Wade: Gosh dangit. We had to go and ruin a perfectly good four-game winnin’ streak by strollin’ into Green Bay and layin’ a darn egg! Ugh.

Well, guess I better get to work. We got those pesky Redskins comin’ in this week, and I know darn well they’ll be loaded for bear. I better study some tape. Except… aw hell, no one around. No need to get cracking just YET. Lemme just play one game of solitaire. Helps sharpen the ol’ noggin.

(opens up solitaire game)

Oh, that’s a lousy draw.

(resets the game 50 times)

Ah, much better. Now, to just drag these three aces up to the top…

(door flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEHAW!!!! YEEEEEEEHAW!!!! YEE! HAW! DOUBLE GODDAMN YEEHAW! WELCOME TO THE JERRYDOME, FAT POWER!

Wade: Oh, crap.

Jerry: What you got there, Tubby? Little bit of solitaire? Ah, solitaire. OFFICIAL GAME OF FAT CRAPS THE WORLD OVER!

Wade: I just had this open as a goof, sir. I’m getting right to work. Honest.

Jerry: Oh, save it, Tubby. You just go right ahead playing your little game.

Wade: You mean, you aren’t mad? What’s going on? Why aren’t there horns comin’ out of your head? We got killed on Sunday.

Jerry: Haven’t you heard, lard shark? THIS IS THE NEW GODDAMN DOUBLE J! They said I couldn’t be patient! They said I’d kick your flabby ass to the curb the second things went wrong! BUT I’M NOT! AND YOU KNOW WHY?

Wade: Because stability is good for a football team?

Jerry: BAHAHAHAHAHAHA. No, no. Stability is for children and faggots! No, the reason I’m keeping you around is because, if I fire you now, I don’t get to fire you LATER! And firing you later is gonna be sooo much better, chubtard! I can hardly wait! I AM GONNA FIRE THE SHIT OUT OF YOU! I’m gonna sneak up behind you and ZAP YOUR FAT STEER HIDE WITH A GODDAMN CATTLE PROD!

Wade: Ugh.

Jerry: Now you listen to me, Fatass. You are my puppet. My big, fat, mushy puppet. And for the rest of the year, I’m gonna have my three-ringed hand right up your endless ass! You see that phone over there?

(points to giant red phone with two big J’s painted on it)

Wade: Yes.

Jerry: That’s your new Jerryline, you fat shit. Anytime that phone rings, you better pick it up. And you better do exactly what I say! OR ELSE I’LL FIRE YOUR ASS FOR CAUSE! If you want to see the balance of your contract, you better do EVERY GODDAMN THING I SAY! And I know you got a daughter who acts, so YOU NEED THE DOUBLE J’S CASH!

Wade: Sir, this hardly seems necessary…

Jerry: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP! You’re gonna get your fat on me! You just answer that goddamn phone any time I tell you to! AND IT MIGHT RING AT ANY TIME, SO YOU BETTER HAVE YOUR FAT ASS IN HERE ALL DAY AND NIGHT!

Wade: But who will run practice if I have to stay in the office all day long?

(door flies open)

Garrett: Hmm. Yes. Indeed. Methinks my portly companion here doth protest too much. Also, he doth EAT too much!

Jerry: BAHAHAHAHA! Good one, Princeton Boy!

Wade: Oh, shut up, you big jerk.

Garrett: Calm down, my good man. You just stay here in your little suite. I have a game plan that will make those little Redskins cower in fear! Do you know the secret? GOAL LINE PASSES! GOAL LINE PASS AFTER GOAL LINE PASS, AND ONLY TO OUR WORST RECEIVERS! They’ll never see it coming! And then, my good friend Jerry and I shall have a fine EATING. Would you like that, sir? We shall dine on scallops, and pumpkin soup, and other refined foods that would never cross the visage of Melville’s creation over yonder. OH, WHAT A FINE EATING IT SHALL BE!

Jerry: Good idea, Jason!

Wade: This is ridiculous. I can’t be expected to…

(Jerryline rings)

Wade: What the? (picks up) Hello?

Jerry: (on cell phone) YOU’LL DO AS WE SAY, BEARCLAW!

Wade: Oh, for Pete’s sake.

(door explodes into pieces, whose pieces then explode individually)

MBIII: JASON GARRETT! JASON MOTHERFUCKING GARRETT! WHERE’S THAT MOTHERFUCKING RED ASS HONKY?

Garrett: Oh, Marion! My dear friend! Will you be joining us for bruschetta and other fineries?

MBIII: BRUSCHETTA THIS, MOTHERFUCKER!

(puts Garrett in choke hold)

Garrett: Marion, I can’t breathe!

MBIII: I GOT A POP QUIZ FOR YOUR ASS, HONKY. HOW MANY TIMES DID MARION BARBER GET THE BALL ON SUNDAY?

Garrett: Oh, well I’m not quite sure. You see, my game plans are often so intricate, it can take hours of film study to discern…

MBIII: (chokes harder) FIVE! FIVE MOTHERFUCKING TIMES, YOU MOTHERFUCKING RETARD! WHO THE FUCK KEEPS THE BARBARIAN IN A CAGE?

Garrett: Bluhhhhhhhh!!!

Wade: Heh heh. Choke on THAT!

MBIII: SHUT UP, FATASS!

Wade: Yes, sir.

Jerry: Marion, what I think my boy JASON is telling you is that he has every intention of getting you the ball. Isn’t that right, Jason?

Garrett: Bluhhhhhhhh!!!

MBIII: Y’ALL BETTER GET MARION BARBER THE MOTHERFUCKING BALL. OR I WILL BURN YOUR WHITE ASS TILL IT’S BLACKER THAN MY ANCESTORS! DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND THE WORDS COMING OUT OF MY MOTHERFUCKING MOUTH?

Jerry: Yes! Yes, we do! In fact, we now have a system in place to ensure my boy ROMO gets you the ball! Watch! (calls Jerryline)

Wade: Hello?

Jerry: (on the phone) GIVE THE BALL TO BARBER, FATTY ICE!

Wade: Oh, for Pete’s sake.

MBIII: YOU BETTER CALL THAT MOTHERFUCKING PHONE 25 TIMES A GAME, JERRY JONES! YOU BETTER CALL MARION BARBER’S NUMBER, OR ELSE MARION BARBER WILL TEAR OUT YOUR MOTHERFUCKING TONGUE AND PUT HIS FOOT THROUGH YOUR MOUTH AND OUT YOUR FUCKING ASSHOLE!

