Zygi Wilf did the deed and showed Brad Childress the door this morning. Leslie Frazier can now add “interim head coach” to the résumé he distributes to owners each off-season before they decide to go in another direction. The new man in charge will address the media later this afternoon. He could take the opportunity to bench Brett Favre indefinitely, but he probably won’t, because that would be way too awesome.

One of the most important developments in the NFL this off-season was Brad Childress’s decision to grow a beard.  With the simple act of not shaving, he swiftly eliminated one of his biggest criticisms: that he believes in Tarvaris Jackson looks like Gerald McRaney. But not Gerald McRaney in a tough-but-loving Marine officer way. More like Gerald McRaney as the villain in a Lifetime movie. The paleness, the male pattern baldness, the glasses, and most especially the mustache really made you feel like “Childress” was a surname shortened from “children undressing.”

This was Childress last year:

Scary, right?  The only thing Photoshopped in that picture was the outdoors and the playground.  The original photo was taken in his vast underground kiddie-rape dungeon [Ed. Note: not true. His kiddie-rape dungeon is in the attic.].

But the beard gives Childress some gravitas. He almost looks distinguished. He’s like an English professor at a community college now:

Now instead of leering at children, he’s leering at Michelle, the chubby 20-year-old single mom who got pregnant in high school. I can totally see him mailing in his lectures and making the symbolism in The Scarlet Letter even more boring than it already is. And encouraging Michelle to come by his office hours and discuss how she might be able to improve her grade, heh heh heh.

Was that YOUR strain of the swine flu you were eying with desirous glances? NOT ANYMORE. It now courses through my veins! Consider yourself snookered! Another round of head-sized vodkas, barkeep!

Masterful gamesmanship by myself, if I may say so. After all, everyone was talking up swine flu in the days leading up to the draft. It was on everybody’s lips. Can’t argue with that. Sure, it has its detractors. It’s fatal, viral and Mexican. But it’s got major upside. Gonna be a real gamechanger, and much more versatile than McDaniels’ SUPERAIDS. I wasn’t fooled for a minute that any alarmist rhetoric somehow dissuaded you from being interested in contracting it. If ever there was a keen judge of motivations, it’s me.

Oh, you wish for me to seek treatment, do you? I see right through your smokescreen. Clear up my swine flu so you can keep it all for yourself. I didn’t get to be an NFL head coach because of my good looks. It took the mind of a brilliant tactician coupled with the iron will of [urp] oh God.

No, no, I’m gravy. Probably the head is a little dizzy BECAUSE OF THE AMAZING COUP I JUST PULLED! There swine flu was, ready to drop into your outstretched arms and WHOOSH, I snatched it from you like a thief in the night. That’s gotta be embarrassing. No wonder you’re licking your wounds with this whole “dire medical emergency” business.

“Your skin turning a sickly shade.” Yeah, okkkkkkay. Typical, buddy. I got what you wanted and suddenly the personal attacks come out. Let’s try to be pros about this. I, uh, whoa man.

Hey. I’ll be damned.

You know what? This thing just up and killed me. Right like that. All sudden-like. Now that’s some great value for a no. 1 pick. I bet your guy won’t even start killing you until his third year. I win at life. Or did.