Wade: Ahhhh, nothing quite as relaxing as a hard-earned bye. The players got a nice, light workout today, and I’ve got the assistants studying game film for any of the three teams we could face a week from Sunday. I think it’s time I got to work on my New Year’s resolution.

(gets on treadmill in office)

(begins jogging)

Phew! This is harder than I remember! Just gotta get in the groove… C’mon, Wade!

(door flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWW!!! I thought I smelled pan drippings in here!

Wade: Oh… (panting) … No.

Jerry: Get off that treadmill, Rosa Porks! Look at you. Your t-shirt’s soaked with gravy!

Wade: Sir, that’s my sweat. I’m trying to get healthier in the new year.

Jerry: The hell you are! You’ll get a fucking heart attack when I TELL you to have a heart attack! Don’t even think about freelancing on me!

Listen up, you disgusting food blister. You got more important things to be doing than marinating in your own juices.

Wade: Oh, no. What do I have to do now?

Jerry: That goddam Simpson whore tried to sink our season! I want YOU to make sure my boy ROMO doesn’t invite her back to the stadium when we kill those Seattle faggots!

Wade: Sir, it’s pretty unlikely we’ll face the Seahawks.

Jerry: Who said anything about football, turdcurd? I’m inviting Schultz and Bezos for some golf this weekend, then Johnson’s gonna blast their heads off when I give ‘em a tour of the locker room! HOO WEE! Can you believe that?!? I’M CRAZY!!!

Wade: You hired Tank Johnson to murder two billionaires?

Jerry: HIRED? We already have that felon under contract, you goddam Hefty bag of Chunky soup! It’s YOUR job to convince him when to do it!

Wade: And you don’t want Jessica Simpson here with Romo when our defensive tackle is killing your enemies?

Jerry: I don’t want her here EVER, Fatsy Cline! I want them broken up by the end of the week or I’m canceling your Christmas bonus! Say goodbye to your bag of jalapeno poppers!

Wade: Sir, how am I supposed to break up our quarterback and his girlfriend?

Jerry: Easy. Check out this cherry piece of ass!

Wade: Mr. Jones, that’s my daughter.

Jerry: You bet your motherlard of a keister it is! That’s why it’s so perfect! You can set ‘em up tomorrow!

Wade: Sir, I don’t know if–

Jerry: Look at that little piece of Texas tail! She’s got her momma’s legs and her daddy’s titties!

Wade: Sir!

Jerry: Now, ROMO likes ‘em famous, so play up her new movie and tell him she’s gonna win a damn Oscar. And tell her to play it fast and loose. I ain’t gonna lose a Super Bowl because that slut didn’t give him the full casting couch treatment.

Wade: What–?

Jerry: Don’t act surprised, Peter Porker! Your daughter’s been auditioning in LA for over a year! She’s seen more wieners and batter than a Mayer-Butterworth wedding!

Wade: …

Jerry: HOO HOO! I can’t wait for my boy ROMO to dump a load of Arlington man chowder on her head! I want a full report on whether she can sit down the next day! And pencil me in for next Wednesday. Double-J needs his ashes hauled!

Wade: I hate this job.

Jerry: Wahoo! I’m gonna win it all this year thanks to that tramp’s tangy little juicebox! You’re my best hire ever, Billups!

Wade: Phillips.

Jerry: YAAAAHOOOO! ¡ARRIBA ARRIBA! ¡ÁNDALE! I AM FUCKING CRAZYYY!!!

Wade: For a week coming off a loss, it’s certainly been quiet around here. Jim Johnson foiled our attack good, even rattled Romo a bit. Just have to eliminate the distractions and I’ll have everything back in apple pie order.

Let’s see what else is going on around the league:

Hmmm. Pro Bowl rosters announced. Hey, a league-high 11 Cowboys! That’s even more than New England. Wonder how we swung that?

What’s this sidebar? “Parcells rejects Falcons offer, may join Dolphins.” Hoo boy.

(door flies open)

Jerry: YYYYYYYEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAWWWWW

Wade: Oh lordie.

