Wade: Welp, guess I’m long overdue to clean out this here office. Get these things down to Houston where they belong. HOUSTON! Can’t believe I’m coachin’ where my Daddy used to coach! Boy, will that tickle the old man with feathers! Anyway, time to box it all up.

Hard to believe, but I think I’ll miss this place. So many memories. LOOK! It’s my first offensive game plan!

(looks at foam board with BUBBLE SCREEN TO WITTEN X22 written on it)

Boy, that didn’t work out quite like I planned! And look! It’s the broomstick Mr. Jones raped me with that one time! I didn’t really like it when he did it at the time. But I guess I can laugh about it now. Ha ha! That was kinda funny.

Oooh, what’s this?

(opens drawer)

Zingers! Oh Wade, you sly ol’ coot! I wonder how old these are. Can’t quite remember when I bought them. Oh well, can’t hurt to indulge one last time in this here office…

(door flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEEHAW! YEEHAWWWWW! YIP YIP YIP FUCKING YEEEEEGODDAMNHAW… Wait a second. What is your fat filthy ass still doing in at my team headquarters? YOU ARE FAT.

Wade: You told me to come in some time this month to pick up my stuff.

Jerry: I did? That doesn’t sound like me! All of this stuff was supposed to be burned! So that no one here would catch your fat! FATNESS IS A CONTAGIOUS DISEASE, AND YOU ARE FAT’S MAIN HOST.

Wade: Sir, that’s completely untrue…

Jerry: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP! Fat people aren’t allowed to talk in this building! Say, what’s that? Is that my broomstick?

Wade: Yes, sir.

Jerry: Oh, that brings back memories. I remember the first time I jammed this into your fat ass. Took me damn near an hour to find your asshole. Like looking for white pussy in North Korea!

(slaps Wade on the back)

We had some good times, didn’t we Obesely Reese?

Wade: I guess we did. Although you did fire me 70,000 times. And you did ritualistically humiliate me in front of everyone. And you did threaten to have my mother evicted. And you did undermine me at virtually every turn…

Jerry: I know! Wasn’t that fucking GREAT?! Always good to have a fat tub of shit like you around to degrade, Chubby Smith! Count Chubula! Jody Fatley!

Wade: That last one didn’t make any sense…

Jerry: IT WORKS ANYWAY BECAUSE YOU’RE FAT AND GROSS! Anyway, we’ll miss you around here, Wade. Except that we won’t, because you were awful.

Wade: I did my best, sir. I really did think we were on the verge of…

Jerry: What? Gaining an extra fifty pounds? YOUR TIME WAS UP, FATBALL! Besides, I finally found myself a REAL head coach.

Wade: You don’t mean…

(door flies open)

Garrett: Mmmm. Yes. Indeed. Interesting how our run/pass ratio magically balanced out once your portly backside was no longer with us, Mr. Phillips. I can’t say I’m surprised that someone of your comportment might want to avoid running at all costs.

Wade: You dirty snake! You called nothing but passes on purpose!

Garrett: A saboteur? Moi? WHY THOSE ARE NOTHING MORE THAN THE ACCUSATIONS OF A NO GOOD CRUMB BUM. They suggest inferior breeding. Clearly the thinking of a man who prefers to indulge in packaged baked goods rather than actual LEARNING! You cannot know what it’s like to be a truly educated man, dear Wade. To walk the quad at Princeton with your fellow elite scholars. Strolling the paths. Sharing a GOOD EATING. Absorbing the ideas of a perfect educational environment! These are the things that make a great coach! Not your… Zingers?

Wade: It’s just a snack.

Garrett: My good fellow, it’s not merely a snack. It’s an indictment of your entire work ethic.

For you see, I have devised a plan that will restore the luster of this tarnished franchise. I call it THE COWBOY WAY.

Wade: I saw that movie. It wasn’t very good. Woody Harrelson’s name in that movie was Pepper!

Garrett: Shut up! No one cares about your taste in lowbrow Westerns! THE COWBOY WAY is not merely some film you watch with your humanoid family while downing fistfuls of kettle corn, good sir! It is an ETHOS. It is a mix of strategy and fortitude that cannot be found in any other NFL franchise. It is this Way, THE COWBOY WAY, that allowed us to win five games against the likes of Rex Grossman! Ohhh, you do not toy with the likes of Rex Grossman! Long throws become him!

Wade: I’m just gonna pack up my stuff and move on with my life now.

Jerry: Not so fast, Tubby! You need to say goodbye to everyone! And we get to poke you with the pokin’ stick one more time!

Wade: That’s not really necessary.

(door flies open)

Judd: Brother!

Garrett: Brother!

Judd: Brother!

Garrett: Brother!

Judd: Will you be joining us for Easter in New Canaan?

Garrett: Only if Muffin makes her famous ham glaze using her very expensive collection of All Clad pots and pans and her Viking oven!

Judd: Indeed she will! AS PROFILED IN TOWN & COUNTRY MAGAZINE!

Garrett: FINE EATINGS AHOY!

Judd: Ha ha ha!

Garrett: Ha ha ha!

Judd: Ha ha ha!

Garrett: Ha ha ha!

Judd: Ha ha ha!

Garrett: Ha ha ha!

Judd: Oh, dear. What is that human zeppoli still doing in YOUR office?

Wade: I just had to pack up some things.

Judd: Pack up or pack IN? Ha ha ha!

Garrett: Ha ha ha!

Judd: Brother, may I just express shock and disgust that it took you this long to be able to install the Cowboy Way here at Valley Ranch?

Garrett: Now Brother, there is no need to look back in such a manner.

