchez: We keep losing!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Sanchez: We can’t even score a touchdown!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Sanchez: Hell, I nearly got benched. Do you think I should have been benched?

Shonn Greene: Oh, hell yes.

Sanchez: And now we’re cheaters! Coach Alosi’s gonna get the gate!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Sanchez: I feel like everything is coming apart. I feel hopeless. I feel like there’s no way we’re gonna turn this around. Do you think we can turn this around?

Shonn Greene: I dunno.

Sanchez: You think Coach as a plan?

Shonn Greene: Coach always got a plan.

(door flies open)

rex4

Ryan: HOW THE FUCK YOU DOIN’, BOYS?!

Sanchez: Bad, Coach.

Ryan: Ain’t gotta tell me that! Oh, men. MEN. Last night, Mrs. Ryan cooked lentil soup for the family. You know, healthy shit. She likes me fitting in that sweater vest. She even asks for the vest when we’re fuckin’ in the tub! So I eat this horrible stew, and not but one hour later my ass begins cranking out a smell so foul, so terrible, so frightening that I didn’t even laugh. Smelled worse than retard breath! You ever smell a retard’s breath? It’s like they brushed their teeth with shit! And 99% of the time, THEY HAVE! Retard breath is the worst smell of all.

(double fists tacos)

The fart attack didn’t stop all night, men. Every time I moved, I felt the noxious fumes slithering out of my asshole. I couldn’t keep it at bay. THE GAS KEPT BLITZING. Again and again and again. There was no stopping it. Finally, Mrs. Ryan turns to me in bed and she says to me, “Honey, you gotta do something about your ass.”

Well, that about sums up everything for us right now, doesn’t it, men? WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT OUR ASS. Because we are shitting all over the goddamn field! Especially YOU, Nacho.

Sanchez: I know.

Ryan: Nacho, my new nickname for you is El McRib, because you are only gonna last for a limited time if you keep throwing the ball like a Spanish asshole!

Sanchez: I’m sorry, Coach.

Ryan: It ain’t just you, McRib. We ALL gotta take some responsibility for this. Especially me. I don’t even know how to use a challenge flag anymore! Westhoff told me I should throw it whenever we run out of ketchup! NOT FUNNY, WESTHOFF!

Westhoff: I thought you’d fucking laugh!

Ryan: How many times do I have to tell you food is the ONE thing I never joke about? Now, next order of business: CHEATIN’. Where is Sal?

Alosi: Here, Coach.

Ryan: Do you understand the river of shit I am getting for you sticking your goddamn knee out?

Alosi: But you told me to form a wall.

Ryan: NOT ON THE SIDELINE! I MEANT FORM A WALL ON THE BORDER, SO NACHO COULDN’T SNEAK HIS FAMILY INTO THE COUNTRY AND HAVE THEM THROW MORE GODDAMN INCOMPLETIONS!

(scratches butt)

Alosi: Sorry, Coach.

Ryan: That’s not enough. What you did was horrible, and an entire disgrace to the Jets family. You did it ALL WRONG. You’re supposed to stick out your FOOT! Not the knee! The FOOT! And you stick it out well before he’s within ten yards of you. You let him fail to notice the foot, and then it’s an accident! That way, the cameras don’t see you doing it! WE’VE GONE OVER THIS! You don’t see cameras catching Bart using the ice pick! That’s because of superior preparation.

Alosi: Am I fired?

Ryan: I’m afraid firing you isn’t gonna cut it. Now we buried our gameball from last week and that didn’t do jack shit. We’re gonna have to bury something else. Something bigger.

(stares at Alosi)

Alosi: What? Me?

Ryan: It’s the only reasonable option, Pelosi.

Alosi: You can’t bury me alive! I SAID I WAS SORRY! I REALLY AM! PLEASE! I HAVE A FAMILY!

Ryan: Relax, relax. I’m just fucking with you. We’re not gonna bury you.

Alosi: Phew!

Ryan: But you are fucking fired. GET THE FUCK OUT!

Alosi: Oh. (leaves)

Ryan: Men, this has been a horrible, shitty, awful, shitty, terrible, shitty week. Did I mention it was shitty?

(sharts pants, doesn’t notice)

Sanchez: Yes.

Ryan: But I haven’t given up on you, and I hope you haven’t given up on me. Every team has its struggles during the course of the year. Some of them end up folding, you AIN’T. Because you are fucking WINNERS. We’re still 9-4, and we’re still going to the playoffs, and we’re still gonna BEATING THE FUCKING FUCK OUT OF EVERY TEAM WE SEE. Now, I thought long and hard about the best way to motivate you boys this week. I thought about dynamiting the new stadium to exorcise the demons. I thought about slaughtering a pig, like we did on Tuesday. I thought about gettin’ some solid PUSSY into this place to get your heads and your dicks screwed on right. But none of that is gonna work. So I had a better idea…

(door flies open)

Ben: HARF HARF SOMEONE CALLED THE BEN AND SAID THEY LIKED GUYS WHO LIKE TO FUCK GIRLS. BEN LIKES TO FUCK GIRLS.

