(crypt flies open)

Count Al: HISSSSSSSS!!! HA HA HA! Vunce again, Count Al Davis has confounded the experts! BLAH! BLAH! They said no vun vould be dumb enough to take Heyvard-Bey so high! THEY SAID EET VOULD BE BATTY! BATTY! But vee showed them! Vee showed them all, deedn’t vee Mummy Art Shell?

Mummy Art Shell: Durrrrrr…

Count Al: And they said no vun vould vant Michael Meetchell! But vee know better! Vee alone know that speed keells, and then turns you undead! EET’S TRUE! But eet ees not enough, my precious mummy friend! Vee need more speed! That ees vye I have arranged to meet a very special group of free agents here today! Come! Come, free agents! Make yourself at home here in my castle! No, vat ees your name, prospect?

Road Runner: Meep meep.

Count Al: Hmm. I like this prospect, this Meep! But tell me, Mr. Meep. You seem to have very skeeny legs! You remind me of Todd Peenkston, and that is verrrry scarrrry! Todd Peenkston vas a HUGE PUSSY, Mr. Meep! A real gash, eef you know vat I mean!

Road Runner: Meep meep.

Count Al: Vell, eef you’re as fast as I theenk you are, your leetle toothpeeck legs should not be a problem! Let us see you run, Meep!

Road Runner: Meep meep.

(runs 40 in 0.00006 seconds)

Count Al: Vee must sign this man. Mummy Art Shell, geev these man forty meelion dollars!

Mummy Art Shell: Durrrrrr…

Road Runner: Meep meep.

Count Al: Hold steel, Mr. Meep! Mummy Art Shell needs just a small vial of blood to complete our transaction!

Road Runner: Meep meep.

Count Al: Oh, you like to play hardball, do you? NO VUN GETS VUN OVER ON COUNT AL! Vee shall see how much leverage you have after I trick you into eating magnetic birdseed and then I turn on thees giant electromagnet!

Road Runner: Meep meep.

(runs away)

Count Al: Ach! Mummy Art Shell, chase heem off that cleef!

Mummy Art Shell: Durrrrrr…

Count Al: DRAT! He got avay! Raider Meelt, vat did you think of thees Mr. Meep?

Raider Milt: HE A BITCH! HE A FAGGOT! Yo yo, Mr. Davis. I ain’t even gonna lie. I WILL FUCK THAT FUCKING BITCH UP.

Count Al: I guess vee shall have to try other prospects. You? Vat ees your name?

Speedy: Mi nombre es Speedy, senor!

Count Al: HISS! SVINE FLU! GET AVAY FROM ME, YOU DIRTY MEXICAN SVINELOVER! I MAY BE UNDEAD, BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN I LIKE GERMS!

Speedy: Pero el senor Gay Zorro dime Count Al le gusta el Speedy! ARRIBA ARRIBA!

Count Al: Vell, Gay Zorro has much to learn about how vee do theengs here, you feelthy speec!

Raider Milt: THAT GUY A MEXICAN FAGGOT!

Count Al: NEXT!

Bolt: I was toll dere be vampyires up in hyere. Dis for troo, mon?

Count Al: Ah! Come closer, my dear Usain! Allow me to look you over! I understand you are qvite fast, young man! AND THAT YOU VUN HOW MANY GOLD MEDALS? VUN! TWO! THREE GOLD MEDALS! HAH HAH HAH!

(thunder rolls)

I also like the vay you pull up before the end of the race. YOU VURR A BORN RAIDER, BOLT! Vee shall pair you veeth veeth a very fast third-streeng hurdler I found at Oberleen! NO VUN SHALL OUTRUN US NOW! SUCK ON THAT, KAVAKAMI! HA HA HA!!!!

Raider Milt: THAT GUY A JAMAICAN FAGGOT! Mr. Davis, he be mindfucked! He better not come in the Black Hole, or else we will RAPE HIS HEAD.

(crypt flies open)

Count Al: HISSSSSS!!!! Ha ha ha ha ha! Zey said I vas mad ven ven I gave Nnamdi Assimvaa forty three meelleeon! But vee shall show zem! Vee shall show zem all zat the Raidahs shall rise vunce more! BLAH! BLAH!

WereRob Ryan: OW-OOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Count Al: Easy, VereRob Ryan! Soon, I vill feed you all the cheeldren you vant! BLAH! BLAH! Zey said I vas mad! Zey said Al Davis vasn’t veeth it anymore! But look who is having zee last laugh now! Mummy Art Shell, have you seen vat Coach Keefin has been doing at ze Tennessee?!!!

