Wade: Mmmm… ice cream. Ice cream ice cream ice cream. You sure do help break up a day. You know, ever since I was able to turn the tables on the low-down snake Jerry Jones, life has been pretty darn sweet for ol’ Wade. Yes, sirree. Ain’t no finer to have than havin’ nothin’ to lose.
You know what I might do this afternoon? I do believe I’ll go golfing. Ha! How about that! Ol’ Wade sneakin’ out for a quick nine holes on a spring day. I reckon nothing would be better on a glorious spring day. Lemme just close up shop here. Seems pretty quiet. And that ol’ coot ain’t nowhere to be found! Yep, I think there’s no better time to kick back and rela…
Jerry: FATASSSSSS! Where is that fatass?! JENNIFER!
Jennifer: Yes, Mr. Jones?
Jerry: Where is Tubby? Have you seen Tubby?
Jennifer: Tubby, sir?
Jerry: Yeah. Tubby. Fatass. Ol’ Puddin’ Tits. Fats Incredible. Chubby Pecker. Lardlubber. FUPA Fighter. Gigantoslob. Chunker. The USS Lusitania. THE FUCKING FAT FUCK THAT COST MY BOY ROMO A PLAYOFF SPOT! WHERE IS THAT FATASS?!
Jennifer: Oh, you mean Coach Phillips?
Jerry: YES! That guy! Where the fuck is he?!
Jennifer: I think he’s in the whirlpool, sir.
Jerry: The whirlpool?
Jennifer: Yes, sir. Said he was going to the whirlpool to relax.
Jerry: Oh, did he now? WHO SAID THAT FUCKING BLUE WHALE COULD BATHE ON MY DIME?! I WILL FUCKING GUT HIM LIKE A MULE! FATTTTTTY!!!!!
(meanwhile, at the whirlpool)
Wade: (in whirlpool, listening to iPod, eating sub sandwich, singing) Whoo-ee! Ride me high
Tomorrow’s the day
My bride’s gonna come
Oh, oh, are we gonna fly
Down in the easy chair!
(door flies open)
Jerry: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY WHIRLPOOL, HUMPBACK WADE?
Wade: (takes off headphones) I’m sorry. I can’t hear you over the music there, Sir.
Jerry: You get outta that tub NOW, MR. BUBBLE! I don’t care if we need a towel the size of Indiana to cover your fat ass! WHO THE FUCK SAID YOU COULD RELAX?! AND GIT THAT GODDAMN SANDWICH OUTTA THERE!
Wade: Welp, season’s over. Thought I’d just chill out for a second.
Jerry: Oh, did you now! YOU FUCKING FATASS! My gorgeous team is going down the shitter AND IT’S ALL YOUR BIG FAT FAULT!
Wade: So fire me, then.
Jerry: What?
Wade: Fire me. Don’t matter to me. See, I learned something this year, Mr. Jones. And that, as head coaches go, I’m not very good. I’m just not. I make a damn fine defensive coordinator. But I’m just not head coaching material. And you know what? That’s all right. I’m fine with that. Not everyone is comfortable at the top. I tried my best, and darn it if it wasn’t good enough. But I’m not gonna beat myself up over it. It’s just another thing to learn in life. And there you have it. So go ahead. Fire me. There are gonna be eight new coaches out there looking for defensive help, maybe more, and I’ll be glad to hop on board with them. Now, if you’ll excuse me… (puts on headphones)
Whoo-ee! Ride me high
Tomorrow’s the day
My bride’s gonna come
Whoo-ee! Are we gonna fly
Down in the easy chair!
Jerry: YOU FAT DISGUSTING PIG! YOU’RE NOT GONNA RIDE HIGH, OR FLY, OR GO DOWN ON ANY FUCKING EASY CHAIR! I’m not gonna fire your fat ass, Frankenberry!
Wade: No?
Jerry: Oh, no. You got us into this mess, NOW YOU’RE GONNA GIT US OUT! I will keep you here FOREVER, Fatty! I’ll make sure they bake a fresh pan of cream cheese brownies in the kitchen every day. YOU’LL NEVER FIT OUT OUR DOOR, FATSTORM!
Wade: That’s another thing, Mr. Jones. You can all me all the names you like. But I don’t really care. I enjoy food. I enjoy life. And I CAN walk out that door. You watch me.
(gets out of pool)
Jerry: OH, JESUS CHRIST! IT’S LIKE THERE’S AN GIANT AVALANCHE OF COOL WHIP COMING AT ME WITH A LITTLE KIDDIE DICK ATTACHED TO IT!
(door flies open)
Pacman: Yo yo. Pacman hurr fo da pool pardee. Wat diz phat gurrl doin up in dis bizz? Pacman ain’t down wid it. Pacman ain’t go for dem eggplantz. DAT 2 MUCH PUSSY. Pacman gots da reel bubblez fo dat bath…
OH SHIT! Pacman git wid dat! Pacman gon shine. He gon mak hurr drank from dat luvhose. OH SHE GON DRANK. Pacman say ain’t no drank drank till dat bitch git wet. He gon mak dat azz cry. He gon BLOW DAT AZZ UP. 4rilly. HE GON DAYG DAT TUNNL. He gon turn dat fuk on.
And Pacman gon drank. Oh, he gon drank. U THANK HE AIN’T GON DRANK? HE GON DRANK. Pacman say seezon’s ovah, so he can go bust dat puzzy till da red meat showz. CHUH CHUH.
Jerry: You fucking fumbling piece of shit! I HIRED YOU TO SCORE DEION-STYLE TD’S, NOT FUMBLE THE BALL LIKE SOME KANSAS CITY FAGGOT!
Pacman: Pacman jus tryn ta shine.
Jerry: YOU DON’T SHINE FOR SHIT, ASSHOLE! YOU’RE ABOUT AS SHINY AS A DEAD WOMAN’S TIT! (turns to Wade) You better git this asshole BACK IN LINE, you big naked tub of shit!
(door flies open)
Garrett: Oh, Good Heavens! I’ve seen the Hideous Beast without his protective layering! Avert your eyes, all! Or he shall consume us all with his ghastly pseudopods!
Jerry: You fucking Ivy League cocksucker!
Garrett: What? Who? Me? Surely you jest! This is a good jesting, yes?
Jerry: NO! Didn’t I tell you my boy ROMO was a star?
Garrett: I believe you told Melville’s White Whale over there on more than one occ…
Jerry: HE’S A GODDAMN STAR! And you’re ruining him! We went up to Philly and got the tar beaten out of us by a bunch of SANDWICH-EATING YANKEE FAGGOTASSES!
Garrett: Oh, Mr. Jones. The problem is far more complex than you grasp, I fear! For we had the perfect game architecture in place for victory! A dazzling rainbow of swing passes to Tashard Choice, EACH MORE STUNNING THAN THE LAST! And then, almost clandestinely, A JUPITER-LIKE STRIKE TO WITTEN! And then, we were all going to sit down for a good, civilized EATING! It was a plan that would make even Churchill himself blush with envy! Alas, the execution…
Wade: Oh, quit blaming everyone but yourself, you ginger-faced asshole.
Garrett: Excuse me, good Sir? It’s difficult to hear you with YOUR NAKED, DRIBBLING MASS CONFRONTING US ALL!
Wade: He doesn’t even care, Mr. Jones. He’s going to Detroit.
Garrett: What? Why… Harumph! How dare you question my loyalty, sir! You, good sir, are a CRUMB BUM! There, I said it! YOU ARE NOTHING MORE THAN A CRUMB BUM!
Jerry: You’re not going to Detroit, you freckle-faced queerbait! Not after what I paid to keep your sorry ass here!
(door is weakly opened with least amount of possible effort)
Roy Williams: What? Huh? What’s going on? Why’s Coach all nude?
Jerry: YOU LAZY SACK OF SHIT! YOU’D SHORT ARM A BABY IF A GYPSY THREW IT TO YOU!
Roy Williams: Whatever, man. I got a text message.
(leaves)
Jerry: GAHHHHH! I’M SURROUNDED BY NOTHING BUT FUCKUPS! You’re all fucking ruining my gorgeous team! This is the fucking pride of TIXAS, and all of you have DISGRACED THE GODDAMN STAR! I will fucking kill you all! Starting with YOU, Fatty! (comes at Wade)
Wade: I don’t think so, Mr. Jones. MARION!
