Wade: Well, that was quite a draft we had for ourselves. I really like this Jones kid. He’s gonna really help open up our offense in new ways. Dag gummit, I’m excited! This is gonna be some fun havin’ all these weapons out on the field! Yessiree, I think we could turn a whole new corner this year.

Well, you know what? I do believe that I am just a touch TOO excited. Oh, dear. Little Wade, stop actin’ up like that! You know we talked about doin’ this sort of thing during daylight hours! Ain’t no good gonna come from it!

Then again, it sure is quiet around here. I couldn’t possibly… could I? I dunno, Wade. That sounds awful dangerous. You were damn near caught red-handed just the other week. NO. Nonononononono.

Maybe.

Okay, yes.

(locks door)

Okay, time to fire up the ol’ computer.

(pulls down pants, logs onto givemepink.com)

Oh, my! Oh wow, that is somethin’. They’re really just all out there, ain’t they? Never ceases to amaze me.

(Firefox quits abruptly for no reason)

Doggone it! This Firefox program keeps quitting for no reason! Dang nammit!

(doorknob rattles)

Uh oh.

Jerry: Say, WHY IS THIS DOOR LOCKED?! Are you in there, Tubby! What are you doing in there?!

Wade: (pulls up pants) Uh… coming, sir!

Jerry: I bet you are!

Wade: Just one minute!

Jerry: What’s going on in there? Are you sitting on the floor surrounded by empty donut boxes again?! OPEN THIS DOOR, FATASS! THIS IS MY DOOR! YOU’RE RUINING MY ENTRANCE!

Wade: Hold on…

(door breaks, flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEEEEHAAWWWWWW!!!!!! YIP YIP! YIPPPPPEEEEYAW!!!!!! Buenas dias, Senor Pauncho!

Wade: Oh, crud.

Jerry: WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE, you big fat masturbadon?! Jerking your Jimmy Dean on company time, are you?! I got half a mind to show your fat ass the door right now. Though I’m betting your ass has never been shown a door it wasn’t scared to death of going through!

Wade: Sir, nothing inappropriate was happening at all. In fact, the computer is down. I need to call IT.

Jerry: Oh, callin’ for IT, are you? I assume you’re trying to order an INTIRE TURKEY for yourself, eh Jennie-O? Cause if you ain’t jerkin’ somethin’, you’re sure as shit eatin’ somethin’. Lord knows you don’t stop to take a breath in between.

Wade: Nothing. Happened. This dang computer just keeps freezin’.

Jerry: Really, Florence Tubbingale? Well, I would have gotten you a laptop. BUT YOU AIN’T GOT NO LAP, BLOB EVANS! I suppose you won’t mind if I take a look now, will you?

Wade: I thought you said computers were for faggots, sir.

Jerry: And they are! But we live in one big, faggoty world now, my friend. The Double-J ain’t gonna fall behind the times! You better believe I know my way around a PC! Now, let me take a look at this thing. What do I use to steer this thing? There’s no gearshift!

Wade: You move the mouse, sir. But really, you don’t need to…

Jerry: A mouse? You fondle a fucking mouse to work this thing? Well, that is the gayest damn shit I ever heard, Hubba Bubba. What do we got here? “My Pictures” Wow, is that your family?

Wade: Yes. But like I said, the computer’s broken, so we should probably wait…

Jerry: Wow. Who knew they could all fit in the goddamn frame! You folks look like a big bag of Jet Puffed Marshmallows!

Wade: (very nervous) Thank you, sir. But I really do think you should just leave it…

Jerry: What’s this? “My History”?

Wade: NO! No no no, that’s nothing. You could freeze it up again, sir.

Jerry: “Givemepink.com”? I’m assuming that’s some sort of cotton candy lovers site, yes? (logs on)

Wade: SIR!

Jerry: HOOOOOOOOLEEE SHIT!!!!! Good God, I can practically see the roof of that girl’s mouth through her ass! You are one SICK FAT FUCK, chubbers!

Wade: (terrifed) Please, sir. I can explain, sir.

Jerry: And look at this Sandra girl! Holy dogshit! I didn’t even know you could put stuff in THAT hole! Maybe this computer shit ain’t so faggoty after all!

Wade: (terrifed) Please, sir. I’m begging for some discretion here.

Jerry: Oh never mind that shit, Fat Jemima. I don’t care about you gummin’ up yer keyboard with your special sauce. At least you ain’t looking at that chub porn. You can’t tell where one ass ends an the other begins when you look at that shit!

Wade: I was really just trying to open up a spreadsheet.

Jerry: Boy, the only sheet you spread is the one you use for your daily wing picnic out in the courtyard! Quit your groveling. You’ve given me a whole new idea, fatass. You know, we live in an awfully open society these days. What’s to stop anyone from hopping on this computin’ machine and checking out girls like this getting their asses hammered? I ask you: What?

Wade: Uh, nothing?

Jerry: Elementary, my dear Fatson. Nothing at all! We could use this at my new stadium!

Wade: Sir?

