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

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

(opens up solitaire game)

Oh, that’s a lousy draw.

(resets the game 50 times)

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

(door flies open)

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

Wade: Oh, crap.

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

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

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

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

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

Wade: Because stability is good for a football team?

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

Wade: Ugh.

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

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

Wade: Yes.

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

Wade: Sir, this hardly seems necessary…

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

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

(door flies open)

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

Jerry: BAHAHAHAHA! Good one, Princeton Boy!

Wade: Oh, shut up, you big jerk.

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

Jerry: Good idea, Jason!

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

(Jerryline rings)

Wade: What the? (picks up) Hello?

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

Wade: Oh, for Pete’s sake.

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

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

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

MBIII: BRUSCHETTA THIS, MOTHERFUCKER!

(puts Garrett in choke hold)

Garrett: Marion, I can’t breathe!

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

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

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

Garrett: Bluhhhhhhhh!!!

Wade: Heh heh. Choke on THAT!

MBIII: SHUT UP, FATASS!

Wade: Yes, sir.

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

Garrett: Bluhhhhhhhh!!!

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

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

Wade: Hello?

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

Wade: Oh, for Pete’s sake.

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

(leaves)

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

Wade: Oh, god dammit.

(phone rings)

Wade: What the?

(phone rings)

Jerry: Well, PICK IT UP, FATTERLINE!

(Wade picks up phone)

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

Wade: (hangs up) This sucks.

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

And that’s too bad, because it would have been tremendous to watch Jerry see the first two games in his Colossatorium blow up in his leathery face. Not that Romo didn’t give the Panthers a host of chances at interceptions with a raft of ill-advised throws. So we were limited to one agonized Wade Phillips hunch down of defeat.

Remember, it is only still late September. There is plenty of tantalizing Cowboys failure to come. There’s not going to be a Delhomme to deposit the ball in Terrance Newman’s chest at critical moments every week.

As for Carolina, Tar Heels season isn’t that far in the offing.

[Thanks again to reader Rafael for the .giffage]

Without a doubt, that’s the most obvious sign ever handed out by ESPN producer. HOORAY TEAM-NEUTRAL PLACARD IN SUPPORT OF THE BROADCAST THAT I’M BEING PRESENTLY FEATURED ON!

And what’s this? On the same night that promotional pendants were distributed at the gates by desperate Ford execs who have paired up with the old Double J to instill confidence in the brand? What’re the odds?

“Don’t take my Ford logo. That’s the only way you know it’s a Ford!”

Not that Jerrah was getting identified correctly anyway. HEAD TRAININ’? NOT WHEN I GOT CAGE DANCERS TO DOUBLE TEAM IN THE PRIVATE JET!

UPDATE: Here are some reader submitted shots from the game. Hooray for crowdsourced pictures people take of their TV!

No Delhomme implosion is complete until its topped off with a trademark Cajun Flail of Exasperation.

Also, apparently Julius Peppers goes from glower to full-on golf course clownmouth almost instantaneously. Observe.

Don’t think they don’t measure that reaction time at the combine.

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

(opens package of cupcakes)

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

(eats cupcake)

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

(door flies open)

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

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

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

Wade: Sir, I think you’re overreacting…

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

(Aide rushes in)

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

Jerry: Oh, that’s just great!

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

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

(door flies open)

Senor Gilbano: Si, senor?

Jerry: THE TOILETS ARE BREAKING, YOU SPANISH TIT!

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

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

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

Jerry: Grrrr…

Aide: Sir! Also, our quarterback blows!

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

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

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

Wade: Catacombs?

(door flies open)

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

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

Wade: What are the catacombs?

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

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

Wade: Oh, come on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

(chokes Jerry)

Jerry: Guhhh!

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

(pulls quad)

OH, MOTHERGODFUCKER!

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

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

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

(door flies open)

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

CHUH CHUH.

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

Wade: This sucks.

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

Wade: My, oh my. Look at this new stadium! Hoo wee! I gotta hand it to the Big Feller. Gotta hand it to him. This new place is a peach!

(settles into new desk chair)

Ooh, listen to the hiss of that leather! I feel like I’m sittin’ inside a brand new Cadillac. If only my Daddy could see me now! These are the kind of days where I feel honored and privileged to be the head coach of the Dallas Cowboys. Yessir, thick and thin, I dare say that a work space like this is downright INSPIRING. I feel inspired! Haven’t felt that way in ages.

Let’s put in some tape and whip up some new schemes. I wanna give these people a show! Let me just get the ol’ Smartfood bag here.