(door gets stiff-armed off its hinges)
MBIII: JERRY JONES! WHERE YOU AT, MOTHERFUCKER!
Jerry: I’m right here, Barber! I’m not scared of you one bit!
MBIII: No? (puts Jerry in a chicken wing hold) HOW ABOUT NOW, MOTHERFUCKER?!
Jerry: OW! FUCK!
MBIII: Jerry Jones, you conscious, MOTHERFUCKER?! Cause Marion Barber got something to say to YOUR ASS! CAN YOU HEAR ME, BITCH?
Jerry: I could hear you better if you let go there, buddy!
MBIII: I AIN’T LETTIN’ GO OF SHIT! You listen to me and you listen good, you motherfucking MOTHERFUCKER! I seen this team all year long, asshole. And the person who fucked this all up is YOUR SORRY RAZORBLACK ASS. Fuckin’ Jerry Jones. Has to bring in every goddamn big named motherfucker he can find off the street. JERRY’S GOTS TO HAVE HIS TOYS! MARION BARBER WANTS TEAMMATES THAT WANT TO PLAY FOOTBALL, BITCH!
Jerry: Fool! I gave you all Tank Williams!
MBIII: TANK WILLIAMS DON’T PLAY FOR SHIT! MOTHERFUCKER BRINGS GI JOE DOLLS INTO THE HUDDLE!
Wade: I was not aware of that.
MBIII: Shut up, naked Fat Ass!
Wade: You got it.
MBIII: You listen to me, Jerry Jones. Marion Barber says YOU THE MOTHERFUCKER who needs to clean this mess up. YOU are the problem. I am TIRED, Jerry Jones. I am tired of hearing every goddamn excuse from every goddamn player on this team. YOU WILL FUCKING FIND ME SOME BETTER TEAMMATES, OR MARION BARBER WILL FUCKING SHOVE A LEAFBLOWER UP YOUR REDNECK ASS AND TURN IT ON. YOU READ ME, ASSHOLE?
Jerry: Yes, Sir!
MBIII: And get Roy Williams out of here. HE DOES NOTHING, MOTHERFUCKER!
(leaves)
Jerry: Well, um… You heard the man! Get to work, ALL OF YOU!
Wade: All due respect, Mr. Jones, I think I’m gonna go home.
Jerry: Oh, really?
Wade: Yes. Really. I got an easy chair to fly into. And it sounds like you got a lot on your plate. Or would you like me to call Marion again?
Wade: Oh, SHIT. Shit shit shit shit shit. I am FUCKED. I mean, I’ve been fucked before. I’ve been beaten, branded, tickled, raped, spanked, and fired 339 times now. But I am definitely fucked this time round. WHAT DO I DO?!
You know what, ol’ Wade? You’re screwed anyhow. I’m tired. I’m tired of going apeshit trying to put out fires I got no chance of extinguishin’. You know what? FUCK IT. I’mma have some Oreos.
(opens drawer)
Mmm. I tell you, ain’t nothin’ finer than a good stack of Oreos. You come through that door, Jerry Jones. You’re not gonna stop me from enjoyin’ a well-earned treat.
(door flies open)
Jerry: WHERE IS THAT FAT FUCK?! PHILLIPS?! DON’T YOU TRY AND HIDE FROM ME, CHOKOZUNA! I can smell the hoagie dressing bursting out of your pores! You think you can choke away a ten point lead in seven minutes and then avoid THE ARKINSAW ASSPOUNDER?! Git your fat, drooping ass out here now, Brando! Here fatty fatty fatty! Here fatty fatty fatty!
Wait… what the… Why, you ain’t hidin’! YOU GOT YOUR FEET ON YOUR DESK AND YOUR STUFFING YOUR FACE WITH COOKIES ON MY TIME, YOU FUCKING HOT AIR BALLOON!
Wade: Yep.
Jerry: You sure as SHIT better have a good explanation for this, Beastula! Did you see my boy ROMO out there against those Pittsburgh faggots? HE’S A STAR! AND YOUR FAT ASS MADE HIM LOOK THE FOOL!
Wade: Well, that was clearly Garrett’s fault.
Jerry: What?
Wade: Hey, I did MY job. The D held those darn Steelers down. Why don’t you ask ol’ PRINCETON BOY why he dang offense didn’t move an inch!
Jerry: Well, I… you fat… I’m so GODDAMN… YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE COWERING IN FEAR RIGHT NOW, SCRAPPLE MARTIN!
Wade: Well, I ain’t. I’m tired, Jerry Jones. I’m tired of sittin’ here having everyone shit on ol’ Wade. High time Wade did some backstabbin’ of his own!
Jerry: Oh, is that so? WELL IT DON’T WORK THAT WAY, TUBBY! NOW YOU OPEN UP THOSE BIG FAT SHIT-PLUGGED EARS OF YOURS AND YOU LISTEN TO ME…
(door gets smashed into 3,000 very small pieces)
MBIII: JERRY JONES! JERRY GODDAMN JONES!
Jerry: Oh, FUCK! (hides behind Wade) Don’t move, fatass. You just sit there and eclipse me the way you do the sun, and other heavenly bodies.
MBIII: Jerry Jones, you can’t hide from me, MOTHERFUCKER! Y’all better move out of the way, Coach P. ‘Cause I’mma make caramel outta that wrappin’ paper-faced motherfucker! MOTHERFUCKER, GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE AND FACE THE MUSIC!
Jerry: (comes out) Marion! Marion, my boy! Can I git you anything? Complimentary beverage? Hot stewardess that’ll fuck you blind?
MBIII: Gimme your toe, MOTHERFUCKER!
(takes Jerry’s toe, dislocates it)
Jerry: GAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
MBIII: Oh, I’m sorry. DID YOU FEEL A PINCH THERE, MOTHERFUCKER?! FUCKING HURTS, DUDN’T IT?!
Jerry: (wincing) Ain’t nuthin’ the ol’ Double-J can’t handle!
MBIII: (twists toe) Oh really, MOTHERFUCKER?!
Jerry: GAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
MBIII: Try and sit in on your board meeting with THAT, ASSHOLE! You still think I’m soft, motherfucker?
Jerry: No.
MBIII: (twists toe) I CAN’T HEAR YOU, CRACKA!
Jerry: NO!
MBIII: See now, that surprises me, seein’ as how you thought Marion Barber had pussied out of that game Sunday. YOU STILL THINK I PUSSIED OUT, YOU FUCKING HICK SACK OF SHIT?
Jerry: NO!
MBIII: That’s more like it. Now you fucking listen to me, Jerry Jones. If you EVER call my ass soft again, it’ll be the last thing you say before I drive a GODDAMN motorcycle up your CHICKEN FRIED ASSHOLE. YOU HEAR ME, MOTHERFUCKER?
Jerry: Yes.
MBIII: Call my ass SIR, MOTHERFUCKER!
Jerry: Yes, sir!
MBIII: Marion Barber doesn’t back down from any fucking challenge, lest of all one from some goddamn tumbleweed-eatin’ MOTHERFUCKER LIKE YOU! I will fucking run through the goddamn River Styx to win a game! You gotta tear my fucking dick off to keep me off that field. SO IF MARION BARBER SAYS HE CAN’T TRAVEL WITH THE TEAM, YOU BETTER BELIEVE HE’S IN SOME NEW FUCKING DIMENSION OF PAIN! YOU FUCKING HEAR ME!
Wade: Can I just say, Marion, that you are AMAZING?
MBIII: Shut up, fatass.
Wade: Yes, sir.
(door flies open)
Pacman: Yo yo. Pacman be putn hiz deekaleek in dem azzcakez when mista trayna man say he ain’t gon shine. Pacman ain’t down wid it. Pacman wanna shine. Pacman wanna go n tak hiz peese uh duh pie. Pacman gon shine. Oh, he gon shine. He gon make dat pussy drool. He gon turn dat pussyfountn da fuk on. Pacman down wid it.
And Pacman gon drank. Oh, he gon drank. BULLEE 2 DA DAT. Pacman say ain’t no drank drank till dem chikns git xtra crspy. Pacman like dat. Pacman got his drumstik. He gon make a bitchbizkit. Shoot dat gravy on da bitch. She gon lik it. Pacman down wid it.
MBIII: And another thing. I cannot understand GODDAMN WORD this asshole is saying! How the FUCK are we supposed to win SHIT when players can’t speak English, MOTHERFUCKER! I’m out there stiffarming motherfuckers, and this asshole’s talkin’ about PUSSYJOOSE! WHAT THE FUCK?