Jerry: Didn’t I tell you my boy ROMO was a goddamn star? Didn’t I? HE’S A GODDAMN STAR! Not only is he a star, but he’s a sex symbol! And he calls the shots for America’s sexiest team! I want my new stadium to be the most sensual new sports venue in the world! WHY SHOULD VEGAS HAVE A STRANGLEHOLD ON OPEN PUSSY?!

Wade: I think that’s a bad idea, sir. This is a family venue.

Jerry: Shut up, John Donut. If you can see it online, you should be able to see it at my stadium! Hey, Princeton Boy! Get in here!

Wade: What?

(door flies open)

Garrett: Oh, dear. A fat man with pornographic images at his computing station. Why, there’s something you see every day now, don’t you?

Wade: Oh be quiet, you big jerk.

Garrett: I’m just considering the machinations required for you to be able to manipulate yourself to orgasm. My engineering friends back in Princeton will be quite interested to know how you “pulled it off,” so to speak.

Wade: I hate you.

Jerry: Jason, what you think about having these young gash-spreaders at the opening of my new stadium?

Garrett: Hmm. Bold. Daring. Innovative. I like it, sir.

Wade: You’re just kissing his ass.

Jerry: Adam! Come look at what’s on coach’s computer!

Wade: No.

(door flies open)

Pacman: Them bitches be prudes. Ain’t no fire hose up in there. Pacman ain’t down wid it.

Jerry: Hmm. We need more feedback on this. Everyone! Can you all come in here please!

Wade: NO!

Jerry: Take a look at what Jerk Nowitzki was looking at in here.

Wade: This is the worst day ever.

Jerry: YEEEEHAW!!!! WOO HOO!!! LOOK AT THAT PORN! I’M A GODDAMN GENIUS, FATBAG! WHOOOOOOPEEEEE!!!! I AM GODDAMN CRAZY!!!

(eats Primanti sub)

Man, it’s already primary day n’at. Gotta head dahntahn. Who yinz votin’ fur? I’ve been tinkin’ real hard ahn this one, but I just can’t decide if I should vote for dat skinny black kid or dat scary-looking white dude.

(eats tray of macaroni and cheese using small shovel)

I mean, I kinda like dat black kid. I’ve never hoid a blackie talk like that. Sometime I tink he’s just a white guy who got lost in a coal mine for, like, a real long time. But den I see him ahn Oprah, and he starts with the “urban” talk, like “Yo go girl!” n’at. I don’t really like that. Why can’t dey talk normal likes us folks?

I already kinda daw-out whether the skinny black guy can do it. I voted for Swannie for governor and he didn’t win. If Swannie can’t do it, Stallworth probably couldn’t. And if Stallworth couldn’t, Yancey Thigpen would prawbably be hard-pressed. If so, this guy is just jaggin’ us around.

Yinz think they let you drink Ahrns in the voting booth?

(eats large plate of fatback, offers you some)

Did jeat yet? Jeat? Yo man, you gotta try dis. It’s like the best part of bacon! Only bigger! Anyways, I kinda like dat black kid. But I dunno, he seems awfully smart. And dose smart people, they always tink they’re better dan folks like me. I mean, I put my pants on one size-72 leg at a time. I bet dis black kid don’t. I bet he got some fancy-ass, pants-putting-on machine. The kind they give out at Harvard. I don’t like people like dat. Dey’re not real.

(drinks liquefied ham sandwich)

Den again, he seems like an okay guy. He says folks like me are bitter. And dis is true. I am bitter. BITTER THAT THOSE STUPID FUCKIN’ JAGUIRES TOOK OUT MY BELOVED STILLERS! DAT’S NOT A REAL TEAM! WHERE’S DA HISTORY?! So yeah, he was kinda right dere. I’m so pissed about that loss, I just wanna go shoot someone in the name of Jesus.

Den again, that little blackie can’t bowl! I don’t trust no one dat can’t roll. If you’re gonna come to Picksberg, you better be ready to bowl. Dat guy on dat 9/11 plane was. He said, “Let’s roll,” den came right here to Pennsylvania. Dis is where folks wanna bowl. That Yomama guy sure did bowl like a fairy. And I can’t vote for a fairy. Black is okay. But a black fairy? Dat’s like, tree strikes. Get aht tahwn, jagoff!

(folds entire Papa John’s pizza in half, eats in one bite)

I need a candidate whose gahn deal with the shit I need to get done. I want a president whose gahn make sure I can always drive my truck 100 mph down the PA turnpike and run smaller cars off da road. I need a candidate who’s gahn make sure those crazy immigrants don’t take my job, or any of this delicious blueberry pie!

(buries face in pie)

I dunno if little Urkel’s gonna do all dat. Also, he might be a terrorist.

But he might be better dan dis guy!

Hoooooo! Dat is one scary lookin’ white dude! I saw him at our bar just da other night. He had dis scary face and really HUGE ass. I mean, I seen some big asses in my day. But you could hit golf balls against dis one! I mean, he’s all right. He sounds like he’s one of us. My boy Jeff did two shots with him. Then, he threw a dart right in that ass. The dude didn’t even blink! Dat’s pretty good, if you ask me.