(opens bag of popcorn)

Mmmmm… popcorn. Hey, what the…

(door flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWWW!!!!! WAHOOOOO! YEEHAWWW!!! WELCOME TO THE HOUSE THAT THE DOUBLE GODDAMN J BUILT, PORK BOY! Did you see what my boy ROMO did to those Tennessee faggots? In MY new goddamn stadium?! How’d you like that, Awesome Blossom?!

Wade: It certainly is a nice facility, sir.

Jerry: Facility? This ain’t no facility, Tubby. It’s a JEWEL! A 50-carat jewel dangling from Tixas’ tit! Think about the kind of INTERNATIONAL PUSSY this place is gonna draw in! Holy shit! They’re gonna have to mop the walls of my luxury box when I show Susan Skaggs the minibar! Let me show you some things around this new place, Slob Roberts! Look at this!

(shows Wade the art)

Wade: Wow.

Jerry: Impressive, ain’t it? I hired a bunch of faggot artists to make me some faggot art! Steve Wynn can stick that in his gaping Vegas ASSHOLE! You show me another goddamn stadium in the league that has classy shit like this! And look at this, Doughboy! Gen-you-ine pigskin barstool cushions, made from actual Cowboy game balls! Your fat ass can come and sit down right on a Sherman Williams 2 yard gain! And look at this! GLASS!

Wade: That sure is a lot of glass, sir.

Jerry: IT’S A FUCKLOAD OF GLASS, CHUBCRAWLER! Nobody’s gonna outglass me. This joint has 400 times more glass than those faggots down in Houston! And look at the promenade! I didn’t even know that was a word until the faggot architect told me about it. THAT’S CLASS! It’s… it’s like a REALLY NICE CELL PHONE! One of them fancy Vertu ones that I buy my mistresses for a gift when I don’t wanna fuck them anymore!

Wade: That’s very classy, sir.

Jerry: That’s not all, Tubbarino! You like this office? Chair WIDE enough for you, Hamazon? Well, every chair here is that wide! And we’ve got a special team training table open any time you need it! Plus a pool, shower, sauna, steam bath, and massage tables with little Jap girls! THEY RUB YOUR COCK AT THE END! If they can find yours, Button Dick!

Wade: Well, that all sounds wonderful, sir. I’m excited to work in it. Although some people have brought one very small detail to my attention that you may need to be aware of.

Jerry: Oh? And what’s that, Fatty?

Wade: Well sir, some of the punters were warming up and…

Jerry: YOU BRING UP THAT FUCKING VIDEO BOARD AND I WILL BURN DOWN THE CHURRO STAND AND FORCE YOU TO WATCH, YOU FUCKING FAT SHIT!

Wade: Sir, don’t get me wrong. The stadium is flawless.

Jerry: It’s a fucking JEWEL, you fucking gumball! It’s a bright, shining jewel that announces Dallas as a center of world culture and classiness! AND IT’S GONNA GET MY WHORE OF A WIFE IN ARCHITECTURAL DIGEST FOR ONCE! Finally, that bitch will be happy! That video board is there for entertainment value! ENTERTAINMENT VALUE, FATTY! Any punter who hits it is just TRYING TO EMBARRASS THE DOUBLE GODDAMN J!

Wade: Sir, they weren’t trying to hit it. They were just trying to…

Jerry: Shut up shut up shut up! You shut up, you talking fat man! I can’t hear you! La la la la la! The stadium is perfect and I don’t EVER want to hear you say otherwise! You clear, John Candy?

Wade: Sir, I think it be simple enough to just raise the board 30 feet or so.

Jerry: Oh, you think it’s that simple, do you tubby? THE BOARD WEIGHS 600 TONS, WHICH IS NEARLY AS HEAVY AS YOUR LEFT TIT! It costs $2 million to raise it. You think I can afford that? I just paid $1.2 billion for this goddamn elephant! You gotta bring in cranes, and helicopters, and very large Danish men with big bulging arms to budge that thing a goddamn inch! Unless. UNLESS…

Wade: What?

Jerry: You stay right there, Fatass.

(leaves)

(door flies open)

(Enter Garrett and Jerry)

Garrett: Hmm. Yes. Indeed. A fine solution, sir.

Jerry: I thought you’d like it, Princeton Boy! Our punting issues are over!

Garrett: But could we perhaps get Jason Witten involved in it somehow? He’s got such a fine pedigree. Muffin and I had he and his wife over for cocktails and quiche just last week. They are of such good standing. I was considering sponsoring them for membership at the country club. They’d make a lovely addition.

Jerry: We don’t need Witten for this! Just get the tape measure.

Wade: Tape measure? What are you fellas up to?

Garrett: Hmm. Sixty-four inches in circumference. That should be just about right. I’m estimating a mass of at least 50 million kilograms. That should be enough, sir. He’d make a fine counterweight.