Jerry: Your Lord is right, Bulbous the Blubber Beefcake! Can you believe what the media is saying the world-beating squad I’ve assembled is the work of Parcells? They say he’s gonna replicate the task in Miami. He didn’t even want T.O. or my great goddamn star ROMO.

Wade: You can’t really concern yourself with what the media says, sir.

Jerry: YOU BETTER GODDAMN BELIEVE I CAN, CAUTIONARY WHALE!

(flips on TV)

Parcells: It’s like I said, you scribbling little faggots: I’ll fix this little pathetic fucking franchise right up in no time, just like I did in New England, New York and Dallas. Write that shit down and shove it in your peehole, twinkledick. Please refer all follow-up questions to the back of your sallow teeth, shitheads.

(turns TV off)

Jerry: Did you hear that, Mother Flubber? I know if he said all-you-can-eat moon pie night, you’d have fucking heard him clear as a Day’s Inn seafood buffet, Lard O’ Lakes.

Wade: He did do a fine job of getting the team back on track after a few losing seasons.

Jerry: He did a fine job of HORSE SHIT, Hamhock! He couldn’t even win a goddamn playoff game. This success has all been the makings of Double-J! Now you better get your fat on the road and deliver me a Super Bowl, or I won’t give you this hover scooter for Christmas so you can float your flab ass to the refrigerator and back.

Wade: I’ll do what I can, sir.

Jerry: YEEHAW!!! WOO HOO!! I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!

Wade: Phew! Well, I don’t believe it, but we pulled it out against those Packers. That Rodgers kid sure is a competitor! Just goes to show you, you can’t ever rest your laurels in this league!

Say, I sure could use a rest.

Hmm. Do I dare? Oh Wade, you wily ol’ coot! No way you’ll be able to sneak in a little catnap right here! You know darn well that nutjob bossman of yours will come flying through those doors at any second. He always does. Maybe I should just wait and see if he comes ‘round.

(waits)

Boy, I’m getting’ sleepy.

(waits)

Boy, this couch sure is comfortable. It’s almost like it’s caressing me. I feel so warm. Getting so drowsy… so very drowsy…

(waits)

I am in a Sleepland. I am floating on a raft with Dinah Shore. It’s so calm here…

(door flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAW!!!!!

Wade: (wakes up) Huh? What? Oh, no!

Jerry: Well, well, well, if it’s isn’t Tits Van Winkle! Dreaming about castles made of marshmallows again, Big Fun?

Wade: Sir, it’s not what it looks like.

Jerry: I tell ya what it looks like! It looks like someone tranquilized a goddamn elephant with a blowgun!

Wade: I was simply gathering my thoughts about this here Lions game, sir.

Jerry: Never mind that shit, Dumpy Humpty! I’ve got a very important assignment for you! Did you see my boy ROMO get it done against those Wisconsin faggots? All the beer cheese soup in world won’t make those fatass fans forget the cattle branding by boy ROMO gave ‘em! HOO WEE!!! I haven’t been this excited since I convinced Donna Bragg to fuck Houston Nutt, and then videotape it!

Wade: I don’t understand, sir. What is it you want me to do?

Jerry: Fatty, my boy ROMO is quickly becoming a goddamn STAR! The biggest star in the NFL! Women want him! Men want to be him! And Mexicans want to mix his precious half-white blood with their own! But with that stardom comes a few unforeseen consequences, Tubby. Consequences I need you to keep an eye on.

Wade: Keep an eye on what, sir?

Jerry: I want you to keep your eye on that sweet piece of Dixie ass my boy ROMO has been hitting the town with!

Wade: You want me to spy on Jessica Simpson?

Jerry: That’s right, Paul Funyun! My boy ROMO has been gobblin’ up every last piece of pussy in the state. And so far, he’s kept a level head. But this Simpson girl. I worry about her distractin’ his focus! Take a look at this photo, Lardass.

Wade: Oh, she’s quite pretty.

Jerry: Oh, don’t give me that horseshit, fatass! You’d fuck this girl until your heart exploded! In other words, for three seconds! See how a girl like this might distract your focus? Go on, try and focus on the Lions right now.