(leaves)

Jerry: You heard the man! You sit by that phone all day, you fat cunt!

Wade: Oh, god dammit.

(phone rings)

Wade: What the?

(phone rings)

Jerry: Well, PICK IT UP, FATTERLINE!

(Wade picks up phone)

Pacman: CHUH CHUH. Iz diz da place I call fo da puzzy? Pacman need sum puzzy. BULLEE DAT. He gon shine. He gon smack dat puzzy till it luuk lik a dik. AND HE GON DRANK…

Wade: (hangs up) This sucks.

Jerry: YEEEEHAWWWW YOU BETTER ANSWER THAT PHONE, PIZZA BOY! OR ELSE YOU’LL BE COACHING GIRL’S VOLLEYBALL BY NEXT WEEK! WOOHOO! YEEHAW! GOD DAMN, YOU ARE FATTER THAN THE SUN! HOT DIGGITY GOD DAMN, I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!

Rob the Crying Giants Fan first rose to prominence here at KSK, so it’s nice to see his story reach a televised audience, even if Daniel Tosh’s Web Redemption missed the little things that made the original video so delightful, like Rob joining the comments section and egging on our legion of satanic jackals to be crueler to him.

But still, this is great. “Tosh.0″ is like a better-edited version of the internet without retarded commenters. Cheers to Tosh and Comedy Central for putting the spotlight on Rob, who (to his credit) would rather see the Giants win the Super Bowl than see Osama bin Laden captured. I can respect that kind of insane fanaticism. From a distance. With a taser.

(Oh, and Daniel? Lose the cardigan, homo.)

Wade: Gall darnit! Openin’ night and we go out and play a game like that. I am perplexed. How do you get 250 damn yards rushing and STILL lose? It’s gonna be a long week.

(opens package of cupcakes)

Ooh, Hostess cupcakes. My wife told me that there’s a fancy word for the icing on top of these. GANACHE. How you like that? Here I am, think I’m eatin’ a cupcake with frosting, when really it’s a French delicacy! Oh, the simple pleasures.

(eats cupcake)

Mmmmm. Well, life ain’t all bad, I guess. It was only the second game. If we just play SMARTER, I think we can live up to our potential. The pieces are there! We just gotta bear down. And that starts right after I finish this delicious, chocolatey, ganachey…

(door flies open)

Jerry: YOU FAT FUCK! YOU GIANT FAT FUCK! YOU GODDAMN SLOB OF A FAT FUCK! YOU RUINED MY OPENING NIGHT, FATPORT! MY JEWEL!!!

Wade: Sir, I think we can’t get too panicked over one game…

Jerry: Oh, I know YOU aren’t worried, Tubmarine! Look at you, wrapping your big fat mushy hands around a goddamn cupcake. YOU… YOU FUCKING FAT COCK! What the fuck did you do to my boy ROMO? He’s a goddamn star! He tore those Tampa faggots limb from gay limb a week ago, and suddenly he can’t ball in MY new stadium?! THIS IS ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT, FATASS! You are no longer allowed free access to the Dallas Cowboys Presented Wholly Guacamole Hostess Cupcake Concierge Bar! THAT CUPCAKE BAR IS FOR FUCKING WINNERS!

Wade: Sir, I think you’re overreacting…

Jerry: Overreacting? YOU didn’t spend $1.2 billion on this goddamn place, fat boy! That was supposed to be MY night! That was the night the Double J was going to finally win over the hearts of TIXAS! And what do I get? I get a loss to a bunch of New York FAGGOTS, and a cameraman catching me picking my nose! YOU FUCKING RUINED PREMIERE NIGHT, YOU GIANT FAT SLUGFUCK!

(Aide rushes in)

Aide: Sir! Our switchboard is lighting up. Many of the Party Pass people weren’t allowed to use the Cowboys Stadium Presented By Miller Lite Golden Wheat Bathrooms Sunday night, and would like to meet you personally so they can, quote, “piss on your fucking head.”

Jerry: Oh, that’s just great!

Aide: Sir! The people in Box 108J would also like you to know their Cowboys Stadium Presented By The Bold Look Of Kohler gold toilet broke during the second quarter.

Jerry: God dammit. How many times do I have to tell these people? GOLD IS A SOFT METAL. YOU DON’T HAVE TO FLUSH SO DAMN HARD! WHERE IS THE FUCKING GUATAMALAN CONTRACTOR FUCK WHO BUILT THIS SHITHOLE?!

(door flies open)

Senor Gilbano: Si, senor?

Jerry: THE TOILETS ARE BREAKING, YOU SPANISH TIT!

Senor Gilbano: Hmm. I feex next month? I have other proyect, senor.

Jerry: These fucking contractors. YOU PEOPLE NEVER FINISH THE FUCKING JOB!

Aide: Sir! The Wolf range in the Cowboys Stadium Presented By The Parisian Tourist Board Crepe Hut has a valve leak!

Jerry: Grrrr…

Aide: Sir! Also, our quarterback blows!

Jerry: GIMME SOME FUCKING GOOD NEWS, YOU LITTLE HAPPY SHIT!

Aide: Sir! Some of our higher end patrons said they were VERY happy with the Cowboys Stadium Presented By Ashleymadison.com blowjob valets.

Jerry: Well, at least SOMETHING here is working properly! (turns to Wade) YOU FIX THIS GODDAMN TEAM, FATDORA! Until you do, you no longer have access to the VIP area of this stadium! No more cupcakes! No more massages! No more eucalyptus baths! From now on, I’m sticking you in the catacombs!

Wade: Catacombs?

(door flies open)

Garrett: Hmm. Yes. Indeed. My dear friend Jerry, I kept telling you not to let those dreadful Party Pass people in. Disgusting plebian masses. They smell of old Negro. My word, look at that primal beast grope that cupcake ganache with his fleshy appendage. Like mighty Kong squeezing the life out of Fay Wray!

Jerry: Well, fuck those Party Pass assholes! Monday Night, they’re goin’ in the catacombs too!

Wade: What are the catacombs?

Garrett: My corpulent friend, any coliseum worth its salt has an underground network of catacombs! Allows the detritus to sink to the bottom, if you will.

Jerry: AND THAT’S WHERE YOUR FAT ASS IS WORKIN’ NOW!

Wade: Oh, come on.

