Ted Allen: Four chefs. Three courses. One amazing meal. The stakes have never been higher. The ingredients have never been more outrageous. Who will come on top in this very special Super Bowl competition, and walk home with $10,000? And who will be sent home? Let’s meet our contestants.

Tommy: FACK YOU! COOKING SHOWS AHHHH FAHHH FAGGOTS! Now 90210? That’s a real man’s show! I bet Grawnk wawtches it while he’s fackin’ a porn stahhhhhh!

Fat Hump: My name is John Johnson. I live and work right here in Indianapolis. I’ve worked for many acclaimed chefs in my lifetime. Papa John. Tony Roma. Mr. Quizno. Culinary giants. I’d like to think that I have what it takes to win the ten grand. My focus is on bold flavors, but I also like down home comfort food in extremely large, unhealthy portions.

Sex Cannon: You know my name. My cooking is pure pussybait. One whiff of my gastrique, and the panties go a-droppin’.

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: Hey yo, I’m Vinny Scagdaviglio. My boys back at Wolfgang’s will KILL ME if I don’t beat these pussies! I’M ITALIAN! I COME FROM A BIG FAMILY THAT LOVES TO EAT! TOTALLY UNIQUE FROM OTHER STANDARD NEW YORKERS!

Tommy: You’re a faggot!

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: Eat shit!

Ted Allen: There are three rounds: appetizer, entrée, and dessert. Each round comes with its own mystery basket of ingredients. You MUST use every ingredient in your basket in some way. Also available to you: our pantry and fridge. Each round is timed. Your dishes will be judged based on Presentation, Taste, and also Creativity. If your dish does not cut it, you will be chopped.

(awkward five second shot of each contestant reacting to that news)

Ted Allen: Please, open your baskets. (watches them open baskets) And your appetizers must include…

MISO PASTE…

PIG’S FEET…

PEANUT BUTTER…

and MILK DUDS.

Tommy: The fuck is miso paste? THIS SMELLS LIKE SLOPE FOOD!

Ted Allen: Twenty minutes on the clock, and your time starts NOW.

(everyone rushes to the pantry)

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: I haven’t had Milk Duds since I was a kid goin’ to the movies, you know?! I was eating them and fingerfucking Donna Scududa at the same time! HIGH FIVE, AMIRITE?!

Sex Cannon: I look at the basket, and instantly my dick gets hard. MISO HORNY. I know immediately where I’m going with this. I’m gonna whore this basket. I’m gonna drop a gallon of cum in this basket. The $10,000 is in the bag.

Tommy: PIG’S FEET AHHH FAHHH FACKIN’ DAHKIES!

Fat Hump: I see everyone jockeying for ingredients, but I like to move at my own pace. I’m quite slow. I see these ingredients, and I think BACON. Everyone likes bacon, right? So I am going to make a peanut butter bacon loaf with bacon croutons, served with a warm bacon fat cocktail on the side. I feel like that’s a good representation of who I am as a chef. I have NOT worked with pig’s feet before. I didn’t even know pigs had feet, to be honest. Was I not supposed to eat all my Milk Duds just now? Because I did.

Ted Allen: While they’re getting busy in the kitchen, let’s meet our judges. He’s the master of high end New York cooking, Geoffrey Zakarian.

Zakarian: (awkward nod to the camera)

Tommy: HE LOOKS LIKE A GIRL!

Ted Allen: The queen of fine dining, Alex Guarnaschelli.

Alex: (terrifying, unnatural smile)

Sex Cannon: Aw man, where’s Freitag? I wanna bend her over the chopping block and show her my rolling pin.

Ted Allen: And modern Italian master, Scott Conant.

Conant: (flashes creepy beard stubble)

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: CONANT! MY BOY! Us goombas gotta stick together, AMIRITE?!

Conant: (smiles that kind of smile where it’s clear that he hates you)

Zakarian: This is not an easy basket by any stretch of the imagination. Pig’s feet have a gelatinous texture that some people find offputting, so you really have find a delicate balance there.

Conant: I think the miso paste may be the trickiest element in this basket.

Alex: Agreed.

Conant: It’s got a kind of cloying sweetness that can overpower everything else, so they’re gonna have to transform that ingredient.

Sex Cannon: I’m roasting the pig’s feet with some Chinese five spice and pink sea salt, and I’m gonna serve it on a warm radicchio salad with a peanut/miso dressing. Then I’m gonna put one of my ball hairs on top for garnish and I’m gonna watch Queen Bitch over there choke it down.

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: Pig’s feet? What a fucking shit ingredient. That’s poor people food. That ain’t proper Italian food. I’m making a Brooklyn-style pizza, with the feet, and it’s gonna be in the shape of a foot. FUCKING PLAYFUL.

Tommy: I am making CHOWDAH! Fack these quee-ah ingredients. No one wants to see those ingredients in a championship Chawpped matchup. NO ONE DENIES THIS.

(throws basket away)

Alex: Did you see that? Tommy just threw out his entire basket.

Zakarian: He’s also putting clamshells in the blender. I’m extremely concerned.

Fat Hump: I see the clock counting down, and it’s going very fast! And I take a look at my bacon loaf, and it is NOT cooking through. This is a problem. I gotta improvise. I’m gonna wrap it in seaweed and do a kind of Indiana take on traditional sushi. Now I’m thinking I got a real chance. Now I’m thinking I can really win this thing!

Tommy: I AM LOOKING AROUND FAHHH THE HEAVY CREAM AND THEY-AHHH IS NO HEAVY CREAM! SHADES OF TYREE! If I lose because of this, it won’t be becawse the othah chefs ahhh bettah! It’ll just be luck!

Zakarian: Did you see John’s work station? He’s left bacon drippings all over everything and hasn’t cleaned any of it up. I have a real problem with that.

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: I get that miso and I smell it and it’s fucking gross. Like, I don’t get why some guys have yellow fever. That’s never been my thing. Anyway, I look over at Conant, and I know he hates red onions. But he’s never had MY red onions. I’m gonna make him the best red onion carpaccio he’s ever tasted. It’s a risky move, I know it’s gonna pay off.

Conant: Is he using red onions? What is he, a fucking asshole?

Ted Allen: One minute to go, chefs!

Zakarian: I’m really worried they’re not gonna get everything on the plate.

Alex: GET IT ON THE PLATE.

Tommy: FACK YOU, YOU FAT CUNT!

Sex Cannon: Everyone else is frantic, but I finished nineteen minutes go. Then I ripped a bong hit and nailed a production assistant. This is NOTHING.

Alex: I think Rex really used his time poorly. He could have used that time to COOK his pig’s feet.

Ted Allen: And ten, nine, eight, seven…

Tommy: SHIT!

Ted Allen: Six, five, four, three, two, one… TIME’S UP! STEP AWAY!

Fat Hump: I look down at the plate, feeling great, and suddenly I realize: THE PEANUT BUTTER. I forgot the peanut butter. Mainly because I smeared it on my Andrew Luck jersey and ate it.

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: I’m looking at all the other plates. Tommy’s got a bowl of milky chowder jizz. The Fat Hump forgot 27 ingredients. And Grossman made a salad. Pathetic. I’m not losing.

Ted Allen: You have arrived at the chopping block. Four of you were here. But soon, there will only be three.

Tommy: We can do math, dicksuckah!

Ted Allen: Chef Tommy, tell us what you’ve prepared.

Tommy: CLAM CHOWDAH! WITH REAL CLAMS! NONE OF THOSE FAGGOT CLAM STRIPS! I’m nawt worried about you hating my dish. I have the backing of the PEDROIAH FAITHFUL. Did you see how we made Cunty Cundiff miss that kick? OW-AH MAGIC!

Zakarian: Well, the soup is divine. It has that great clammy taste that you want out of a clam chowder, and you had a deft touch with the milk.

Tommy: Thanks, dickhead!

Zakarian: But I’m not getting the pig’s feet. Or the miso paste. Or the peanut butter. Or the Milk Duds. You didn’t really use anything in the basket.

Tommy: Yeah no, fack that basket.

Zakarian: This is a serious competition. You can’t just make anything you like.

Tommy: AHHH YOU TRYING TO EDIT ME? NO ONE EDITS ME! STET ALL CHANGES!

Ted Allen: Chef Rex, tell us what you’ve prepared.

Sex Cannon: What you have in front of you is a warm pig’s feet salad with a peanut/miso dressing. I melted down the Milk Duds and made a Asian/Latin mole sauce with it, to give the pig’s feet that extra dimension.

Conant: This is excellent.

Sex Cannon: Thank you, Chef. I like to cook because I think it expresses so much about who I am, and it allows me to express what it means to be human. Also, it gets me blowjobs.

Alex: (frowning)

Sex Cannon: The fuck is your problem? Everyone else liked it.

Alex: Well, you’ve got this great-tasting dish. I’m just curious as to why you served it all on top of an old issue of Club International magazine.

Sex Cannon: That’s presentation. I serve my food HOT. If that’s too edgy for you. If you need to play it a little safer, honey, then whatever.

Alex: (ten minute stare)

Sex Cannon: Can you stop staring at me for so long?

Ted Allen: Chef John, tell us what you’ve prepared.

Fat Hump: What I’ve made today is a bacon sushi roll, served with a bacon jus, and topped with Cool Whip.

Alex: Did you make the Cool Whip yourself?

Fat Hump: No, ma’am. I don’t mess with perfection.

Alex: Well, I have to say (ten minute pause where it seems like she’s about to say she hates it)… I LOVED THE DISH.

Fat Hump: Whew! Thank you.

Zakarian: Well, it’s certainly whimsical. But, there are so many technical flaws here that I can’t overlook. The bacon is quite underdone in the center. Raw, really.