Wade: Right now?

Jerry: Yeah! Right now! Kinda hard, isn’t it? Kinda hard to think of that shithead Kitna when you’re looking at that tight little 27-year-old ass! Just look at that blond hair cascading down her back! Would look nice riding right on top of ya reverse cowgirl, no? Gorgeous tanned calves… big fat tits… tell me you’re not thinking about givin’ this sweetheart a shallow dickin’ with your 3-inch Bic pen!

Wade: I am a gentleman, sir.

Jerry: Oh, Jesus! You’re no fun, Jennie-O! Now I’ve hired the best private detective I can find!

Private Eye: Hello. My name is Barney.

Wade: That guy looks creepy. He looks likes a convicted criminal!

Jerry: And he was! That’s why he’s so good at private investigatin’! He’s not afraid to break in to people’s home if need be! Now, I want you two to do a little snoopin’! Find out where this girl goes! Who her friends are! What her underwear smells like!

Private Eye: With pleasure.

Wade: Sir!

Jerry: Don’t worry, Fatty. If you need to rub one out while you’re watchin’ her, I won’t mind. Just don’t cream on these night vision goggles! They cost a goddamn fortune at Brookstone!

Wade: But what about the Lions?

Jerry: Pfft. The Lions. They’re a piece of cake. I’ve got the Lions game all prepared.

(door opens)

Garrett: Well, it looks like someone is finally going into private security, the job they were born for.

Wade: Shut up! Jerk.

Jerry: My boy GARRETT here will take of the Lions. You just keep your eye on my boy ROMO’s ladyfriend! And try not to get noticed!

Garrett: Ha! That’s a rather LARGE order for him, is it not?

Jerry: Ooh! That was a good one! You like that, fatty! He’s saying it’s hard for you to stay hidden, because you’re such a fat lump of shit!

Wade: Yes, I get it. Well, I better get started.

Jerry: Hold on, Wade. I need you to stay for just a moment, because it’s time… TO PUNCH THE FATTY! PUNCH THE FATTY! PUNCH THE FATTY! PUNCH THE FATTY! PUNCH THE FATTY!

(starts punching Wade repeatedly)

Wade: STOP IT! THAT HURTS!

Jerry: BUT IT’S SO FUN!

Wade: I hate everything.

Jerry: YEEHAW!!! WHOOPADEEDOO!!!!!! I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!

Wade: Well, I do declare, that was one satisfyin’ win. But my goodness, this is one devil of a short week! I gotta get all this stuff done before those scrappy Jits come on in here tomorrow!

Hmm. You know… I reckon if I can get some of this game plan done NOW, I can leave work early tomorrow! Hoo wee, that’d be the bee’s knees! Hop in the car around 2, beat all the traffic, and be home to help the Mrs. Cook her famous sweet potata pie. Mmmmm, I can smell it comin’ out of the oven now. My, my, my.

Well, no time to waste then! Better get these papers in order…

Hmmm, suddenly I don’t smell sweet potata pie no more. I smell gun powder. And Cool Water! Oh, no…

(door flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAW!!!!! YUMPIN’ YIMMINY YABBITY YOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Wade: Shit.

Jerry: Holy shitballs, Tubby! Did you see what my boy ROMO did to those dirty Redskins from DC! Scalped ‘em like a pilgrim’s child! Woo hoo!!!! Ooooh, I bet that little Danny Boy is still smartin’ over that!

Wade: Sir, I was just in the middle of…

Jerry: …An apple fritter? Shut up and listen, Jurassic Pork. You know what I bet that tiny little sack of shit if we won on Sunday? Do ya?!!

Wade: No.

Jerry: I bet him a weekend house! Ha ha ha! Can you believe that deluded little shit went for that bet? My flabby friend, I am now the proud owner of 300 pristine acres in the Wyoming valley! I got the deed right here! SIGNED, SEALED AND DELIVERED TO THE DOUBLE-J! Yeeeeehaw!!!!

Wade: Wonderful, sir.

