Last week in the sexbag (by the way, send on your sexy preguntas here for inclusion in tomorrow’s column) Ufford chastised a Pittsburgh fan for asking whether it was okay to hate on Bill Cowher for sounding the conference championship losing alarm in Carolina when the Penguins were their opponent.

Well Ufford may love freedom and cat-related viral videos, but he hates on the ‘Burgh with regularity and he is wrong wrong wrong on this one. See, what instances like this do is allow the fan (i.e., me) some extreme catharsis. And since I don’t get laid because I’m a filthy blogger, that’s the best I can get.

Here’s the thing: Because Chinny up there was coach of the Stillers for 14 years, that’s a long stretch of being forced to apologize for his inveterate conference title choking and his Jon Scheyer-esque propensity for making stupid faces in photographs. And now, because he went and did this (Yes, there’s betrayal involved – it’d be one thing if he coached the Panthers, but the fact that he bought a home in Cackalacky and went to NC State back in the day doesn’t trump his connection to Pittsburgh sports, and, besides, having him do it is an obviously ploy by the Hurricanes to stick it to Pittsburgh fans), I am freed to mock him without compunction for looking like he’s about to about to hulk out out of his stupid red shirt and have his big chiclet teeth ravage downtown Raleigh.

So when KOGOD says in the photo he looks like he’s taking George Clooney’s Burn After Reading sybian chair for a spin, I can laugh without qualm. And laugh I shall YOU BIG RETARDED CHOKING KORDELL DEEP THROATING CHINNY ASSBAG!

Whew. That felt good.

I’ve been biding my time with getting back into coaching. Thought I had that Carolina job lined up until John Fox went and decided to be fucking Coach of the Year all of a sudden. But I got the bug now, can’t wait for the right gig to fall into my hands, so it looks like I’ll have to settle for a shitload of money instead. You might call it compromising your principles. And I might call you a bowel-slurping fuckstain. You try and see how long you can put up with listening to Shannon Sharpe for six hours each Sunday and not contemplate a career change.

These shitty teams are gonna have to pay throw their nose, their ass, and maybe a few quickly fashioned stomas to get my services. Running all football operations and getting a minority cut of the ownership isn’t going to cut it. I have specific demands of each of my suitors and they will be followed to the fucking letter. Unless you WANT Marty Schottenheimer running your team, then by all means, be a complete fuckwit.

Cleveland: Pressure’s on you assholes to sweeten the pot. You already got one thing going against you and that’s the six million yinzers going up my ass the second I take this job. Which means we need to be talking, I don’t know, $20 million a year. Plus you get LeBron to give my daughters some basketball phenom children. And if that fucker splits for New York, the deal’s off.

Washington: Looks like you’re in a big rush to can that hip-hip-hooray ebullient motherfucker. Okay. No goddamn Saturday talk shows with George Michael, Michael Wilbon and David Dupree. If I so much have to see John Riggins and Sonny Jurgensen at any point in my tenure I’ll sell the team jet to some dealer in Barry Farm. I know the Danny better keep me well stocked in chiclet teeth too.

Cincinnati: Mike Brown wouldn’t pony up enough to money to hire Tom Donahoe’s discarded anal beads.

Detroit: I do enjoy a challenge. Why else would I have kept Kordell Stewart around four years longer than any other sane person would have? But I also enjoy mountainous stacks of gold bullion, which is what it would take for me to take on this trainwreck. Get ready for a swift campaign for me to change the team name to The Buses.

Kansas City: Yeah fucking right. I’d sooner work for the Sam Zell than Carl Peterson.

San Francisco: Singletary’s set the bar high for wacky high jinks, and frankly I don’t know if I’m equal to that task. If I tried showing my ass to Greg Lloyd, I’d probably still be trying to remove bits of cleat from my lower digestive tract. However, if you want to turn over control of the team to some guy who looks like he should be submitting pictures of himself posing with Erin Andrews to Deadspin, I’d be willing to give your team another look.

There you go. Get your shit in line and I’ll try to make my decision process as protracted and media saturated as possible.

This week, we’re holding the second annual KsK Kares Kharity Drive for Fisher House, which helps build temp housing for disabled veterans and their families. You can donate directly to FH here.

I don’t get it. I really don’t fucking get it.

You think you can just walk in here, totally unprepared? You think you’re so goddamn good that you can just walk in here and lollyfuck around and miss assignments? Because none of you shitheads seem to give a damn. I asked for an honest effort. AND YOU FUCKED ME IN THE ASS IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT! You fucked yourselves and you fucked each other! FUCK FUCK FUCK!

[cell phone rings in first row. Cowher knocks phone out of student's hand with his chin, smashing it into the wall]

Where’s the passion? Where’s the topic sentences with supporting ideas? You dickeaters don’t even seem to GRASP THE BASIC CONCEPTS OF SENTENCE STRUCTURE. The subject sets up the predicate, people. We went over this during the summer. If you can’t–

[Student walks in late]

What is this, Terrell? WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT? Did you just walk into my class two minutes late? WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? IF YOU THINK FOR A COCKSUCKIN’ MINUTE THAT YOU CAN LOLLY-WALTZY-GAG IN HERE LATE YOU ARE OUTTA YOUR FUCKING MIND! Whose program are you on, Terrell?