Fat Hump: I kind of like my bacon rare, to be frank.

Zakarian: (stares at him like he’s about to rip his heart out)

Ted Allen: Thank you, Chef John. Now, Chef Vinny.

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: Hey, I’m Italian, so I made a pizza. The fuck you gonna do, right? Had to stay true to my roots.

Tommy: ROOTS IS A DAHKIE SHOW!

Conant: Did you use any red onions in here?

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: About six pounds worth, yes.

Conant: Okay, you know I hate red onions, right?

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: Well I…

Conant: No, no, no. Let me finish. I hate red onions. And you gave me red onions. What do I do with you?

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: I think you’re wrong for not liking it. It’s awesome. I’ll defend my dish. I’m not gonna go home just because you have some gay onion allergy.

Zakarian: I loved your pizza, but I’d like to know why Scott and Alex got Milk Duds and I didn’t. (death stare) I would have liked to taste that, but you forgot it and now I’ll never get that chance, which is awful and horrible and it’s all your fault.

Ted Allen: Thank you, chefs. Our judges will now deliberate.

(they all leave)

Conant: Vinny has watched this show before. He knows I hate red onions. And what does he do? Red onions on his pizza. Is he retarded?

Alex: I liked that dish!

Conant: Oh give me a break.

Alex: I could see his soul in that dish. To me, he had the best cooked pig’s feet of the bunch.

Zakarian: But what about Rex? His dish was technically flawless. You just didn’t like the presentation.

Alex: He served it on a vagina.

Zakarian: I thought that was kind of daring. He’s the first Chopped contestant to use non-plates for plates.

Conant: Then you had that chowder that Tommy made.

Zakarian: It was good, but are we really gonna give him $10,000 for chowder?

Tommy: I FACKIN’ HEARD THAT!

Zakarian: What did we make of John’s dish? I mean, the portion size was INSANE! My plate was enough to feed sixteen people!

Alex: (reading from network script) There were some good dishes there, but were any of them TEN THOUSAND DOLLAR DISHES? Such a hard choice.

Ted Allen: Do you know who you want to chop?

Alex: Oh yeah. Very easy choice.

(everyone comes back in)

Ted Allen: For one of you, this is the end of the road. So… who’s dish is on the chopping block?

(lifts up plate cover, revealing all four dishes)

Tommy: FACK YOU!

Ted Allen: Chef Tommy, Chef Vinny, Chef Rex, Chef John–you’ve all been chopped. Judges?

Alex: Chefs, we were really impressed with your work today.

Fat Hump: Really?

Alex: No. All of you were horrible. And for that reason, we had to chop you.

Sex Cannon: Total bullshit. I don’t agree with judges at all. You haven’t heard the last of me. I’m gonna be making more pigs’ feet and scorin’ more tail and that’s no bullshit.

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: They fucking chopped me! What are my PAESANOS back home gonna say? WE ITALIANS LIKE BUSTING BALLS!

Fat Hump: Certainly, I’m disappointed. I think, you know, maybe they weren’t ready for something that bold. I have no regrets. I made my food, my way, and at the end of the day, I’m proud of myself. I’m going places. You watch.

(dies of heart attack)

Dungy: It is Christmas. CHRIST MASS. And yet, I do not feel that my beloved National Football League is operating as a proper vehicle for our Lord. Look at the way we’ve commercialized and bastardized the purity of Tim Tebow’s faith. There is a young man who knows MORAL COURAGE, a young man who isn’t afraid to speak out against abominations like ABORTION, and GAYS, and GAYBORTIONS. And yet, he’s been reduced to a mere talking point for the secular fundamentalists in our mainstream media! IS NOTHING SACRED?!

And now, as we near the birthday of our Savior Jesus Christ, I’m more concerned than ever. That filthy Rex Ryan and his band of dirty Jets players are STILL in the playoff hunt! This cannot be! What kind of country will we find ourselves living in if these, these… MISCREANTS were allowed into the postseason yet again! These are not ETHICAL creatures. They have refused my guidance at every conceivable turn, and now is the time for me to ACT! I must bring in one of my most trusted allies. Sergeant?

(door flies open)

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: THIS FUCKING GROUP OF CUMSWILLING MATCHDICKS OF MINE ARE SHIT! I HAD A FUCKING BATTLE PLAN IN PLACE AND THESE FRESHFACED, DAISY-PICKING SHEETBANGERS COULDN’T CATCH THE BALL IF IT HAD A FUCKING CHOCOLATE-COVERED THOUSAND DOLLAR BILL ATTACHED TO IT! FUCK!

Dungy: Dearest Coach Coughlin. You are a man of moral standing, are you not?

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: FUCKING GODDAMN RIGHT I AM. I HAVE TRIED TIME AND AGAIN TO INSTILL SOME DISCIPLINE IN ELI MANNING. I GUESS NOW I’LL HAVE TO PUT ON THE LATEX GLOVES AND DO IT RECTALLY. THAT BOY’S TESTICLES ONLY COME OUT ONCE A MONTH! FUCKING STILL SUCKING ON HIS MOM’S MILKY CLIT, THAT ONE.

Dungy: You must help me. You must do whatever you can to ensure that you triumph over those Jets this coming Sunday. We cannot have the league’s flagship franchise – your Giants – knocked from the playoffs by these Christmas banditos.

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: I THINK I HAVE A PLAN AND IF IT GOES WRONG I’LL JUST BLAME MY PLAYERS BECAUSE THEY ARE WORTHLESS SACKS OF SHIT AND THEIR PARENTS SHOULD KILL THEMSELVES FOR BEARING OFFSPRING THAT DON’T KNOW HOW TO EXECUTE A SIMPLE THIRD DOWN PASS PROTECTION SET. WHORES.

Dungy: Tell me the plan! I must know!

(Meanwhile, at Jets headquarters)

Mark Sanchez: Oh wow, Shonn! We got our asses kicked last week!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: I mean, we barely even showed up!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: I guess you could even say we were humiliated! That didn’t feel very good!

Shonn Greene: Nope.

Mark Sanchez: Maybe this is a sign. Maybe this is just the kind of wakeup call we need to kick our season into high gear! Maybe, if we look at it the right way, we can see this loss as an early Christmas gift!

Shonn Greene: That’s retarded.

Mark Sanchez: You have to be positive, Shonn! I read a great Tony Robbins book this weekend to help deal with these very issues! To see adversity as a blessing, not unlike these two tickets I have to the Radio City Christmas Spectacular, featuring the Rockettes!

Shonn Greene: Dude.

Mark Sanchez: I know you think musicals are super lame, but I think you should let your guard down, Shonn! Stop trying to be so cool! Embrace your inner dork and enjoy song and dance, you know?

Shonn Greene: No.

(ground rumbling)

Mark Sanchez: It’s coach! I know he’ll see things my way, Shonn! I know it!

(door flies open)

Antonio Dungerson: Oh, hello! Just me, ANTONIO DUNGERSON, your local purveyor of drugs and escorts and in-temple money changing services! I was just in the neighborhood, delivering YOYO to my drug addict friends, when I realized I brought them one kilo too many!

Shonn Greene: Are you the guy that goes around trying to sell frozen steaks?

Antonio Dungerson: NO! Of course not! Just a simple street merchant peddling his wares! You guys look like you like to PARTY, as they say. I thought you might be down with a little bit of BLOKE, if you catch my drift.

Shonn Greene: Nuh nuh. Ain’t my thing.

Mark Sanchez: I don’t need to get high, sir. The only high I like is the high I get watching Sutton Foster tap dance.

Antonio Dungerson: DAMN YOU! I mean, what about lovely escorts? I know any number of ladies who will gladly perform sexual favors for the right price! They’ll do everything: the Birdy Sanchez…

Shonn Greene: You mean the Dirty Sanchez.

Antonio Dungerson: The Buick Skylark.

Shonn Greene: You mean the Bismarck.

Antonio Dungerson: The Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robot.

Shonn Greene: I dunno what the hell that’s supposed to be.

Antonio Dungerson: IT DOESN’T MATTER! The point is… SIN! SIN FOR ALL! I am an agent of wickedness and I am here to lavish you with anything your heart desires! Surely, there is someone in this building who might enjoy the… DISTRACTION… of ladies and chemical substances, no?

(door flies open)

Wolfman Rob: OW-OOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

Sanchez: Hey, it’s Coach’s brother!

Wolfman Rob: Where am I?! I blacked out in Amarillo and now I’m HERE! That ain’t right. Usually, when I black out, I end up in the same place: PATAGONIA. So this is a real skullfuck for yours truly.

Antonio Dungerson: Ah! Sir! SIR! MY new friends and I were just talking about how stressful the holidays can be, and how we ought to take refuge in the comfort of DRUGS and SEX.

Sanchez: We didn’t say any of that.

Antonio Dungerson: CALLATE!

Wolfman Rob: No, no. I had my fill of Vicodin and pussy last night, thank you very much. I was out with these six she-male prostitutes, and we went fucking NUTS. Ever party with she-males? ALL BETS ARE OFF. You’ve crossed into a whole new world when you’ve a got a tit in one hand and a dick in another. I went to the shitter here just now and I threw up a taco. A FULLY COOKED, UNEATEN TACO. In mint condition. I had half a mind to eat it again. How was I able to do that?! I haven’t regurgitated pristine food since the time I was coaching seniors in Finland.

Antonio Dungerson: Surely, you could use one more hefty dose of drugs, could you not? I have it all: SMAT, CHRONICLE, LEAN CUISINE…

Wolfman Rob: I just remembered! I GOT IT! I knew I threw up here for a reason. I got somethin’ I gotta tell my brother. Where the fuck is that asshole?