Jerry: You know what I’m gonna do with all that land, Shirley? I’m gonna BURN it! Picture it, Jemima: A raging wildfire as far as the eye can see! And poor Danny Boy can’t do shit about it! Then I’m gonna make all our players wear a patch on their uniforms that says, “Hey Danny Boy, your daddy is still dead!” How you like that shit?

Wade: Very exciting, sir. Listen, if you don’t mind. I have to finish up our game plan for the Je…

Jerry: You aren’t finishing up jack shit, Crisco Kid! Hey, I like that! The Crisco Kid! It’s funny because you’re fat and sad! I wanna know why you aren’t taking your etiquette classes with Princeton Boy!

Wade: Sir, we have a very short week. I don’t have time to waste with these silly…

(door opens)

Garrett: Yes, I would imagine such things would seem rather silly to you. Why, I’m surprised you don’t have a napkin tucked into your collar this very moment. Surprised, indeed.

Jerry: Jason, my boy! How are you? I hope you’re ready for Thanksgiving at the ol’ Double-J ranch!

Garrett: Oh, quite. Muffy has prepared a wonderful mince pie for the occasion! And I brought a special Sauterne I thought you and I might share!

Wade: Wait a second. You invited HIM to Thanksgiving and not me?

Jerry: Well of course I did, you big fat shit! I can’t invite you when I have OTHER people there who also need to eat! I’m not lettin’ you turn my house into your own personal Golden Corral!

Garrett: A wise decision, sir.

Wade: It’s not fair!

Jerry: Well, maybe if you took Jason’s etiquette course seriously, you’d have found yourself on the invite list, Queso Dip!

Garrett: Indeed. You could use the training, my good man. Why, just look at my star pupil!

(door opens)

TO: Hello, Mr. Garrett. Hello, Mr. Jones.

Jerry: My God! You are like the goddamn dog whisperer, Garrett!

TO: (holds up croquet mallet) Would you gentlemen care to join me on the lawn for a set?

Wade: He’s faking it! He lit Terence Newman’s shoes on fire just yesterday!

TO: Why, Wade! Whatever dost thou mean, old chap?

Jerry: Looks like you could use some tips from ol’ TO here, Fathead. Since my boy GARRETT has worked with him, he hasn’t caused any trouble. Or sucked any cocks!

TO: (nervous) Yes, yes! No cocks of any sort!

Wade: Fine. I’ll take the goddamn course.

(four hours later)

Garrett: And the salad fork goes on the…?

Wade: On the far left. The dessert fork goes on top.

Garrett: Very nice, Wade!

Jerry: I’ll be damned! It’s like seeing a hog dress up in black tie! You done good, Sergeant Stretch Marks. That’s why I’m going to give you a reward.

Wade: What?

Jerry: You get… A TICKLIN’!!!!

(tickles him)

Wade: (laughing) No! Sir! Hahaha! Please stop!

Jerry: WHAT’S THE PASSWORD, FATTY?

Wade: Iced tea!

Jerry: LOUDER, PIGGY BOY!

Wade: ICED TEA!

Jerry: I CAN’T HEAR YOU!

Wade: ICED TEA!!!!!

Jerry: YEEHAW!!! WHOOPADEEDOO!!!!!! I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!

Wade: Hoo boy! My goodness! What a barnburner of a win! I reckon we’re doin’ pretty good tryin’ to salt this division away. I’m real proud of those kids out there. They’re doin’ a heckuva job. And, I must say, I think I’m going to celebrate just a little today with my favorite lunch in the whole wide world.

My my my. That is one good-looking chili dog. Haven’t had one of these in ages. But you did good yesterday, ol’ Wade. You deserve to treat yourself. This might be my favorite food in the world. It’s got a hot dog, with chili right on top! Imagine bein’ able to use meat as a condiment! What a country!

(takes a bite, a small bit falls onto his shirt)

Oh, dag gummit! Well, if that ain’t just the raccoon beatin’ down my doorstep. I better get a hold of some club soda and try and wash this fella out best I can.

What’s the rumbling sound?

(door flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWWW!!!!! MOUNT UP, YOU BIG FAT HEAP OF DONKEY SHIT!!!!!