(eats emporer-sized PayDay bar)

Plus dis white guy likes to shoot guns. And I like to shoot guns, too! We got so much in common like dat! Not like dat Harvard guy. Plus, I kept asking dis guy what he was gonna do for me. Was he gonna help cut out a larger doorway in my house? Was he gonna lower all those taxes I pay? I paid, like, $15 last year! Bull shit! Was he gonna widen da highways so I can swerve all over da road like I love to do? Was he gonna nuke da crazy out dem towelheads?

And he said yes, he would! Dat’s good stuff.

Den again, he’s got one weird voice. I feel like I’m at da zoo whenever I hear dat shit. It makes my penis stop working.

Da real question dough is, which one of dese guys likes da Stillers most? Dat’s what’s really what matters to me most. IIIIIIIII GOT A FEEEEEEEELING PICKSBERG’S GOING TAH THE SOOPER BOWL!

Wade: Hoo boy! Preparin’ for this draft certainly has been a mountain of work. Back in my daddy’s day, we’d never have dreamed of this level of preparation: scouting reports, interviews, workouts, background checks, statistical analyses. My, my goodness. I tell ya, it’s nothing like it used to be. Heck, I could work 24 hours a day and there’d still be more to do if I wanted to!

But I tell you what. Ain’t no rule saying I can’t burn the midnight oil without treating myself to a bottle of suds or two.

(opens office mini fridge)

Yep, it’s eight o-clock. Past the point of no return. If I’m gonna be late preparing these here scouting reports, I may as well settle in for the long haul. There’s something about a beer late at the office. It makes work feel a whole lot less work-like, I reckon. I’m sure gonna enjoy this.

(pops bottle)

Now to simply bring the bottle to my lips and tip it back so that the frosty liquid can, by force of gravity, fall into my mouth…

(door flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEEEEHAAWWWWWW!!!!!! Yee! Haw! YEEHAW!

Wade: Oh, no.

Jerry: Well, well, well! Drinking on the job, are ya, Chubtard?!

Wade: Sir, I hadn’t even…

Jerry: CHUBTARD CHUBTARD CHUBTARD CHUBTARD CHUBTARD!!!! You like that name, Chubtard?! I thought of it when I was bareback riding my bull over here tonight! I like it because it says you’re both chubby AND retarded! And you are! CHUBTARD!

Wade: I don’t like that name, Sir.

Jerry: That’s what makes it so fun to say, Minister Fudge! Now, what the fuck makes your fat ass think you can drink alkeehol on the job? You don’t own this team! Know who does? Huh? Do you know, Fat The Dripper?

Wade: You do, Sir.

Jerry: YOU GODDAMN RIGHT! THE OL’ DOUBLE-J, OWNER OF THE DALLAS COWBOYS, MOST VALUABLE FRANCHISE IS ALL OF SPORTS AND CROWN JEWEL OF THE GREAT STATE OF TIXAS! TIXAS!!!!!

Wade: Yes, Sir.

Jerry: Hey, Fatlock! Only the DOUBLE-J gets to enjoy his alkeehol on the job! You got me, Faaaatlock?

Wade: Yes, Sir.

Jerry: What kinda fucking beer you drinkin’ anyhow, Chubtard? Bud Light?! BAHAHAHA! That ain’t no drink! (pours self drink that’s one half sarsaparilla and one half skin liniment) Now THERE’S a drink! I do like my sassparilly! You ever try sassparilly, Captain Cumbersome?

Wade: No, sir. Not really my cup of tea.

Jerry: Not your cup of tea? TEA? Jesus, for someone with such a loose ass, you sure are a tightass. You stir that tea with a black cock? Drink some of this, Tubby.

Wade: Sir, I…

Jerry: Just try it. You need to loosen up, Fatty. Matter of fact, put that work aside for tonight. We’re gonna get shitfaced, then we’re gonna head over to the titty bar and get TITFACED!

Wade: But these scouting reports!

Jerry: Oh, fuck the scouting reports! We’re not gonna need those this year, Pop Secret. Double-J’s got a slippery ace up his ol’ sleeve. Now drink, Dumpty! DRINK YOU BIG FAT FAGGOT!

(two hours later at a bar)

Wade: (drunk, singing) You wanna be startin’ something! You got be startin’ somethin’! Mama say mama sah nama moo sah! Mama say mama sah nama moo sah! Mama say mama sah nama moo sah!

Jerry: (also drunk) SING IT, BOY! HOO WEE, YOU’RE JUST LIKE THE FAT CHICK FROM HEART!

Wade: Mama say mama sah nama moo sah! Mama say mama sah nama moo sah! Mama say mama sah nama moo sah!

Jerry: I tell ya, you aren’t such a bad time when you got a little liquor in you, Chubtard.

Wade: Well, you never asked to hang out.

Jerry: Oh, bullllshit, you big fat dicklicker! I invite you out all the time! I invited you to my wife’s daffodil party!