Ryan: Quick! Hold him down! All of you! Aim low! He’s shockingly mobile!

(Everyone holds Ben down)

Ben: YOU TRICK BEN! BEN THOUGHT YOU SOUND LIKE HUSKY GIRL, BUT BEN NOT AS PICKY AS BEFORE!

Sanchez: We got him. What do we do now?

Ryan: Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? GET THE RAPIN’ STICK.

Ben: NO! NO RAPIN’ STICK! BEN READ BIBLE! IT NOT SAY BROWNEYE FOR A BROWNEYE!

Sanchez: Which rapin’ stick do I use? Big Red, or Ol’ Hickory?

Ryan: It’s definitely an Ol’ Hickory day.

Ben: NO! BEN NOT LIKE OLD HICKORY!

Ryan: Take his pants off!

(Everyone takes Ben’s pants off)

Sanchez: Holy shit!

Shonn Greene: Damn. His dong IS gray.

Ben: THAT JUST BECAUSE LITTLE BEN EXPERIENCED AND MORE MATURE.

Sanchez: You want me to do the honors?

Ryan: No, no. That would be weird. BRING IN THE WOMENFOLK!

(door flies open)

NOW Protestor: There he is! THE MAN WHO SLEEPS WITH DRUNKEN WOMEN WHILE DRUNK HIMSELF! RAPEMONGER! PATRIARCHAL SUPERIORIST!

Ben: NO. YOU CONFUSED. THAT BILL MAAS.

Ryan: (hands girl the stick) Okay, girl. Go for it.

Ben: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Ryan: Oh, fiddlyshit. Hold up, girls. Don’t go all I Spit On Your Grave on his gray penis just yet. You want to avoid the cudgel, Benji?

Ben: YES BEN DO ANYTHING EXCEPT RIDE ATV WITH HELMET.

Ryan: Then you go back to your team and you let them know this: Rex Ryan is through fucking around. Do you hear me? Fun and games are fucking OVER. You boys may think we’re tanking. You may be laughing at us because we can’t score for shit and because our strength coach is a moron. I don’t blame you. But know this: Come this Sunday, you will have a fucking WAR on your hands. We are coming for YOU. We’re gonna spend every waking second of this week thinking about kicking the shit out of you, and your teammates, and your teammates’ teammates. And we’re not resting until that fucking nose of yours is spilling brains out onto the turf. You only get one warning. After that, the gals here get to use the rapin’ sticks for real. And they’re much more passionate about using them than we are, I assure you. You got all that?

Ben: BEN NOD. BEN SAY NOD INSTEAD OF ACTUAL NOD BECAUSE SAY NOD LESS HARD.

Ryan: Get the fuck out of here.

(Ben leaves)

Ryan: Are you men ready to back me up?

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: EL MCRIB! Are you ready to get your head out of your ass?

Sanchez: Yes, sir.

Ryan: Did you get any decent pussy this week? Are your balls sufficiently warmed up?

Sanchez: Well, I…

rex2

Ryan: Oh! Oh! Oh, ol’ McRib slid himself into a warm bun! THAT’S GREAT HUSTLE!

(slaps Sanchez on ass, HARD)

Sanchez: Ouch!

Ryan: FUCKING BRING IT IN.

(everyone brings it in)

Ryan: Men, there isn’t a lot of time left. Some days you come out flat and you can’t explain why. And the more you try and snap out of it, the worse everything gets. And then it all goes to shit and you know you can’t ever get it back again. GET IT BACK, MEN. You’re the same team you were just a few weeks ago when you were winning games and scorin’ beaver. GET IT FUCKING BACK. Dig down deep and grab hold again of whatever it was that made you want to fucking KILL AND ATTACK AND MURDER. Do you understand?

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: You men were born for war. As soon as man started walking the Earth, there was war. And until the last man on Earth dies, there will still be war. You can never kill war. EVER. It’s a part of you. It’s our basest need. We need food. We need air. We need poontang. AND WE NEED TO FUCKING FIGHT AND MAIM AND MUTILATE AND PROVE TO EVERYONE THAT WE ARE THE BIGGEST MEN WITH THE BIGGEST LOUDEST COCKS. Do you understand that?

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: ARE YOU READY TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR ASS?!

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: We’re gonna fucking win, and then we’re all going out to play pinball and motorboat some titties! FUCKING HANDS IN!

(all hands in)

Ryan: FUCKING KILL ON THREE! ONE TWO THREE!!

Everyone: KILL!

Ryan: (stomach rumbles) Oh, Christ. Those goddamn lentils again.

Sanchez: What do I do with the rapin’ stick?

Ryan: Give it to me! I got some things in the john I gotta work out.