(door flies open)
Garrett: Ah, Marion! Marion, my good man! How are you? Did you have a good EATING today?!
MBIII: You fucking red-haired Ritz cracka looking motherfucker! RUN A GODDAMN PLAY ACTION PASS TO SOMEONE OTHER THAN WITTEN FOR ONCE, MOTHERFUCKER!
Garrett: But Jason has such a fine pedigree! Why wouldn’t I call 56 passes for him?
MBIII: Motherfucker, I GOTTA HEAR ABOUT THAT SHIT! Fix the goddamn offense, or else that faggot ass TO throws his soiled maxipads in the middle of the GODDAMN LOCKER ROOM! FIX IT OR MBIII WILL DROWN A BITCH!
Wade: You heard him, Jason. Fix it.
Garrett: What? Well, I never! Do you hear the way they address me, Mr. Jones? THEY’RE SO GUTTURAL!
Jerry: Just do what they tell you to do, SHITHEAD! My fucking toe is dislocated! HOW AM I GONNA STICK IT IN A HOOKER’S COOTER NOW?
MBIII: That’s your problem, motherfucker.
Garrett: (dragging Jerry out) You haven’t heard the last from us! You shan’t get away with this!
MBIII: Yeah well, whatever. YOU DRAG THAT CRACKA ASS MOTHERFUCKER OUT OF HERE AND DON’T COME BACK! THERE’S A NEW SHERIFF IN TOWN TODAY, AND HE’S THE BADDEST BLACKEST MOTHERFUCKER YOU’LL WISH YOU NEVER FUCKING MET! YEEHAW! I AM GODDAMN PISSED!!!!!!
This week, we’re holding the second annual KsK Kares Kharity Drive for Fisher House, which helps build temp housing for disabled veterans and their families. You can donate directly to FH here.
Wade: Well, oh my! I sure am stuffed! My, my goodness! Got ourselves a nice little Thanksgiving break there. Always does a man good, I tell you what. You know, this time of year is always so hectic. But I think we’re well-prepared this time. I know we got those pesky Steelers coming up. And we’re still chasing a playoff spot. But I feel good about where we are.
Yep, I think we’re gonna have a much more stable December round these parts. Nope, no crises here at Valley Ranch of any sort! No emergency fires of any kind are gonna spring up and disturb an otherwise smoothly running work month. AT ALL. Time to just eeease back into work and…
(door flies open)
Jerry: YEEEEEEEEEEHAW! YEE, YEE, YEE, YEEGODDAMNHAW! YEEHAW MASON-DIXON FUCKING A GOWGIRL IN A HAYLOFT WITH HER PANTIES STUFFED IN HER THROAT! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEFUCKINGHAW, FATASS!
Wade: Oh. shit.
Jerry: Did you see what my boy ROMO did to those Seattle faggots, Tubby? He put THREE goddamn touchdown passes right in their faggoty little messenger bags! YOU DON’T BIKE TO WORK WHEN YOU’RE PLAYIN’ THE DOUBLE-J, THAT’S FOR GODDAMN SURE!
Wade: We’re glad to have him back. But I think we’re going t have to prepare extra hard for the Steelers, sir…
Jerry: Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up. Listen, Ham Cameron, I need you to stop baking cheesecake in your crotch for a second and get your fat fucking ass out of your fat fucking chair. MOVE IT! GIT!
Wade: What’s going on? (gets out of chair) What the heck?
Jerry: Good God. Look at the assdent in that chair. That’s what Lake Superior looks like if you drain it! There are enough coffee cake crumbs in that seat to run an Aunt Anne’s factory, you galactic fat fuck!
Wade: Sir, I don’t think that’s very…
Jerry: I DON’T GIVE A SHIT WHAT YOU THINK! THIS IS MY GODDAMN CHAIR! I OWN IT! AND I DON’T PAY YOU TO SPEND ALL DAY BUTTERING IT UP FOR MUFFINMAKING, YOU BIG FAT CLAM! Now listen up, Rosie Live. I have Christmas shopping for you to do.
Wade: I can’t go Christmas shopping!
Jerry: Why not? Can’t go to mall without ending up behind the counter of a Mrs. Field’s, you cookie-loving fat shit?! Well don’t fear, fatass. I have just entered in the Amazon username and password for the Double-J’s personal online account. You’ll be shopping right from this very chair. AND NO SPANK BREAKS! I don’t want my wife getting some pair of earrings that you bought after treating your dick like a Push Pop! Now you have to get gifts for the following people:
(hands Wade 700 page list)
Wade: There are thousands of names on here!
Jerry: Fucking right. AND DON’T GO THINKING YOU’RE ONE OF THEM! I only buy Omaha Steaks for people that don’t eat them as an after dinner cooldown. Be sure to get Susan that cheese log that’s shaped like a penis. Like Wispride spreadable white wine cheddar, the Double-J’s cock is EXTRA SHARP!
Wade: Sir, I don’t have time for this. How are we gonna get ready for the Steelers?
Jerry: You fat hump. Didn’t I tell you my boy ROMO is a star?
Wade: I think you’ve maybe…
Jerry: HE’S A GODDAMN STAR! Besides, ol’ Jerry’s got a little ace up his sleeve this go round for those Pittsburgh meatstuffers. ADAM!
(door flies open)
Pacman: Yo yo. Pacman cum back 2 da lokkr room an dem otha bitchez be sayn Pacman no gud. Pacman ain’t down wid it. Pacman say dem foolz ain’t walked in his shooz. Dey ain’t kno what it lik 2 fist dat azz lik da Pac do. Dey ain’t kno what it like 2 ta grab a bitch an pak dat hatchbak. Pacman down wid it. Pacman say dem girlz got 2 giv up dat fatburger. Pacman say itz Burgertime.
Pacman gon shine. Pacman tak dat azz an put dat banana in it. Pacman ain’t no froot. Pacman got dat big Chikita shit. Dis shit naycha’s perfect fud. And Pacman gon drank. Oh, he gon drank. BULLEE DAT. Pacman say ain’t no drank drank until he turn on da sprinkla. PACMAN GON TURN ON DA AZZSPRINKLA! CHUH CHUH
Jerry: That reminds me, Fatass. Be sure to get Adam here one of those Sony ass sprinklers. No cheap Vizio ass sprinklers for my boy!
Wade: But I don’t even know what that is.
Jerry: You need to also get at least two hookers for each Cowboy alum. THE DOUBLE-J NEVER FORGETS A COWBOY! Now get them gift-wrapped, and ship them FedEx so they’re still breathin’ when they get there. NO ONE WANTS A DEAD HOOKER ON THEIR DOOSTEP!
Pacman: Pacman down wid it.
Jerry: Not everyone agrees, Adam. Also, get Irvin that pair of golden scissors he wanted.
Wade: Well, who’s gonna run the team while all this is going on?
(door flies open)
Garrett: Mmmm. Yes. Indeed. My good portly friend, shouldn’t you be in Perigord region, rooting around in the soil for precious black truffles?
Wade: Shut up.
Garrett: Oh, dear Mr. Jones! How good to see you again! I trust you had a lovely Thanksgiving. Did you get the holiday card that Priscilla sent you? I wrote it myself. There’s no levity quite like Princeton levity!
Jerry: It was lovely, Jason. I’ll treasure it always. And I’ll have fatty here get you that Vineyard Vines whale belt you asked for.
Garrett: Oh, please! No need! I already have seventeen of them! Ha ha ha!
Jerry: Ha ha ha!
Garrett: Ha ha ha!
Jerry: Ha ha ha!
Garrett: Ha ha ha! Oh, Mr. Jones. What a Princetonian you would have been! I wish you had been in our eating club. A fine eater you’d make! Unlike the human landfill opposite me now.
Wade: Hey!
Jerry: YOU SHUT UP, COACH KFC! You shut up and git my shopping done! AND MAKE SURE NATE NEWTON GETS THAT BROWNIE PAN HE ASKED ME FOR!
Wade: This sucks.
Jerry: YEEEEEEEEHAW! DOUBLE YEEEEEEHAW! TRIPLE FUCKING YEEHAW, YOU FUCKING SHOPACHOCOHOLIC! JINGLE BALLS, HOOKERS CALL, WADE DONE LAID AN EGG!