Judd: But it’s true! You were so clearly superior, and this… this THING… held you down and smothered your career with his heaving breasts the whole time!

Wade: You can kiss my ass, Ginger Boy.

Judd: Oh, he has fight in him now, does he? I PROPOSE A DUEL WITH FOILS!

Jerry: SHUT UP! No faggot fencing on my watch! Just get out of here, Wade!

Wade: I’m tryin’! You’re not lettin’ me!

(door flies open, causes sprained ankle)

MBIII: JERRY MOTHERFUCKING JONES! JERRY JONES, YOU MOTHERFUCKING MOTHERFUCKER!

Jerry: Marion! Say good bye to Coach Elephant Ass, will ya?

MBIII: OH, THE MOTHERFUCKER WHO GOT FIRED? MARION BARBER DON’T GIVE A SHIT! YOUR ASS GOT FIRED!

Wade: I’ll miss you too, Marion.

MBIII: MARION BARBER CAN STILL RUN THE MOTHERFUCKIN’ FOOTBALL! HE KNOWS YOU THINK HE’S WASHED UP, BUT THAT’S NOT TRUE! FUCK ALL Y’ALL!

(tries to leave but falls down trying to push door open)

MOTHERFUCKER THIS DOOR IS BROKEN!

Wade: Okay, now I’m leaving.

(door flies open)

Pacman: CHUH CHUH. Pacman hurrrd dat fat coach man b leevin’. Pacman sad. Mista fat coach man giv Pacman his sekkund chanz wen no 1 else wuld. Pacman down wid it. Pacman might gon cry.

Wade: You’re really gonna cry?

Pacman: FUKK NO, BITCH. Pacman fukkin’ wit u. Pacman ain’t no cryn BITCH. Pacman make dat pussy cry. He fukk dat pussy till dem hot tearzz b rollin’ down. Den he stuff a mango in dat shit. BULLEE DAT. Pacman ain’t got no luv for dem btichezz. A bitch b jus a pussy wit legs. PACMAN SAY DAT. Pacman gon step in dat pussy till his Nikes touch yo brain. Then he gon drank. O HE GON DRANK. YOU THANK HE AIN’T GON DRANK? Pacman say ain’t no drank drank till the puzzy be stepped on.

Wade: Jesus, that’s horrible.

Jerry: Okay, he’s said goodbye. NOW FUCK OFF! GO AWAY!

Wade: Yes, sir.

(opens office door)

Wade: What’s this?

Jerry: Can’t send a fat man off without cake. Now can you?

Wade: Is this for me?

Jerry: Of course it is. FATASS.

Wade: I dunno what to say. I’m touched, sir. Even if it’s misspelled.

Jerry: Yeah, well, you best eat that cake now, because it’s leftover from a construction worker who died on site before we could throw him a party. It might have mold.

Wade: Well, thank you sir.

Jerry: Go on. EAT.

Garrett: Will you give me a cake like that one day, sir?

Jerry: No.

Garrett: Why not?

Jerry: Because you’re a fucking asshole. NOW WIN ME A GODDAMN CHAMPIONSHIP PRINCETON BOY OR YOUR SKINNY ASS IS FUCKING FIRED FOREVER! YOU GINGER FUCK! ROMO TITLE OR BUST, FIREBOX! YEEEEHAWWW WOOOHOOO I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!

The Internet keeps doling out reports that Wade Phillips has been fired, followed by counter-reports that he has NOT, indeed, been fired… yet. But let’s be real, people: dude’s fired. Totally fired. Like, Jim Mora fired. I don’t see why we need an official confirmation of fact for this to be true.

So let’s just get it out there: Wade Phillips has been fired, as first reported by Common Sense Daily.

(img)

“What’ll I do, little missy? Ol’ Jerry will tan my hide for sure and no one will ever hire me as a head coach again in this league. That is, aside from Buffalo again in two years. You gotta let me know everything will be okay.”

Wade: Oh boy. Oh, gosh darnit. Oh, fiddlegabbers! Can’t believe we lost to those pesky Vikings.

Well, ol’ Wade ain’t one to panic. I’ve seen this team’s heart, and gosh dangit if they’re aren’t the finest 1-4 team in the NFL right now! All we have to do is stop committing penalties, stop turning the ball over, stop allowing big kickoff returns, and stop having a bad offensive line! HOW HARD CAN THAT BE?

I feel a turnaround coming. I really do. I think if we work hard enough, we can find a way to…

(door flies open)

Jerry: FATASS! FATASS! YOU FUCKING FAT ASS! YOUR ASS IS FAT AND I FUCKING HATE YOU!

Wade: Please, sir. Calm down.

Jerry: DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN, FAT KING JOWL! This was supposed to be our fucking year, you fat shithead! The Super Bowl is being played IN THE DOUBLE J’S CROWN FUCKING JEWEL! Ohhhh, you fucking IDIOT! I had parties planned! I had boats rented! I was going to take Susan Skaggs out onto the lake and dig into her pussy like a Chilean mine! AND YOU AND YOUR FAT FUCKING FACE HAVE RUINED IT!

Wade: Sir, I think we can turn this around if we simply keep a level head and work on correctin…

Jerry: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP! No one wants to hear what you have to say, Chubb Rubb! No one hears any words coming out of your fat hole. All anyone sees is two massive, fatty lips flapping like a hooker’s snatch! God, I hate your fat face so much right now, I just want to tie you down and beat you with a bag of soap!

Wade: You are way out of line, sir.