(door gets split in half on stomped into very fine dust)

MBIII: JERRY JONES! JERRY GODDAMN JONES, WHERE YOU AT, MOTHERFUCKER!

Jerry: Marion! My prized running back! How are ya, son?

MBIII: Don’t you son me, YOU MOTHERFUCKING HICK! MARION BARBER WANTS A QB THAT DOESN’T GIVE THE BALL OUT LIKE PUSSY!

Aide: Mr. Barber, if you could refer to any all pussy in the stadium as the Cowboys Stadium Presented by Friendfinder.com Pussy…

MBIII: I’LL PRESENT MY MOTHERFUCKIN’ BOOT TO YOUR SKULL, ASSHOLE! JERRY JONES!

(chokes Jerry)

Jerry: Guhhh!

MBIII: Jerry Jones, you GODDAMN SON OF A MOTHERFUCKER. I WILL POP YOUR GODDAMN HEAD OFF LIKE A…

(pulls quad)

OH, MOTHERGODFUCKER!

Jerry: Phew! Thank God he gets injured twice a week!

Aide: Sir! Security reports that there is a drop of delicious Del Monte ketchup-flavored condiment in one of the aisles!

Jerry: KETCHUP? THIS STADIUM WOULD BE FIFTY TIMES NICER IF IT WEREN’T FOR THE GODDAMN FANS MILLING AROUND. We need better security!

(door flies open)

Pacman: CHUH CHUH. Pacman b scuddn dat puzzy pie wen he hurr da Owna Man need sequizzay. O PACMAN CAN B YO SEQUIZZAY. Pacman tak hiz nitestik and POP DEM TWOTZ. He gon shine. Pacman gon keep out da riffraff. Den he gon drank. O HE GON DRANK. U THANK HE AIN’T GON DRANK? Pacman say ain’t no drank drank till he lay down dat bitch and eat dat puzzy 2 tha bone. HE GON FUK TILL SHE GOT DA REDPUZZY. HE GON POLE VALTN.

CHUH CHUH.

Jerry: Excellent! Adam, escort Coach Phillips here down to the Cowboys Stadium Presented Built By The Casa Depoto Catacombs. Make sure his cellar is extra damp!

Wade: This sucks.

Jerry: YEEEEHAWWWW MY CROWN JEWEL IS FINALLY GONNA SHINE WITH YOUR FAT ASS TUCKED AWAY IN STEERAGE! YEEHAW WOOHOO I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!

When we last left face-stuffing land barnacle Peter King, he had finally gotten his Twitter feed up and running, thus signaling the beginning of the end of that startup’s financial potential. What kind of crucial information has King supplied you, the Twitty twitty gangbanging masses?

SI_PeterKing Ah, the glamorous life of a reporter. Drinking low-cal Vitamin Water and praying I’ll be able to make it 2 more hours to finish MMQB.

Ooom, low cal Vitamin Water. Well, la di da, Mr. Big Shot. Most of us have to drink regular water. We don’t get to have our water infused with seventeen different minerals and subtle hints of acai and pomegranate. Don’t tell me you’re just some poor reportin’ schlub, you cod lover!

SI_PeterKing Sanchez throwing out first pitch at the Mets Monday night. Memo to Mark: Don’t bounce it. They’ll boo.

And stop looking like Johnny Damon! You’ll just reinforce the Mets’ feelings as afterthoughts in their own city!

Anyway, to the column. Say Pete, what’s your top draft philosophy?

I like teams that love players…

Me too!

…and, within reason, break the bank to get them.

If you’re doing it within reason, you aren’t breaking the bank. But yes, I too adore teams that become so obsessed with one player or two that they willingly sacrifice any and all flexibility when it comes to draft day flexibility. We call this kind of brilliant tactical strategy semi-Snyderesque.

Cincinnati. Hard to knock this draft. Impossible, quite frankly.

Except here, and here, and anywhere else where people might express concern for a franchise that has a long history of character issues with its roster spending its top pick on Andre Smith, who went AWOL at the combine and threw a fucking WHITE PARTY to celebrate his draft day.

“I’ve learned the hard way that running backs are hard to come by,” said McDaniels.

Particularly in Denver, which has produced 1,000-yard rushers from the second round (Clinton Portis), the sixth round (Mike Anderson, Terrell Davis), and from the waiver wire scrap heap (Reuben Droughns). Way to overvalue the game’s most expendable position, Josh.

Give the glib Matthew Stafford a chance. Spent some time with him in February, and he’s a likeable guy with a Dan Fouts arm.

Oh, well then. That alleviates all my concerns. DRY YOUR EYES, DETROIT! THIS MAN WAS NICE TO PETER KING IN FEBRUARY.

The money is stupid, of course, but we’re judging players, not salaries

Actually, due to the salary cap, it’s impossible to cast aside salary matters when evaluating a player. If Matt Stafford fails to live up to the contract he was given, then the Lions aren’t getting maximum value from money they’ve spent which cannot be used elsewhere, and thus will continue to suck. So yes, the money being stupid is a problem. But hey, you got coffee with him.

Tyson Jackson may not lead the league in sacks (he had 18.5 in three starting seasons at LSU), but he will lead the team in “yes sirs”

Yes, but what about smiles? Will he lead the league in that crucial category as well? If so, then his inability to rush the passer will never be a problem.

I was like everyone else — Larry English at 16? Crazy — till I got on the phones Saturday night and kept hearing, “Great pick.” Imagine if Shawne Merriman comes back healthy, and this team has Merriman, English and Shaun Phillips coming off the various edges.

And now you know that offensive lines have more than two edges to rush off of. How is that possible? I don’t know. I bet those crazy “The Office” writers figured it out somehow.

”I am ashamed and humiliated … I realize I cannot be the husband, father, son and citizen I want to be until I overcome my addiction. It is my highest priority, and will be the toughest challenge of my life, but I am going to get the help I need to achieve a complete recovery.”

-Former NFL receiver Jimmy Smith, in a remarkable mea culpa after his arrest on drug charges Thursday. You don’t often hear or read players be as humble and full of regret after screwing up as badly as Smith did.

Agreed.

I applaud him, and those who wrote the statement…

Wait, what?

…if, indeed, he meant what he’s quoted as saying.

Well Jesus fucking Christ. I don’t even know what to believe anymore.

Tweet of the Week

Really? This will be a regular item now?