Same goes for all of you other Skittle-shits.

IN MY HAND are 25 of the worst goddamned reading assignments on The Fall of The House Of Usher I’ve EVER FUCKING READ IN MY ENTIRE PUSSY-LICKING LIFE! All you HAD TO DO was read the story TO KNOW THAT USHER ISN’T IN THE FUCKING STORY! This story was written 150 years before Usher’s DAD COULD EVEN BUST A LOAD!

Where’s Anderson? Did you bother to crawl out of your bean bag today, Anderson? Oh, good, YOU DID. Because you failed. I’d give you a lower grade than that, but you got an F because at least you drew a picture of a tree on the back of your assignment.

Anderson: That’s a house.

WHO THE FUCK ASKED YOU ABOUT ANYTHING!?!?!

This is horse-shit, people! Absolute fruit-laden horse shit!

And you better step it up. YOU BETTER STEP IT THE FUCK UP! BECAUSE IF YOU CAN’T CUT IT HERE AT WAKE TECHNICAL COMMUNITY, then guess what, goatfuckers? The only thing farther down IS THE FUCKING TURD IN BETWEEN YOUR CLEATS!

NOW READ GRAPES OF WRATH FOR TUESDAY AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY CLASSROOM BEFORE I RIP YOUR ASSHOLES OUT OF YOUR TAINTS AND PAWN THEM OFF AS A VISOR COLLECTION! CLASS DISMISSED!!!

Some fucking date night this turned out to be. If I knew you weren’t gonna show up today, if I KNEW YOU WEREN’T GONNA COMPETE TODAY, THEN WE COULD HAVE JUST STAYED HOME. Now I didn’t come all the way out here to Frankie’s Fun Park to get embarrassed like this. You’re lucky we’re playing two rounds today, because that course OWNED YOUR ASS in the first half, and YOU BETTER FIND A WAY TO GET IT TOGETHER before we go back out there.

Did you even READ THE SCOUTING REPORT this week? You tried to hit it under the hippo on 13 when I’VE TOLD YOU ALL FUCKING WEEK THAT HIS TUMMY REACHES THE TURF! Get your HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS. And three times you went in the water because you didn’t take care of the ball. You need to take what the course gives you this second half, because this time you’re pulling YOUR OWN FUCKING BALL out of the water. I don’t care if your hand does get wet.

[Juts out chin. Chin pokes 9-year-old kid in the eye]

What the hell was that kid doing within 3 feet of my chin? Yeah, why don’t you cry about it, you little shit. What kind of mental approach to life is that? Chins are going to come at you from all angles later in life, kid. It’s best you learn to overcome adversity while you’re young and develop a pattern for success. Show some composure. ACT LIKE YOU’VE BEEN POKED WITH A CHIN BEFORE!

Enough of this shit. If I don’t get some goddamn nachos my fucking head is gonna blow off. I always get some goddamn nachos when I play mini golf. And I better get more jalapeños than they have on that sorry poster.

And after I store some of these delicious nachos in my chin, we’re going back out there and you’re going to redeem yourself for that sorry first half. TAKE CARE OF THE GOLF BALL! This is our game! And we call our game mini-golf, not Putt-Putt. That’s a proprietary trademark, and we don’t let proprietary trademarks into our house…or, vocabulary!

NOW GET YOUR ASS OUT THERE AND HAVE A GOOD SECOND HALF! I believe you have honors.

Alright ladies, let’s bring it in. Bring it in tight. I’m only gonna say this one time. We’d better have a good family break this week, so be prepared. This ain’t no picnic. Well, Saturday at the park actually is a picnic, but the rest of it is not! I want clean rooms, clean children, and no burnt suppers. I can get any rookie in her to burn supper for one-tenth of what we’re paying you.

I want a clean family this week. If you think we’re gonna have a repeat of Christmas this week, the fucking lot of you are in for a rude goddamn awakening. Meagan, if you bring home any more baseball players, I’ll sit you this entire week out in the guest room without a second thought. Clean family means soap, you fuckers. Better scrub that shit down good, you get 10 minutes and that’s it. I’d better have some goddamn hot water this week or all of you will suffer. And I want PRODUCTIVE showers, too, not a Jerome Bettis shower where you dance in the water and shake hands with the soap. Get it done in there. I want hair, pits, arms, titties, legs, and don’t forget the red zone downstairs, which had still better be dick-free. I’m looking at you, Meagan.

[Juts out chin]

We have a short week together, so you better have a system for what you’re doing out there. Your mother has been working hard with the staff while you’ve been gone to get everything ready for this week, so get your craniums out of your anuses and pay attention! We have a lot to accomplish this week: the zoo, dinner at P. F. Changs with Hines, and then the big one with the Youngs on Saturday night. No fucking around this week, we have to get out there and execute!

[Cell phone rings]

This is Bill…Hello Mr. Snyder, good to hear from you again…Well, unless every news report in America is wrong, don’t you already have a coach?…Sure, but shouldn’t he at least coach one game before you buy his contract out?…Right, right. If I may, I’ll be a bit more frank than I was three weeks ago: Suck my asshair through a straw, the answer’s still no.

[Hangs up, punches hole through drywall]

That’s right, I’m not neglecting my family again until I’m goddamn good and ready. Now get out there and let’s have a good break this week. You’re dismissed.