The NFLPA has made today #LETUSPLAY day, which probably means little to nothing to you useless you happen to follow a bunch of NFL players on Twitter. Even if you do, you’d be excused for mostly ignoring it. The gist is that players are all tweeting a plea to owners to allow them to play the next season and not force a lockout that would needlessly damage the sport. Sure, it’s a pointless gesture, but it’s hard to fault the players for getting the message out there. Nevertheless, someone has:

Myself, I’m saying no. No, I’m sorry, you don’t get to have a #LETUSPLAY day. Instead, how about every day be declared #SHUTUPANDWORKITOUTDAY until you people can decide on the best way to divide up your billions?

How dare you ask people to “do [their] part as a fan”, as if it’s the fans who aren’t doing enough here. You know what a fan’s job is? It’s to watch and enjoy this game. To spend money on tickets, television packages and merchandise. To submit our eyeballs to commercials before and after every single kickoff in a game.

You know that gigantic pile of money you guys can’t decide how to divide? That came from us. That was us, doing our part. It is not our part to take a side in your petty battle over who gets to roll around in more of that money.

Uh, MJD? You should probably realize the impending lockout, should it happen, is almost entirely the fault of the ownership, who are basically asking the players to forfeit money, play more games and receive essentially nothing in return. I’ve liked MJD for some time and continue to appreciate his work at Shutdown Corner, for no other reason than that he’s not Chris Chase. But the tedious and trite millionaires versus billionaires dichotomy doesn’t work here. It’s billionaires versus everybody. I can understand how you might not feel horrible for some NFL players, who won’t struggle at all financially even if they don’t play a single down next season, but you can mourn the far larger group of players for whom a lost season will mean a significant loss of income. Oh, and you can mourn a year without the great game we’ll be losing.

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Electronic Arts Is Whores, Part One Million: We already knew the new edition of Madden will include an online feature that allows players to scout a prospective opponent’s situational playcalling tendencies, an innovation that was pretty cool until EA announced that players could simply purchase such scouting reports rather than just earn them through playing. Now word comes that a new quantifiable attribute has been added to the several dozen that everyone ignores in favor of “overall”. That’s right, each player now has a “swagger” rating, which judging by how Tom Zbikowski stacks up against his teammates, might as well be a melanin scale. Oh yeah, and this individual rating has been sponsored by Old Spice. I guess they’re still working on getting the Fraternal Order of Police to sponsor the speed rating.

Cedric Benson: Now A True Bengal Drunk boating and Sun Chips aficionado Cedric Benson had himself a fine resurrection season last year, but something never felt quite right. After all, he was arrested twice while in college and twice with the Bears, yet no such run-ins with the law since joining Cincy. NO LONGER! In May, Benson was arrested for assaulting a bar employee in Austin. Somehow it never got out until now, after he already tried to work over the team for a new contract. Why cover it up, Ced? They love that sort of thing.

Things That Will Be Funny In January (If Not Now): LaToeInjury told Sal Paolantonio that the Jets will “absolutely” win the Super Bowl with him as a member of the team. I guess he already got the memo that Rex Ryan plans on limiting his carries, then. Elsewhere, Anquan Boldin said that the first person to contact him after he was traded to the Ravens was Ray Lewis. According to Boldin, “Ray said to me, ‘You know, it’s in Dallas this year.’” The receiver inferred that he meant the Super Bowl, but apparently Boldin has never gotten wind of the annually rotating StabLiePrayCon (Aug. 14-18 in the Dallas Convention Center).

Video of Lions Team President’s DUI Arrest: He tries to tell the cop he hasn’t had a drink in a year and a half. Sure, buddy. Like it’s been that long since the Lions played.

ANQUAN BOLDIN: Hey, Coach! Leinart just told me you’ve never seen Star Wars before. What the fuck is up with that shit?

TODD HALEY: Sir, I’m trying to call a fucking game, if that’s alright with you…

ANQUAN BOLDIN: How the fuck have you not seen Star Wars!

TODD HALEY: Quan, back off, alright? [into radio] Okay, Kurt, let’s go Double Red Right, Tango X Flush–

ANQUAN BOLDIN: How the fuck can you call plays if you never seen Empire Strikes Back? Return of the Jedi? I’ll grant you that the prequels were disappointing, but–

TODD HALEY: I DON’T LIKE SCIENCE FICTION, ALRIGHT?!?! YOU PROBABLY THINK OF ALEC GUINESS EXCLUSIVELY AS OBI-WAN KANOBI! HAVE YOU NO RESPECT FOR HIS WORK IN ‘BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI’?

ANQUAN BOLDIN: Man, now THAT SHIT is fake! Muthafucka woulda been killed by his own troops if he was bringing that shit in real life! Darth Vader woulda cut those Burmese down to shit!

TODD HALEY: DARTH VADER IS A PUSSY!

ANQUAN BOLDIN: WHAT’D YOU SAY, MOTHERFUCKER!?!?

TODD HALEY: GET HIM OUTTA MY FACE! GODDAMMIT! [into radio] Kurt, back me up here. How many times have you seen Star Wars?

TODD HALEY: See? Kurt’s only seen it twice.