THE JONESMOBILE HAS EIGHT WHEELS AND I’LL EAT PUSSY ANY DAY!!!!!
WAHOOOOOO, I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!
Wade: Whew! It just never stops! Seems every week it’s something — Adam’s suspension, Tony’s broken finger. It’s been tough, but I think we’re gonna weather this storm and make a run at the playoffs yet! But danged if I don’t spend too many nights on the couch in my office after watching film. Sure is good to be home for once!
(heats up Tupperware container of gravy)
Yessir, it’s been a rough year, but I think I deserve a little of this. Now let’s head over to the computer and see what those Morning News columnists have to say about ol’ Wade.
Wade: Sir! What — what’s going on? Why are you on my computer?
Jerry: It’s a teleconference, teletubby! With my new living arrangements, I won’t be able to personally check in on you and watch you sweat at rest.
Wade: Sir, where are you? Are you saying you’re in…?
Jerry: OUTER FUCKING SPACE?!?! You’re goddam right I am! What a smart little piggy! Gonna win yourself the Nobel Prize in GASTRONOMY!
Wade: But sir, WHY?
Jerry: Major Tom to ROUND CONTROL! How the hell ELSE am I supposed to supervise the construction of my new stadiums, you heaving land mass?
Wade: Wait. Did you say stadiums? You mean there’s another stadium besides the new billion-dollar one?
Jerry: First rule in Double-J’s spending is this, Veal Armstrong: why build one when you can have two at twice the price? Only, this one was kept a secret.
Wade: What one? What are you talking about?
Jerry: HOKKAIDO, JAPAN! Official overseas home of AMERICA’S TEAM! That ginger twit Goodell loves international games so much that it’s only a matter of time until he sends my STARS overseas to make this great game of football more popular.
Wade: But those games are only played in London.
Jerry: Not anymore they aren’t! You think Double-J’s gonna put up with a week of British food and Anglopussy and watch AMERICA’S TEAM play on a fucking SOCCER field? HELL NO! I’m gonna sit in my gold-plated owner’s box and have a sashimi platter served on the nicest piece of naked underage Jap poon you’ve ever seen! Spicy tuna on spicy tuna! Yellowtail on yellow tail! HOOOOO WEE!!! I LOVE PUSSY!
Wade: Are we done?
Jerry: What’s the rush, Pear Bryant? Your container of gravy getting cold?
Wade: …
Jerry: We ain’t even CLOSE to being done. You’ve got to haul that great white ass to Japan!
Wade: WHAT? I can’t go to Japan! We have to play the Redskins on Sunday! The players need me!
Jerry: BAHAHAHAHAHA! OH HO HO HO HO! Oh, that was rich. Ha ha. Phillips, every time… Ha ha ha… Every time I forget why I keep your cupcake cavern around, you go and say something like that. You really are somethin’. A big, fat glob of somethin’.
No, I think the team will be fine in your absence. Isn’t that right, Jason?
(second video window pops open)
Garrett:Konnichiwa, Mr. Jones. Everything is in place for Operation Downfall. All that remains is to drop Fat Boy, so to speak.
Jones: Excellent. Then we’ll commence with the aporkalypse now.
Lardass Flynn Boyle, you’re gonna take the next flight to Japan — rent a C-5 with an industrial sling if you have to — and make sure every one of my specifications for Hokkaido Cowboys Stadium is being met.
(types on wireless keyboard)
There. I just emailed you the list.
Wade: (opens attachment and reads) “Skin-tautening stations throughout the concourse… jeweled mural of the Cowboys star fucking the Rising Sun… every bathroom outfitted with the three-shells thing from Demolition Man“?
Jerry: Awesome movie.
Garrett: Mmm. Yes. Indeed.
Wade: Mr. Jones, this is literally impossible. There’s no way I can go to Japan and do this.
Garrett: Don’t take it so hard, my good man. Many of your stature are well respected in Japan. They are called rikishi, and like you, they wear diapers in public.
Wade: Hey! What are you talking about?
Garrett: Oh, nothing. And do try to watch your diet. If you get any larger you may unwittingly star in your own movie. I hear Godzilla never got paid any royalties. Mmm. Ha ha.
(third video window pops open)
Pacman: Yo yo. Pacman hear da J got him dat space azz. Pacman down wid it. Pacman say ain’t no azz get tapt till we do the skeetskeet at fitty thouzzin feet. And he gon drank. Oh, BULEEV DAT. He gon drank.
Jerry: That is an excellent idea, Adam. What I need up here is more PUSSY AND BOOZE!!!! YEEEHAWW!!!! DRUNKEN SPACEFUCKING BEGINS RIGHT GODDAM NOW!!!!! I AM FUCKIN’ HORNY!!!!!!!!!
Wade: (paces back and forth) Oh, FUCK. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. That did NOT go well. We got our dang lunch handed to us out there! Oh God, what do I do? I’m dead. I’m so dead. I’m so dead.
Wait, you know what? I’ve been doing this shit for years now, freaking out any time that crazy asshole’s about to open that door. Well, NOT THIS TIME! This time, I’m gonna do what my daddy always said to do when somethin’ went wrong. MAN UP. Time for me to quit havin’ a big ol’ pity party and take CHARGE. And I know exactly what I’m gonna do.
(picks up phone)
Jennifer, can you send Coach Garrett into my office? Thank you.
(door flies open)
Garrett: Mmmm. Yes. Indeed. What seems to be the problem, my good man? Did you drop the rest of your Almond Joy on the ground, and now find yourself lacking the capacity to bend at the waist in order to retrieve it, wherever your waist may be located?
Wade: You’re fired.
Garrett: Pardon?
Wade: You’re fired.
Garrett: Come again?
Wade: You’re fired.
Garrett: Could you put that in a more erudite, Princeton way of phrasing?
Wade: You’re fired.
Garrett: Am I to take it that you mean I’m being expurgated?
Wade: Yes. I want to move in a new direction there, coach Garrett. So please pack up your things and go.
Garrett: Oh. Mmm hmm. I see. Hmm. Tee hee. Ho ho. Tee hee hee. Ha ha ha. Chuckle chuckle. GUFFAW! HEARTY GUFFAWING! LOUD, EBULLIENT GUFFAWING IN YOUR GENERAL DIRECTION!
Wade: What’s so dang funny?
Garrett: BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Judd! Judd, my dear brother! Come hither at once!
(door flies open)
Judd: Dearest elder brother, I rushed here as soon as I could! Are you all right? Did this hideous sea creature try and consume you whole, as the whale once engulfed Jonah? My God, the smell! It infiltrates all my olfactory receptacles! I say, my nose is under severe duress!
Garrett: No, my dear brother. Nothing is wrong at all. I just thought I’d share with you an amusing anecdote. It seems that our “boss” here (stifles laughter), has just informed me of my impending termination.
Judd: No.
Garrett: It’s true!
Judd: Fire a Princeton man? Surely he jests!
Garrett: He does not jest!
Judd: No jesting of any sort?
Garrett: He has not jested in any fashion!
Judd: Surely, his lack of jesting is most jest-worthy!
Garrett: Indeed!
Judd: Huzzah! What a jester!
Garrett: I must tell our good friend Bill Kristol of this jesting merriment!
Judd: Indeed! I’ve never heard such an amusing jesture!
Garrett: Ha ha ha!
Wade: I don’t know what you two think is so dang amusing. Jason, I am the head coach of this team. And that means I have control over my staff. So I am firing you. And you too, Judd.
Judd: Oh, no! He’s fired me too!
Garrett: What a cavalcade of misfortune, dear brother!
Judd: How will we ever survive, good sir? With our excellent pedigrees, and sterling resumes, and pure European blood? BAHAHAHAHA!
Garrett: BAHAHAHA! Oh God! Someone tell him to stop! I can’t take it… all this jesting!
Judd: Brother! Brother! Is this not just like the time back at our Princeton eating club? When we ATE?! And then told Blakeley Chumwell that his girlfriend was NOT a member of the Mayflower Society?
Garrett: Oh, yes! That was an excellent jesting! And a good eating that resulted!
Judd: Indeed. There’s nothing like a good jesting paired with a good eating.
Wade: YOU TWO ARE FIRED! GET OUTTA THIS BUILDING RIGHT NOW!
Garrett: Oh ho ho, good man. Surely you know you can’t possibly fire us.
Wade: Why not? Who says I can’t?