Wade: Oh, God dammit.

Jerry: Did you see what my boy ROMO did out there yesterday, you big fat manatee? FOUR touchdown passes, all on the Broadway stage!

Wade: Actually, the game was played in Jersey, sir.

Jerry: Jersey, Broadway… It’s all the same shit to me, Buffet Buster! Just a bunch of meatheads with funny accents and queers with lip rings!

Wade: Sir, if you don’t mind, I’m tryin’ to eat my lunch.

Jerry: Good God, what the fuck are you eatin’, Florence Tubbingale? Is that a chili dog? You know what kind of nitrates are in that, Sir Francis Bacon? You may as well eat shit right from a man’s muddy asshole! Then sop the buttjuice up with Wonder Bread!

Wade: I’m trying to eat, sir!

Jerry: Not anymore, you ain’t! (throw chili dog away) Listen, Fatty. I’ve been thinking about things. And it’s clear to me that the reason my boy ROMO isn’t an A-list worldwide superstar at this very instant is because YOU are draggin’ him down!

Wade: He threw 4 TD’s yesterday!

Jerry: (takes off ten-gallon hat, hits Wade with it) I’m not talkin’ about football, Mount Foodji! I’m talking about appearances! How can my boy ROMO be revered when his lazy fatass of a coach is sittin’ over on the sideline sucking on a chili dog like a French whore on rent day? It’s time to teach your sorry fat ass some MANNERS! To teach you in the art of bein’ a real gentleman! And I know just the man to help you!

(door opens)

Garrett: (singing)
Do mi re fa mi sol fa la sol ti la do ti re do!
Do la ti sol la fa sol mi fa re mi do re ti do!

Jerry: That is gorgeous! Is that one one of them eye-talian operettas?

Garrett: Oh ho ho ho! Heavens no, Mr. Jones! Those are my alternate, skipped scales. Ascending and descending, of course. One cannot call himself an educated man without properly knowing his solfege! Helps keep the diaphram elastic. I’m sure the portly gentleman here knows all about elastic.

Wade: Hey!

Garrett: I know my other fine vocal tune-ups as well, Mr. Jones. Like this one: My momma makes me mash my M & MMMMMMMMMMMM’s!

Jerry: Whoa, that is some crazy shit right there!

Garrett: The alliteration helps the soft palate, sir. It’s all about the soft palate. Again, I’m sure Barbara Cook here knows all about mashed M&M’s.

Wade: This is ridiculous! I don’t need to be taught to be a gentleman!

Jerry: Wrong, Brunhilda! Some proper etiquette training from Princeton boy here is just what we need to help get my boy ROMO to the top!

Wade: Oh, for Pete’s sake. Fine. Fine, I’ll do whatever you want.

Garrett: Great. We shall begin this very night. Kindly meet me in my study at 8:00PM sharp this evening. And try not to bring the baggage of your agrarian upbringing with you. And don’t wear burlap overalls, as I assume you do in your casual time.

Wade: I won’t.

Jerry: Well, I’m glad we’re getting’ you moving in the right direction, Chief Nougat. NOW IT’S TIME FOR A LITTLE HOGTYIN’!

Wade: What?!

Jerry: TIME TO HOGTIE YOUR FAT ASS!!! WAAAHOOOOOO!!!

(ties up Wade with twine, stuffs tomato in Wade’s mouth)

Wade: Mmmmfff! Mmmfff mfffmf mfff!!!

Jerry: My goodness! Look at him, all tied up like that! Makes me want to have a team luau! How you feel about roastin’ over an open flame, little piggy?

Wade: Mmffff!!! Mff! Mfmfmmfffff!!!!

Garrett: How wonderful!

Jerry: TIME TO EAT, BOYS! YEEHAW!!! YIP YIP YIP!!!! HOLY DOGSHIT I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!