Wade: You made me bartend.

Jerry: THAT’S BECAUSE EVERY GOOD PARTY NEEDS A FAT, FRIENDLY BARTENDER! IN A BOWTIE!

Wade: (does a shot) I never liked you, Jones. You ain’t no better a man than me.

Jerry: Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Chow. I didn’t mean no harm. I wouldn’t keep you around here if I didn’t think you were the right man for the job.

Wade: You mean it?

Jerry: I do.

Wade: Will you shake on that?

Jerry: I will.

(shakes Wade’s hand, knocks him out with one punch)

(cut to one day later)

Wade: Wha… where am I?

Wade: Who are all these children? (phone rings) Hello?

Jerry: YEEEEEEHAW!!!!!! WAKE UP, CHUBTARD!

Wade: Where am I?

Jerry: You are at a home I recently purchased for a young man named Darren McFadden. And, more specifically, for his many various offspring.

Wade: But why?

Jerry: I told you my boy ROMO was goddamn STAR, didn’t I? And I told you he needed more stars, did I not? Well, this young man is a goddamn SUPERSTAR! And we’re gonna make him the next great running back for the Dallas Cowboys! I’m trading all our picks to get him! But I need my boy MCFADDEN to focus! I can’t have him worrying about those little babies scurrying around and shitting all over the place! YOU will get to oversee their growth and what not personally. It’s Fatty Day Care!!!

Wade: So this is why you got me drunk? So you could trap me here!

Jerry: That’s my boy Wade! Always figuring out shit AFTER it’s happened! Way to go, Tits-fer-brains! Now listen, those octuplets need formula on a staggered rotation of every five minutes! And you better get it to them soon! Darren ain’t been home for seven days! Look how pale those little bastards are! They’re barely half-Negro anymore! There’s also three more kids upstairs. And six more in the basement. And his latest, Superb, is due from the hospital later today. Oh, and there’s Maury.

Maury: Hey.

Wade: Who’s Maury?

Jerry: He’s Darren’s oldest son. Make sure he gets his Weetabix in the mornin’, or he gets feisty!

Maury: Where’s my cereal, bitch?

Wade: But who will take care of the team while I’m doing this?

Jerry: You can talk to him yourself.

(passes phone)

Garrett: Hmm. I was told those children needed a father figure. But you’re more figure than father now, aren’t you?

Wade: You dirty snake!

Garret: Oops. Gotta run. Ta!

(passes phone back)

Wade: Shit.

Jerry: Enjoy the not-quite-miracle of foster fatherhood, Chubtard! YEEEEEHAWWWWW!!! WOOOO HOOOOOOO I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!

Think I’m finally getting a handle on all this grief weight. I know the founder of Popeyes isn’t coming back, but he’d want us to soldier on in his memory.

And there are really so many fast food options, for all parts of the day. Heck, Taco Bell invented a whole new meal. A fourth meal.

I’m like Prufrock — I can measure out my day in drivethroughs. But I’m thinking healthy now. Maybe I’ll use one of those fancy innernet gizmos to map out my course of eating tomorrow. This time, I might even walk it.

Let me just sign in real quick.

Hey, what’s this?

“Egg McMuffin inventor Herb Peterson dies”

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

[Eats handful of Funyuns]

Omm mom mom erm foom

[Giants voluntary off-season workouts]

Trainer: Lorenzen! You’ve put on another 10 pounds. Jesus, son. The season ain’t been over but a month and a half.

Lorenzen: [Entire chicken in mouth] Mmmpppharm aarrphumm eb fffajjmack

Eli Manning: Jared, I thought we agreed that you were gonna get more active this year. Y’know marking the 10th anniversary of the Subway Jared’s dropping 245 pounds. Strahan even got the secret from him: eating Subway sandwiches while recuperating from gastric bypass surgery.

Lorenzen: Haarrfff faarrfff nnnarrfff

Manning: Okay, uh, please take the chicken out of your mouth.

[Removes chicken, then another behind it]

Lorenzen: But the founder of Popeyes just died! It’s grief-related weight!

Manning: You do know the chain isn’t going anywhere, right? It’s a massive corporation with 1,800 locations in 20 countries. That guy probably wasn’t even involved with it at the time of his death.

Lorenzen: It’s not going away?

[Removes 12 biscuits from jacket and pants pockets, sheepishly places them on nearby table]

Manning: It can’t keep going on like this. I know, with David Carr coming in, you’ve fallen to fourth on the depth chart. But after Carr and I declare our love with a white-gloved double-suicide, you’ll be right behind Anthony Wright. You’ve got to be in game shape.

Lorenzen: Look: I’m incorporating extra movements into my daily routine like you said. I press at least three more buttons on the microwave than necessary. I took that flatscreen out of my fridge. I took the minifridge out of my nightstand. When I go to McDonald’s with my lady, I make sure to eat at least three napkins for vitamins. Don’t I, bacon bits?

Tamara Lorenzen: [mutters affirmative tone with chicken in mouth]

Lorenzen: I tried everything to deflect my mind from food. Really, I have.