(door flies open)

Ryan: HOW THE FUCK YOU DOIN’, BOYS?

Sanchez: Hey, Coach!

Ryan: Oh, men. MEN. God, we SUCK! We suck the shit stains right out of Andy Reid’s underwear for him. We are AWFUL. It’s all my goddamn fault. Here I am talking about fighting a fucking and PUNCHING BALLS, and I can’t even put together a decent game plan! I SUCK. It makes me wanna go home and suck on a few toes.

Wolfman Rob: (burps)

Ryan: Hey, who invited the shuffleboard instructor?

Wolfman Rob: You did, ASS FAG.

Ryan: Come here, you fat fuck!

(both men wrestle each other)

Antonio Dungerson: Ahem!

Ryan: (sweating) Who the fuck are you? Say, you look familiar. Are you the Halal guy from outside? Because that kebab you gave me last week really did a number of my asshole. Looks like a 600-pound zit was popped down there.

Antonio Dungerson: No, no! I am merely an urchin.

Wolfman Rob: Like, one of those spiky things you see when you’re snorkeling?

Antonio Dungerson: I am a pleasure dealer. And I was just seeing if you gentlemen needed anything before the big game against the GIANTS. Perhaps some sort of sleeping pill that will cause you to miss the game?

Wolfman Rob: The Giants! That’s what I was gonna say! Listen, Rexinald…

Sanchez: Rexinald? Is that your real name, coach?

Ryan: Possibly.

Wolfman Rob: Listen, asshole brother of mine. You know I haven’t asked you for anything since that one time I asked to switch places with you in bed so I could feel Andrea Barley’s tits.

Ryan: Those were some hot tits.

Wolfman Rob: Yes they were. Now, I need your help again. I need you to beat the Giants. Because my defense BLOWS. It’s ass. And you just know that Jerry’s boy Romar or whatever is gonna shit all over the field the next two weeks. I need your help, you lovable fat shit. WE NEED TO BACK INTO THIS THING LIKE A VAN FULL OF COKE.

Ryan: I’m gonna do my best, but that means these boys here need to show some fucking PRIDE, Wolfman.

Sanchez: We’ve got pride, Coach.

Ryan: Do you, Nacho? Do you have pride? Because you barfed up refried beans all over that fucking field on Sunday!

Antonio Dungerson: I can help with that kind of problem. I know a certain little pick-me-up…

Ryan: Who the fuck is this?! This is a serious fucking football team here, Sketchboy! WE HAVE A FUCKING WAR TO PREPARE FOR.

Antonio Dungerson: (tears off mustache)

It is I! TONY DUNGY! YOUR LONGTIME NEMESIS! And I think I’ve seen enough here to know that you men lack the faith and serenity to EVER make a name for yourselves in this league!

Ryan: So… you’re NOT the kebab guy?

Dungy: NO! I AM A MESSENGER OF JEHOEVAH!

Wolfman Rob: Oh! So you sell Indian food.

Dungy: BRAINLESS CRETINS! YOU SHALL PERISH UPON THE FLAMES OF GOD’S QUICKSWORD! THOSE WHO LACK FAITH WILL NEVER KNOW TRUE VICTORY! And for the record, I was trying to sell you cocaine and hookers!

(shoots up to Heaven via tractor beam)

Wolfman Rob: I wish he’d come out and just said he had coke. I woulda bought a case of it.

Ryan: We’re in rough shape, men. We’re turning the ball over. We’ve got the Dunge hanging on our nuts. We’ve gotta play the one non-crippled Manning. THIS IS A FUCKING COCK-CHECK MOMENT FOR US! Do we all have our cocks? Shonn?

Shonn Greene: Yep.

Ryan: Wolfie?

Wolfman Rob: It’s down there somewhere.

Ryan: Nacho? You still got a beating cock in your pants? You take some gal to a Broadway to show to show her you’re all sensitive, and then matriculate your way into her cooch?

Sanchez: Well, I…

Ryan: Oh! Oh! Oh, ol’ Nacho scored himself some of that hot wet Madame Butterfly action! THAT’S GREAT HUSTLE!

(slaps Sanchez on ass, HARD)

Sanchez: Ouch!

Ryan: FUCKING BRING IT IN, MEN.

(everyone brings it in)

Ryan: This is us every year, isn’t it, men? Beaten down. Ready to give up. Left for dead by America. You tell me… DO WE HAVE THIS FUCKING LEAGUE RIGHT WHERE WE WANT IT?!

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: Are you ready to KILL?!

Everyone: YES!

Wolfman Rob: Yeah and are you ready to play some donkey darts?!

Everyone: (silent)

Wolfman Rob: What? It’s a fun game. Played it in Brazil. Super fun if you’ve got a baby donkey.

Ryan: I got this, Rob.

Wolfman Rob: Oh, okay.

Ryan: FUCKING HANDS IN!

(hands in)

Ryan: We will fucking WIN this weekend. We will win, and then we will make the playoffs, and then we will FUCK AND CONQUER. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? NO ONE CAN FUCK WITH YOU RIGHT NOW. NO ONE CAN KEEP YOU FROM BEING THE WAR MACHINE I KNOW YOU CAN BE. FUCKING KILL! FUCKING HURT! FUCKING ANGER! FUCKING WIN ON THREE! ONE TWO THREE!

Everyone: WIN!

Wolfman Rob: Anyone know how I can get back to Dallas? I don’t have bus fare.

Ryan: Just start drinking again. You’ll end up there.

Wolfman Rob: That’s true!

Tebow: …and thank You God, for all the wonderful support You’ve given me through these challenging times. I praise You for the loving and talented teammates with whom I share in this great experience. I thank You for the fans, who have always had our back. And I worship You for this lovely meal, for which we are about to partake.

Mama Tebow: More pot roast, son?

Tebow: Please, mother. It’s simply divine. OOP! I suppose that’s a bit presumptuous. Let’s just say it’s fantastic, and I Thank God every day that you chose not to abort me so that I may may sit with you now and eat this blessed animal that gave its life in order to sustain us.

Mama Tebow: I’m proud of you, son. You’re so humble!

Tebow: Well now, let’s not go touting our humility. The good book says, “The humble man speaketh not of humility, but acteth WITH humility.” I think we can all live by that example. I think, if I play hard enough and give all the credit in the world to Jesus, that people will see a different path. That they’ll forsake arrogance and embrace a loving and caring…

(door flies open)

Tommy: FACK YOUUUUUUU! FACK YOU, YOU FACKIN’ MOUNTAIN TWAT!

(puts on gold chain with second, heavier gold chain dangling from it)

Mama Tebow: My goodness, who is this horrible man?

Tommy: “Ooooh loogit me! I’m Timmy Tebow and I love Jesus!” If you love him so much, GET A FACKIN’ ROOM, JESUS FAG!

(dips like Elway)

Tebow: You poor man. I will pray for you right now, this instant. Mother, take my hand. We should ask Jesus to…

Tommy: FACK YOUR-AH JESUS! You and I both know there-ah is only one Jesus, and that is BASKETBALL JESUS! NO ONE DENIES THIS! Basketball Jesus is the only Jesus worth praying to! I pray to him every fackin’ night! I say to him, “Dearest Basketball Jesus, give me the strength I need to cut through this bike lawk and steal this faggot Trek bicycle from a BU student!” And Larry fackin’ Bird DELIVERED on that pray-ahhhh! Let’s see your-ah hummus-eatin’ hippie Jesus do THAT! THE ONLY GOOD THING TO COME OUT OF CHRISTIANITY IS P.O.D.!

(blasts “Youth of the Nation”)

Tebow: Jesus answers our prayers all the time. He gives us life! He gives us hope! He gives us strength when we are at our weakest!

Tommy: WELL LA DI FACKIN’ DA. FACK YOU WITH A CHURCH BELL. Your Gawd doesn’t do JACK SHIT?! Where was Gawd when the Red Sawx needed leadahship! Where was Gawd to slap the dahkie food out of Jawsh Beckett’s hand? Where was Gawd when ow-ah beloved C’s needed to trade fahhh Chris Pawl?! DOES ANYONE SERIOUSLY THINK THE CELTICS WERE-AH NAWT THE BIGGEST VICTIMS OF THAT TRADE? STAWP. JUST STAWP. Bucky fackin’ Dent! Explain BFD to me!

(brags about his own word count)

Tebow: If I may, it sounds as if what you’re experiencing is a crisis of faith. You need to know that God can’t prevent bad things from happening, but that He can grant you the strength to ENDURE through those bad th…

Tommy: STAWP TALKING CHRIST-ESE! I am nawt some retahhhhded Filipino that you can convert in seven seconds just by lawpping off a few fahhhskins! I WORSHIP AT THE ALTAHHHHH OF GRIT! That’s how we do things in GRAWNK NATION. Did you see Grawnk last week? He plowed through defendahs like I plowed through Stacy McO’Reillygerald’s titties! He’s TOUGH! He’s HAHHHHD! He’s just like us! So you can have your-ah little Jesus! I don’t need him far-ah strength! Nawt when I can lift 316 ell bees on the preachah curls!!!!

(flexes)

NO CRUCIFIX NAILS CAN HOLD THESE GUNS DOWN!

Tebow: You’re trying to rattle me, with your loud voice and your grossly offensive statements. But I am not here to engage you. I LOVE YOU.

Tommy: FAG!

Tebow: I love you, and I will continue praying for you. And I wish your Patriots the best of luck this weekend. I will do my darndest to win the game, but I wish your team peace and happiness as well.