Part II next week

Wade: Well, that was a real nice bye week. Finally, a chance to get a little R&R. Spend some time with the family. See the kids. Wrangle some lovin’ from the Mrs. Get away from that crazy asshole. Yep, I reckon I earned a day off or two. Guess I better start gameplanning for those pesky Eagles. Let me just check these internal team memos before I get started. Let’s see: Oh, they’ve added brisket to Tuesday’s lunch menu. That sounds darn good. What’s this other memo? Press release?

“FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: The Dallas Cowboys are proud to announce that they have signed quarterback Tony Romo to a contract extension.”

Extension?

(door flies open)

Jones: YEEEEEEEEEEEEE HAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!!!!! THIRTY MILLION GODDAMN DOLLARS, YOU BIG FAT COCKSUCKER!!!!!

Wade: Oh, God. I had nearly forgotten about him.

Jones: Didn’t I tell you my boy ROMO was goddamn STAR?! Didn’t I?!

Wade: I guess.

Jones: You’re goddamn right I did, you fat, oozing mound of pigshit! And now I’m giving him the money to back it up! $30 million! That’s ten, twenty, THIRTYMILLIONGODDAMNDOLLARS! What do you think a that, Chesty Morgan?

Wade: What do I think of it?

Jones: Yeah! Pretty impressive pile of money. Eh, Minnesota Fats?

Wade: I guess.

Jones: YOU’RE GODDAMN RIGHT IT IS!!!!! WAHOOOOOOO!!!! When Double-J sees something he likes, he keeps it FOREVER! I tell you what, Blobby, the only thing that feels better than getting $30 million is knowing you have the “fuck you” cash to give it away to someone else! That’s POWER! Sweet, delicious POWER! Goddamn, I love power more than I love fucking my housekeeper in the ass!

Wade: Whatever you say, sir.

Jones: You know, Snuffleupagus, I’ve been thinking. We’re 6-1, and you’ve done all right for a guy who has a stroke walking up a handicapped ramp. I’m thinking maybe you need a little salary increase yourself.

Wade: Really?

Jones: Nah, just jerkin’ your lariat. YOU AIN’T GETTIN’ SHIT, MABEL!

Wade: Oh.

Jones: In fact, I’m gonna need to start pulling more of your weight around here, Florida Evans. And given that you’re the size of floating shit barge, pullin’ your weight’s gonna be quite a task!

Wade: Well, what do I have to do?

Jones: One word, Dumptruck: Branding! I just signed an endorsement mega-deal with Diet Pepsi Max, and you’re included in the signage!

Wade: Didn’t we already do an ad for that?

Jones: Yeah, but now we’re gonna a shitload more! It’s gonna be a whole series! I’ll be Jake, and you’ll be the Fatman.

Wade: I don’t wanna be the Fatman.

Jones: Tough shit. You’re fat, so you’re acting fat. I just paid ROMO $30 million. I gotta make that shit back somewhere. This Diet Pepsi Max deal is just what ol’ Double-J needed! It’s like regular Diet Pepsi, only with more PASSION! More FIRE! More JERRY! That ginseng stuff ain’t just for Oregon faggots, you know. That shit gives me some extra fucking energy! Energy I need to pistol whip staffers, fishhook call girls, and chew out my pilot! And, looking at you, a little bit of DIET Pepsi could do your fat loins some good. I bet your thighs chafe when you take two steps down the street!

Wade: Maybe.

Jones: Good! I’m glad you’re on board with my plan, Tubbalicious. Now, I want you to wear this Diet Pepsi Max shirt.

Wade: Fine.

Jones: And this Diet Pepsi Max visor.

Wade: Fine.

Jones: And this Diet Pepsi Max medallion.

Wade: Fine.

Billboard Painter: Someone call me to paint a Diet Pepsi Max billboard?

Jones: Over here, Dutch Boy. I want you painting that logo right across Free Willy’s backside here.

Wade: Whoa, hold on a cotton picking minute. He’s not painting my ass.

Jones: Get real, Bertha! You think Pepsi’s gonna pay $30 million without me giving them the biggest piece of real estate I got? We’re painting that logo on your ass and you’re gonna like it!

Billboard Painter: I’m gonna need more paint than what I have in the van. This is a three-coat job, minimum.