/locks self in fallout shelter

The writer, Ayaz Hyder of Piscataway, N.J., is the first weekly Twitter award-winner in MMQB.

His prize? A day feeding Dr. Z mashed carrots.

Follow me and you might be next. That’s a threat.

It is? Well then, you’ve got my blood boiling!

The Twitter thing is going well. I have no idea what the value is to my company or to me…

You see, Twitter is like chemistry…

…but it’s fun, and the 6,490 Twitterers as of Sunday night came up with some good questions. Not very painful to respond, either. Sorry for all of you trying to get to me in the 24-hour period from 4 p.m. Saturday to 4 p.m. Sunday. Writing. Reporting. Monitoring. Traveling.

Eating. Expanding. Exerting a strong gravitational pull and influencing the tides.

Enjoyable/Aggravating Travel Note of the Week

Oh, boy. Here we go.

So I stayed at the Kansas City Marriott at Country Club Plaza over the weekend. I was pleased when I made the reservation because of the ridiculously low rate –$129 a night, which I think is the lowest rate I’ve had at any hotel since the training-camp trip last August. A city Marriott for $129 a night? Unheard of.

Looks like I know where I’m taking the kids on our next vacation, then. Who knew Kansas City would be affordable? It’s such a hot spot! You know what else you can do in this city? WALK! Who knew?

Great tip for bean-counters in a bad economy, everywhere.

You’re welcome, working class citizens of America. By finding a cheap hotel (that he didn’t actually have to pay for), Peter has single handedly saved you from a life of poverty and destitution. Peter likes hotel chains that love hotels.

Here’s the problem:

Oh god dammit. WHY CAN’T YOU BE HAPPY FOR ONCE?

The hotel was a jobsite. Still is.

Gee, might that explain the low rate there, Pete?

The lobby Friday featured the thudding and destruction of a major construction project. It was impossible to sit in the lobby without having your senses destroyed. I’d have stayed here anyway because I don’t hang around in hotel lobbies, and the rooms were quiet.

Then who the fuck cares?

But my question is: Why doesn’t a hotel chain as good as Marriott let potential hotel guests know that they’ll be staying in a construction zone? Then you’d totally understand the mess you’re heading into.

And then you wouldn’t stay at the hotel, and Marriott wouldn’t be able to fill any rooms, and then they’d go bankrupt, and then the world economy would collapse and we’d all begin selling our children’s live organs for bottled water.

But hey, it’s got a low rate. YOU POOR FOLKS OUT THERE SHOULD JUMP ON IT WHILE YOU CAN.

UPDATE: Commenters Upstate Underdog and AW both point out that Marriott fully discloses the construction when you book an online reservation. So really, what Peter King needs to do is beat his secretary.

In the lobby Friday, I commented about the massive mess to one of the bellmen, but he couldn’t hear me because of the construction noise.

That’s just what he wanted you to believe, my portly friend.

Changing planes at DFW Sunday, I used the men’s room near one of the American gates. I walked into one of the toilet stalls with the automatic flushers.

Bet that autoflusher had a nervous breakdown anticipating the king-sized Kit Kat you were about to blast its way.

WHOOOOOSH. I closed the door to the stall and sat down.

Three more times I heard the same WHOOOOOSH as I sat there and minded my own business.

That’s because it was trying to tell you something. It was telling you, “WHOOOOOSH… GET THE FUCK OFF ME. And stop tweeting, dammit. This isn’t a lounge.”

Of course, no flush when I get up and leave the stall.

YOU try flushing a goddamn telephone pole.

Gotta love technology.

Well, without it, we wouldn’t have concrete cyanide.

Really, really good story by ESPN’s Rachel Nichols on Michael Oher and the altruistic goodness of his adopted family.

Read all about Rachel’s story in “The Blind Side,” by Michael Lewis.

Hoping you didn’t buy in Jersey, Kellen Clemens. Hope you’re renting.

Unless you live in Montclair. A man could spend his whole life in Montclair and want for nothing.

I don’t like Brian Hartline to the Dolphins in the fourth round.

You don’t?

I love it.

WHOA! You totally had me going there!

Brian will definitely lead that team in “yes, sirs”. You watch.

I think in the interest of fairness in advertising, here’s how I fared in my Sports Illustrated mock draft (wasn’t that a beautiful design and layout and gatefold presentation in the magazine?)

You mean the one I had to open up and read sideways? Yeah, that was a blast. I spent the whole day marveling at it. Oooh, look! Saddle stitching!

Now I know how Paul Zimmerman felt over the years. “It’s torture,” he’d tell me, year after year, trying to get the mock as close to on the mark as he could. I saw how he worked it, starting at the league meetings in March and tirelessly calling every team, finding someone on each team who would give him one or two nuggets to point him in a direction.

But here’s how tough it is: Zim had five direct hits last year, and I know for a fact he worked it almost daily for a month. It’s just so hard to get right, because as Zim used to say: “One team making one pick you never figured screws up the whole thing.” This year, who had the Jets getting Sanchez at 5, or the Chargers pegging English at 16, or the Ravens moving away from Rey Maualuga ad trading up to 23, unexpectedly, to get Oher?

It’s a mock draft. Who in the fuck expects you to get it right?

Year after year, I say the same thing (actually, I stole this from a smart man in the league): The draft is the fourth-biggest pro sport in America, just behind the NFL, baseball and the NBA.

I’d like to meet this smart man in the league who failed to realize the NFL draft and the NFL are actually associated with one another as far as categorizing pro sports goes. But yeah, it’s a heck of an individual sport, this NFL Draft. What with its 4-point baskets, hexagonal fighting cage, and crazy penalties for hitting an opponent with your squash racket.

I think the Dolphins could be stealing a big exec from the Red Sox any day now — Sox chief operating officer Mike Dee — to be their CEO. Bill Parcells, the not-so-closeted Red Sox-a-holic, and Dee will get along just fine if the subject around the water cooler is Papelbon instead of Chad Pennington.

OOH, WE COULD GET PAPELBAWN TO RUN THE FACKIN’ WILDCAT! THAT WOULD FACKIN’ DEFINE CLUTCH!

I am so ticked off I missed Zack Grienke Friday night.

But this automatic toilet just wouldn’t flush!

Was that you, Zack, in the Classic Cup on the Plaza for breakfast Saturday morning? If so, a lot of us left you alone on purpose.