Religion.

Art.

Even doting on our pets.

I tell you it don’t work! I’m just destined to be fatty forever and ever. It’s a curse I got to live with.

[Lorenzen sobs. Eli turns away in disgust, whereupon Lorenzen begins stuffing biscuits back in pocket]

Wade: Welp, I’d say this has been a solid offseason so far for us. We had that tough go of it against those pesky Giants, but dangit if they didn’t go hog wild and win that Lombardi Trophy! My my my! I think that’s a good sign for us as a team. We’re a bunch of young’uns, and now these boys know what it’s gonna take to get that ring.

Mostly, I’m glad Mr. Jones saw it in his heart to give me a second chance. This coachin’ life can git pretty darn lonely sometimes. Movjn’ around all over the country, you ain’t got no time to put roots down. Friends seem to come and go just like that. But we’re finally out of the crazy season, and maybe Darlene and I can finally go out on the town with a few of the neighbors, make some new friends, and have ourselves a spot of fun for once in a blue moon. Matter of fact, think I’ll arrange a dinner party at PF Chang’s this very same day. Hoowee, the Mrs. will be surprised at ol’ Wade takin’ a little bit of the initiative and makin’ plans!

(picks up phone)

I wonder if they still have those lettuce wraps. I sure do like the way they…

Jerry: YEEEEEEEEHAAWWWWWW!!!!!! Say, is it fat in here, or is it just YOU?! YOU FAT FUCKING GLOP OF SHIT!

Wade: Oh, no.

Jerry: On the phone with the delivery boy again, Fleshy Gordon? Don’t you know that if you keep makin’ that poor Chinaman pedal his bike over here, his little chopstick legs’ll fall off! MY GOD, YOU’RE FORCING HIM TO RIDE THE TOUR DE SHRIMP TOAST, YOU BIG FAT ASSHOLE! I see March Fatness arrived RIGHT ON TIME FOR YOU this year!

Wade: Sir, I’m making plans for the evening, if you don’t mind.

Jerry: Never mind that, Divine. I’ve got shit for you to do. Besides, I’m assuming the only plans you’re making for the evening involve a pint of Dulce De Leche and kneading your pork loin to a copy of Vanity Fair your old lady left lying around the house!

Wade: I was trying to schedule a dinner date actually.

Jerry: Son, you married dinner a long time ago. THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR YOUR FAT ASS TO BE MAKIN’ PLANS WITHOUT THE DOUBLE-J’S CONSENT, TUBBALICIOUS!

Wade: Sir, it was just one night.

Jerry: Well, table it, Rush-to-eat Limburger. WE ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF FREE AGENCY! And I want this team to make a splash! Why do you think I kept you around, Fatty? If I’m gonna make a splash, I may as well keep the man who can drain an ocean basin just by dipping his toe in it! Now, if I learned anything from this season, it’s that my boy ROMO is a goddamn STAR! But it’s not enough to have just one STAR! We need a whole shitload of stars here so that my boy ROMO doesn’t feel all that pressure. AND I DON’T SEE ANY STARS COMIN’ THROUGH THAT DOOR, BAREFOOT CONTESSA!

Wade: Well, we were able to bring in Zach Thomas…

Jerry: That’s wonderful, Tubby. I’m glad you and the grease stains on your Wranglers liked that signing. BUT ZACH THOMAS AIN’T NO STAR! I wanted Randy Moss walking through that door, and all I got was Jason Taylor’s retard brother-in-law! His decline is as inevitable as Barack Obama’s future assassination! I want NEWSMAKERS, you fat fucking crescent roll. I’m askin’ for delivery and you’re givin’ me DiGiornio. And DiGiornio AIN’T SHIT!

Wade: Well, what do you suggest?

(door flies open)

Pacman: Where them bitches at?

Wade: Oh, no. No way. That feller ain’t nothin’ but trouble.

Jerry: GODDAMN RIGHT HE IS! He‘s perfect! Just think, every time my boy ROMO takes Jessica Simpson down to the Caymans for a good Texas tenderizin’, my boy ADAM here’ll be raisin’ hell to keep those fat, disgusting reporters distracted. Ain’t that right, Adam?

Pacman: There’s too much light in this club. That bitch too fat with all this light. I NEED A COKE.

Jerry: Settle down, Adam. This is not actually the strip club. We had to stop here in Coach Quizno’s office here before we get to the club. Remember how I told you not to throw quarters at our receptionist?

Pacman: Man, fuck that bitch.

Wade: We can’t sign him! He’s not even reinstated!

Jerry: Listen, fatass. I am working diligently with the league office to get my boy ADAM here back on the field. Don’t you doubt the Double-J’s ability to make that happen. I got more pull in that office than you do at the Dunkin Donuts register! Adam is good young man. He’s just got a little sickness, you see. He has a very specific kind of agoraphobia that keeps him from feeling comfortable outside his safe place. It’s just that HIS safe place is the Gold Club.

Pacman: TURN THE FUCKING MUSIC UP! I CAN HEAR MYSELF THINK!