Jones: Buy it all, my man! And make sure it’s oil-based! Ol’ Porky here can take a shit that’ll make latex paint peel off the goddamn walls. Now drop ‘em, Fatty!

Wade: This sucks.

Jones: WOO HOO FUCK YEAH HOLY DIET PEPSI MAX I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!

Wade: Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Everyone! Everyone! Listen up! I just saw Mr. Jones’ car coming down the freeway. You gotta hide! Everyone, everyone, please hurry up and find a good hiding spot.

Jennifer: But where will you hide, Coach Philips?

Wade: Don’t worry, Jennifer. I am the head coach here. I will handle Mr. Jones myself.

Jennifer: Are you out of your fucking mind? You haven’t seen him after a loss. I’ve been Mr. Jones’ assistant for over five years. Please, Coach, don’t do that to yourself.

Wade: Shit. Well, all right. I guess I’ll find a spot for myself as well.

Jennifer: You sure it was his car?

Wade: It was a white El Dorado with a gold grill and longhorn hood ornament. It was also going 200. Isn’t that his car?

Jennifer: Oh, yeah. That’s his car.

Wade: Then we don’t have much time.

(tries hiding in cardboard box)

Wade: Fuck. This won’t work.

(tries hiding behind houseplant)

Wade: Fuck. This won’t work either.

(tries hiding in shitter. All five stalls are occupied)

Wade: Fuck. I’m just gonna have to hide under the reception desk.

(jumps under reception desk)

Wade: Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in…

(Doors fly open)

Jones: WHERE IS THAT BIG FAT SHIT?!

Wade: Shit.

Jones: Wait a second. Where is everybody? Are you hidin’ in here, Fatboy? REAL COWBOYS DON’T HIDE, YOU BIG FAT SHITPIE!

Wade: Just keep quiet, Wade. He’s bound to calm down at some point.

Jones: You really think you can hide from me, Fattykins? I BUILT THIS GODDAMN FACILITY! Matter of fact, I don’t even have to look. All I gotta do to follow the smell!

Wade: Uh-oh.

Jones: What sweet, sweet treat are you hidin’ in your big fat folds this week? Huh, Meringue Boy? (sniffs) Oh, ol’ Double-J definitely smells himself some CHOCOLATE! Isn’t that right, Chumbawumba?

Wade: Shit.

Jones: I definitely smell a little caramel, too! Oh, it’s gonna be too easy to find your fat ass. Are you havin’ fun yet, Fatty? ‘CAUSE I’M HAVIN’ A GAY OL’ TIME HUNTIN’ YOUR FAT ASS DOWN! Chocolate nougat? Crisped rice? It can only mean one thing…

Wade: Uh oh…

Jones: (leaps over counter) GOTCHA! GOTCHA, CAPTAIN DROOP! YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN HIDE A 100 GRAND BAR FROM SOMEONE WHO GREW UP IN ARKANSAS?!

Wade: Sir, I can explain.

Jones: The only thing you need to explain to me is how you figured I wouldn’t find your 500-lb. ass hiding under a goddamn desk. There’s nothing on earth that conceal those huge tits of yours, Buffet Boy!

Wade: Sir, you’re being very hurtful.

Jones: Hurtful? HURTFUL?! I’ll tell you what’s hurtful, douchedrinker: watching my boy ROMO get outshined by some two-bit Cali gayboy because your fat ass can’t design a defense!

Wade: We had a very good plan in place.

Jones: Oh, you did? Would that be the “Let them score 48 points while I eat an entire box of bonbons” plan? Because that worked to perfection, Tubby! I wanna show you something.

(Enter Jason Garrett)

Garrett:
Constance Fry
Constance Fry
Anytime you call…
Constance would fulfill your needs
Winter, spring, or fall…

Jones: That is a gorgeous song!

Garrett: Do you like it? I learned it in my acappella group. I’m assuming the portly fellow over here assumes that’s some sort of veal dish.

Jones: You see how educated my boy GARRETT is, Admiral Fat? He could have found a way to shut that Brady fucker down!

Garrett: Hmm. Yes. Indeed. A pity such a nice offensive performance was wasted on your slothful nicompoopery.