He respects your privacy, as he would the sun. Actually, Peter would have approached you, but there were miter saws being used outside! CURSE YOU AND YOUR REASONABLE RATES, MARRIOTT.

By the way, thanks to two Tweeters for steering me to the Classic Cup. Great pulse-of-the-Plaza breakfast spot.

You really get the feel of the hotel lobby when you eat French toast there.

Underrated coffee, always, comes from the French press. Had it Saturday, and even though it always comes out a little muddy at the bottom of the cup, it’s like Espresso Junior.

And never bitter. You fucking hear me, Sibling Rivalry?!

Good to spend the weekend around you, Ken Fost. You are Vasco de Gama, a true explorer.

Indeed, you are spiritual cousin to Pam Whiteley, who is Ponce de Leon.

And great to have you home, Jack Bowers.

Oh, Jack’s out of the hospital? Thank goodness.

You’ve got a little surprise, and I mean little, coming from your beloved St. Louis Cardinals in the mail.

Ooooh, what is it?! Is it a French press?

By the way, before we go, here’s a link to all the items being listed for the Dr. Z charity auction. Notice that nearly every item is valued as “priceless,” even items that clearly have an easily appraised face value. Oooh, autographed Dan Shaugnessy books! I hope they have gatefolds in them!

Wade: Mmmm… ice cream. Ice cream ice cream ice cream. You sure do help break up a day. You know, ever since I was able to turn the tables on the low-down snake Jerry Jones, life has been pretty darn sweet for ol’ Wade. Yes, sirree. Ain’t no finer to have than havin’ nothin’ to lose.

You know what I might do this afternoon? I do believe I’ll go golfing. Ha! How about that! Ol’ Wade sneakin’ out for a quick nine holes on a spring day. I reckon nothing would be better on a glorious spring day. Lemme just close up shop here. Seems pretty quiet. And that ol’ coot ain’t nowhere to be found! Yep, I think there’s no better time to kick back and rela…

(door flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWWW! Well, well, well. If it ain’t FRUMPLESTILZKIN! You massive fat shit! Eatin’ ice cream during a recession, are we, little piggy? YOU FAT FUCK!

Wade: I ain’t afraid of you, Jerry Jones. You can come stomp around in here all you like. But I’m headin’ out to the golf course now, if you don’t mind.

Jerry: You golfin’? THAT’S RICH, FAT STEVENS! I bet they need a golf cart with a goddamn V24 engine to haul your fat droopy ass around the course!

You think I‘m just gonna let you walk out that door, Tastykake? THE DOUBLE-J WILL GIVE UP SWEET SKY PUSSY BEFORE THAT EVER HAPPENS, TURNBLAD! NOW YOU GIT YOUR FAT FOLDS BACK IN THAT CHAIR AND GIT TO WORKIN’ ON MY PRIDE AND JOY!

Wade: No can do, Mr. Jones. What are you gonna do, fire me? You go right ahead.

Jerry: Oh, you think you’re so clever, don’t you? Yep, ol’ Wade’s a regular Hot Pocket Scientist, he is! Think you got one over one me, do ya? THAT’S WHERE YOU’RE WRONG, FLAPPER DON! Good Lord, you smell. Anyone ever tell you smell like a dirty asshole smeared with black beans? BECAUSE YOU DO!

Wade: Say anything you like, Mr. Jones. I’m gone.

Jerry: Not so fast, Tubby! Ol’ Double J has something he’d like you to see. This picture ring a bell?

Wade: Hey, that’s my momma’s house.

Jerry: WAS her house. As of yesterday, it’s now the proud property of JERRY GODDAMN JONES!

Wade: You dirty weasel! That house has been in our family for six generations! What did you do?!

Jerry: BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Hey, don’t look at me, lardfucker! Your momma was willing to sell. So I obliged her by taking the property off her hands.

Wade: My momma has had Alzheimer’s for over eight years!

Jerry: I know! That’s what made negotiatin’ the price so much fun! I tell ya, old folks with no functional memory sure know how to close a deal fast! Here’s what I paid…

Looks like a love for Oreo Cakesters runs in the family, YOU FAT PIECE OF SHIT!

Wade: Where is my momma, you bastard?

Jerry: Oh, don’t you worry, Ham Anderson. Your mom is still resting comfortably in MY house. But you never know if that could change. MWAHAHAHAHA! NO ONE SWINGS A BIGGER DICK THAN THE DOUBLE-J!

Wade: You… You can’t do that! You won’t get away with this!

Jerry: That’s what they said when Switzer and I double-teamed Susan Skaggs in the cockpit! BUT THE DOUBLE-J ALWAYS FINDS A WAY TO FUCK PEOPLE GOOD!

Wade: You… you heartless scum… MARION! Marion?

Jerry: Go ahead, Tubby! Call for Marion. He ain’t coming.

(FIVE DAYS EARLIER)

MBIII: Motherfuckin’ Jerry Jones! Where you at, you motherfucker?! I WILL TAKE A GODDAMN HEDGE TRIMMER TO YOUR LITTLE TINY RICH MAN DICK!

(smells something)

Is that fresh corn on the cob? Mmmm! That smells motherfuckin’ good! MBIII WANTS SOME MOTHERFUCKIN’ FRESH CORN!

(changes direction, tears groin)

AHHHHHHHH MY MOTHERFUCKIN’ GROIN!!!

(PRESENT DAY)

Jerry: Heh heh heh! Our boy got a groin tear that would make your dick wince! He ain’t comin’ to help you, you fat sack of shit! YEEEEEEEHAWWWWW!!!

Wade: You give me my momma’s house back, you dirty son of a bitch.

Jerry: Oh, I’ll consider it. AFTER you do what I fucking tell you to do, Porky Pig! And you better not slip up. Not even once. Or else, in the middle of the night, before you have a chance to take her back to your house, your poor momma will be out on the goddamn street! Talking to lamp posts, breastfeeding raccoons, and sticking garbage in her pussy!

Wade: You bastard. What do you want from me?

Jerry: Well, you can start by helping me rid myself of your little bodyguard! I have begun the process of looking for a brand new tailback for my boy ROMO! One that won’t break down like a 30-year-old cheerleader’s labia! And you’re gonna help me, Farty Jones! I have a specific player in mind I’d like to target. KNOWSHON GODDAMN MORENO. But we’re gonna have to trade up to git him, Fatlock.

Wade: So what do you want me to do?