Wade: Well, what do I do about it?

Jerry: That’s just the thing. YOU will be chaperoning Adam from club to club through the duration of his stay in our fine, stripper-laden city. Way I figure it, with your fat ass there, there’ll ALWAYS be somethin’ in the way of Adam and any kind of trouble. He won’t be able to flick nary a clitoris without having to traverse your mammoth terrain first. It’d be like tryin’ to give Jupiter a reacharound.

Wade: Sir!

Jerry: Just you wait, Adam. You’re gonna feel REAL safe in this town. You’re gonna be tits deep in SMU commuter student pussy in no time!

Wade: This is incredibly inappropriate, Sir. I do not feel comfortable in the confines of a strip club.

Jerry: Oh, loosen up Turnblad, if it’s physically possible for you to loosen up your body more than you already have. I’m sending you to the titty bar FOR WORK! THIS IS HOW BUSINESS GETS DONE IN TEXAS, GUMGUZZLER!

Wade: We’ve got a lot of draft prep to do and more. Who’s gonna do all that if I have to stay with him 24/7?

(door flies open)

Garrett: Oh, dear. I was told to beware the peptides of March. Yet here they are in their most corpulent manifestation.

Wade: YOU! I thought you were dead!

Garrett: Hmm. Yes. Indeed. Ha ha. I’m afraid you fell for a bit of a ruse, my fudgy friend.

Wade: What?!

Jerry: Oh come on now, DJ Bisquick, you didn’t think I’d actually shoot my boy GARRETT, didja? HOW ELSE WAS I SUPPOSED TO GET THAT FAT COCKSUCKER PARCELLS OFF THE PHONE? I gave Princeton Boy here a new contract. $4 million a year ain’t too much for my boy wonder!

Wade: But that’s more than I make!

Jerry: Which is why you get to escort Adam here to the ol’ Poon Saloon! NOW GET YOUR ASS OUTTA HERE. I DON’T WANNA SEE YOU BACK HERE UNTIL ALL YOUR CASH IS GONE AND YOU SMELL LIKE SOMEONE DUMPED A GALLON OF JESSICA SIMPSON’S DESSERT PERFUME ON YOU!

Pacman: Hey Fatman, let’s go get pussymad.

Wade: This sucks.

Jerry: WAAAAAHOOOOOOO!!!!! GET CHANGE FOR A HUNDRED AND BURY THEM ELBOWS IN SOME TEXAS ‘TANG, YOU FUCKING FAT PIECE OF OSSO BUCO! NYEEEEEHAW I AM FUCKIN’ CRAZY!!!!

I like this new Cleveland team. I like the way they do business. I get traded, and then they give me $20 million dollars.

That is some good shit.

I tell you this, $20 million gonna buy a lotta hotcakes. I had planned on just having a steak and a milkshake for my 1 o’clock lunch. Then maybe another steak and milkshake for my 1:30 lunch. But with this $20 million in my pocket, ain’t no reason I can’t go get myself a big stack of them hotcakes.

I know IHOP usually be for Sundays, but this different. I bet they let me in right away. I bet they’d even let me have a booth table, so long as they press the table against the other side of the booth so’s I can be accomodated.

Then, I’mma order me some hotcakes.

You get them hotcakes right off the griddle, and that shit be good. I bet I can even request a separate scoop of whipped butter for each cake, and that would be good as well. I bet, for $20 million, they even give me two kinds of fruit.

You know what would be good on them hotcakes? Chocolate cake.

I’m gonna wear a suit when I get them hotcakes. Because this is a double special occasion. I wonder if they could dip the hotcakes in eggs, so that I can have French hotcakes, because that would be very expensive and international. I bet that how Donald Trump eat them hotcakes.

I like hotcakes.

When Quinn walked into the green room for the NFL Draft last April, he probably thought he was going to be a top ten pick, maybe even go number one. But he didn’t, as you’ll recall. He went 22nd.

When Charlie Frye shit the bed in Week One, Quinn thought he was probably going to get a huge bump in playing time, maybe even start a few games in his rookie season. But he didn’t. Derek Anderson jumped in and set the NFL ablaze, jump-starting the Browns to a 10-win season, and probably saving Battletoad Crennel’s job in the process.

And when Horse Balls finally got paid in free agency, with guaranteed money nearly double what Quinn is slated to earn, one would suspect that the Columbus, Ohio native had finally learned his place in the League.

Yeah, not so much. He’s expecting an open competition in training camp.

“My whole goal is preparing myself and getting ready to try to take over the starting job and lead this team,” Quinn said Saturday during [sexual intercourse with two other men, three underage boys, and a dalmatian for] an appearance at an auto show.

Browns GM Phil Savage, who’s like Ozzie Newsome, except he’s white and never played in the league, and a lot younger, has Anderson locked in as the starter:

“When you sign a contract like we did with Derek, I don’t think there’s going to be an ‘open [rest stop exit for homosexual athletes to engage in any sort of] competition’,” Browns general manager Phil Savage said. “We go in with Derek as the lead horse. You don’t sign a contract like that and say, ‘hey, it’s an open competition’.”