Tommy: Well, Timothy. I don’t wish you any of those things. I WISH YOU WAR-AHHH AND ANGAHH. I WISH GRAWNK HANGING SIX TDS ON YOU BECAUSE YOU AHHHH NAWT A REAL FOOTBALL STAHHHH! AND I WISH FOR-AH YOUR-AH MAWM IT GET A FAT CAWK IN HER ASS!

(casually dismisses any NFL coach who is not Belichick)

You think you’re so fackin’ special and magical, do you? With all your-ah gay little comebacks against SHIT opponents? Well, now you face a REAL team, with REAL magic fans behind them! The powahhh of Christ is no match for-ah the POWAHHHH OF THE LEGENDARY FANS OF SOHO HOUSE NATION. Think Gawd could have gawtten Vinatieri’s kick through the uprights in the Tuck Rule Game? FACK THAT SHIT. Only WE could do that. WE had faith on Adam. WE KNEW he would make that kick, becawse WE KNOW EVERYTHING. I remembah I turned to my dad aftah that kick and I said, “He did it!” And you know what my dad said to me? He said, “No, son. WE did it. Now let’s go take a shit awn that black guy’s truck.” THAT IS THE THUNDAHHHH THAT WILL RAIN DOWN ON YOU THIS SUNDAY!

Tebow: (starts silently praying)

Tommy: NO SILENT PRAYING! PRAY LIKE A MAN! JESUS WILL NOT PROTECT YOU FROM THE PUSSY-STAWMPING FORCE OF THE GRAWNK!

Mark Sanchez: Damn, Shonn! I threw for four touchdowns last week!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: I don’t feel like I threw that many TDs. I feel like I played worse than that.

Shonn Greene: You did.

Mark Sanchez: I wonder if Coach was on the verge of benching me.

Shonn Greene: I would’ve.

Mark Sanchez: Well, I think this win is just the kind of springboard we need to get back on track. I think we’re on our way to doing great things, and I can take us there! Don’t you think so?

Shonn Greene: Uh… I’m gonna get a snack.

Mark Sanchez: Shonn? Shonn! Come back! I need to know you trust me, man! COME ON!

(doorknob fondled creepily)

(door flies open)

Sex Cannon: Oh. Oh, am I in the wrong spot? I’m in a post-coital daze right now. Six women at the same time. I stacked them like pancakes and poured candied pecans on top of them. It was like the International House Of Poonani.

Sanchez: You’re not supposed to be here!

Sex Cannon: No, I suppose I’m not. But that’s me. I like to live on the edge. I like to go where I’m not supposed to, like into a woman’s small intestine. The forbidden places are where I feel MOST ALIVE.

Sanchez: Get the hell out of here!

Sex Cannon: Whoa hey, what’s your rush, kiddo? You feeling a bit… intimidated? You worried that perhaps, once your coach gets a look at this good thing (fondles own hips), he may not have a hunger for Mexican Throwgasms anymore? It’s understandable. I do that to other men. I’ll tell you a secret: Most of my friends are women. Men can’t relate to me. Also, I cannot have sex with them, because they have hairy assholes and my peepee can’t get past that.

Sanchez: You don’t scare me, Grossman. I’m the quarterback of this team, and I have the full faith and backing of my teammates. Cris Collinsworth said that I had great huddle presence. Isn’t that right, Shonn?

(crickets)

Sex Cannon: Full faith, eh? Let me tell you a little story, Mark. May I call you Mark?

(puts arm around Sanchez’s shoulder)

I was once like you, you see. I was a fresh-faced newbie eager to please. I was all, “We’re gonna win, you guys! And then we’ll go out for cake and ice cream!” And I thought my team had my back. But you know what happened? The first goddamn time I threw 42 picks in a season, I was out on my ass. These teams don’t have your back, Senorita. They’ll use you and throw you away like a gutter whore. So I decided a long time ago to flip the script. Teams aren’t using me. I’M USING THEM. I’m gonna use their platform to pump out as many long hot throws as I can. And if they don’t like it? FUCK THEM WITH A TROWEL. You catch my drift, amigo?

Sanchez: I’ll never be like you. NEVER. I care about my teammates.

Sex Cannon: Pity for you. I bet there’s a Mexican Fuckquistador just waiting to burst out of that protective girdle.

(door flies open)

Ryan: HOW THE FUCK YOU DOIN’, BOYS?

Sanchez: Hey, Coach!

Ryan: Oh, men. Oh, men. Men, took a shit this morning that had me blocked up like the goddamned Holland Tunnel. Soon as that turd got halfway out, it sat there in the pocket like a fucking rookie. And I had to figure out whether or not to dig that fucker out, or have faith in it to get me out of a jam. And sure as shit, forty minutes later that turd dropped. That’s you, Nacho. You are that green turd that needs a little more patience than I usually have.

Sex Cannon: I had that happen to me once when I was taking a dump on a freshman.

Ryan: Is that right?

Sanchez: Don’t listen to him, Coach. He’s not even supposed to be here.

Sex Cannon: I guess I just like violating things. Do you like violating things, Coach?

Ryan: You know I do.

Sex Cannon: I bet you and I could do some violating together, you know. You know I throw like I fuck, right?

Ryan: Let’s see it, buster.

Sex Cannon: All right.

(throws the ball seventy yards, gets intercepted by an overturned traffic cone)

Sex Cannon: HOW YOU LIKE THAT?

Ryan: Goddamn, that was impressive! You see that, Nacho?

Sanchez: Whatever.

Sex Cannon: AGAIN!

(throws the ball into the mouth of a homeless child)

Sex Cannon: BINGO BANGO! DOUBLE BONUS!

Ryan: I like your bravado, kid. You ever make that kind of throw with a double-pronged speculum?

Sex Cannon: Well, I…

Ryan: Oh! Oh! Oh, El Cannonarino blasted one through tight double coverage! THAT’S GREAT HUSTLE!

(slaps Sex Cannon on the ass, HARD)

Sex Cannon: Ooh. I like that. Do it again.

(slaps Sex Cannon on the ass again)

Sex Cannon: HARDER! MORE INTENSE!

(slaps Sex Cannon on the ass again)

Sex Cannon: GIMME ALL YOU GOT!

Sanchez: I’m gonna be sick.

Sex Cannon: You know, Coach Ryan, I didn’t have any plans for after this season. Maybe you could use a bit of fresh air. Let me tell you a little something: Rex Grossman doesn’t give a FUCK. No defense scares him. No cornerback scares him. You can knock down the Sex Cannon all you like, but he is still gonna ATTACK, ATTACK, ATTACK! He isn’t gonna stop until someone is left on the bed, naked and panting and dripping with glistening skeet globules.

Sanchez: Don’t listen to him! He’s jaded and cynical! We have to beat him!

Sex Cannon: Shut up, kid. Come on, Coach. You know you want it. You know you want this arm knee deep in the Pats secondary, doing things to Devin McCourty that you never dreamed possible. Think of the deep penetration. IMAGINE THE HOT THROBBING FADES TO PLAXICO. Tell me you don’t think this could work. I’m tired of Magentamind bossing me around on the sideline. I want a REAL coach, and in a town swimming with pussy. What do you say?

Ryan: You drive a hard bargain, soldier. And I like your style. It’s just that…

(looks at Nacho)

Sanchez: (puppy dog eyes)

Ryan: Aw, hell. I can’t do it. Look at that kid. He fucking CARES. He may be a shitty QB. But dammit, he’s OUR shitty QB. I wouldn’t want to suck any other way.

Sex Cannon:You’ll regret this, Ryan. We could have had something together, you and I. Instead, you chose to go home with the fucking debate champ. See you Sunday. If you need me, I’ll be banging your wife’s ankles.

(disappears in mist of Axe Body Spray)

Sanchez: Coach, you stuck by me!

Ryan: Of course I did. That asshole’s crazy. He gives the ball away like rubbers at Planned Parenthood. Don’t get so fucking comfortable though, Nachayyyyyy. One call from Bill Polian and your ass is backup for three years, pending the physical!

Sanchez: I won’t let you down, Coach! I swear!

Ryan: Yeah yeah yeah. Just shut up and FUCKING BRING IT IN, MEN.

(everyone brings it in)

Ryan: Men, I’ve never felt so unsure of myself in my life. I have no idea if you men are FUCKING WINNERS or not, and I’ve never felt that way before. You sons of bitches have five weeks to prove to me that you have the BALLS AND COCKS to be the fucking winners you were born to be. Can you do it?

Sanchez: Hey!

Ryan: ARE YOU FUCKING READY TO KILL?!!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: Last chance saloon, men. If you don’t fucking go hard now, we all go down. And I ain’t goin’ down without cuttin’ a few throats and fingerin’ a few snatches along the way. I AM NOT HERE TO FUCK AROUND ANYMORE. REX RYAN IS PUTTING ON HIS SERIOUS BEER GUT NOW. ARE YOU READY TO FUCKING MURRRRRRDER?!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: ARE YOU READY TO CUM IN LADY VICTORY’S HAIR??!!!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: FUCKING HANDS IN!

(hands in)

Ryan: FUCKING KILL ON THREE! ONE TWO THREE!

Everyone: KILL!

(door flies back open)

Sex Cannon: Anyone see my spanking paddle? I may have dropped it.

Ryan: IT’S ALREADY BEEN CLAIMED!

Social Worker: I know this is hard for you right now, Danny.

Danny: It’s okay, ma’am. It was ten years ago. I’m a grown man now. I’m doing fine. Frankly, I wish everyone would stop going around feeling sorry for me. I just want to live my life, get my law degree, and put this all behind me.

Social Worker: Denial is a very dangerous thing, Danny. You need to confront your past.

Danny: I did. That’s why I’m here right now.