Jerry: You listen to me, Guntface. YOU ARE FUCKING FIRED. I brought you in here to execute my vision! And oh, what a vision it was. Super Bowl titles! Effusive reviews from architectural critics! A growing fan base in Hong Kong! EATING SHRIMP COCKTAIL BETWEEN A CHEERLEADER’S TITS! It shouldn’t have been that hard to execute!

Wade: Sir, nothing is ever easy when you’re trying to…

Jerry: Stop talking! No one cares what a fat person has to say. They shouldn’t even be allowed to vote. You may as well eat that disgusting mouth of yours, because it serves no other purpose. You should be in JAIL for being so fucking grossly obese. I HATE YOU! I GAVE YOU STARS! Didn’t I tell you my boy Romo was a star?

Wade: Well, I think you may have…

Jerry: HE’S A FUCKING STAR! He’s a great, big shining star with a massive cock for a little Mexican boy! And what about Dez Bryant? DID I NOT SAY THAT HE WOULD BE A FUCKING STAR IN THIS LEAGUE?

Wade: Well, I think you might have said…

Jerry: HE’S A FUCKING STAR IN THIS LEAGUE! I gave you all the ingredients, and you baked me a fucking jizzcake! You are so fucking fired!

Wade: Sir, I think that perhaps your anger at me is actually a manifestation of the frustration you may be feeling at how you yourself do business around here.

Jerry: Come again, Fatsauce?

Wade: I think you just might need to look in the mirror and accept some of the blame here.

Jerry: You know what I see when I look in the mirror, jelly rolls? I SEE A FIVE-STAR HOOKER ON HER KNEES GIVING ME THE SERVICING THAT I SO RICHLY DESERVE BECAUSE I AM THIN AND I RUN THIS FUCKING TOWN. You, on the other hand, are a fucking failure! You’re a failure as a coach, as a man, as a Weight Watchers program member, and as a father! THE WORLD WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER OFF WITHOUT EVER EXISTING!

Wade: (starts to cry)

Jerry: Oh, Jesus. You’re not crying again on me, are you? Nothing sadder than a fat man crying.

Wade: I’m doin’ my best, sir. That’s all I can tell you. Maybe it’s not showing up on the field, but I’m doing my best. Maybe you DO need to bring in someone who can whip these boys into shape. I ain’t the yellin’ and screamin’ type. I’m just one to work hard and give everyone else credit when things go good. If that ain’t good enough, then it ain’t. I didn’t mean to ruin your season. Honest.

Jerry: Eh, shit.

(hands him a hanky)

Jerry: Quit crying. And have your tear ducts removed, like I did. Misting your eyes every five seconds is worth not looking like a fucking pussy. Look, I know you’re workin’ hard. You know how fond I am of you. Well, not of YOU, personally. You’re fat and stupid. But I sure like having someone to poke with the pokin’ stick! Parcells NEVER let me use it!

Wade: So I’m not fired?

Jerry: Of course you’re fucking fired. All I need is to find a suitable interim coach. Shouldn’t be that hard, given the standard you’ve set, Chocolate Bunny.

(door flies open)

Garrett: Mmmm. Yes. Indeed. And I know just the fellow for the job!

Wade: You dirty snake!

Garrett: My dear boy, surely you knew you were never cut out for this position. I think we all know that you were merely a placeholder. Someone to warm my seat. And what a fine job you do warming seats! Dante himself could not envision such thermal capabilities!

Fear not, Jerry. I’ve been waiting for this day for a very, very long time. A position of this sort is in the GARRETT BLOOD. We were born for rule, good sir. That was what they taught us at my Eating Club. We didn’t merely eat lavish foods such as pate and shark fin stew and shaved Negro agnolotti. No, no. We also ate LEADERSHIP. We masticated upon its every nuance! We digested bravery! And feasted upon gumption! Oh, what a fine eating it was!

Now, let me lay out for you a very special 27-year plan for this organization that includes no less than TWO DOZEN TITLES FOR YOUR TROPHY PARLOR. Nothing makes a home like a fine trophy parlor!

(opens up massive Powerpoint deck)

As you can see, I’ve scripted the first 45,893 plays of the Jason Garrett Era, heretofore known to all as the reign of Garrett I. Each of these plays was designed using a special, proprietary Garrettmetric formula that takes the learnings of Gregg Easterbrook and advances it at least three quantums!

(clicks to first play, which is a swing pass to Felix Jones)

SWING PASSES TO FELIX JONES, SIR! EACH ONE MORE DEVASTATING THAN THE LAST! It minimizes risk while maximizing explosivity derivatives. And just when they’ve figured out our complex set of Felix Jones swing passes, we hit them with NAKED BUBBLE SCREENS TO DEZ BRYANT! No one ever expects a screen pass that fails to deploy blockers in front of the pass recipient. THAT’S THE GENIUS OF IT. And when Dez and Felix retire, fear not! For I know a couple of rather talented brothers who are Princeton legacies who have already absorbed this offense! Their names are Wesley and Worthington Cavendishwell, and I fully expect them to be available to us at a steal in the seventh round in 2023. That is how far a Garrett sees ahead. To the breeding stage!

Well? Well? Are you ready to begin a new era with me, Jerry?

Jerry: You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?

Garrett: Uff, uff, uff… harumphy… Are you rejecting me? YOU? A common Arkansasan? Well, I won’t have such indolence!

Jerry: These plays are the same shit you’ve been giving me all year!

Garrett: That’s why they’ll succeed, good sir! Once people think we’re about to do away with them, we redouble our efforts!

Jerry: Holy shit, you are awful. FUCK! I can’t hire you. There’s just no way. I have to find someone else to hire.

(door flies open)

Judd: Did I understand there is a position of considerable standing to be gleaned in this organization? Now? At this very minute?

