Brian Urlacher: Hey there, Jay. Can I get a word with you?

Jay Cutler: Huh? Now? Oh, all right Brian. What’s going on? I mean, not that I care. Whatever. Stuff sucks.

Brian Urlacher: Jay, dude, I wanna be straight with you. We gotta clear the air. You’re gonna hear a lot of noise about how I called you a pussy. Bobby Wade is shooting his mouth off. I don’t know if you heard yet.

Jay Cutler: Yeah, people like to lie about stuff like that. I don’t care. I never really believed that anyway.

Brian Urlacher: Well you should, because it’s true. I absolutely called you a pussy on at least two dozen occasions.

Jay Cutler: What?

Brian Urlacher: Oh yeah. Pretty much anytime your name came up, I’d be, like, “You know who’s the biggest gaping gash in the NFL? No contest – Cedric Benson.” But then I’d say you were a close second. Then I’d call my kid a pussy ’cause that’s what the whore I fucked is turning him into.

Jay Cutler: [sighs] So you think I’m a pussy?

Brian Urlacher: Oh, fuck, totally. But here’s my promise to you – I will never again call you a pussy so long as you are the starting quarterback of this football team. And so long as we are in the playoff hunt. Team chemistry is simply too valuable a thing to compromise just to be able to say what everyone is thinking.

Jay Cutler: Why’m I a pussy though?

Brian Urlacher: Oh, fuck, really? We gotta do this? Okay – it’s your pussy haircut, your pussy demeanor, your pussy attitude, your pussy words, your pussy vagina. All of it. It acts bands together to generate an unmistakable presence of twat.

Jay Cutler: [Sulks]

Brian Urlacher: So we cool now? We gonna be okay after this?

Jay Cutler: I guess.

Brian Urlacher: Glad to hear it, faggot. Now get your faggy mopey ass out there and win us some games. [Slaps him hard on back]

In this case, the only thing Urlacher is guilty of is technological ignorance. How can we expect our pro athletes to master this newfangled text messaging when one hand is holding their playbook and the other is wrist deep inside a socialite?

We mustn’t.

Sure, Urlacher sent the texts in question, only he didn’t mean to send them to his baby’s mama. That’s right, all of those seemingly inflammatory texts were intended for one of Urlacher’s other contacts. Join us as we reveal the intended recipients of the text messages in question. Then stay tuned for some of the bonus text messages we’ve managed to uncover.

“Go to hell you f—— —-.”

Everybody knows it’s not appropriate to call the mother of your child a fucking cunt (allegedly), it’s just bad business. The only person Urlacher would speak to in such a manor is that old fag Jay Mariotti.

“Make one of your pimps drive you around”

Come on–why would somebody earning child support need a pimp? This text was directed at another Urlacher ex, Tara Reid. You just knew things were getting bad for Tara when she couldn’t get some NFL dick up in her, now she can’t even find a steady pimp. It’s been about nine years since she was getting paid a grand to suck a cock; you hate to see that kind of fall from grace.

“Grow the f— up and quit praying and get a job.”

Tyna’s probably spent some time on her knees but I think we all know she’s far from devout. This one was meant for that preaching sack of backup crap, Mark Brunell. I think Urlacher speaks for everybody in the NFL when he tells this guy to fuck off. If we want to hear about the time Jesus felled a bear with his bear hands we’ll call you.

“You’re a f—— fruit cake.”

In this instance you might think Urlacher is insinuating that Tyna is bereft of her mental faculties when in reality he’s calling Brady Quinn a colon cowboy.

“Your raising a little p—y.”

You can’t even tell if a two year-old is a pussy, they’re all a bit pansified. It should go without saying that this constructive criticism was meant for Archie Manning.

To: Rextacy
“I dreamt of you again last night”

To: Paris
“You belong in jail for what you gave me, you fucking whore”

To: Lance
“Sign the fucking papers you jealous bitch”

To: Dan P
“Good luck with the new Just For Men gig you f—— quitter”

To: Lou Dobbs
“Going to New Mexico doesn’t make me a new Mexican”

To: Bill Maas
“Bring back the 28 hits or I’ll fuck your collateral.

To: Janet J-G
“Give me a nickel on the Cubs. I’ll balance the account next week.”

To: Elijah
“Your my hero, dawg.”

There you have it, the secrets of Brian Urlacher’s communique revealed. Feel free to add your own in the comments.

And here’s something just for fun.