Social Worker: You need to acknowledge that something terrible happened between you and Coach Sandusky.

Danny: I did. I’ve talked about it with my mother on many occ…

Social Worker: YOU WERE RAPED.

Danny: Yes, thank you. I know that.

Social Worker: I’ve brought in someone to help you with grapple with the BRUTAL and IRREVERSIBLE crime done to you.

Danny: Again, that’s not necessary. I’m fine. In fact, I have a class I really need to…

(door flies open)

Tommy: FACK YOU! FACK YOU! FACK YOU!!!!!! You fackin’ Penn State quee-ahs like to sit around feelin’ sawrry far yarselves, do you?! YOU DO NAWT KNOW THE SUFFERING OF AFFLECK NATION!

(obsessively rolls brim of old, disgusting Red Sox hat)

Social Worker: Tommy here can help you, Danny. He understands grief. He’s a Red Sox fan.

Tommy: I’M A FACKIN’ RED SAWX FAN!

Danny: I don’t see how this helps me…

Tommy: SHUT YOUR-AH FACKIN’ SHOWAH-HOLE!!! Oh, these are dahkkk times, my friend! Dahkah than a home without NESN! Why, it was just this past spring when pitchahs and catchahs were-ah reparting and the legendary BAWSTON fans were prepay-ahed to witness yet anothah DWAMINANT title run! America was excited for us! We were-ah awll a little more-ah innocent back then. And now? Tito: GAWNE! Epstein: GAWNE! Papelbawn: GAWNE! Did you enjoy the Papelbawn Era, Danny? I have a ruling on the Papelbawn Era if you’d like to hear it.

(breaks down Eddie Murphy’s career using pitching stats)

Danny: I’m going to leave now.

Tommy: YOU SIT THEY-AHHHH AND EAT SHIT! You think your-ah life is soooo hahhhd because some old man rammed you in the boycunt? You ahhh still nawt as hahhhhd as the toughest fans in sparts! Let me tell you what I have survived, my friend: Bucknah. Boone. Bucky fackin’ Dent!

Danny: You weren’t alive when Bucky De…

Tommy: I WAS ALIVE IN SPIRIT! But I have deepah trawmas, Danny. Yes. I too, have been the victim of an abusah! I have nevah told this story to anyone before-ah, but now I will tell you just to show you what a whiny faggot you ahhhh.

(flashback to 1994)

(the locker room at the Quinzee YMCA)

Little Tommy: (staring in mirror) Look at these fackin’ biceps! Butch Hawbson won’t be able to deny these fackin’ bis!

(locker room door flies open)

Suspicious Old Man: Hmm. You DID get a good pump there, young man.

Little Tommy: GAWDDAMN FACKIN’ RIGHT! One day, I’m gawnna play far the Red Sawx!

Suspicious Old Man: Not the Patriots?

Little Tommy: The fack is a Patriot?

Suspicious Old Man: What’s your name?

Little Tommy: Tommy, but my friends call me NUTCRUSHAH.

(waits in record store line for Korn’s debut album)

Suspicious Old Man: You’re a very special young boy, Tommy. Did you know that? I’ve been watching you work out and I think you’ve got a lot of ability. May I feel those biceps?

Little Tommy: FACK YEAH YOU CAN! Feel that shit! Jenny O’Reilly said I was the strongest guy who evah fingahblasted her!

Suspicious Old Man: (feels) Ah, yes. Very good. But it’s one thing to be strong and another to have FIGHTING strength.

Little Tommy: I can fight! I hit a black with can openah last week!

Suspicious Old Man: Well, let’s see how you do against a worthy opponent. (takes off shirt) Come on. Let’s do this.

Little Tommy: Awll right.

(They wrestle)

Suspicious Old Man: (puts Tommy in a headlock) Try getting out of this!

Little Tommy: Fack you! NUTCRUSHAH WILL PREVAIL!

Suspicious Old Man: Tommy, I’d like to try something with you. May I try something with you?

Little Tommy: Let me go!

Suspicious Old Man: (takes out Yankees hat) I’d just… I’d just like you to try this on. Just for a moment.

Little Tommy: Wait a second. THE FACK IS THIS?!

Suspicious Old Man: I’m gonna put this on you.

Little Tommy: No! I don’t wanna! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK!

Suspicious Old Man: It can be our little secret.

(puts Yankees hat on Tommy)

Little Tommy: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

(back to the present)

Tommy: (choked up) Little Nutcrushah died that day. AND HE NEVAH CAME BACK.

Danny: A guy put a fucking hat on you?

Tommy: A FACKIN’ FAGGOT EVIL EMPIRAH HAT! A CRIME WORSE THAN MURDAHHHHHH!!!! It changed my life forevah! You know the shame I feel when I show up at the Cathedral of Baseball, knowing my harrible secret?

(dips)

Danny: I’m leaving.

Tommy: FACK YOU! You will sit they-ah and you will mahhhvel at my ability to ovahcome adversity! I survived the Yankee attack. I survived Bucknah. I survived a cameljawckey family moving in down the street. I survived Len Bias! I survived Super Bowl Farty Two, featuring the LUCKIEST PLAY EVAH! I survived this NBA lawckout, even though AMERICA wawnted Pawl fackin’ Pierce to have one last shawt at a title! NO ONE DENIES THIS! I survived it all, and look at the Tawmstah now! STILL GAWT THE BICEPS!!

Danny: You’re the worst person I’ve ever met. EVER. Even Sandusky was better than you.

Tommy: EAT SHIT! No one cay-ahhhs about your-ah little cawllege football village or-ah your-ah old wawp coach! Your-ah lucky all those kids gawt Grady Littled! It’s the only way anyone pays attention to you! America still grieves fahhhh Pedroiah and curses the fried chicken that tore the Sawx apahhhhht!

Mrs. Garrett: More poached salmon, dear?

Garrett: MMMM! Yes. INDEED! Dearest Muffin, this is your finest supper yet! The salmon is enough to make even the hardiest Hamptonite blush with envy. Don’t you agree, brother?

Judd: Indeed I do. A finer eating there cannot be! What’s your secret, Muffin? Tell me! Darla will never forgive if I don’t ply you with Riesling and get some answers out of you!

Mrs. Garrett: Oh, Judd! You little scamp. Just tell your lovely wife that the secret ingredient… is DILL.

Garrett: Dill!

Judd: Dill!

Garrett: A marvelous pairing for a fine eating!

Judd: Ha ha ha!

Garrett: Ha ha ha!

Judd: Ha ha ha!

Garrett: Ha ha ha!

(Mrs. Garrett’s phone buzzes)

Mrs. Garrett: Oh. Oh, I seem to have a text message.

Garrett: Go ahead and answer it, darling. Judd and I shall retire to the parlor for port and cigars. And perhaps… SECRET FOOTBALL TALK.

Mrs. Garrett: Very well, my red stallion.

(picture message flies open)

Mrs. Garrett: Hmm. That’s odd. Dearie, what do you make of this?

Garrett: Hmm. A sort of crude grinning face. Not unlike the greedy troglodytes I see lining up at JerryWorld for fried pork fritters. Probably a wrong number, sent to you in a hasty fashion.

(Mrs. Garrett’s phone buzzes again)

Mrs. Garrett: Oh my. There’s another one.

Garrett: Cursed juvenile! Open it and text them back to stop. I have a right mind to compose your response myself!

Mrs. Garrett: I can do it, sweetheart. You and Judd go talk business…

(opens up Lemon Party jpg)

Mrs. Garrett: GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Garrett: MUFFIN! WHAT’S GOING ON?!!

(message board flies open)

5CHAN: LULZ U SOUR BRO?

MyKidNeedsJeansFromTheSanduskySection: She open it?

5CHAN: All hur muffinz are belong to 5CHAN.

(back at the Garretts)

Garrett: Judd, fetch the saline nose drops! Muffin? Muffin, dear? Are you all right?

Mrs. Garrett: Oh, my beloved husband! Oh, it was terrible! There were men and then there were other men and they were all in various states of undress and they were participating in WICKEDNESS. It was all so very… PENNSYLVANIAN.

Garrett: Oh, my love. My dear love. Put it out of your mind. I’ll catch this scoundrel.

(Mrs. Garrett’s phone buzzes again)

Mrs. Garrett: No! Not another one!

Garrett: THE FIEND! Best neither of us open it. If only there were someone nearby whose sensibilities were so blunt, whose character was so guttural, that he could gaze upon these images for clues as to the ruffian responsible! But where would I find such a man?

(door flies open)

Wolfman Rob: OWOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

Garrett: I told you to NEVER call upon me at home!

Wolfman Rob: (drunk) Did you guys know that you live not two miles away from one of the BEST strip clubs in this whole fucking city? Actually, it’s not so much a club as it is an open-air camper on the side of the highway. Three dollar beers and ALL BOTTOMLESS. One of the gals there opened every Corona I ordered with her twat. Now THAT is the kind of shit you can’t coach!

Mrs. Garrett: Have him take off his flip flops before he enters the foyer!

Wolfman Rob: Mrs. G! You look lovely tonight. That sweater dress you’re wearing, did you buy it secondhand? Because I swear to God, I nailed a girl who wore that EXACT same dress. Czech League. 1982. Girl had an ENORMOUS bush. Matter of fact, when she pulled the dress up, I thought it was still on her.

Garrett: What do you want?! We’re experiencing a crisis!

Wolfman Rob: I was just nearby! Seemed like a good idea! You know, CHEMISTRY. Thought you and I could grow to get along like weed and boners do.

Garrett: Well, I’m not interested in your…

(Mrs. Garrett’s phone buzzes again)

Mrs. Garrett: Oh God! He won’t stop tormenting me!