Garrett: Brother!

Judd: Brother!

Garrett: What a fabulous surprise!

Judd: Will you be joining us for Christmas in New Canaan?

Garrett: Only if Muffin makes her signature raspberry thumbprints!

Judd: Indeed she will!

Garrett: What a fine eating that would be!

Judd: Ha ha ha!

Garrett: Ha ha ha!

Judd: Ha ha ha!

Garrett: Ha ha ha!

Judd: Ha ha ha!

Garrett: Ha ha ha!

Judd: Say, dear brother. Do you what I would do if I were to replace the appalling submersible currently lording over us?

Garrett: What?

Judd: Equestrian. Train our players in proper equestrian. They’ll learn balance! Discipline! And elegance! WHO WOULD SAY NEIGH TO SUCH A TECHNIQUE? The Garret Junta may yet prevail!

Jerry: Jesus, I can’t hire him either.

Wade: Looks like you’re stuck with me, sir.

Jerry: NOT SO FAST! I can hire our defensive coordinator.

Wade: That’s me. I do that.

Jerry: You do? How are you so good at that and so fucking shitty at everything else, King Ralph?

Wade: Beats me.

(door crumpled into very small ball and cast aside)

MBIII: JERRY FUCKING JONES! JERRY FUCKING JONES, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!

Jerry: Marion! Marion, dear friend! Did you see how my boy Felix caught all those passes?

MBIII: MOTHERFUCKING DINK AND DYKE BULLSHIT, JERRY JONES! MARION BARBER IS THE FUCKING RECKONING! IF YOU NEED A YARD, MOTHERFUCKING MARION BARBER GET YOU A YARD! AND IF YOU NEED TWO YARDS, MARION FUCKING BARBER GET YOU TWO YARDS AND A GALLON OF TIT MILK! Y’ALL CAN’T LEAD THIS TEAM FOR SHIT! YOU RUN WHEN YOU SHOULD RUN AND RUN WHEN YOU SHOULD PASS! AND MOTHERFUCKERS NEVER GET FINED FOR PENALTIES UP IN THIS BITCH!

Jerry: Those are all good points.

MBIII: MOTHERFUCKING RIGHT THEY ARE. GET THIS SHIT RIGHT AND WE’LL SMOKE SOME MOTHERFUCKERS!

Jerry: I think I’ve found our new coach.

Garrett: Surely, you jest! A player? From the dark continent? With tousled hair? He violates every dress code at Le Cirque!

Jerry: (gets on knees) Marion, I know I’ve been bad to you. I’ve locked you in closets. I tried trading you to San Diego even though I said I didn’t.

MBIII: I COULD HAVE GONE TO SAN DIEGO? MOTHERFUCKING FISH TACOS!

Jerry: I know! I know! But here I am, on my knees, asking for your forgiveness. I done you wrong, Marion. I need you. This team needs you. This whole town needs you, because it really doesn’t give that much of a shit about the Rangers. Please. Lead us. Show us the way. You know it’s the right thing to do. Be the coach we never had. Help us turn it all around. Do it, Marion. Do it for me. Will you?

MBIII: (thinks it over)

Jerry: Well?

MBIII: MOTHERFUCK YOU, JERRY JONES.

(leaves)

Jerry: Shit! Who else will I get now?!

(door flies open)

Pacman: CHUH CHUH. Pacman gon git hisself big settulment frum Cinzy five-oh fo dat traffik stop. Pacamn gon shine. He gon plant dat azz till it grow. Den he gon drank. O HE GON DRANK. U THANK HE AIN’T GON DRANK? Pacman say ain’t no drank drank till the hunny cummin’ out yo azz. BULLEE DAT.

Jerry: Are you here for the coaching job?

Pacman: Job?

Jerry: FUCK. Fine, fine. You can stay as head coach, Tubby.

Wade: Cool.

Jerry: But I’m firing you at the end of the year.

Wade: I know.

Jerry: AND I’M HIRING SOMEONE GOOD LIKE BOBBY PETRINO! THAT BOY IS A STAR! THESE COWBOYS WILL FUCKING RIDE AGAIN!!! YEEEEHAWWW WOOOHOOO I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!

Wade: Well, I’ll be. Look at that!

(looks at self in full body mirror)

Wade, you old coot! You done dropped thirty pounds! Gall dangit, that is somethin’. Loooong overdue, I tell ya. I feel great! I’ve got much more energy, and my dang feet ain’t so sore at the end of the day.

I tell you what. When those players see the work I put into dropping this weight, they’ll be inspired to work their keesters off for this season. I think this is a great first step. And nothin’s gonna keep me from goin’ back to the way I was. No, siree. No chance of that happening.

(hears rumble)

What’s that sound?

(rumble grows stronger)

Uh oh…

Jerry: YEEEEEHAW!!!! YEEEEEEEHAW!!!! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWWWW! I’m fucking back, you silver-haired pile of fat shit! You fucking chubmouth! Whatcha starin’ in the mirror for, fatty? Looking for your balls? Well the Double J has owned those puppies since 2007! AND I AIN’T GIVIN’ ‘EM BACK!

Wade: Sir, I don’t think your fat jokes will work on me this time. Look at me! I dropped thirty pounds.

Jerry: Oh now, did you? Lost weight, eh? Got the ol’ Rex Ryan Fat Lasso around your bellybag?

Wade: Good ol’ fashioned diet and exercise, sir. No surgery.