Mummy Art Shell: Durrrrrrrrrrr…. Bang his wife… durrrrr

Count Al: Yes Yes! She is a fine piece of poosy! I vould vallop zat poosy! BLAH BLAH! But zat is beside ze point! Now that Lane Keefin has gone crazy in ze Tennessee, everyvun now knows Al Davees vas right! Zis Keefin, I nevuh trust him! He vas crazy, I tell you! Crazy! Vith ze gosseeping, and ze shameful boasteeng, and alvays trying to fiah the secretaries! ZIS KEEFIN VAS ZE CRAZY VUN ALL ALONG! VUNCE AGAIN, AL DAVIS IS VEENDEECATED! Soon, vee shall conquer ze world! And night shall fall across ze landscape! I shall command an army of ze dead! No vun shall stop me! I SHALL VIN! BLAH BLAH!

(puerta flies open)

Gay Zorro: (clutches rose between teeth) So, eet has come to pass! All the stories of el vampiro are true! Gay Zorro has been deceived! Count Al, Gay Zorro weel never let you get away weeth thees! He shall drive hees mighty stake through el Corazon!

(whips out penis)

WereRob Ryan: OW-OOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Mummy Art Shell: Durrrrrrrrrrr… no homo….

Count Al: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

(takes deep breath)

HA HA HA HA HA HA! BLAH!

Velcome to Oakland, my dear friend! VELCOME! There is no need for such hosteelity, Garceea! Don’t you see? Vee are togezer now! You and I. Vee shall become vun!

Gay Zorro: You underestimate Gay Zorro, Count Al. Gay Zorro cares not for la temptacion. You shall not steal hees integrity! When the banditos in Chiapas tried to bribe Gay Zorro with all the free penes he wanted, Gay Zorro said NO! And when Coach Gruden tried to deestract Gay Zorro with hot blonde quarterback after hot blonde quarterback in Tampa, Gay Zorro never fell upon hees gay blade! And you, Count Al! Gay Zorro shall never become like you! Gay Zorro is here for la gente!

Count Al: And vat have ze people ever done for you, my dear friend? Look at you! You spend your days hideeng behind a mask and cape. Ze people, zey do not love you! Zey DEESPISE YOU! And do you know vye? Because zey do not understand you, my friend. BUT I DO! BLAH BLAH! I too know vat it ees like to be hated by ze people! I too know what it’s like to hide, behind oversized sunglasses and baggy leisure suits! I too know vat it ees like to pronounce your i’s like e’s! You and I, Gay Zorro. VEE AH OUTCASTS! SOCIETY SAYS VEE ARE ZE ENEMY! VEE ARE THE SAME! BLAH! BLAH!

Gay Zorro: We will never be the same, vendejo. Gay Zorro geeves to the people! You take! You are the reason los cholos terrorize the cheeldren! I shall never join you!

Count Al: Not even… for a backup spot?

Gay Zorro: A backup spot?

Count Al: Yes. And after zat, who knows? Zees JaParker Russell, no vun knows eef he’ll be worth a sheet! He’s so very fat, and tender, and juicy, BLAH! You could be starting by VEEK VUN! And zen you could treegger your bonus clause! And make ONE… TWO… THREE! THREE meelleeon dollars! HA HA HA!

(thunder rolls)

Gay Zorro: Starteeng Week One? Well, Gay Zorro has always wanted to be the undisputed jefe of a team…

Count Al: And you shall! Just join us! Join us and football immortality shall be yours! I VILL MAKE YOU ZE NEXT REECH GANNON! ZEES IS VERE QUARTERBACKS GO TO BE RESURRECTED! ALL YOU MUST DO IS DRINK ZE BLOOD OF 100 EENNOCENTS!

Gay Zorro: I don’t know. All Gay Zorro wanted was a chance to play, and to leeve in the Castro deestreect. But how can he trust banditos such as thees?

Count Al: Who else can you trust? HA HA HA HA HA!!!! HISS!!!!!! Come! Let us vork togezer! Vee shall talk around ze blood cooler every morning!

Gay Zorro: Thees could be the most unusual partnersheep of Gay Zorro’s vida. But Gay Zorro has never been afraid to flirt with danger, or weeth Maurice Morris. Very well, Count Al. Gay Zorro accepts your invitacion. We shall form an uneasy truce een the name of weening! We shake penes now.

Count Al: I DON’T VANT TO DO THAT! QVEER! BLAH!

WereRob Ryan: OW-OOOOOOOOO!!!!!

It was reported a few days ago that Jim Fassel sent a handwritten letter to Al Davis expressing interest in the Raiders head coaching job. Fassel issued a non-denial on Sirius NFL Radio, which is practically the same thing as an admission. Luckily, KSK’s trusty sources have come through yet again with a copy of the letter.

With the firing of Lane Kiffin yesterday, Count Al Davis summoned local reporters to his very dark and forbidding castle high on the mountaintop, AT THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT, to discuss Kiffin’s ouster, and the future of the Raiders organization. Below is a transcript of that press conference.

(crypt flies open)

Count Al: HISSSSSSSSSS!!!! Before vee get to your questions, I vant to talk briefly about this Keefin fellow! Blah! BLAAAAHHHH!!!! Ven vee hired Lane, he vas so very young. And fresh. And full of rich, death-giving blood! But then he turned SCARY! VEEEERY SCARY! BLAH! BLAH!