However, Coach Crennel is insinuating that Brady Lite will get a look:

“You have to [have the occasional sphincter stretching if you expect to get better as a football team or they're gonna bring in some damn white boy to] compete for your job. That’s the same at the quarterback spot [where we have a nice dichotomy between super-masculine and downright Nancified, and then a third guy who I don't know much about]. Both of those guys [and that one girl from Notre Dame] are going to compete and then we’ll see who gives us the best chance. We’ve always done it that way and that’s what we’re going to do [right after I polish off this rack of ribs, some baked beans, slaw, brisket, pork tenderloin and extra-large Barqs root beer. Holy shit, I love root beer].”

I’ll never understand coachspeak.

Wade: Oh, God no. Oh, God. Oh, this is not happening. NOT happening. 13-3 right down the toilet. Must be something I can do. Think, Wade! THINK, you ol’ dog you! He’ll be here any second. Maybe I should just start clearing out my desk now! Yes, yes! Gotta do that.

(starts clearing out desk)

Dag gummit! I can’t clean all this in time! Better take only what I truly cherish. This photo of my family and the pen my father gave me. No time for anything else!

What’s that sound? Oh, God! It’s him!

(door flies open)

Garrett: There you are! Oh, my portly comrade, we have to do something! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME, GOOD MAN! He simply won’t listen to reason!

Wade: You expect me to help you, after all you’ve done to undermine my authority?

Garrett: But you never HAD any authority to begin with! Besides, I am at the mere beginning of a very long and decorated career. Don’t you see how much I have to lose compared to you, my porky little pepperpot? Surely my various machinations against you were not meant personally, Good Sir! But you know as well as I what a cutthroat business this is consuming us! Here, now, in this terrible crucible, we must forge an unlikely bond to withstand the coming hurricane!

Wade: I don’t know…

Garrett: Please! You must trust me! I have a Princeton degree that explicitly states I am unable to fail at life. The frostbitten testicles I incurred during Sophomore streak shan’t go in vain!

Wade: Fine. FINE! What do you suggest?

Garrett: We blame… THE ITALIAN!

Wade: Sparano?

Garrett: Yes, that’s his name! Very shady fellow. Not of good heritage. Has an unpleasant odor. Looks a little like Victor Conte. I don’t care for Italians. They are a duplicitous, grabby race of people.

Wade: I don’t know. That seems awfully immoral.

Garrett: Is football a moral game, my rotund friend? Does the best man ALWAYS win? Does the scoreboard care for our transgressions? No. Football cares not for ethical values. It is strictly a game of survival, like life at its very core. You and I. WE MUST SURVIVE!

Wade: Oh, fine. We’ll blame him. He’s outta here today anyway.

Garrett: Good! Now quick! Let’s hide!

(They hide in a closet.)

Wade: (whispers) You know, you make a good point, Jason. I never felt like Tony was 100% on board with us. Going off to Bristol to film segments with Kenny Mayne. Sending tape of our practices to Parcells. Selling shoplifted pashminas in the press box during games. Entitling this week’s o-line game plan “Jailbreak”. I always wondered if he was the right man to help us, or if he…

(door flies open)

Jerry: WHERE IS THAT BIG FAT SHIT?! WHERE IS THAT ENORMOUS, FESTERING WASTE-OF-LIFE THAT CLOGGED UP MY SIDELINES FOR EIGHTEEN POINTLESS WEEKS?! THAT FUCKING HUMAN HOT AIR BALLOON? WHERE THE NO-GOOD, WESSON-GUZZLING MEATMUFFIN THAT RUINED MY BOY ROMO?!

Oh, I see. HIDING AGAIN, are you? Haven’t we played this game before, Peter Panna cotta? Haven’t we proved, again and again, that your fat, disgusting ass will leave an easy-to-follow, snail-like trail anywhere you go?! It’s just like a following a legless woman on the rag! I can smell the friction between your thighs, CHOKOZUNA!

(closet flies open)

Garrett: Right here, Jerry! I’ve caught him! See? I’ve found him!

Wade: “Caught” me? Why, you no-good, cotton-pickin…

Jerry: Well, well, well. If it isn’t The Cabinet of Dr. Calimari! I GOT A PEDESTAL IN MY TROPHY CASE AWAITING YOUR SORRYASS EXPLANATION, JELLYTITS! TOO BUSY COUNTING UP ALL YOUR POINTS FROM PLATE WATCHERS?!!!!

Wade: Sir, I apologize to you. I am sorry that we lost yesterday. I tried to prepare the men best I could. But, in the end, it wasn’t enough. It happens, I’ve found. You feel like you’ve done everything you can, and yet, things can still go awry. And I learned long ago not to kill myself over things I only have so much control over. I wish our effort had been good enough for you. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t good enough. And I’m not good enough. And that’s the way it is. You’ve got a younger, hungrier coach here ready to take over. And I can’t blame you for that. I’ll be packing up my things and leaving now. I’m gonna go home to my God and my family, and pray to be a better man.