Jerry: Well, that’s pretty impressive there, Tubby. Kinda. Maybe. A little. Aw hell, who am I kiddin’? YOU’RE JUST AS FAT AND GROSS AS YOU ALWAYS WERE, FATTY! Thirty pounds? That’s barely a drop in your fatbucket! What did you lose, a pussy fold? You lost one pussy fold, didn’t you? Only eight folds left in your fatty pussy now, Fatticus Finch?

Wade: Sir, I really think we should get back to concentrating on our minicamps.

Jerry: Nothing you do is mini, fatty. You’re so fat, I could have you replace Colorado in the Big 12 and no one would notice! We’d just call it, the Big 10, Plus One Really Big Fat Shit! They could have sociology class in your fatty pussy!

Wade: This completely inapprop…

Jerry: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP. Now listen, fatsauce. I admire you for droppin’ a few ell bees. Hell, the Double J could stand to lose a few hisself. Only exercise I git is when I’m fuckin’ Susan Skaggs TEN THOUSAND FEET HIGH! That woman LOVES getting’ a spur in her rectum, I’ll tell you that!

But I don’t know if I like YOU bein’ all Skinny Wade and shit. It could make you uppity. And that’s not gonna work for me, Fatass. THE DOUBLE J DON’T TAKE KINDLY TO UPPITYNESS! This is a big season ahead. I let you git away with that “we’re a young team” shit last year. But not this year! I GOT DEZ BRYANT IN THE DRAFT AND HE IS A GODDAMN STAR! You hear me? A STAR!

Wade: I know expectations will be higher, sir.

Jerry: GOD DAMN RIGHT THEY WILL BE! You will win me three Super Bowls this year, fatass!

Wade: But you can only win one Super Bowl in a given yea…

Jerry: THEY’RE PLAYING IT IN MY STADIUM AND IF I SAY I WANT THREE SUPER BOWL TROPHIES THIS YEAR YOUR FAT ASS WILL GIT ‘EM FOR ME! You understand, Gunty?

You listen to me and you listen good. Nothing is gonna stop me from gettin’ us a home Super Bowl this year. YOU INCLUDED. I need to make sure every part of this organization remains firmly under my boot. Especially all that luscious cheerleader pussy gravy! I can’t have you gettin’ all skinny and independent. I need you FAT! And insecure! And desperate to please me!

Wade: I won’t get fat again.

Jerry: Oh, really? I believe these Oreo Cakesters here might beg to differ!

(brings out the Cakesters)

Wade: Cakesters?

Jerry: Take a good look, fatass. I got black ones and I got blonde ones. You could have them together. It’s the kind of interracial cream pie Irvin talks about every GODDAMN day. I have boxes of these strategically placed all along the office. You won’t be able to piss without a tempting box of moon pies undressed and ready for your slobbering tongue!

Wade: That’s downright cruel, sir.

Jerry: I ain’t done yet! You smell that air?

Wade: (sniffs) Yes. Smells like hickory smoke, sir.

Jerry: REAL hickory smoke. I got fresh brisket and pigs roasting in a pit right below this very office. And the smoke vents right here! By your desk! Now tell me you can resist that all sweet, succulent little piggy, BIG PIGGY! Tasty cracklins. Meat that pulls right off the bone. ARE YOU HUNGRY YET, BIG PIGGY? I THINK YOU ARE!

Wade: (eats rice cake) No, sir. You’re gonna have to do better than that.

(door flies open)

Garrett: Hmm. Yes. Indeed. It seems our portly fellow here has deprived himself of a good EATING in quite some time! Oh, how my Eating Club companions will be so disappointed in you, good sir.

(opens doggie bag)

For it seems they were not able to eat the last of my wife Muffin’s world famous BEEF WELLINGTON! They assumed you’d make a fine trash receptacle for it. Oh, what a shame that I’ll have to bestow a treat such as this one upon one of our many Negro custodial workers. They never appreciate such gifts as much as you think they would! And they never TOUCH the horseradish sauce!

Wade: You dirty snake!

Garrett: Now now, good sir. Our esteemed owner here is right to want to keep you, shall we say, larger than life? Larger than most things, I imagine! For only with you at your corpulent best will people finally be able to see that a Jason Garrett Princeton offense shall be the deemed the most sophisticated of all NFL offenses! Oh, the sophistication! My pass patterns shall walk the runways in Milan! I shall mold Dez Bryant into another Sam Hurd yet!

Wade: This is wrong! This is evil! You people should be happy for me! Not trying to push me off the wagon!

Garrett: Oh! Oh! Did someone say wagon?

(bells ring)

FOR I DO BELIEVE THAT IS OUR VERY OWN CHUCK WAGON APPROACHING!

(door run over by half dozen angry horses)

MBIII: JERRY FUCKING JONES! JERRY FUCKING JONES, YOU MOTHERFUCKING MOTHERCOCKSUCKER!

Jerry: Ah, Marion! Just in time with the chuck wagon!

MBIII: YOU PIECE OF SHIT! MARION BARBER WILL FUCKING TEAR YOU LIMB FROM LIMB FOR MAKING HIS ASS DRIVE A GODDAMN CHUCK WAGON! SHIT AIN’T DIGNIFIED!

Wade: They’re making you drive a chuck wagon, Marion?

MBIII: YES GOD DAMMIT! WHAT DO YOU WANT? WE HAVE MOTHERFUCKING RIBS. MOTHERFUCKING BEANS. MOTHERFUCKING BRUNSWICK STEW. BUT DON’T ASK FOR MOTHERFUCKING BISCUITS. I’M NOT MAKING YOU FRESH BISCUITS, ASSHOLE!

Wade: Well actually, I’ve been losing weight.

MBIII: WELL LOSE MORE, BECAUSE YOU’RE STILL FUCKING FAT, COACH.