(goes to throw phone in the trash)

Garrett: Wait a moment, dear! I do believe that Lady Serendipity has paid us a visit.

Wolfman Rob: She has? I just saw her at the club ten minutes ago. Chocolate woman. Fine as hell.

Garrett: Idiot. Say Robert, would you be kind enough to help fix Muffin’s wireless device?

Wolfman Rob: What’s wrong with it?

Garrett: Open the obscene picture messages and tell me if there’s anything about them you can identify.

Wolfman Rob: Well, all right.

(opens phone)

Wolfman Rob: Oh, WOW. God damn!

Garrett: What is it? Do you see something you recognize?

Wolfman Rob: Can’t say I’ve seen this one before. You got a woman tossing a donkey’s salad, while the donkey is eating out a 12-year-old boy, while the boy is sucking off a dog, while the dog is shitting on the first lady’s foot! That is somethin’. Kind of a daisy chain with animals and shitting. Really, really impressive stuff. Kinda hot. Reminds me of a five-way I had in a pet store back in the South African League. Where did you get this? Can you forward this to me?

Garrett: NO!

Wolfman Rob: Can I borrow this phone and go whack off in the can with it?

Garrett: NO!

Wolfman Rob: Just askin’. Geez.

Garrett: What are the other photos?

Wolfman Rob: Well, the first one is your standard lemon party, which is just fucking gross. And the other one… WELL HOWDY DO.

Garrett: What? What? WHAT’S IN THE PICTURE?!

(door flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAW! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAW! Did you see what my boy DEMARCO did to those Seattle faggots?! The Double J finds hisself another diamond in the rough! SMOKING DRAFT GUNS! I just wanna find a seal a beat it to DEATH, I’m so excited!

Garrett: Good evening, Jerry.

Jerry: What’s Fat Roadie doing here? I thought you said the only way you’d ever let him in your house was if your dog needed companionship!

Wolfman Rob: I was just leavin’ actually. Evenin’ to y’all.

Jerry: What you got on that phone there?

Wolfman Rob: This? Aw, shit. This old thing is malfunctioning! Told Mrs. G I’d take over to the Banana Store, or whatever you call that place where college homos sell you computers.

Garrett: I’m afraid my wife’s phone security has been compromised. Some disgusting man has been sending her the most vile, degrading…

Wolfman Rob: SHHHHH!!!!!

Garrett: No, I will not be quiet. Mr. Jones deserves to know about these horrible pic…

Wolfman Rob: Ixnay on the icturespay, amigo.

Jerry: What are you two jackasses going on about? Let me see that phone.

Wolfman Rob: I can’t do that, sir. It has disturbing, vile, AWESOME images on it that YOU CANNOT SEE.

Jerry: I wanna see it!

Wolfman Rob: You don’t! I know it sounds amusing in a kind of car-crash way, like hiring Barry Switzer to coach your team, but trust me: YOU DON’T WANT TO SEE IT.

Jerry: I’ll be the goddamn judge of what the Double J can see and what he can’t. I’M THE LEAD DOG ON THIS RANCH. Now hand it over.

Wolfman Rob: Fine.

(hands Jerry the phone)

Jerry: Well, let’s see now… oh my goodness gracious. HOO WEE! This is somethin’. Some oiled up guy in rhinestone boots has a gal on her hands and knees with a plunger handle stickin’ right out of her ass! Now that is HOT! God damn! You know, this little honeybelle looks just like a gal I know.

Wolfman Rob: Yes, well…

Jerry: Come to think of it, that office they’re in looks awful familiar too.

Wolfman Rob: This is why…

Jerry: Wait a second! THOSE ARE MAH BOOTS! That’s me! And Susan Skaggs! SOMEONE LEAKED OUR PLUNGER PARTY PICTURES!!!!!! SON OF A CUNT!!!! I only sent that to fifty of my closest drinking buddies!

Mrs. Garrett: (faints)

Garrett: Perhaps we should all retire for the evening, no? Muffin has had quite an ordeal.

Wolfman Rob: Of course. I’ll get this phone erased for you.

Jerry: The hell you will. That picture is MY POPPITY! Brings back great memories. Now hand it over. I gotta use the can.

Wolfman Rob: I had it first!

Jerry: You’re not gonna jerk off to my sex pictures!

Wolfman Rob: WHY NOT? MANGINI LET ME! YOU PEOPLE ARE TIGHTASSES.

Garrett: I’ll never draw up a decent 3-yard pass to Witten with these simpletons in my midst.

Jerry: YEEEEHAWWWWW LOOK AT OL’ JERRY FIXIN’ HIS LADY’S PLUMBIN’! NOW THAT’S WHAT WE CALL A TEXAS DRY SOCKET! YEEEEEHAWWW GODDAMN I AM FUCKIN’ CRAZY!

Mark Sanchez: Oh wow, Shonn. We’re in some serious trouble here!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: Three losses in a row! Man, we suck right now!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: And you know what the worst part of it is? I think it might be my fault.

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: I feel like I’m losing the team. I feel like everyone has lost faith in me.

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: What’s up with you, Shonn? You seem awfully curt today. Just a bunch of one-word answers.

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: Oh, God. You, too? I’ve lost you, along with everyone else! OH NO! I can’t believe I’ve managed to lose my best friend in all this!

Shonn Greene: Best friend? The hell you talking about?

Mark Sanchez: We’re not best friends?

Shonn Greene: Nope.

Mark Sanchez: I thought we were best friends!

Shonn Greene: Nope.

Mark Sanchez: Christ, everything I’ve ever believed in has been a lie! What if I’ve been fooling myself this whole time? What if I’ve never been worth a damn? This is a spiritual crisis, Shonn!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: Maybe a trip to see “Mamma Mia!” would help get my head straight. Sometimes, it just feels so good to get away and lose yourself in ABBA.

Shonn Greene: (shakes head)

Mark Sanchez: I thought you liked musicals!

Shonn Greene: Nope.

(ground rumbling)

Mark Sanchez: Maybe coach will have it sorted out. I need help!

(door flies open)

Ryan: HOW THE FUCK YOU DOIN’, BOYS?

Sanchez: Hey, Coach!

Ryan: Oh, men. Oh… men. Men, I’m not going to sugarcoat it, because things that are sugarcoated are delicious. WE ARE SHIT. We are a big green turtle that poked out of a dirty Russian war criminal’s asshole and broke off down into a puddle of cold piss. I took a shit this morning, men. Big shit. HUGE shit. The kind of shit that makes you wonder if you just lost a vital organ. And all I could think about while that turd was running a go route was, “THIS IS US.”

Sanchez: So what can I help do about it?

Ryan: You, personally? Uh… well… uh…

(door flies open)

Silky Garrard: Hello. I was told to be here at this facility at 3PM today, which is why I’m here at 5:46PM.

Sanchez: Wait a second. What’s he doing here?

Silky Garrard: Sir! SIR! Take a seat, my Chicano friend. I know just the kind of entertainment you Latin men require. You must be tired. You must be aching after a long day working in the fields, picking organic blueberries for the local Trader Joe’s shipping facility just so you have enough money to send back to your five hundred family members down in Chiapas. I know your struggle all too well. Your hands must look GHASTLY, as if they were chewed on by a very large dog. I do not blame you for coming to me and asking for the companionship of my fine, fine, FINE ladies. Business has blossomed ever since the Jaguars so rudely showed Silky Garrard the door. Such a frugal enterprise down there. Wayne Weaver would only buy a woman from me if I let him pay with used waffles. Now, to show you your options for the evening’s latex party…

Ryan: Hold up, Silky. We don’t need the hookers. Yet. We need you for something else first.

Sanchez: Oh, God! You’re replacing me! That’s it, isn’t it? He’s here to take the starting job!

Ryan: Now, don’t go shittin’ your pantalones, Mark.

Sanchez: And you called me MARK! Oh, sweet Jesus! I’m not even worthy of a racist nickname anymore! I’M SHIT! I’M ASS! I need ABBA now more than ever!

Ryan: Hold on a goddamn second.

Sanchez: This is not all my fault, you know! Ask the wideouts!

(opens door to wideout room, where Plaxico, Santonio, and Mason are all punching Brian Schottenheimer in the nuts)

Ryan: God dammit, BREAK IT UP! BREAK IT UP! We do NOT punch members of the coaching staff in the nuts here! Except Alosi, because he’s a shithead.

Mason: You’re not throwing the ball to the wideouts enough!

Ryan: You got a smart mouth on you, Mason. I brought you in from Baltimore because I thought you were a WINNER. Instead, all you do is bitch about your grandkids not calling you!

Mason: Fuck you!

Ryan: Keep it up. I’ll ship you to HOUSTON. See what life is like working for Gary fucking Kubiak. You blow games with five seconds left and Kubes gets Dep all over you! And Wade steals lunches!

Mason: I’ll take it, BITCH. I’m outta here.

(traded to Houston)

Ryan: God dammit, we’re falling apart here!

Silky Garrard: That’s why you need the comfort of a good, strong bitch.

Ryan: That’s true, Silky. I like where your head is at. BUT WE NEED TO FOCUS FOR A MOMENT HERE! I need everyone to take a knee!

(everyone takes a knee)

Sanchez: Actually, can we stand? This is really uncomfortable.

Santonio: Yeah, this floor is concrete and shit.

Ryan: Stand, sit, stick your thumb up your butt, WHATEVER. Just gather in my general vicinity.

(everyone gathers round)

Ryan: I told you I wouldn’t sugarcoat it and I haven’t. We all suck right now. I’ll take the blame for it. Schottenheimer will take the blame for it. Shit Taco over there will take the blame for it.