(door flies open)
Jerry: YEEEEEEHAW!!!!!! WHOOP WHOOP WHOOPITY ASSBANGAROO!! WHERE IS THAT FAT FUCK?!
Wade: Sir.
Jerry: YOU FAT SHIT! YOU BIG FAT USELESS TUB OF SHORTENING! YOU FUCKING SPOONBREAD-EATING GLOP OF SHIT-STUDDED BROWNIE DOUGH! YOU ARE FAT!
Wade: Sir, I know we’re struggling right now, but I am taking measures to get us back on track.
Jerry: Oh really, Boxy Brown? Do you have some sort of big fat magic wand that can git my boy ROMO back out on that field?! Didn’t I tell you my boy ROMO was a star?
Wade: I believe you may at one time have…
Jerry: HE’S A GODDAMN STAR! And you are FUCKING UP HIS TEAM with your big fat sausage fingers! You fat asshole! I made reservations for Tampa ages ago, AND YOU ARE FUCKING THOSE PLANS UP, FARTBURGER. Switzer and I already reserved a room with 12 megabars. WE WERE GONNA FUCK HALF OF TAMPA!
Wade: Sir. I have a handle on the situation. And I am taking action right this minute, starting with the dismissal of these two gentlemen.
Jerry: WHAT?
Garrett: Afraid so, Mr. Jones. It would seem that our buxom chap here has deemed that neither my or my dear brother’s dexterous minds are no longer welcome.
Judd: Indeed.
Jerry: He tried to fire you both? Well, that is… THAT IS THE FUNNIEST GODDAMN THING I EVER HEARD!
Garrett: I know! Don’t you find it a jesting worthy of Marceau?
Jerry: Oh, Tubby. I’ll give you one thing, fatass. You sure know how to lighten up the mood around these parts!
Wade: I wasn’t joking!
Jerry: Oh, please. Who would have called the plays if you had fired these two?
Wade: I would have.
Jerry: BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! Oh, that’s even better! I can picture you on the helmet radio now! “Say, this here’s Coach Fatass. I’d like a large pepperoni, three large Meat Lover’s, an egg yolk milkshake, a whole roasted elephant, and a side of brie cheese fries.”
Garrett: Don’t forget the Gatorade cooler filled with chocolate mousse!
Judd: Or the defibrillator!
Jerry: BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!
Wade: This is serious! I’m taking charge here!
Jerry: Oh, son. The only thing you’re allowed to take charge of here is the FroYo bar! NOW GO FIND ME A QUARTERBACK WHO DOESN’T THROW LIKE A GODDAMN RODEO FAGGOT!
(door flies open)
Pacman: Yo yo. Pacman be hidn out wit dem hos from da Gold Club. Pacman likey how dat azz be bouncn. He gon shine. He gon slap dem unyunz and den frost dat cupcake. Pacman down wid it. He gon go ackylacky on dat azz.
Jerry: Hey Adam, did you hear that tubby here tried to fire the Garretts?
Pacman: O, dat funny. Like dem Way-nz. Dey make dem white chicks n shit. Pacman down wid it. Pacman take dem white chicks and plug dat drain. Den he do da sticky sticky wit dat sirrup. And he gon drank. O, you say he kan’t drank? Nuh nuh nuh. He gon drank. Pacman say ain’t no drank drank till dem white chicks get da white skeet on they shoez.
Garrett: Indeed! What a fine day of jesting this has become!
Wade: This sucks.
Jerry: YEEEE HAWWWW! WOOHOO! YOU’RE POWERLESS, FAT ASS!!!! THE ONLY THING YOU CAN TERMINATE IS YOUR WEIGHT WATCHERS CONTRACT! WOOO HOOOO YEEE DOGGIE I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!
Wade: Well, well, well. This has been one heckuva week, ain’t it? Sweet mercy, we have had a time. Those pesky Cardinals done us in, and now we got so many injuries, I think we ran out of bandages!
But I think we’ll be okay.
We’re early in the season, and this team is still 4-2. That ain’t bad. I think this crew needed to experience a bit of adversity. I think they needed to understand that you can’t just expect games to be given to you. I think we’ll grow from this. I really do. We’re gonna be a better team.
Oh, who the hell am I kidding? WE’RE SCREWED!
Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit. What am I gonna do? I gotta have a solution ready for when that lunatic comes through that door! Think, Wade, think! Must have a plan… gotta think of something before it all goes to…
(door flies open)
Jerry: YOU FAT FUCKING SHIT! YOU FUCKING LAZY , FAT, FUCKING LAZY FAT SAUSAGE BREATHER! YOU FUCKING TOLD ME TO GET MY RING FINGER READY, YOU FAT SHIT!
Wade: Now, calm down there, sir. We can’t just panic at the first sign of trouble. We gotta keep a level head here.
Jerry: Oh, I do? Gotta keep a level head, eh, Meatball? Is that what I’m supposed to do? I’m just supposed to kick back WHILE YOUR FAT ASS RUNS MY TEAM INTO THE FUCKING GROUND?!
Wade: I have a plan, sir.
Jerry: Shut up shut up shut up shut up. SHUT YOUR FATHOLE! No one wants to hear your suggestions, Eli Sundae! I already traded for Roy Williams. ANOTHER BIG CALF ROPED IN BY THE DOUBLE-J! YEEHAW!
Wade: Sir, with all due respect, you hired me to be the coach of this team. Now, how can I be an effective coach of any sort if you won’t let me have input, or implement any of the things I want to implement? Why have me around if you don’t want me to do my job?
Jerry: BECAUSE YOU’RE FAT, FATTY! You look at you, waddling around like giant tit with two legs. YOU CAN’T PUT A PRICE ON THAT KINDA ENTERTAINMENT, SENOR FROGLEG! Don’t you worry about a thing, Tubby. The ol’ Double-J has got this situation under firm control!
Wade: Okay, so what’s your plan?
Jerry: Well, it’s obvious that you, in all your fatness, haven’t set a healthy example for this team, LEON SWEAT! That’s why we got so many guys on the fucking injury list. THEY’VE ALL BEEN WATCHING YOU SCARF DOWN CINNAMON ROLLS AND DRINKING CAKE BATTER! We need more doctors in here to keep this team healthy. That’s why I’m EXPANDING THE TRAINING STAFF, TUBMARINE!
Wade: Expanding the training staff?
Jerry: That’s right, meatlover. I’ve called every doctor I know. Doctor Who, Dr. No, Dr. Drew, Dr. Bricker, Dr. Phil, Dr. Pepper, Dr. Detroit, Dr. Joyce Brothers, Dr. James Andrews, Dr. House, Dr. Marvin Monroe, Dr. Zaius, Dr. Rosenpenis, Dr. Kevorkian, Dr. Doom, Dr. J, Dr. Hook…
Wade: I’m not sure any of these…
Jerry: SHUT YOUR CHICKENHOLE! Dr. Jerry Punch, The Fight Doctor Ferdie Pacheco, The Rug Doctor STEAMING MAD AT FUCKING DIRT, Dr. Octopus, Doctor doctor gimme the news, Dr. Strangleove, Dr. Demento, Dr. Teeth and The Electric Mayhem, Dr. Dre (the fat one), Dr. Martin van Nostrand, Doctors Strombridge and Greenbaum, Dr. Zhivago, Dr. Gonzo, Dr. Moreau, Dr. Feelgood, Dr. Meredith Grey, Dr. Doug Ross, Dr. Bunsen Honeydew, Dr. Beeper, Dr. Lector, Dr. Frankenstein, Dr. Jekyll, Dr. Cornel West, Dr. Faustus, Dr. Huxtable, Dr. Frasier Crane, Dr. Katz, Dr. Death Steve Williams, Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman, Doc Holliday, Dr. Doogie Howser, Dr. Claw, Dr. Richard Kimble, Dr. Zoidberg, Dr. Bill Harford, and Dr. Tim Whatley. HOW YOU LIKE THAT FOR A MEDICAL STAFF, FATASS?!
Wade: That’s a lotta doctors.
Jerry: These docs will monitor my boy ROMO’s pinky 24 hours a day! You hear me? I want that little finger of his going wiggle wiggle by tomorrow morning! FUCK, FOR THIS MONEY, I WANT IT TO BE ABLE TO FUCKING FINGER BANG! I want full assfingerbanging capability restored to my boy Romo, stat!