ANQUAN BOLDIN: Man, fuck all of you!

You may want to read Act I and Act II if you haven’t already…

Scene i: The Tub. Fitty is in the hottub at his house, reading the latest treatment of the new Lassie movie he is executive-producing for Miramax, when he starts to get hungry.

Larry Fitzgerald: Lupé!

Lupé Môřãléŝ: [runs in from the other room] ¿Si?

Fitty: Baby, did you order me that Buffalo Chicken pizza for me like I told you?

Lupé: ¡Si, shood bee heer soon, weet da pang crost! [runs out of the room]

Fitty: Baby, I told you! No. Pan. Crust on that shit! Pan crusts are forever at odds with my tender palette, never mind the bombardment of that square shape upon my psyche. You must call them back and tell them that the contents of my order have been compromised.

Lupé: [runs back in] ¡ Boot dee pang crost peetza eez olreedy caw-meeng !

Fitty: Just get me a damn towel, my shit’s starting to wrinkle up in this mug. [she leaves as he shakes his head in disappointment]

Fitty: [continuing, to himself] Why the fuck am I payin’ that bitch a whole dollar-twenty-five an hour? [reaches back for his cell phone and hits “7” on his speed dial; it rings three times]

High School Kid Who Has Just About Had it With Life: [answers phone in monotone] Thank you for calling Papa John’s Pizza can you hold please…

Fitty: No, good sir, there’s no time! I’m afraid that a delivery approaching my domicile at this very instant may be tainted!

High School Kid Who Has Just About Had it With Life: [pauses] …Fitty?

Fitty: …Todd?

Todd: Yeah. You calling about…that one medium Buffalo Chicken pan pizza with the five orders of breadsticks?

Fitty: Yes! You must understand! The pan crust and I—

Todd: Yeah, we just assumed that part was a mistake, so we changed it to regular crust. It should be there any minute.

Fitty: Oh, thank goodness. [hears the call waiting beep] Thank you, o pimply one. Farewell [clicks over] Mr. Fitzgerald’s office?

Anquan Boldin: Fitty! It’s Quan!

Fitty: Aw, shit.

Quan: Don’t you ‘Aw, shit’ The Quan, man. Mr. Leinart told me about your expedition without me!

Fitty: Man, why you keep callin’ his ass Mr. Leinart?

Quan: He said you makin’ a new dogfightin’ movie! How you gonna make a dogfightin’ movie without The Quan?

Fitty: It’s just a dog, yo. Ain’t no dog-fightin’ in this shit. This dog ain’t doin’ nothing but chillin’ on this shit-ass farm and savin’ a bunch of crazy-assed rednecks when they doin’ stupid shit.

Quan: Check it out, The Quan is enjoying this latest issue of Sky Mall catalogue! And they got some shit!

Fitty: What mall catalogue?

Quan: Check this shit out! The Quan can purchase a statue of a sumo wrestler lookin’ like he’s takin a shit for just 95 bucks!

Fitty: [feigning disinterest] Man, I got like, five of those.

Quan: You should see this little bitch, man! He’s a big fat yellow motherfuckah and he got titty for days!

Fitty: Sounds like Lupé.

Quan: Yeah, but check this shit out: For $225, I can get dude squattin’ in a four-point stance with a glass table stacked up on his shit. But if I get this motherfucka, which way do I point dude’s ass?

Fitty: Well if you still have that couch with the love seat you’ve gotta—

Quan: [to somebody else] Look here, baby! The Quan will use six pillows if it pleases him!

Fitty: Quan, where are you?

Quan: [to somebody else] Hey, Fitty, check this shit out! The Quan is comin’ to ya tonight! I called to getcha to pick me up from the airport?

Fitty: [confused] Quan, man, did you call me from your cell phone…while you’re on the plane?

Quan: And guess who on da plane wit me! Jimmy Seinfeld!

Fitty: Quan, you can’t use a cell phone on a passenger jet. You’re gonna fuck up the guidance systems and crash that shit.

Quan: They ain’t gonna crash this motherfucka wit this rich white boy on here!

Fitty: Quan, I can’t pick you up. I got pizza comin’

Quan: Are you shittin’ The Quan, man? You gonna deprive the needs of The Quan…for a pizza? It’s not like you eatin’ crackers, man!

Fitty: I interpret the pizza as one larger, delicious, saucy, cracker.

Quan: Damn, man! you know how much a cab in DC is?

Fitty: DC? You’re flying to DC?

Quan: Yeah, man. Wanted to see my boy Fitty, man!

Fitty: Quan…I’m in Phoenix.

Quan: [long pause]

Fitty: …I can’t pick you up if you’re landing in DC.

Quan: [long pause]

Fitty: …because I’m in another city…about 2,500 miles away.

Quan: [muffled screaming of women's voices, then the call drops out]

Fitty: [puts the phone down behind him] That might not have been good. Maybe I should—

Lupé: [running in the room] ¡ Peetza Heer ! [runs around the hottub and then back out]

Fitty: That’s what I’m talkin’ about…[Gets out of the hottub and starts drying off, then suddenly stops]

Fitty: Lupé! What the fuck is all over this towel?