Jerry: Well waffle boy, if the Double-J has learned anything about the draft, it’s that the only thing more valuable than information… is MISINFORMATION! Smokescreens! Each one more smoky than the last! The easiest way to git the player you want is to pretend you’re not interested in him, and to spread horrible things about him to other teams so they don’t want him! THAT’S CALLED REVERSE GODDAMN PSYCHOLOGY!

This Moreno is a talented and humble kid. And that won’t do. So, Buttership Wade, your job will be to spread the word that he’s secretly a piece of shit! And that he’s injured! And that he’s gay!

Wade: I will do no such thing.

Jerry: Well then, I guess your momma will have to spend this month without electricity! You think she’ll notice if the mayo gets caterpillars in it?

Wade: Fine. Fine. I’ll help. So how do we get his stock to fall?

(door flies open)

Pacman: Yo yo. Pacman be ridin dat meatballz sub wen he get da call from da owner man sayin’ SHIT BE BACK ON. O HELL YEZ. Pacman gon shine. Pacman gon take dat shizz 2 tha hizzay. He gon lickky dat pussy till da pipe burst. He gon take dat pussy and fillay dat fish. He gon make dat azz bleed like a guud slabba rib.

CHUH CHUH

Pacman like makn dat azz bleed. Pacman say ain’t no azz bleedn till he stik hiz Duralog in. Dat when da azzjoose come loose.

And Pacman gon drank. Oh, he gon drank. BULLEE N DA DAT. You thank he ain’t gon drank? O HE MOS DEFINITE GON DRANK. Pacman say ain’t no drank drank till we skeet n yo eye. Pacman down wid it. Pacman gon drill holez.

CHUH CHUH

Wade: I thought we fired him!

Jerry: We did. AS A PLAYER. But I believe Adam has other valuable assets we can take advantage of as a freelance consultant.

Pacman: O WE GON FREELANCE.

Jerry: Nothing will get that Georgia boy’s stock fallin’ faster than being photographed with my boy ADAM! Just one encounter at a titty bar with him could cost him at least 20 draft slots! And that’s when the Double-J strikes!

But that’s not all! If we call that retard Mortensen and spoonfeed him enough bullshit, we could git Knowshon to fall all the way to ROUND GODDAMN 2! We could tell him anything! “Hey Chris, Knowshon is a dog arsonist!” “Hey Chris, Knowshon raped his babysitter once! WITH A CANDLESTICK!” “Hey Chris, Knowshon takes plays off to stand in line at IHOP!” “Hey Peter King, Knowshon’s agent has shitty coffee!” We may not need to trade up at all!

Wade: Well, who’s gonna take care of the team while I make all these calls?

(door flies open)

Garrett: Mmm. Yes. Indeed. Oh heavens, my dearest Wade. It seems you allowed your ice cream to melt down your very corpulent little fingers. A regrettable sight indeed. AND NOT A GOOD EATING.

Wade: Why you no good…

Garrett: Calm down, my friend! The team is excellent hands with yours truly. Why, just this night, I concocted an entire new series of patterns for Jason Witten to run. I call them “button hooks”. Isn’t that a spanking good name?

Wade: Those have been around forever!

Jerry: SHUT UP, FATTY! You let my boy JASON here do his thing…

Garrett: Indeed. Such are the wonders of my innovations that any teams in the league were not prepared for them! I don’t recall the Lions knowing of my esteemed button hooks!

Jerry: …And you git on the horn with Sports Illustrated and let them know that my boy KNOWSHON got a D- on the Wonderlic!

Pacman: Pacman down wid dat wonderlic. He wonderlic dat azz till he get dat brown Tootsy Pop tung.

Wade: Shit. I can’t believe I’m stuck with these idiots again.

Jerry: AND YOU WILL BE FOREVER! NOW GIT GOIN’, OR ELSE MOMMA PHILLIPS’ HOUSE WILL BURN TO THE FUCKING GROUND, LARDI GRAS! YEEEEEEHAWWWWWW!!!! WOOO HOOOOOOOO!!! I AM BACK AND I AM STILL FUCKIN’ CRAZY!!!!

That’s our own KOGOD dancing in the aisles at a Wizards game the other night. Unfortunately, this is only a temporary gig for our friend, as the Capital City Goofball returns from paternity leave next week.

Rob is a Giants fan. Rob is distraught because the Giants couldn’t close the deal at home in the playoffs. This is truly one of the sorriest displays I have ever seen. Even his friends make no attempt to hide their contempt for this blubbering fat fuck. I’m normally a pretty laid back guy, but I hate this guy. I am pissed that I have to pause from the business of pissing off Steelers fans to address this sorry situation.

Unless I see a shit-ton of Giants fans completely disavowing this loser in the comments, I will have no choice but to assume he is representative of you all.

[ thanks to reader Nick S. for the tip ]

Wade: Oh, SHIT. Shit shit shit shit shit. I am FUCKED. I mean, I’ve been fucked before. I’ve been beaten, branded, tickled, raped, spanked, and fired 339 times now. But I am definitely fucked this time round. WHAT DO I DO?!

You know what, ol’ Wade? You’re screwed anyhow. I’m tired. I’m tired of going apeshit trying to put out fires I got no chance of extinguishin’. You know what? FUCK IT. I’mma have some Oreos.

(opens drawer)

Mmm. I tell you, ain’t nothin’ finer than a good stack of Oreos. You come through that door, Jerry Jones. You’re not gonna stop me from enjoyin’ a well-earned treat.

(door flies open)

Jerry: WHERE IS THAT FAT FUCK?! PHILLIPS?! DON’T YOU TRY AND HIDE FROM ME, CHOKOZUNA! I can smell the hoagie dressing bursting out of your pores! You think you can choke away a ten point lead in seven minutes and then avoid THE ARKINSAW ASSPOUNDER?! Git your fat, drooping ass out here now, Brando! Here fatty fatty fatty! Here fatty fatty fatty!

Wait… what the… Why, you ain’t hidin’! YOU GOT YOUR FEET ON YOUR DESK AND YOUR STUFFING YOUR FACE WITH COOKIES ON MY TIME, YOU FUCKING HOT AIR BALLOON!

Wade: Yep.

Jerry: You sure as SHIT better have a good explanation for this, Beastula! Did you see my boy ROMO out there against those Pittsburgh faggots? HE’S A STAR! AND YOUR FAT ASS MADE HIM LOOK THE FOOL!

Wade: Well, that was clearly Garrett’s fault.