Wade: But it’s already broken, it…
Jerry: And I want Felix Jones’ hammy replaced with TWO NEW HAMSTRINGS. I WANT DOUBLE HAMSTRINGS, HAM ANDERSON!
Wade: I’m not you can…
Jerry: And I want Terence Newman’s hernia welded shut!
Wade: I don’t know how…
Jerry: And one more thing, Jabba…
(door flies open)
Pacman: Yo yo. Pacman go 2 da corna office wher dat firebox say SHIT B OFF. SHIT B FUKKIN OFF. Pacman ain’t down wid it. Where ma spec? Pacman don’t cause no trizzle. All Pacman want wuz 2 gang up on dat creampie and put da skeez on dem kneez. Pacman say dat ok. He gon shine. He down wid it. Don’t Firebox lissen fo SHIT.
Jerry: Now Adam, we’re all very disappointed in the commissioner’s ruling. But these doctors here are gonna help you!
Pacman: Man, fuk dem Quincy ass bitches. Pacman don’t wan no house call unless dat azz b knockin’ on da door. Pacman gon do the injectin’. He gon take hiz nightstick and beat dat pussy up lef an right. BULEEV DAT. Gon make dat pussy cry like ma shortiez. Split dat bitch up till she need dem stichez. And Pacman gon drank. Oh, he gon DRANK. Pacman say ain’t no drank drank till he put da hot sauce on dem azzcakes. He gon gobble dat azz up. Chomp dat azz till dat azz b gon.
(porthole flies open)
Dr. Bricker: Azzcakes? Sounds naughty!
Wade: What’s an azzcake?
Jerry: IT’S AN IMPORTANT MEDICAL TERM, FATTY! I want you to personally oversee this new medical staff. It’s gonna be YOUR JOB to make sure all my goddamn STARS get back out onto that fucking field, Dr. Fatkins! You got me?
Wade: I don’t have time to oversee a staff this large. We gotta deal with those pesky Rams. Who’s gonna help prepare the team?
(door flies open)
Garrett: Mmmm. Yes. Indeed. Never you mind that, my portly compatriot. I have a prescription for our offense. A HEALTHY DOSE OF GUMPTION!
Wade: Why, you lowdown snake!
Garrett: Don’t fear, my good man. My new Princeton Offense will soon be the darling of the League. The scuttlebutt will grow by the minute! Of course, I assume you know about the butt than the scuttle.
Jerry: Princeton Offense? I like the sound of that!
Garrett: Ah, excellent. The secret ingredient will be CUTS!
Wade: That doesn’t sound very innovative.
Jerry: YOU SHUT UP, MOZZARELLA STICK FIGURE! My boy GARRETT knows what he’s doing! Now you hit that training room, and steer clear of Doc Ock’s tentacles! I heard they tore one of the assistants titties clean off!
Pacman: Pacman down wid dat.
Wade: This sucks.
Jerry: YEEEE HAWWWW! WOOHOO! SOMEBODY PUT ME ON A PLANE SO I CAN FUCK A STEWARDESS IN THE MOUTH! GOD DAMMIT, I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!
Wade: Hoo wee! That sure was one tight doggone game there. I tell ya, those pesky Bengals didn’t have any quit in ‘em! That’s the thing about this league. You just can’t take a darn thing for granted.
Well, I have a free second here. I think this would be a good time to get caught up on my dang email. Let me open up the ol’ Entourage here.
Inbox (4573)
GAH! Oh, for Pete’s sake! Now, what could be so darn important that people gotta be emailing me round the clock? What’s this one here?
RE: FILL OUT YOUR FUCKING TIMESHEET, FATASS!!!!
A timesheet? Well shit, I ain’t filled out a timesheet since I worked at Bob Evans! Whose idea was it to bog me down with…
(door flies open)
Jerry: YEEEEEEHAW!!!! YEEEEEEEEHAW! GODDAMN YEEEEEEHAW! YEEHAW RIDE EM’ COWGIRL GREAT FUCKING BUCKING BRONCO ASSBLASTING PUSSY BANDITS! HOW THE HELL ARE YA, YOU GIANT FAT FUCK!
Wade: Oh, shit.
Jerry: Did you see what my boy ROMO did to those Cincinnati faggots? Didn’t I tell you my boy was a star? Didn’t I tell you that, you fat fucking creampuff diver?
Wade: I believe you…
Jerry: HE’S A GODDAMN SHININ’ STAR! And he showed those Ohio donut grazers just who the fuck is top dog! Fucking Chad Ocho Cinco. We sent that wetback right back to Guatemala… WHERE HE BELONGS!
Wade: Sir, I don’t think he…
Jerry: Shut up shut up shut up shut up. Did you get all my emails, Baby Ruth?
Wade: I was just catching up on that now.
Jerry: Son, at your weight, the only thing you can catch up on is the gross national butter consumption of Germany! I need you to fill out your fucking timesheets, Mount Gushmore.
Wade: Why do I have to fill out a timesheet? I have one job: coach.
Jerry: Oh, you think it’s so simple, do you? You big fat human moon bounce. “Duh, I’m just the daggone coach! Duh, I don’t know nuthin’ about how nuthin’ works! DUH, TIME FOR MY BACON INJECTION!” Certain aspects of your job have different billable hours and tax liabilities, you fucking blob. Open up the spreadsheet on the server and you can find the corresponding job number to each of your 750 different responsibilities. AND DON’T GO LOOKING FOR A “MAKIN’ S’MORES” JOB NUMBER, BECAUSE YOU DO THAT ON YOUR OWN TIME, FATASS!
Wade: (opens spreadsheet) CIN0187 – “Breaking Down Defensive Back Game Film”? There are thousands of these things! For every individual game! I dunno how much time I spent on any of this stuff!
Jerry: Probably because you were dreaming about a meatball sub while you were doing them! Listen Fatty, you know me. Normally, I don’t give an armadillo’s scroat about this paperwork. But since our star receiver started bitching about playing time, I need a goddamn paper trail. IT’S ALL ABOUT THE PAPER TRAIL, MR. BUTTERWORTH! Just open the one marked CIN08934.
Wade: “Time Spent Overly Trying To Get TO The Ball”?
Jerry: Just put all your hours on that. Then I can show my boy TO just how dedicated the goddamn Cowboys are to him! Then submit the timesheet for the 27 different e-signatures you need. We used electronic timesheets so you wouldn’t get Hershey’s Syrup on them!
Wade: Do I really have to do this?
Jerry: SHUT YOUR LARDHOLE! Everyone’s on board with this, Tom Fupa! You’re the only one dragging ass! You drag so much ass, it looks like the goddamn train of a wedding dress! Look at all the other model employees who filled out their sheets!
(door flies open)
Pacman: Yo yo. Pacman don’t see no jobby job number say he gon shine. Pacman ain’t down wid it. Pacman spent tizzay hours blowin’ up dem bubble butts. Pacman say ain’t no bubble butt leave da tub till da ducky go quackquack in dat azz.
Jerry: Adam, I told you! “Quackquack in dat azz” goes under “Personal”.
Pacman: Yo yo. What about flippin dem honeycakes? An’ running da flag up da bitchpole? An’ makin’ dat bitch walk da plank till she know she gon bob dem apples? An’ drizzlin’ tha sirrup till dat oil changed? Pacman down wid it. Pacman gon drank. Oh, he gon drank. Pacman say ain’t no drank drank till dem pussycats get milkin’ the bizzy.
Jerry: All “Personal”!
Wade: Can I put all my stuff under “Personal” too?
Jerry: NO, KING GUT! DO IT FUCKING RIGHT!
Wade: Can’t someone do it for me? I just doubt that I or any of the other coaches have the time…
(door flies open)
Garrett: Mr. Jones! Ah, there you are! Here are your timesheets, on time as always.
Jerry: Why thank you, Princeton Boy!
Garrett: As you can see, I printed out a tabbed, color-coded Excel sheet, then cross referenced it with the electronic timesheet, to avoid any potential inconsistencies. I also went to Kinko’s and had the sheets bound for your convenience. I also set up a formula in the cells so that the hours are added automatically. This should save the entire franchise hours of time, which will translate to increased revenue across the board.
Wade: Kissass.
Garrett: Mmmm. Yes. Indeed. Could it be that some of us failed to get Mr. Jones his timesheets on time? Oh dear. It seems someone didn’t sweat the details. Which is shocking, given your avid fondness for perspiration, my good man.