This Keefin fellow vas nussing like he claimed! He is a liah! He said vee never talked? Zis is not true! BLAH! BLAH! I have counted many times the number of times we spoke after ze Buffalo game! ONE! TWO! THREE! HA HA HA HA HA!!!

/thunder rolls

Zen he commeets ze ultimate seen! HE SAID MEAN THINGS ABOUT ZE VOLF MAN IN PUBLIC!

WereRob Ryan: OW-OOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Count Al: Look at how hurt he was by zat! It vas virtually unprecedented in NFL heestory! Zis Keefin fellow deceived us all! He seemed so innocent, and clean cut, and so willing to submit to ze temptations of immortality! BUT HE DID NOT BELIEVE IN BEING PARANOID! OR BRINGING VILLIE GAULT OUT OF RETIAHMENT! He vas not a TWOO RAIDAH! BLAH! BLAH! Isn’t zat right, Mummy Art Shell?

Mummy Art Shell: (groans loudly)

Count Al: Vell, vee vere not simply going to take that lying down! Except during daylight hours, for zat is ven ze hideous sun casts its glare down upon me! BLAH BLAH! I have now a letter I wrote to Keefin! It is dated right before ze Buffalo game! See?

Reporter: How do we know you didn’t just write that date on it and print it out five minutes ago?

Count Al: HISSSS!!!!

Mummy Art Shell: (groans loudly)

WereRob Ryan: OW-OOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Count Al: How dare you question me?! Ven I say I wrote zis to Keefin two years ago, zat is when I wrote it! And it’s true! Blah! Blah! I wrote back in 1996! Here now is ze letter.

Dearest Mina,

By signing zis letter, you also agree to submit yourself to my harem of tightly corseted vampire succubi! Zen I get to place your head on a stake for all ze vorld to see! HA HA HA HA HA!

Now, as you can all see, Keefin signed zis letter at ze bottom!

Reporter: How do we know that’s not your handwriting?

Count Al: HISSSS!!!!

Mummy Art Shell: (groans loudly)

WereRob Ryan: OW-OOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Count Al: I VILL TAKE ONLY A FEW MORE QUESTIONS! ZEN I VILL SEIZE YOUR CAMERAS AND DESTROY ZEM! Now, please. Ask AVAY!

Reporter: Aren’t you trying to paint Kiffin in a bad light simply to justify your increasingly erratic behavior?

Count Al: HISSSS!!!!

Mummy Art Shell: (groans loudly)

WereRob Ryan: OW-OOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Reporter: How can you fire Kiffin for cause when the team clearly played with great effort despite all this chaos?

Count Al: GO VANK YOURSELF!

Reporter: How will this team ever be viable in the NFL if you can’t even keep around a novice coach like Kiffin?

Mummy Art Shell: (groans loudly)

Count Al: YOU MEDIA PEOPLE KNOW NUSSING! VUN DAY, VEE SHALL RETURN TO GLORY! Unless my maker decides to take me, vich he von’t! For I am ALREADY DEAD! AND ALL OF YOU VILL BOW TO ME! NOW, GO PUT YOUR VEINERS IN A SOCKET! BLAH! BLAH!

Lane Kiffin: What’s the big idea? Who crossed out my name on the door and wrote Lame Duckin? And, hey! What’re you doing in my office?

Greg Knapp: Howdy, Lane! Just trying to see how some of my Thomas Kinkade prints would look on the wall. Oh, this one with the cottage is right purdy.

Kiffin: On whose authority?

Public Address: Vould the owner of a vehicle vith the tags “LN KFFN” please be advised that your has been towed. Blllleeeaaah!

Knapp: His.

Kiffin: But I’m still the coach!

Knapp: Oh yeah. Yeah. Of course you are… Coach.

Kiffin: You took down my authentic cell of Kif!

Just threw it in the trash! Like it was nothing.

Knapp: Jesus, son. [Fishes it out, doesn't bother to wipe off coffee stains] Here. Aren’t you too old to be watching cartoons?

Kiffin: No, actually, not really. In fact, I was gonna test the waters with Animation Domination as a mantra for the year. Whaadaya think?

Knapp: Sounds like a winner.

[Door flies open, stench wafts out]

Tom Cable: Hoooo, man. Just had a commitment to excrement right there. You’re gonna need to let this place aerate a little bit.

Kiffin: You were in my executive washroom!

Cable: And you might wanna execute a little nose pinch if you try to go in there, my man. Anyway, If it’s all the same to you, I’mma hang on to the key.

Kiffin: What about when I gotsta go tinkle?

Cable: Well, we got fields. Lotsa fields. It’ll bring you closer to the fans.

Kiffin: That’s it! I hope Janikowski is ready for some 85-yard field goals in two weeks. I’ll right this ship yet! I’ll… did you already take the pictures of my family out of the frames on the desk?

Knapp: No, actually they came and got them. I think they know what’s up.

Kiffin: Fuck me.

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?!