Jerry: Hold up there, Tubby.

Wade: You mean, you’re not firing me?

Jerry: BAHAHAHAHAHA! Of course, I’m firing you! Nothing more fun than firing a fat man! Nothing like seeing the fat in his eye sockets droop when you let him know he’s a sorry excuse for a human being! YOU ARE FUCKING FIRED, FATSO!

Wade: Oh.

Jerry: How could you choke like that? You know why I hired you, Biglardo Tubbs? BECAUSE YOUR FAT ASS COULDN’T POSSIBLY CHOKE ON ANYTHING! You’ve got the gag reflexes of Miley Cyrus after swilling a gallon of HGH!

Wade: I don’t know.

Jerry: Well, that’s a typical answer. YOU’RE FUCKING FIRED TWICE OVER, YOU FAT FUCK.

Wade: Okay. I get it. I’ll go.

Jerry: Oh, no. I don’t think so, White Oprah. I ain’t done with you, yet. Since you are no longer in my employ, I dare say that you are hereby trespassin’ on my poppity. AND YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS IN TEXAS WHEN YOU TRESPASS ON ANOTHER MAN’S POPPITY?!

(takes out silver-plated shotgun)

Jerry: Boys, say hello to Danielle. She’s my favorite shotgun. Used her to gun down a truckload of Guatamalan meat packers out in Odessa, and she’s never let me down. UNLIKE YOU!

Wade: HOLY SHIT! HE’S GOT A GUN! Sir! Wait! Don’t do this! It’s not right!

Jerry: If shootin’ a fat man is wrong, I DON’T WANNA BE RIGHT!

(blows hole in the wall)

Wade: Sir, you’re overreacting!

Jerry: Overreacting? My boy ROMO is a goddamn STAR! And you ruined him! You and Princeton Fag over here!

Garrett: Me? Surely you jest!

Jerry: Surely I jest? Jest this, you fucking Northern flamer.

(shoots Garrett in the head)

Jerry: That’s what you get for tryin’ to put too many ingredients in the goddamn BBQ sauce!

Wade: Oh my God. HE’S DEAD! YOU KILLED HIM!

Jerry: Didn’t I tell you I was crazy? I AM FUCKING CRAZY!

Wade: Don’t kill me, Sir. I have a wife. A family. I’m a good man!

Jerry: Oh, I’m not gonna kill you. Not yet, least. No, there’s something I’ve been wantin’ to do since the day I hired you. (undoes belt buckle) Time to put the ol’ Double-J brand on this steer!

Wade: NO, PLEASE!

Jerry: I’d tell ya to squeal like a pig, BUT YOU ARE A PIG. SO JUST FUCKING SQUEAL, WILBUR!

Wade: (pulls down pants, bends over) How did I let myself get into this?

Jerry: YEEHAW!!!!! WOOHOO!!!! TAKE THAT FLAVOR INJECTOR, RUMP ROAST!!! I AM FUCKIN’ CRAZY!!!!!

I can’t believe this! We go 10 and fucking 6 for the first time since I don’t even know when, and we get knocked out of the playoffs all because those pansyass Titans got to play the scout team for the Colts’ scout team? This is such BULLSH…

Oh my God! Oh my God! Someone left a sock lying on the ground! It’s mine! IT’S MINE!!!!!

(gets sock)

God, I love socks. This one looks like it was in the gutter for a bit!

What was I saying? Oh yeah. The fact that such an inspirational season ended this way is horseshit! How can the Browns be sitting at home when the 9-7 Redskins get to go? The fucking Redskins? That fucking NFC, man. It’s so arbi…

HOLY SHIT, THAT MAN OVER THERE THREW THE END OF HIS HOT DOG BUN ON THE GROUND! GIMME GIMME GIMME!!!!

(scarfs it up)

Oh, yeah. Oh, YEAH. That is a treat and a half.

(licks balls)

Can someone scratch my belly? It’s been ages since I had me a good belly scratching.

This is a very sad day to be a Browns fan. But this has been a season of hope, and I am not going to lose hope now. We have a great young team and the foundation is set for…

A FUCKING UPS GUY? WHERE?! LET’S GO GET HIM! LET’S GO EAT HIS ASSHOLE OUT!

(panting)

YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE DOOR, UPS GUY. STAY AWAY OR I WILL CLAMP DOWN ON YOUR PANT LEG LIKE ROSEANNE BARR ON A FRESH COCK.

What was I saying? Oh yeah, I really liked what I saw from Derek Anderson. He’s a real leader, and…

(sees female Browns fan)

MATE MATE MATE!

(runs after female Browns fan with cock out)

(jumps on top of female Browns fan and forcibly enters her)

Well, I guess the season didn’t end THAT bad.

(sniffs)

Oh my God! Iiiiiiiiiiit’s bacon! Only one thing smells like bacon, and that’s BACON! Where where where is it? Bacon bacon bacon bacon!

(sniffs)

Mister, show me what’s in the bag! PLEASE!!!!

IT’S BACON!