Wade: Yes, sir.

Jerry: What do you think, Cinnabutt? This whole chuck wagon is full of fresh, delicious food. AND I put the fixin’s bar right outside your door! Can you smell all that goodness? Just take it in there, Tubby! It’s all waiting to looooove you!

Wade: No, sir. You can keep that chuck wagon right here for as long as you like, but I ain’t tempted. I’m stronger than you think I am. Now that I know how it feels to eat right and be healthy, nothing you say or do can make me go back. I’m not here for you, sir. I’m here for the players. I’m here to show them that some people aren’t lost causes. That someone like me, who’s been fat his whole life, can still turn things around. That’s gonna serve our team well. They’ll know it’s never too late to give up on yourself. And I’m gonna keep preachin’ it and livin’ it.

Jerry: Well, well, well. Aren’t you Mister high and mighty now! All up on your perch of healthy livin’! No chuck wagon for me! No pussy pie for ol’ Wade! He’s too DIGNIFIED for that sort of thing! Well, you listen here, Dr. Blubber. You may be all strong and willpowery now. But I’mma leave this chuck wagon here. And one night, you’re gonna be up late helpin’ make my boy Dez Bryant a GODDAMN STAR, and you’ll smell that brisket and you’ll say to yourself, Hell I earned this! And then you’ll have one little bitty teeny tiny taste. JUST A DROP. And that’s all it’ll take for the floodgates to open and BIG FUCKING CHUBTARD WADE TO COME SLITHERING BACK OUT!

Wade: Never!

Jerry: Wanna bet? BRING IN THE CHILI!

Pacman: CHUH CHUH. Sumbuddy up n diz bitch call fo some Skyline? Pacman got dat sheet 4 u. He kno he in Ohigho an shit now, but he bring dat chilli. O FUKK YEZ, HE DO. He gon shine. He gon fill dat puzzy up wit da chili till it b a sloppee jo. THEN HE GON CHOW DOWN. Pacman down wid it. And Pacman gon drank. O HE GON DRANK. U thank he ain’t gon drank? PACMAN SAY AIN’T NO DRANK DRANK TILL A BITCH GET A JALAPENO IN DAT AZZHOLE.

Wade: This sucks.

Jerry: YEEEEHAWWWW YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO RESIST MY CHUCK WAGON, FATASS! SOON, YOU’LL BE FAT AGAIN AND I’LL HAVE YOUR SWEATY FAT ASS WRAPPED AROUND MY FINGER! NOW EAT THOSE CAKESTERS, TUBBY! EAT EAT EAT! YEEEHAWWWW GOD DAMMIT I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!

MY BOY ROMO IS A GODDAMN STAR! THAT MINDBLOWING PICK TO LEBER WAS JUST A MESSAGE TO ME TO SLICE YOU INTO BITE-SIZE CHUNKS AND SHIP THEM TO THE STARVING HAITIANS!

YOU KNOW FOX PUT FAVRE UP TO THIS! THIS WAS RIGHTFULLY ROMO’S CHANCE TO WHORE FOR THE NETWORK! NOW WE’RE STUCK WITH DIET PEPSI MAX!

Wade: Well, well! That was a heckuva turnaround, wasn’t it? I’ll be. We did it! We came together and won this dang division. Lotta people said we couldn’t do it! Lotta people said we weren’t gonna win anything in December. But we showed them, didn’t we Roscoe?

Roscoe: RUFF!

Wade: You’re darn right, boy.

Roscoe: RUFF!

Wade: Yeah, I know. NOW COMES THE HARD PART! Taking on those pesky Eagles again. Won’t be a walk in the park like last time! But you know what, Roscoe? I feel pretty daggone good. I think I’ve proven myself. I think I’m ready to show everyone that Wade Phillips is a coach to be reckoned with in this here league.

(door flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEHAW!!!! YEEEEEEEHAW!!!! FUCKING GODDAMN YEEHAWW! You fucking fat piece of fatback!

Wade: Oh, shit.

Jerry: Did you see what my boy ROMO did to those Philadelphia FAGGOTS? They said my boy couldn’t win in December! But he proved those fuckers wrong, slapchin! How many TD’s did my boy throw there, Gunter Smith?

Wade: I believe it wa…

Jerry: TWO! Two goddamn touchdowns! Didn’t I tell you my boy was a STAR?

Wade: I think you may ha…

Jerry: HE’S A GODDAMNED STAR! A BRIGHT, SHINING TIXAS STAR THAT YOU FINGERBLAST A FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD UNDER! God DAMN, fatass! I’m so excited, I could stick my dick in Susan Skaggs’ ear again! AND I WILL! NO ONE EARFUCKS LIKE THE DOUBLE J!!!!!!

Wade: All due respect here, sir. I do think the defense did have a hand in these victories.

Jerry: Indeed they did, chubtard! Don’t think ol’ Jerral Jones didn’t notice those two shutouts my boys pitched out there. That’s one, two… TWO GODDAMN SHUTOUTS! ANOTHER TESTAMENT TO THE DOUBLE J’S SCOUTIN’ PROWESS!

Wade: I think maybe I deserve a bit of the credit here, sir.

Jerry: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP. I’m not done congratulating myself yet! You know, Mammy, a lot of people said the Double J was wrong to hire your fat ass. They said you were a loser. They said you couldn’t win in the playoffs. They said you were fucking fat. REALLY fucking fat. “Butter the bus seat” fat. They said you spent too much time in your office fucking banana peels…

Wade: I don’t remember anyone saying that.