Wade: Well, no wonder we underutilized Felix Jones against them pesky Redskins! You were busy being Mr. Bureaucrat!
Garrett: HOW DARE YOU. I was merely deploying a new offensive technique, called Threat Anticipation Consolidation. The less Felix gets the ball, the more a defense begins to worry about him eventually getting the ball.
Jerry: My God. That is GENIUS!
Garrett: Well, as you’ll see from my timesheet, it took quite some time to devise.
Wade: He’s full of beans! That’s just some fancy Princeton mumbo jumbo!
Jerry: Beats your ideas, gumbo jumbo!
Garrett: I also have a new idea in the works. I call it WILD DOG, and it involves a single wing formation where Felix can run OR pass the ball!
Jerry: Amazing!
Wade: HE’S LYING! THAT WAS SPARANO’S IDEA! THE DOLPHINS HAVE RUN IT FOR TWO WEEKS NOW!
Garrett: Sir, I also went to the trouble of printing out YOUR timesheet for you, as well. But I did have a concern about one line item on it. You filled out 5 minutes in one line item. “SKAGGS09812 – Air Delivery”?
Jerry: Oh, never you mind that, Princeton Boy. That involved a bit of off-hours role playing. I played the role of Snopp Dogg. And my colleague Susan played the role of Mo’Nique. AND THAT PIECE OF TIXAS ASS DESERVED A GODDAMN OSCAR FOR HER WORK!
Pacman: Yo yo. You hit dat candy Delta-style? Pacman down wid it.
Wade: We gotta get ready for the Cardinals, sir. Who’s gonna take care of the team while I’m bogged down in this?
Garrett: Oh, I think I can fill your shoes, my ample friend. Provided those shoes don’t have any Sugar Daddies hidden in the soles.
Wade: You shut up!
Jerry: Quit arguin’ and fill out all 356 pages of your timesheet, fatass!
Wade: This sucks.
Jerry: YEEEE HAWWWW! I WANT YOU FILLING OUT TIMESHEETS UNTIL YOU’RE LEAKING WESSON, MAD FATTER! YEEHAW! WOOHOO!!!! I AM FUCKING ORGANIZED!!!!
Wade: Stupid Jerry Jones. Tired of him bein’ such a big jerk. Why, if I had a mind, I’d slap that no-good snake right good! Gosh darn right I would!
Tired of bein’ disrespected around here. I am one of the finest defensive coordinators in all of football, but people forget that when I’m the head man! Shoot, so I ain’t so hot in front of a camera. So what? Most people aren’t. My job is teach football and get these men prepared, and darn it if I’m not pretty good at it.
So bring it on, Double-J. I’m not afraid of you anymore. I’m tired of tryin’ to please someone who’s hopin’ to never be pleased. So you just walk on through that door, and you…
(door flies open)
Jerry: YAAAAAAAAY-HAW!!!! SWEET JESUS HIPPITY HOPPITY DING DONG FLIP FLOPPITY BANG YOU FROM THE TOPPITY OF MY POPPITY!!!
Wade: What do you want?
Jerry: Hoo boy, who’s feeling chipper this morning?! Listen fatty, I want to talk to you.
Wade: (sighs) What is it? What horrible thing am I supposed to subject myself to now?
Jerry: Easy, Tubby. I’ve been thinkin’. And I think I’ve done you wrong.
Wade: Heard that before.
Jerry: No, I mean it. AND WHEN THE DOUBLE-J GIVES YOU HIS WORD, IT IS FUCKING MAHOGANY! I’ve done you wrong, Wade Phillips. You’re a good man. Hell, better man than I ever was. I respect who you are as man. Frankly, I probably resent ya for it as well. I’m sorry I undermined you. I’m sorry I brought that Princeton faggot in to undermine you. I’m sorry about all the times I fired you. I’m sorry I branded you. And raped you. Hell, I’m sorry I set up that surveillance camera in your daughter’s bedroom.
Wade: You set up a…
Jerry: BUT THAT’S ALL WATER UNDER THE BRIDGE NOW! I’ve realized that, by undermining you, I haven’t given you a fair shake. You deserve to coach this team without me gummin’ you up at every turn. And I think you’ve worked damn hard for these Dallas Cowboys. So I think you’ve earned yourself a day off. Forrest Lump.
Wade: A what?
Jerry: A day off. Go on. GIT. I arranged a nice pontoon boat ride for you and your family. No joke. Just go on now, and enjoy.
Wade: But there’s still so much to do. We’re still in season preparations, and, well, I’m not sure we’ve got much time for a dilly-dallyin’…
Jerry: LISTEN LARDASS, I GAVE YOU THE DAY OFF. NOW YOU TAKE THAT GODDAMN DAY OFF BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND!
Wade: Yes sir. Yes, sir I’ll do that right quick. And thank you. Thank you kindly.
Jerry: GIT!
Wade: I just… I just can’t but think something ain’t…
Jerry: Will you just roll your fat ass out the door?
Wade: Right.
(Wade leaves.)
Jerry: Is he gone? I think he’s gone. All right, bring the camera crew in.
Frankie: Sir?
Jerry: Frankie, I need you to spray some Oust in this office. I think Minister Fudge out there had hisself another breakfast burrito. Smells like red pepper farts. NOW GIT VAN PATTEN IN HERE!
Frankie: You got it, Mr. J.
(door flies open)
Dick Van Patten: Hi, everyone!
Jerry: Move it, Van Patten. I GOTTA PAY YOUR ASS SCALE, SO TIME IS MONEY!
Dick Van Patten: Yes, sir.
Jerry: All right, Van Patten, here’s the deal. Ever since HBO started putting Mount Chocula out there on camera, ratings have plummeted. No one wants to hear some fat man say stupid fat man things. So I need you to give Assafrass’s role there some SIZZLE! He’s comin’ off like some big fat Broward County FAGGOT! I need you to sell this role. Now, there are FIVE things I learned about bein’ a salesman. The first rule is… GIT YOUR HANDS ON ALL THE SWEET ARKINSAW ASS YOU CAN FIND! And I don’t remember the goddamn rest.
Dick Van Patten: Yes, sir.
Jerry: The important thing here is to make me LOOK GOOD! Ol’ Walter Titty out there just made us all look stupid! So when someone asks you something, you just turn to me and make sure you look like you need my sage advice. GOT ME RECKONED, YOU OLD BAG?!
Dick Van Patten: Yes, sir.
Jerry: Then roll those cameras! And get Adam in here!
(door flies open)
Pacman: Yo yo. I gon be easin’ into dat skeezin’. Slap that azz on the griddle and flip it. Pacman down wid it.
Jerry: Adam, I have heard that you fell asleep in a meeting the other day. And then you poked one of our secretaries in the eye with your erection when you asked her to pick something up for you. THAT IS NOT THE COWBOY WAY! We are here to set an example for the communitay, and all the sweet, delicious, snappin’ pussy it entails. That’s why I’ve cuttin’ yer curfew back to 4:30AM instead of the usual 5AM. (whispers) Agree with me, tubby.
Dick Van Patten: That is a very bold, leaderful type of move, sir.
Jerry: YOU’RE GODDAMN RIGHT IT IS! Now, let’s get our offensive coordinator emeritus in here to go over our game plan.
(door flies open)
Switzer: (blind drunk) Heeeeeey. Let me tell you folks somethin’. I can’t coach worth a goddamn. BUT PLAYERS ALWAYS PLAY FOR BARRY SWITZER, AND DIDN’T NOBODY SAY THAT SHIT ABOUT OL’ WOODY “FUCKBARN” HAYES!
Jerry: Drunken Barry Switzer, you have had too much to drink, yet again. I keep tellin’ ya: you drink that much Oxy Clean, somethin’s gonna get dirty! Right, flabcunt?
Dick Van Patten: Another trademark example of your daring captainship, sir.
Switzer: Jerray! Jerray Jones! Damn good to see you, ol’ boy! Say, you remimber win… you remimber win we put on those white hoods and went trick or treatin’ through the black neighborhood? BOY, WE RAISED SOME HELL THAT NIGHT!
Jerry: Goddamn right we did!
(door flies open)
Garrett: Hmm. Yes. Indeed. It seems eight servings is MORE than enough for that mobile gastropub of a man.
Dick Van Patten: What’s he mean?
Jerry: Just shut your oldhole, you fossil.