Jerry: Let’s get the cables.

Wade: Now wait just a cotton pickin’ minute here.

Jerry: You shut your sausage hole, Fatty! You wanted the board raised. Well, congratulations. We’re gonna raise it, thank your fat ass! Now, we need a team of people to help hoist Baby Ruth up here.

Garrett: I have used my engineering degree from PRINCETON to calculate the counterweight precisely AND devise a hoisting mechanism. It’s a pulley. That’s a simple machine, sir!

Jerry: Okay, who are we gonna get?

(door gets thrown open and dragged an extra thirty yards)

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

Jerry: Right here, Marion! Say, do you like the new stadium? It’s a goddamn JEWEL, ain’t it?

MBIII: Jewel? THIS DIAMOND DON’T SHINE FOR SHIT, MOTHERFUCKER! (puts Jerry in a Brazilian armbar)

Jerry: OW! FUCK!

MBIII: Jerry Jones, you listen to my ass RIGHT FUCKING NOW. I AIN’T LOSING NO GODDAMN GAME BECAUSE SOME BITCH ASS PUNTER KEPT HITTING SOME MOTHERFUCKING JUMBOTRON. YOU FIX THAT SHIT RIGHT. YOU HEAR ME, YOU PLASTIC-FACED FUCK?

Jerry: We were just discussing that, Marion!

Wade: Don’t listen to ‘em, Marion!

MBIII: SHUT UP, ASSHOLES! JUST SHUT THE FUCKING FUCK UP!

Wade: Yes, sir.

Jerry: We were just curious to know if you’d like to help us with the heavy lifting there, Marion. I’ll get you a free handjob if you play ball.

MBIII: FUCK YOUR HANDJOB, BITCH! MARION BARBER DON’T SETTLE FOR NO HANDJOB. ASS, TONGUE OR PUSSY FOR THIS MAN! AND HE DON’T LIFT SHIT IF HIS CONTRACT DON’T CALL FOR IT. YOU FIND SOMEONE TO LIFT THAT GODDAMN VIDEO BOARD, YOU FUCKING HICK MOTHERFUCKER! WE CLEAR?!

Jerry: Yes, Sir!

MBIII: FUCK ALL Y’ALL!

(leaves)

Jerry: Shit! Now who am I gonna get to lift up this fatass?

(door flies open)

Pacman: CHUH CHUH. Pacman be bitn dat puzzy wen sumbuddy say da Owna Man need help. Pacman down wid it. He lift dat fat bitch way up. Den he gon sit bak an watch hisself sum fukkin on dat big teevee. Pacman gon shine. And he gon drank. O HE GON DRANK. YOU THANK HE AIN’T GON DRANK? Pacman say ain’t no drank drank till da bitches get da switches. He gon bust dat puzzy like a melon. Spit out da seedz.

CHUH CHUH.

Jerry: Perfect!

Wade: I hate this place.

Jerry: YEEEEHAWWWW LIFT THAT FATTY TO THE GROUND AND GET MY JUMBOTRON UP WHERE IT BELONGS! THIS THE GREATEST FUCKING PUSSY PALACE EVER BUILT! WHOOO YEEHAW I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!!!

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

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

(door flies open)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wade: Hey, that’s my momma’s house.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wade: Where is my momma, you bastard?

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

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

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

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

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

(FIVE DAYS EARLIER)

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

(smells something)

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

(changes direction, tears groin)

AHHHHHHHH MY MOTHERFUCKIN’ GROIN!!!

(PRESENT DAY)

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

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

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

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

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

Wade: So what do you want me to do?

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

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

Wade: I will do no such thing.

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

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

(door flies open)

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

CHUH CHUH

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

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

CHUH CHUH

Wade: I thought we fired him!

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

Pacman: O WE GON FREELANCE.

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

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

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

(door flies open)

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

Wade: Why you no good…

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

Wade: Those have been around forever!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

Jerry: Why, you… I… you should… FAT! YOU’RE FAT! YOU’RE FUCKING FAT!

Wade: AND I’M FUCKING CRAZY TOO! YEEEEEHAW!

Jerry: GOD DAMMIT, THAT ISN’T HOW YOU SAY IT!

Wade: I’ll see you after the holiday, Mr. Jones. I won’t be in until Monday. Garrett can handle anything you need until then.

Garrett: What? But Bunny, the kids and I were going to Nantucket!

Jerry: Save it, shithead. YOU AIN’T GOIN’ NOWHERE.

Wade: (walks out) Ain’t that the truth.

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.

(laptop flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!  YIP YIP YEEHAW!  YIP YIP YEEHAW!  YIP YIP YEEHAW!

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: (types) :(

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!!!!