Jerry: What?

Wade: Hey, I did MY job. The D held those darn Steelers down. Why don’t you ask ol’ PRINCETON BOY why he dang offense didn’t move an inch!

Jerry: Well, I… you fat… I’m so GODDAMN… YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE COWERING IN FEAR RIGHT NOW, SCRAPPLE MARTIN!

Wade: Well, I ain’t. I’m tired, Jerry Jones. I’m tired of sittin’ here having everyone shit on ol’ Wade. High time Wade did some backstabbin’ of his own!

Jerry: Oh, is that so? WELL IT DON’T WORK THAT WAY, TUBBY! NOW YOU OPEN UP THOSE BIG FAT SHIT-PLUGGED EARS OF YOURS AND YOU LISTEN TO ME…

(door gets smashed into 3,000 very small pieces)

MBIII: JERRY JONES! JERRY GODDAMN JONES!

Jerry: Oh, FUCK! (hides behind Wade) Don’t move, fatass. You just sit there and eclipse me the way you do the sun, and other heavenly bodies.

MBIII: Jerry Jones, you can’t hide from me, MOTHERFUCKER! Y’all better move out of the way, Coach P. ‘Cause I’mma make caramel outta that wrappin’ paper-faced motherfucker! MOTHERFUCKER, GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE AND FACE THE MUSIC!

Jerry: (comes out) Marion! Marion, my boy! Can I git you anything? Complimentary beverage? Hot stewardess that’ll fuck you blind?

MBIII: Gimme your toe, MOTHERFUCKER!

(takes Jerry’s toe, dislocates it)

Jerry: GAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

MBIII: Oh, I’m sorry. DID YOU FEEL A PINCH THERE, MOTHERFUCKER?! FUCKING HURTS, DUDN’T IT?!

Jerry: (wincing) Ain’t nuthin’ the ol’ Double-J can’t handle!

MBIII: (twists toe) Oh really, MOTHERFUCKER?!

Jerry: GAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

MBIII: Try and sit in on your board meeting with THAT, ASSHOLE! You still think I’m soft, motherfucker?

Jerry: No.

MBIII: (twists toe) I CAN’T HEAR YOU, CRACKA!

Jerry: NO!

MBIII: See now, that surprises me, seein’ as how you thought Marion Barber had pussied out of that game Sunday. YOU STILL THINK I PUSSIED OUT, YOU FUCKING HICK SACK OF SHIT?

Jerry: NO!

MBIII: That’s more like it. Now you fucking listen to me, Jerry Jones. If you EVER call my ass soft again, it’ll be the last thing you say before I drive a GODDAMN motorcycle up your CHICKEN FRIED ASSHOLE. YOU HEAR ME, MOTHERFUCKER?

Jerry: Yes.

MBIII: Call my ass SIR, MOTHERFUCKER!

Jerry: Yes, sir!

MBIII: Marion Barber doesn’t back down from any fucking challenge, lest of all one from some goddamn tumbleweed-eatin’ MOTHERFUCKER LIKE YOU! I will fucking run through the goddamn River Styx to win a game! You gotta tear my fucking dick off to keep me off that field. SO IF MARION BARBER SAYS HE CAN’T TRAVEL WITH THE TEAM, YOU BETTER BELIEVE HE’S IN SOME NEW FUCKING DIMENSION OF PAIN! YOU FUCKING HEAR ME!

Wade: Can I just say, Marion, that you are AMAZING?

MBIII: Shut up, fatass.

Wade: Yes, sir.

(door flies open)

Pacman: Yo yo. Pacman be putn hiz deekaleek in dem azzcakez when mista trayna man say he ain’t gon shine. Pacman ain’t down wid it. Pacman wanna shine. Pacman wanna go n tak hiz peese uh duh pie. Pacman gon shine. Oh, he gon shine. He gon make dat pussy drool. He gon turn dat pussyfountn da fuk on. Pacman down wid it.

And Pacman gon drank. Oh, he gon drank. BULLEE 2 DA DAT. Pacman say ain’t no drank drank till dem chikns git xtra crspy. Pacman like dat. Pacman got his drumstik. He gon make a bitchbizkit. Shoot dat gravy on da bitch. She gon lik it. Pacman down wid it.

MBIII: And another thing. I cannot understand GODDAMN WORD this asshole is saying! How the FUCK are we supposed to win SHIT when players can’t speak English, MOTHERFUCKER! I’m out there stiffarming motherfuckers, and this asshole’s talkin’ about PUSSYJOOSE! WHAT THE FUCK?

(door flies open)

Garrett: Ah, Marion! Marion, my good man! How are you? Did you have a good EATING today?!

MBIII: You fucking red-haired Ritz cracka looking motherfucker! RUN A GODDAMN PLAY ACTION PASS TO SOMEONE OTHER THAN WITTEN FOR ONCE, MOTHERFUCKER!

Garrett: But Jason has such a fine pedigree! Why wouldn’t I call 56 passes for him?

MBIII: Motherfucker, I GOTTA HEAR ABOUT THAT SHIT! Fix the goddamn offense, or else that faggot ass TO throws his soiled maxipads in the middle of the GODDAMN LOCKER ROOM! FIX IT OR MBIII WILL DROWN A BITCH!

Wade: You heard him, Jason. Fix it.

Garrett: What? Well, I never! Do you hear the way they address me, Mr. Jones? THEY’RE SO GUTTURAL!

Jerry: Just do what they tell you to do, SHITHEAD! My fucking toe is dislocated! HOW AM I GONNA STICK IT IN A HOOKER’S COOTER NOW?

MBIII: That’s your problem, motherfucker.

Garrett: (dragging Jerry out) You haven’t heard the last from us! You shan’t get away with this!

MBIII: Yeah well, whatever. YOU DRAG THAT CRACKA ASS MOTHERFUCKER OUT OF HERE AND DON’T COME BACK! THERE’S A NEW SHERIFF IN TOWN TODAY, AND HE’S THE BADDEST BLACKEST MOTHERFUCKER YOU’LL WISH YOU NEVER FUCKING MET! YEEHAW! I AM GODDAMN PISSED!!!!!!

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.

Wade: Well, oh my! I sure am stuffed! My, my goodness! Got ourselves a nice little Thanksgiving break there. Always does a man good, I tell you what. You know, this time of year is always so hectic. But I think we’re well-prepared this time. I know we got those pesky Steelers coming up. And we’re still chasing a playoff spot. But I feel good about where we are.