Jerry: I did. BUT LOOK AT YOUR FAT ASS NOW! I have taken a fat, slobbering, wastoid of a human being and made him into a December winner! You and your flabby FUPA drippings have proven that the Double J can make a STAR out of any coach! Fuck, I could make that shit dog over there into Vince Lombardi if I chose!

Wade: Roscoe?

Jerry: You named him Roscoe? That’s the name of a fat man’s dog, if I ever heard it!

Wade: Sir, I think perhaps now is the time for us to discuss the option on my contract…

Jerry: Worried you’re gonna be fired, Balloon Boy? Don’t you worry. The Double J takes care of his own. Why, just last week, I fucked a waitress in the ass and then bought her a Coke. I TAKE CARE OF THOSE WHO ARE LOYAL!

Wade: I think it would be a big shot of confidence to the team if maybe you picked up the option NOW, instead of waiting until after Saturday.

Jerry: Oh, is that right?

Wade: And I think that, maybe, I deserve a small raise?

Jerry: A raise?

Wade: Yes.

Jerry: YOU UNGRATEFUL FAT CUNNY! I RESCUED YOU FROM RAIDING THE ROY ROGERS FIXINS BAR, AND THIS IS THE THANKS I GET?

Wade: I’m just saying I think I deserve what’s fair.

Jerry: Bahahahaha! You really think you have leverage here, Tubby? What are you gonna do? Go to Buffalo? Huh? Think the Bills want ol’ Wade back out there in his little faggot poof hat? OH NO! I MIGHT LOSE WADE TO BUFFALO! THEN I’D HAVE TO FIND A NEW FATTY! POSSIBLY ARETHA FRANKLIN! OH, WHATEVER WILL I DO?

Wade: I just thought it might be a good time for it, is all.

Jerry: Listen, Mike Rotunda, I’d love to give you a raise. So that you can go out and swallow all the brisket you like without even chewing it first. BUT THIS IS A WHORE OF AN ECONOMY TODAY, YOUNG MAN.

Wade: You just built a $1.2 billion stadium.

Jerry: But think of the cutbacks I had to make to git it done! I wanted a shark tank! DO YOU SEE A FUCKING SHARK TANK IN THAT STADIUM! I’m afraid we had to make concessions just to get it built. Times are VERY tight. We’re just going to have to muddle through.

Wade: But you had record revenues this year!

Jerry: Did I? That’s what the press would like you to believe. But I’m afraid the barely compensated for our overhead. SKYFUCKING TWICE EVERY AFTERNOON WILL HURT A TEAM’S POCKETBOOK! Besides, we’re lockin’ the players out next year, Count Fatula! We have to look at this thing, long term! That’s why you need to take an 8% paycut.

Wade: A paycut?!

Jerry: It’s necessary. Trust me. YOUR FAT ASS WILL BE GRATEFUL FOR IT!

(door flies open)

Garrett: Hmm. Yes. Indeed. I say, kudos to you all on our division title. And kudos to ME, for unearthing the hidden talents of Miles Austin. A good name, Miles. Sturdy. WOODY. Why, I know at least six people at the Mayflower Society who have similar names! It has a fabulous pedigree, reminiscent of taming red Iroquois savages. Disgusting creatures. Look like apples.

Jerry: Jason, my boy! Get this: Fatty here wanted a raise!

Garrett: A raise? A literal raise, like a forklifting out of his chair? I say, good man, you have taken a rather imperialistic attitude to occupying space!

Wade: I meant a pay raise.

Garrett: Oh, dear! In this economy? Oh, heavens no. I’m afraid you don’t understand the economic fluctuations that have commandeered this economy. Why, just last week, Missy and I had to cut short our annual cruise of the Adriatic with our friends at Goldman from 16 days to 15! And Pricilla Marshall says she and her husband will have to rent out their Hamptons estate for at least a week this summer! Can you imagine the filth a renter would drag into such a lovely home?! A raise? I hardly think that’s possible.

Jerry: Listen to Princeton Boy, Bubble Butt. He went to Princeton!

(door knocked flat to ground, falls through seven stories of the building)

MBIII: JERRY JONES! JERRY GODDAMN JONES!

Jones: Marion! My old friend! Enjoying your division title that I helped supply you?

MBIII: YOU DIDN’T SUPPLY SHIT, MOTHERFUCKER! MARION BARBER WANTS TO GET MOTHERFUCKING PAID!

Jones: Well, I would. But there are many economic factors that play into the decision…

MBIII: PLAY INTO THIS SHIT, HONKY!

(puts Jerry in an armbar)

Jones: OW! SHIT! This doesn’t feel as good as when my dominatrix does it!

MBIII: PAY MY ASS!

Jones: OKAY! All right! I pay you! Just let go!

MBIII: MOTHERFUCKER!

(leaves)

Wade: Wait a second. You said you had no money. How come he gets paid and I don’t!

Jones: Because the only thing you can put a hurt on is a Quizno’s sub, YOU FUCKING MEAT PUPPET!

Wade: Well, can’t I have a bonus, or something?

Jones: Sure. Here’s your bonus…

Pacman: CHUH CHUH. Pacman wuz cummin in dat unyun booty wen mista owna man say U NEED A DAWGSITA. Pacamn sit dat dawg. SHIT B ON. O IT B ON. Pacamn gon shine. He gon take dat dawg an find it sum guud dawgpuzzy. Gon go Mike vick on dat dawgpussy. Gon FIGHT DA PUZZY. GONNA BEAT DAT ASS TILL IT HOLLOW. And then Pacman gon drank. O HE GON DRANK. YOU THANK HE AIN’T GON DRANK? PACMAN SAY AIN’T NO DRANK DRANK UNTIL HE TREAT A BITCH LIKE A CAN A ALPO. JUS OPEN DAT CAN AND CHOW DOWN.