Garrett: Mr. Jones, it behooves me, against the besmirching of your fine reputation, to express my, shall we say.. misgivings… over our quarterback’s dalliances with a certain young country ingénue. Despite her more… pneumatic qualities, I worry about her leading our young signal-caller astray.
Jerry: Oh, that’s you’re one weakness, Princeton Boy. Too much music appreciation and not enough pussy appreciation! That girl has sent my boy ROMO’s Q rating up 30 points. And you know what that means?
Garrett: He’s a gadfly?
Jerry: HE’S A GODDAMN STAR! LOOK AT THESE TITTIES.
AIN’T NO BAD EVER COME FROM TITTIES LIKE THAT! AIN’T NOTHIN’ HARD ABOUT THOSE KNOCKERS!
Dick Van Patten: Well chosen words, sir.
Jerry: Good work, Van Patten. You may prove a good replacement for ol’ gutdragger out there. YEEHAW!
(door flies open)
Wade: What’s goin on here? Why’s everyone in my office? YOU’RE ALL IN CAHOOTS!
Jerry: Uh oh, FATTY ON THE SET!
Wade: I knew this was all too good to be true, Jerry Jones. Why, you ain’t nothin’ more than a no good weasel! And I’mma fix you right!
Jerry: Gotta catch me first, hamcakes! Strike the set! Everybody run! THE ORIGINAL HONEY DRIPPER IS ON THE LOOSE!
Wade: I’ll git you, Jerry Jones.
Jerry: Not as long as I got two legs, FAT HOUSTON!! I TELL YA, THIS MAKES FOR SOME DAMN FINE TEEVEE!!!!!!! YEEEEEHAWWWWW!!! WOOOO HOOOOOOO I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!
Wade: My oh my. Finally, training camp is here! You know, we had to work awful hard to get ready for this year, but finally we get to run out there and do some real daggum practicin’! It feels great! It’s just so nice to get back into the swing of things. This is what you live for, gosh darnit! Walking out there, smellin’ that fresh cut grass, hearing those shoulder pads poppin’. Yup, I reckon there’s no finer way to spend a summer afternoon.
Well, before we head on out there, maybe I should read the ol’ paper. Get caught up on the news of the day. Now, the boss man may not think reading the paper’s workin’, but I reckon it does any ball coach a bit a good to be up to date on world events. Let’s see what we got here.
Oh, shit oh shit oh shit oh shit. That was off the doggone record! Better hide this paper before anyone sees.
(locks paper in desk)
Phew! Now I just have to hope that…
(door flies open)
Jerry: YEEEEEEHAW!!!! YEE! HAW! YEE TO THE HAW! HAW TO THE YEE! YEE HAW, HEE HAW, KICK YOU IN THE GODDAMN JEW JAW!
Wade: Oh, man.
Jerry: BUENOS NACHOS, you big fucking cheesebleeder! Finishes up taking your mid-morning butterscotch bath, lardass?
Wade: I’m getting ready to hit the practice field, sir.
Jerry: I tell you, son. I’m not sure our field has enough drainage to handle the chicken grease pouring out of your skin! DRAINAGE, MY BOY! DRAAAAAINAGE!
Wade: I’ll do just fine, thank you sir.
Jerry: Whatever, Louie Anderson. Now, move away from that desk. I hide all my HUSTLER XXX issues in there, and it’s time for the ol’ Double-J to look at some interracial contraband pussy! MOVE IT! MOVE YOUR FUCKING BLOWHOLE, MOBY!
Wade: Sir, I don’t think there’s anything like that in this desk.
Jerry: Shut up shut up shut up. Move your orbital ass away from MY DESK! That’s my poppity, Tubgut. AND YOU DON’T FUCK WITH A TIXAS MAN’S POPPITY!
Wade: All right, all right. (moves)
Jerry: Let’s see what we got here. There they are! HOO DOGGIE! Look at that schoolgirl getting’ at both ends room from those two black guys. Man, are they black! It’s like shadow fucking! I’ve seen people drill oil, BUT I NEVER SAW OIL DRILL PEOPLE! SHOOT THAT BUBBLIN’ CRUDE, MY MAN!
Wade: Please, sir. This is very lewd material.
Jerry: Look at this one. Looks like he’s about to give the girl a lobotomy with that tree trunk of his. That’ll teach her to pass notes in class!
Wade: Well sir, I think you found what you were looking for. What don’t we just close that drawer right back up…
Jerry: Hold on there, Fattylicious. I see somethin’ else in that desk! Hey, it’s a newspaper! Keep your emergency fish and chips in here, do ya Arthur Treacher?!
Wade: Sir, I swear it was meant to be off the record.
Jerry: YOU STUPID, STUPID, STUPID, STUPID BIG FAT ASSHOLE! OFF THE RECORD?! I’D FUCKING STRANGLE YOU RIGHT HERE AND NOW IF I COULD FIND YOUR NECK! GET ME MY FLESHLIGHT! YOU FUCKING MUUMUU-WEARING, TITJIGGLING, JELLO-SNARFING GUNTFLAPPER!
Wade: Sir, it was something said in the middle of casual conversation.
Jerry: Oh, really? Did the reporter take you to Sonic again?! Yes, there’s no truth serum for ol’ Wade that works quite as well as a Sonic Gingerbread Blast! Drunk on fucking liquefied cake icing again, Asstrodome? God dammit, you are stupid. How’s my boy ROMO supposed to concentrate when he’s got his retard coach flapping his big fat beef-lips about winning a ring?!
Wade: It was just a misunderstanding, sir. It was off the record.
Jerry: I DECIDE WHAT’S ON OR OFF OF RECORDS HERE, LARDBUTT! And I’ll tell you one thing that is definitely on the record: You are fatter than the people in the airport terminal. Your big fat ass is gonna jinx us out of a goddamn SUPER BOWL, ONION RINGMASTER!
Wade: (start to cry) I’m sorry, sir.
Jerry: What?
Wade: (crying) I’m sorry, sir. I’m just so sorry. I was really excited for the season, and I was just so happy to be out there, and I didn’t mean it! I just want to go out there and coach! I was really looking forward to this and now I’m just so sad.
Jerry: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Now don’t go crying on me, fatass.
Wade: (crying) I’m sorry, sir. I’m just very sensitive sometimes.
Jerry: Come here. (puts arm around him) Shit, I’m sorry, fatty. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. The Double-J cares about people! I just want you to learn to think before you go opening up that porkstuffer of yers.
Wade: Yes, sir.
Jerry: Like I said, I apologize. You’re doin’ a damn fine job for the DALLAS FUCKING COWBOYS.
Wade: Thank you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted sometimes. Just some encouragement is all.
Jerry: I understand. I also understand we’re gonna have to do something to correct this.
(door flies open)
Pacman: Yo yo. No one say two bitches wit switches be goin’ at it up in dis shit. Pacman ain’t down wid it.
Jerry: Adam, did you bring the prod?
Pacman: Hyeah hyeah. Pacman’ll brand a bitch. Like we always do at Alpha Phi Alpha.
Wade: You’re branding me?
Jerry: Damn right, tubby! You got flesh to burn. SO THE DOUBLE-J’S GONNA BURN IT!
Wade: Wait… you can’t possibly…
(door flies open)
Garrett: Mmmm. Yes. Indeed. I have been told we were going to consecrate the bond of obedience?
Pacman: O hell yes. We gon giv dat bitch a mark. Make her go buc wild.
Wade: YOU CAN’T DO THIS! THIS IS ILLEGAL!
Jerry: Not on my POPPITY, it ain’t! Now drop those drawers, Buttercow! We got ourselves quite a canvas to work with!
Garrett: Indeed. Diego Rivera himself could not ask for a greater swath of blank whiteness. Oh, how this reminds me of my days at the eating club. Where we would EAT. And then DRINK. And then TORTURE.
Wade: Don’t do this.
Jerry: Shut up, cattle ass. You talk shit to the media, you git branded! Brand ‘em, boys!
Pacman: Woot woot. Let’s take dat bitch ta Sizzla.
Wade: NOOOOOO!!!!!!!
Jerry: YEEEE HAWWWW! LOOK AT THAT ASS BURN! BIGGEST BARBECUE IN THE WHOLE DAMN STATE OF TIXAS! MAKE SURE YOU GET THAT MAN-HAM NICE AND CRISP! YEEHAW! WOOHOO! I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!
