Lane Kiffin: Well, I guess Mr. Davis wants to see me today. Although I don’t know why he invited me to his forbidding mountaintop castle at midnight. Seems awfully late for a business meeting. I just hope he fires me so I can get on with my life.

(knocks on very large, ornate gargoyle door knocker)

Hmm. No answer. HELLO? ANYONE THERE?

(door creaks open on its own)

Gee. That’s odd.

(walks in)

Boy, there’s no one here. HELLO! MR. DAVIS? IT’S ME, LANE!

Oh my goodness! Look at all those bats! Well, it doesn’t look like anyone is here. I think I’ll get going. But, before I do, I better lean against this very old bookcase so that I can tie my shoe.

(leans against bookcase, triggers hidden mechanism, opens secret door, falls down steep slide into damp, torch-lit chamber)

Oh, my goodness! That must have been a thirty-foot drop! But how will I get out of here? Dammit, my cell phone doesn’t work! I better use one of these torches to light my way.

(crypt flies open)

Count Al: HISSSSSSS!!!!!!!!

Lane: AAAAAAH!

Count Al: Now, I am going to suuuuuuck.

Lane: Please, Mr. Davis. If you just let me hire my own defensive coordinator, I think we can get this team on track!

Count Al: Must suuuuuuck. Vant to suuuuuck…

Lane: No, please! Don’t subject these fans to any more of your terrors!

Count Al: Cannot stop sucking… must have fresh, overpaid bodies to feast upon. Finished sucking bloated body of Jamatthew Russell…

Lane: Jamarcus, sir.

Count Al: Jamichael.

Lane: Jamarcus.

Count Al: Jamclintock!

Lane: Jamarcus.

Count Al: VATEVER! (picks up illegitimate child of Darren McFadden’s, chomps into its back, drinks it spinal fluid) NOW I AM GOING TO SUCK YOU!

Lane: Never!

(turns and runs)

Oh no, a mummy!

Art Shell: (groans loudly)

Count Al: No escape. Vee shall always suuuuuuck!

Lane: Not so fast, Mr. Davis. I know your one weakness!

Count Al: HISSSSSS!!!!!! HIGH PERCENTAGE, SHORT RANGE PASSING PLAYS! DAMN YOU, KIFFIN!

Lane: Now to escape to a cushy Pac-10 coaching job!

Count Al: VEREVOLF MAN, SEIZE HIM!

WereRob Ryan: OW-OOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

Lane: Not so fast, Wolf Man! I know your weakness too!

Count Al: CURSES! A sensible, blitz-free defense! His silver and black bullet!

WereRob Ryan: OW-OOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

Lane: I’ll be leaving now, Mr. Davis. I wish you nothing but the best in your future endeavors.

Count Al: I VILL GET YOU, LANE KIFFIN! YOU VILL NOT STOP ME FROM SUCKING! I VON’T PAY OUT YOUR CONTRACT! GET ME THE UNDEAD BODY OF VINCE EVANS!

Art Shell: (groans loudly)

Al Davis Photoshoped by 289. OR WAS HE?!