Sanchez: Hey, I have a nickname again!

Ryan: SHUT UP. Look, I don’t always have the answers. And I’d be a shit leader if I pretended I did. You’d know I was bullshitting you, and I will NEVER bullshit you boys. We’re fucking up right now. But it’s not like we haven’t played like shit in the past, am I right? We figured it out after a while, and we got back to winnin’ games and bangin’ strippers. But we only figured it out because we stayed TOGETHER. None of this girly finger-pointing dogshit. You can blame me all you like, and I can blame you all I like. But it ain’t gonna do us any good, now will it? It’s not gonna magically get us to stop fucking up.

Sanchez: But then… how do we stop fucking up?

Ryan: Well… I think that we… We probably ought to… You know, there’s a good bit of tape we could study… OH FUCK IT. JUST BRING OUT THE HOOKERS.

Silky Garrard: Your wish is my command.

(brings out the hookers)

Silky Garrard: I was feeling a certain Asian flair today. These girls just arrived from Myanmar in an airtight shipping container. They may be a touch light-headed. They were not given names at birth, only three-letter passcodes. RFQ over there likes dolls and having her hair pulled. FGP has never spoken a word in her life. She might have brain damage. Prices have been tattooed on their fannies.

Ryan: (hands out cash) Go, men! GO! Do what you have to do!

(everyone has sex with a hooker)

(ten minutes later)

Ryan: Does everyone feel better?

Sanchez: My penis itches.

Silky Garrard: That’ll happen.

Ryan: What about you, Dichabod? You happy now?

Santonio: Well, I…

Ryan: Oh! Oh! Oh, Dichabod Crane took a ride on the Orient Express! THAT’S GREAT FUCKING HUSTLE!

(slaps Holmes on penis, HARD)

Santonio: Ouch!

Ryan: FUCKING BRING IT IN, MEN.

(everyone brings it in)

Ryan: Listen, let’s not get lost in our own asses here. It’s early. And did you see who we’re playing this week? We’re playing the DOLPHINS. They’re fucking shittier than we are! All it takes is one win, men. All it takes is one goddamn little win to make it all right. One win, and suddenly our differences don’t seem so big. One win, and suddenly pussy tastes just a little bit sweeter.

Santonio: Speaking of tasting pussy, I think I might have some kind of sexual gum infection now, Coach.

Ryan: Quiet! I’m getting in a rhythm here. One win, men. One win and you’ll remember how the fuck it’s done. You’ll remember that you are WINNERS. That you are all eight-tentacled, whale-raping seabeasts! That you can still FIGHT AND FUCK AND KILL. You like fighting and fucking and killing, don’t you?

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: I’m glad we’re going through this right now, men. I truly am. It’s a ball-check moment for all of us. I look around this room and I see men who are hurt, and angry, and want to strangle a stray cat. I like that. I like that this has pissed you off, because right now I’M SO GODDAMN PISSED I COULD TEAR OUT NACHO’S HEART AND FUCKING EAT IT. AND I MIGHT, BECAUSE THEN I COULD BENCH HIS ASS.

Sanchez: Hey!

Ryan: This is the moment that we’re gonna look back on. When we’re sitting on top of the fucking world in February, we’re gonna point to this month right here and said THIS is when our balls dropped. When we became the anger. When we became the red blood fog that consumed cities whole. WHEN WE BECAME FUCKING DEATH. ARE YOU READY TO BECOME DEATH?!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: ARE YOU READY TO COME FUCKING CORRECT??!!!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: ARE YOU READY TO REST YOUR BALLS ON THE CHIN OF VICTORY??!!!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: ARE YOU FUCKING READY TO MUTILATE AND DISMEMBER??????

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: FUCKING HANDS IN!

(hands in)

Ryan: We’re gonna get that one fucking win, and then we’re all gonna go back upstairs and enjoy Round 2 with Silky’s finest!

Silky: You get 10% off your second insertion.

Ryan: FUCKING WIN ON THREE! ONE TWO THREE!

Everyone: WIN!

Ryan: Do you take a credit card?

Silky: Cash or coke only, please.

Reporter Who Has No Real Question To Ask: Tom, how important is the crowd going to be for this opening game?

Tom Brady: Yeah, start drinking early. Get nice and rowdy. It’s a 4:15 game, they’ll have a lot of time to get lubed up, come out here and cheer for the home team.

(door flies open)

Tommy: DID YOU JUST TELL ME TO GET FACKIN’ LUBED?! SAY NO MORE-AHHH!!!!

(drinks six gallons of Mickey’s mixed with Red Bull mixed with Everclear mixed with GHB)

Tommy: Oh gawd, LOOK AT ME CRUSHING THESE BEE-YAHS!!! I must had farty beer-ahs! WE PAHTY HAHHHDAH THAN YOU PAHHHTY!

Tom Brady: Whoa hey go easy there, fella. Don’t get TOO drunk.

Tommy: FACK YOU! You’re just a gawddamn boot whore-ah! Go stick your-ah ponytail up your-ah cawkchute! YOU DON NAWT UNDAHSTAND WHAT IT’S LIKE TO WATCH THESE RED SAWX COLLAPSE IN THE WILD CAHHHHD RACE! I want the whole world to know that we do NAWT accept Jawn Lackey as a stahhhting pitchah! HE LACKS WELKAHTUDE!

(blasts Daughtry cover of a Boston song)

Oh, these ahhh dahk times, my friend! We could lose ow-ah playawff spot to Tampah! Why does Tampah even have a team? NO ONE WANTS TO SEE THOSE HOUSEBOAT HOMOS IN THE PLAYAWFFS! That is NAWT what Americah wants! Americah wants to see its beloved Red Afflecks getting they-ah revenge on those Yankee 9/11s! THAT’S TRUTH TO POWAH! WE AHHH UNDAHDAWGS!

(loses ESPN millions every month with Grantland)

You know what? I am nawt lubed enough. This Sawx collapse still brings back memories of… oh gawd, I don’t think I have the strength to mention it. It’s too fackin’ painful!

Tom Brady: What’s too…

Tommy: 1986 BUCKNAHHHH DAHKIE WILSON JAWNNY MACNARMARAH THE CURSE THE CURSE THE CURSE OF THE FAGBINO BUCKNAHHHH SUCKS! I can’t believe I had the strength to mention it! I’M SO BRAVE! I’m gawnna need anathah shawt! THIS MUST BE MY THIRTIETH SHAWT OF JAMESON! I AM CRUSHING THESE SHAWTS!

(door flies open)

Marmalard: Ya betta ask someboddddddaaaaaayyyyyyyyy!

Tommy: Fack you!

Marmalard: Well well well, I see that you Cuntsox fans are already busy espousing filth flarn filth and impurifying your Jesus containers with cheap ethanol! COCKWALLET LIVING AT ITS FINEST. This is what hundreds of years of revolting Catholic breeding will do to a species. Look at you! Tattooed. Ruddy. Mutated millions of genes away from the normal human being. Spewing gibberish like a fucking palsy. KING LASERFACE SPEAKS WITH CLEAR DICTION AND THROWS WITH EVEN GREATER EXACTITUDE.

(swipes beer can away from Tommy, throws it up in the air where it remains until Massachusetts officials create a $40 billion public works project to remove it from the atmosphere and three workers are killed in the process)

Tommy: YOU CAN GO SUCK A CAWK, FAGHEAD! THREE SUPAH BOWL TITLES! STANLEY CUP FINALS CHAMPIONS! SEVEN TITLES IN THE PAST DECADE! OSCAHS FAHHH BEST SUPPORTING ACTAH AND ACTRESS! TITLETOWN USA!

Marmalard: Oh loogit me I TAKE CREDIT FOR SHIT I DIDN’T WIN. Well, I’m sorry to PISSER on your WICKED good time, but your fag stallion of a QB hasn’t won jack squat since siring a bastard with that liberal Hollywood floozie! GOD IS WATCHING US FROM A DISTANCE.

This is Marmalard’s time. Did you see me get right in coach Meltyface’s grill when we were behind versus Minnesota? LEADERSHIP. Your empty vessel of a QB could only WISH he had that kind of spritiual Jesusfire! Without his Cougar-defiling hellbirth of a coach, he’d be Kyle Orton! EVERYONE ACCEPTS THIS. AS THEY SHOULD ACCEPT JESUS AS THEIR GOD AND THEIR HUSBANDS AS OVERLORDS. YOU WILL ALL BE SUCKED IN BY YOUR OWN MASSIVE GAPING VAGINA.

Tommy: FACK YOU!

Marmalard: I’m sorry. I don’t understand retardese. You’ll have to speak up like a normal person and say FUCK, which is not a Godly word but is the way Jesus would want you to swear if you had to. I know you think your accent sounds all cool and rad, but to me you just sound like a trash can someone filled with shit!

Tom Brady: Why don’t we all just calm down and get a snack?

Marmalard: FUCK YOU, COVER GIRL. This isn’t your league anymore, Project Queerway! THIS IS THE YEAR KING LASERFACE RENDERS YOUR PROVINCIAL NORTHEAST OMNIPRESENCE OVER AND DONE WITH. I PUT A FUCKING CURSE ON YOU AND THIS CURSE IS UPHELD BY THE WORD OF GOD AND TRADING FOR SOME GREAT HITTING MEXICAN WON’T CHANGE IT! DIE.

(leaves)

Tommy: No! Nawt a curse! OH THESE AHHH TRULY THE DAHKEST TIMES! We have to film an HBO dawkumentary about this now!

Tom Brady: I really wish LA had a football team I could play for.