Yep, I think we’re gonna have a much more stable December round these parts. Nope, no crises here at Valley Ranch of any sort! No emergency fires of any kind are gonna spring up and disturb an otherwise smoothly running work month. AT ALL. Time to just eeease back into work and…

(door flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEEEEEEHAW! YEE, YEE, YEE, YEEGODDAMNHAW! YEEHAW MASON-DIXON FUCKING A GOWGIRL IN A HAYLOFT WITH HER PANTIES STUFFED IN HER THROAT! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEFUCKINGHAW, FATASS!

Wade: Oh. shit.

Jerry: Did you see what my boy ROMO did to those Seattle faggots, Tubby? He put THREE goddamn touchdown passes right in their faggoty little messenger bags! YOU DON’T BIKE TO WORK WHEN YOU’RE PLAYIN’ THE DOUBLE-J, THAT’S FOR GODDAMN SURE!

Wade: We’re glad to have him back. But I think we’re going t have to prepare extra hard for the Steelers, sir…

Jerry: Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up. Listen, Ham Cameron, I need you to stop baking cheesecake in your crotch for a second and get your fat fucking ass out of your fat fucking chair. MOVE IT! GIT!

Wade: What’s going on? (gets out of chair) What the heck?

Jerry: Good God. Look at the assdent in that chair. That’s what Lake Superior looks like if you drain it! There are enough coffee cake crumbs in that seat to run an Aunt Anne’s factory, you galactic fat fuck!

Wade: Sir, I don’t think that’s very…

Jerry: I DON’T GIVE A SHIT WHAT YOU THINK! THIS IS MY GODDAMN CHAIR! I OWN IT! AND I DON’T PAY YOU TO SPEND ALL DAY BUTTERING IT UP FOR MUFFINMAKING, YOU BIG FAT CLAM! Now listen up, Rosie Live. I have Christmas shopping for you to do.

Wade: I can’t go Christmas shopping!

Jerry: Why not? Can’t go to mall without ending up behind the counter of a Mrs. Field’s, you cookie-loving fat shit?! Well don’t fear, fatass. I have just entered in the Amazon username and password for the Double-J’s personal online account. You’ll be shopping right from this very chair. AND NO SPANK BREAKS! I don’t want my wife getting some pair of earrings that you bought after treating your dick like a Push Pop! Now you have to get gifts for the following people:

(hands Wade 700 page list)

Wade: There are thousands of names on here!

Jerry: Fucking right. AND DON’T GO THINKING YOU’RE ONE OF THEM! I only buy Omaha Steaks for people that don’t eat them as an after dinner cooldown. Be sure to get Susan that cheese log that’s shaped like a penis. Like Wispride spreadable white wine cheddar, the Double-J’s cock is EXTRA SHARP!

Wade: Sir, I don’t have time for this. How are we gonna get ready for the Steelers?

Jerry: You fat hump. Didn’t I tell you my boy ROMO is a star?

Wade: I think you’ve maybe…

Jerry: HE’S A GODDAMN STAR! Besides, ol’ Jerry’s got a little ace up his sleeve this go round for those Pittsburgh meatstuffers. ADAM!

(door flies open)

Pacman: Yo yo. Pacman cum back 2 da lokkr room an dem otha bitchez be sayn Pacman no gud. Pacman ain’t down wid it. Pacman say dem foolz ain’t walked in his shooz. Dey ain’t kno what it lik 2 fist dat azz lik da Pac do. Dey ain’t kno what it like 2 ta grab a bitch an pak dat hatchbak. Pacman down wid it. Pacman say dem girlz got 2 giv up dat fatburger. Pacman say itz Burgertime.

Pacman gon shine. Pacman tak dat azz an put dat banana in it. Pacman ain’t no froot. Pacman got dat big Chikita shit. Dis shit naycha’s perfect fud. And Pacman gon drank. Oh, he gon drank. BULLEE DAT. Pacman say ain’t no drank drank until he turn on da sprinkla. PACMAN GON TURN ON DA AZZSPRINKLA! CHUH CHUH

Jerry: That reminds me, Fatass. Be sure to get Adam here one of those Sony ass sprinklers. No cheap Vizio ass sprinklers for my boy!

Wade: But I don’t even know what that is.

Jerry: You need to also get at least two hookers for each Cowboy alum. THE DOUBLE-J NEVER FORGETS A COWBOY! Now get them gift-wrapped, and ship them FedEx so they’re still breathin’ when they get there. NO ONE WANTS A DEAD HOOKER ON THEIR DOOSTEP!

Pacman: Pacman down wid it.

Jerry: Not everyone agrees, Adam. Also, get Irvin that pair of golden scissors he wanted.

Wade: Well, who’s gonna run the team while all this is going on?

(door flies open)

Garrett: Mmmm. Yes. Indeed. My good portly friend, shouldn’t you be in Perigord region, rooting around in the soil for precious black truffles?

Wade: Shut up.

Garrett: Oh, dear Mr. Jones! How good to see you again! I trust you had a lovely Thanksgiving. Did you get the holiday card that Priscilla sent you? I wrote it myself. There’s no levity quite like Princeton levity!

Jerry: It was lovely, Jason. I’ll treasure it always. And I’ll have fatty here get you that Vineyard Vines whale belt you asked for.

Garrett: Oh, please! No need! I already have seventeen of them! Ha ha ha!

Jerry: Ha ha ha!

Garrett: Ha ha ha!

Jerry: Ha ha ha!

Garrett: Ha ha ha! Oh, Mr. Jones. What a Princetonian you would have been! I wish you had been in our eating club. A fine eater you’d make! Unlike the human landfill opposite me now.

Wade: Hey!

Jerry: YOU SHUT UP, COACH KFC! You shut up and git my shopping done! AND MAKE SURE NATE NEWTON GETS THAT BROWNIE PAN HE ASKED ME FOR!

Wade: This sucks.

Jerry: YEEEEEEEEHAW! DOUBLE YEEEEEEHAW! TRIPLE FUCKING YEEHAW, YOU FUCKING SHOPACHOCOHOLIC!
JINGLE BALLS, HOOKERS CALL, WADE DONE LAID AN EGG!
THE JONESMOBILE HAS EIGHT WHEELS AND I’LL EAT PUSSY ANY DAY!!!!!
WAHOOOOOO, I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!