Roscoe: RUFF!

Wade: This sucks.

Jerry: YEEEEHAWWWW I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!

Wade: Oh dear. Another December stumble. Ol’ Jerry is gonna be fit to be tied. I know it for sure. I should clear out of here as quickly as possible before he pops in to give me heaping helping of griefy gravy. Then he’ll have that smarmypants Princeton boy poking fun at me like he’s God’s gift to this world. Well, y’know what? Some of this is his fault too. Then for some reason that cornerback that we cut last year will appear and tell us how he’s gonna drink.

I reckon I’m not much in the mood to deal with that nonsense right now. We’ve had a good season, dagnabbit! One measly loss don’t mean nothing to us. This December jinx business is all a big ballyhoo to sell papers. What does one month of the year mean to us? If these people really knew football they’d know it’s all a big coincidence.

Anyway, gotta move, gotta move! Quickquickquick!

But first: I’m gonna need a little snack for the road to tide me over to suppertime. The wife’s making the casserole. Not the favorite. Let’s see what we got.

[Fumbles through desk drawers]

Now & Laters? Those won’t do. They hurt my teeth. That’s really some last ditch snacking right there. Ooooooh! What’s this? No, it can’t be. IT IS! Sno Ball snack cakes! How did you hide from me so long? Ol’ Wade is gonna snack good today.

Uh oh, footsteps!

[Door flies open]

Philip Rivers: Ya betta ask somebodddddddaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyy!

Wade: What? Who let you in here?

Rivers: [Mocking tone] Intruder! How did you get by my many vending machines?

I LET MYSELF IN, YOU BULBOUS TIED DOWN CHOW HOUND! Do I need your permission to go where I please? Do I wake up in the middle of the night after knocking up the wife for the tenth time and think to myself “Hey King Laserdick wants to go drain the snake. I don’t know. I should ask Bubblestiltskin if it’s okay.” Is that what you think I do? Is it? WHAT? HUH? WHAT? FUCK YOU!

Wade: You, sir, are being very rude.

Rivers: Would ya look at that! THE LADY DOTH THINK ME DISCOURTEOUS! Just think how bad it’s going to be on Sunday when I’m storming up and down your big gay Texas sideline slinging shittalk after your secondary loses patience waiting for my kingly floats to find their way into receiver hands. Then I’m jam one cleat in Romo’s whore mouth and another up his ass, so my shoes can click the snap count somewhere in his torso. Then I’ll throw cover on your harlot tassel cheerleaders who are tempting the menfolk with their lack of dress.

And that’s just me getting warmed up.

Wade: I’m calling security. [Dials phone] You’re gonna be sorry, mister.

[Door flies open]

Jerry: YEEEEEHAW!!!! YEEEEEEEHAW!!!! FAILURE TO PAUNCH GETTING A TALKING-TO BY AN ORNERY SUMBITCH!

Wade: Sir, the opposing team’s quarterback is in my office berating me.

Jerry: I know he is, Blunder Thighs. I invited him.

Wade: You did what?

Rivers: HE SAID HE FUCKING INVITED ME, YOU TOO-FAT-TO-WALK RASCAL-RIDING RECTAL PROLAPSE! You know what the fuck invite means? It means come on down to my place as a welcome guest and tear my worthless coach a new hole to eject his ass taffy. If Texas didn’t only used the printed word on Denny’s placemats I’d find you a Cutlerfucking dictionary to look it up.

Jerry: HHHHHOOOOOOOO WEEEEEEEEE! THIS CALIFORNIA FAGGOT CAN REALLY BRING THE NOISE! I like the boy’s style. If Romo weren’t already a GODDAMN STAR, I’d buy him up in a showdown second.

Wade: I really don’t see the benefit in this.

[Door is primly opened and shut quietly]

Garrett: Ahem. Hmmm. Yes. I could see how someone of such limited capacity for reason could miss the intent of my canny stratagem. You see, this bawdy fellow and his team have been quite the antithesis of our own in the month of December. Whereas we falter – a faltering I credit solely to your shortcomings – his team thrives late in the season. It is obvious to even the dimmest of wits that we are the showy buds of earliest spring, whereas his flower stays efflorescent well into the torrid months of summer.

Rivers: What this pretentious ginger dick is saying is WE DON’T FUCKING CHOKE!

Jerry: YEAH CHOKOZUNA! HE GETS THE JOB DONE! YOU COULD LEARN FROM THIS MAN!

Garrett: Indubitably. Therefore, we gathered that a firsthand observation of his crass demeanor and churlish tactics would give us insight into the successful December player. Now it is clear that we must teach our players to be as disrespectful to you as humanly possible. Perhaps a demonstration is in order.

[Rivers grabs a package of Sno Balls and throws them in the air where they hang until their expiration date expires in 2034]

Wade: Oh no! [Meekly attempts to jump and snatch them] Now I’ll be stuck with casserole.

Garret: Your work here is done, my good sir.

Rivers: FUCK YOU! [Leaves]

Jerry: I TELL YOU WHAT – THAT IS ONE MOTHERFUCKING STRAIGHT SHOOTER! I wouldn’t mind him playing in Jerrah World one day. BUT IF YOU LOSE TO HIM I’LL RIP YOUR TONGUE OUT AND STAPLE IT IN YOUR ASSHOLE SO YOU’LL TASTE ALL YOUR FOOD COMING AND GOING!

Wade: This sucks.

Jerry: YAAAAAHAAAABBADADOOOOWAAAA! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWW! I AM FUCKING CRAZY!

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.