Todd Haley: Hey! HEY! Listen up! Stop practicing! Stop stretching! Shut up and get over here!

[Team assembles]

Todd Haley: You guys got your playbooks?

Matt Cassel: Of course, coach. We -

Todd Haley: RHETORICAL QUESTION, DRIBBLE DICK! I DIDN’T SAY TALK. I know you have your playbooks.

Okay, I want you to toss ‘em. Set ‘em on fire. Throw ‘em in the shredder. Whatever. We’re getting new ones.

[Gasps heard]

Todd Haley: INHALE ON YOUR OWN TIME, LADIES! Such goddamn disrespect.

I was online last night buying up tickets for the “Watch the Throne” tour stop in KC in November. Show sold out weeks ago but I scored tix from an online scalper. Big mark-up. I don’t give a damn. I make mad bank. That sh*t means nothing to me. Could buy out the whole arena if I wanted. Anyway, my old college roomie e-mailed this article.

No way am I letting Raheem shine on me. What did I say when I took this job? “From now on, we’re only driving the bitchingest cars, f*cking the hottest sluts and using the newest, fanciest shit money can buy.” Why do you think we have all the copies of GQ and Maxim in my office? It’s so when I see hotter, ridiculously expensive gear, I’m on it. I stay fresh. Bitches love that. See this 3D phone? Who the f*ck needs a 3D phone? Nobody. But I got one. And now you assholes got iPad playbooks.

Dwayne Bowe: So how do they work?

Todd Haley: How the f*ck should I know? We got tech fags to go over all the bells and whistles. Ask them. Don’t waste my time.

We good here? Good. I catch any of you with the old playbooks, that’s a $10,000 fine right there. I don’t play.

HEY! WHY AREN’T WE PRACTICING!? QUIT STANDING AROUND LIKE YOU’RE WAITING FOR PUSSY TO FALL OUT THE SKY. POON ONLY POURS ON THE HALEY.

[Message board flies open]

5CHAN: Uh ohz CHEEFS UR online playbooks got haxored

BlackCockNailinPalin: + the internet, 5CHAN

BuddyNixChubbyDix: HAXORED!

ZeroCumGame: HAXORRRRD!

FistyCanyon: HAXORED JIM DUGGAN

LULZ CHEEFS ROD N TODD HALEY

5CHAN: Haaaaaaaaaaaaaa I’M IN UR PLAYBK STEALN UR PLAYZ

FistyCanyon: THESE PLAYS SUCK NEWAY

VagOfHonor: REPLACE THEM WITH KIDDIE PORN

FistyCanyon: REPLACE THE KIDDIE PORN WITH CORPSE PORN

ZeroCumGame: REPLACE THE CORPSE PORN WITH KIDDIE CORPSE PORN

BlackCockNailinPalin: STEAL THEIR CREDIT CARDS AND BUY ALL THE STEROIDS

ZeroCumGame: KIDDIE PORN STEROIDS

5CHAN: Done. Plus I’ll replace their plays with our even shittier plays. And an autoplay of this horrible fan song.

+1 FITZMAGIC

/bows

ZeroCumGame: lulz OWNND

VagOfHonor: Haxoredd ScarJo nekkid pics NE 1?

FistyCanyon: WUT

Wolf Blitzer: Welcome back to the CNN/Tea Party Republican Party Presidential Debate. I’m your host, Wolf Blitzer, and before we start this evening, I’d like to introduce you to our candidates. First, we have Texas governor Rick Perry.

Perry: Hello. (executes six innocent black prisoners) Glad to be here.

Blitzer: And former Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney.

Romney: (says nothing, lest any slip-up causes his fundraising cash to dry up)

Blitzer: And Alan Keyes!

Herman Cain: I’m Herman Cain.

Blitzer: Oh, right. And Minnesota Congresswoman Michelle Bachmann.

Bachmann: Hello! (keeps gun inside her vagina)

Blitzer: And Ron Paul.

Paul: These debates are a waste of money. As is this podium.

Blitzer: And I won’t bother introducing Newt Gingrich because he died five weeks ago. Now, I’d like to start off the debate with a question for Mr. Romney.

Romney: (shakes head vigorously)

Blitzer: You don’t want to talk? Are you sure? We’re on live television.

Romney: (nods vigorously)

Blitzer: Okay. Well then, the first question will be for you, Congressman Paul. You have spoken out many times against any government interference in the health care industry. Recently, a man died of a toothache because he lacked proper medical insurance. If you had a loved one who was sick but couldn’t afford insurance, do you think it’s right for the government to let them potentially die as a result?

(door flies open)

Sex Cannon: Tell you what I’d do. I’d fuck the toothache right out them.

Blitzer: Who are you?

Sex Cannon: Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot that you’re a bearded gash. I should have known better. The Sex Cannon can always throw the ball over the Blitzer. I guess you missed all the action on Sunday, WHEN I SINGLEHANDEDLY RESURRECTED THE DORMANT REDSKINS FRANCHISE WITH MY ENORMOUS ARM AND EVEN ENORMOUSER FUCK WAND. You don’t see Johnny Beck bending the Giants over and plugging them in both holes, now do you?

Bachmann: Excuse me, but who is this REPULSIVE man?

Sex Cannon: Whoa hey, look at you, honey! You are somethin’ to look at. WELL WELL WELL MY MICHELLE. You got those crazy eyes, and crazy eyes mean CRAZY FOR COCK. I bet when you walk in the bedroom, Jesus walks out. How’d you like a hard yard of Rex doing a little Congressional probing?

Bachmann: I’ll have you know I’m happily married.

Sex Cannon: (looks over to her husband) Holy shit, you’re married to THAT guy? AHAHAHAHA. Sweetheart, I hate to tell you this, but that guy’s had more cocks inside him than a Perdue slaughterhouse. DROP THE FAG AND GET WITH THE STAG. You and me, we’d make quite a ticket. Picture it: Me, in the Oval Office, signing the bill that legalizes prostitution and executes anyone who wears a promise ring. And you, under my desk, giving me the oral pleasure I so desperately need to make tough decisions. Your spittle will be the jizzy lube of American progress.

Blitzer: Mr. Grossman, are you saying you’d like to enter this race?

Sex Cannon: Goddamn right I would. I have a platform. And on that platform are strippers and lesbians fisting each other. In one week, I have done more to change Washington than any man in history. I have made this team better. Hungrier. Sexier. FUCKIER. I have brought hope. I have returned the Redskins back to their former glory, and now I will do the same for America.

Blitzer: What do you propose?

Sex Cannon: First off all: NO SALES TAX ON HOOKER PURCHASES. And no sales tax on anything sex-related: sexy toys, sexy movies, sexy lingerie, sexy boats that people take out to sea so they can fuck on the bow. And I’m going to get every American back to work by getting them back to hardcore fucking. All hooking? LEGAL. All gigoloing? LEGAL. All animal crossbreeding? LEGAL AND KINDA KINKY.

Romney: That kind of talk is an affront to our moral values.

Sex Cannon: O RLY? I shoulda known you’d be against it, Mormon Boy. I bet you’re still sad that I beat out your Nightgown Brother for the starting gig. Hey, don’t blame me. It’s not my fault that your boy lacked the ENGORGED ARM needed to save this city.

(fumbles snap)

Blitzer: What about your stand on foreign relations?

Sex Cannon: Oh, I am all for it. British relations. French relations. Vietnamese relations. Russian relations. Ecudorian relations. Smurf relations. This is no isolationist penis, Wolf. You get me on Cock Force One, and I will personally normalize the shit out of relations with every country on this globe. And anyone who doesn’t cooperate will see the full force of our American penile might. YOU ARE EITHER WITH MY PENIS OR YOU ARE AGAINST IT.

Perry: I’m sorry, but this has gone on long enough. This man is NOT a serious candidate.

Sex Cannon: Oh yeah, Hair Guy? Let me tell you something: I have been through the fire. I was throwing deep to Bernard Berrian before you were hanging on your mom’s Christian tit. You want an experienced candidate? You want a man who has seen things? Oh, I have seen things, like the time I saw these twin high school girls take a pole vault pole and jam both ends right up their…

Blitzer: Does anyone here have a rebuttal for Mr. Grossman’s policies?

Paul: I’m okay with the prostitution thing.

Sex Cannon: Finally! Someone sees my way of doing things. And let me tell you about these banks. There aren’t gonna be anymore bank bailouts under Sexident Grossman. I will not bail out any bank. I WILL BAIL OUT VIRGINS. I will send a five-star hooker or gigolo to every last American who needs one. Even kids. THEY INSTILL CONFIDENCE.

Crowd: Booooooo…

Sex Cannon: Oh, so you’d just let a virgin die a virgin?

Crowd: Yes!

Sex Cannon: You people are fucked, and not in a good way.

Bachmann: I think I’d be more comfortable if Mr. Grossman left the dais.

Sex Cannon: Oh, I bet you would. I bet it makes you real uncomfortable right now, standing here before a REAL MAN with a REAL BONER. I get it. You’re not ready for it just yet. That’s okay. Take your time. Go home and stretch that pussy if you need to. I know you got lots of kids and it’s pretty loose down there, but I guess you need more seasoning. Wait, don’t you have a bunch of foster kids? Those kids are good for yard work. We can get them to clean the sheets after I’m through “vetting” you.

Blitzer: You’re gonna have to leave, Mr. Grossman.

Sex Cannon: Don’t be fooled by these fraud candidates! There’s only one choice for you if you love America and you love long, hard, ropey passes that shoot out from me like a two-week jizz buildup! YOU KNOW REX IS THE MAN AMERICA HAS BEEN WAITING FOR. I’ll be naked in the steam room when you’re ready! Show them the logo!