Wade: This loss is something we all share responsibility for.

Jones: I don’t think so, Meatpile. No, I’m gonna blame this one squarely on YOU. You better figure out a way to beat those Patriots in January. Otherwise, I’m givin’ Paul Anka over here your goddamn job!

Garrett: Oh, why not put the sad fat man out of his misery now, Jerry? Surely, he would be relieved to retire to a life eating Fruity Pebbles straight of the box.

Jones: Because I wanna see the fat man sweat a little, Jason. A little more than usual, I should say. That boy sweats more than a Coke bottle in 100 degree heat! Get your shit in line, Philips. AND START FUCKIN’ WINNIN’ GAMES FOR THE DOUBLE-J!!!

Wade: I gotta quit.

Jones: YEEHAW!!! WOO HOO!!!! GOD DAMMIT AM I AM FUCKIN CRAZY!!!!

Special thanks to Dan V.

Wade: Woo! Well, that was one close shave. Thank ya thank ya thank ya, Jesus. I do believe we’re 5-0. You know what? I’m gonna give the whole team Tuesday off! Damn straight! They’ve earned it after workin’ so hard, and that might give me a free hour or two to myself as well. I think I’ll even take the wife to dinner. I bet she’d like that. I could take her to Morton’s and buy her a shrimp cocktail. I reckon a day of rest will help get ready for those mean ol’ Patriots next week.

Well, I guess I’ll just pack up the ol’ laptop here. It’s 5 o’clock, so I’m just gonna casually assume that my boss has left the building and that I’ll be able to make a clean getaway. Nope. No chance he’ll show up just as I’m leaving to give me a shitload of work and ruin all my plans. That never happens to anyone.

Wait a second. I hear footsteps.

(door flies open)

Jones: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEE DOGGGAY!!!!!

Wade: Oh, Lord no.

Jones: Did you see that?! Did you see what my ROMO did to those Buffalo faggots? FIVE goddamn interceptions and he still pulls that game outta his red hot ass! Even when he’s bad, he’s still a goddamn STAR! He’s just like Johnny Walker, only REAL! And without that little homo Anthony Michael Hall playing him! Good thing he won, or else I’d have gutted your fat ass like a beached sea lion! Hoo boy, my ROMO is waking up echoes of NINETEEN NINETAY TWO, YOU BIG FAT SUMBITCH!

Wade: Mr. Jones, if you don’t mind. I have to get home for the evening.

Jones: Oh, you got things to do, do ya?

Wade: Yessir.

Jones: Thinkin’ about goin’ home to relax for a bit?

Wade: Yessir.

Jones: Maybe even takin’ the wife to dinner?

Wade: Yessir.

Jones: Thinkin’ about breakin’ into a Cinnabon and stealing all the frosting?

Wade: What?

Jones: YOU’RE NOT GOIN’ ANYWHERE, YOU BIG FAT CRAP! It’s Patriot week now, Sailor Boy! And I want your fat ass right here in this office, thinkin’ up new ways to make my boy ROMO a bigger star than that California dipshit Brady! That fuckin’ Belichick. I tell ya, you can’t get away with dressin’ like that here in Texas! We gotta little more pride down here than those pasty New England fuckers. Am I right, Deluise?

Wade: But sir, these young men have been working very hard, and I think they deserve a day off.

Jones: You fat little pig. Hey, I think I see a spider over there spinning cute messages into a web for you, you Kentucky Fried fatass! I don’t give a shit if you let the players off the hook for a day. They worked hard and they deserve it. But the only thing YOU’VE been workin’ on is a case of Canadian bacon! I puttin’ your fat ass out on the plantation for a day, you fat fucking Koosh ball!

Wade: Well, all right. I’ll get the film prepared.

Jones: Fuck the film. I got bigger plans. Fatboy, I have a new vision for this team. When I watched us beat those fat disgusting Pollacks from Chicago a couple weeks back, I realized just how important this whole futbol Americano shit is for our Brand Loyalty! That’s why I want you to start coaching the team… IN ESPANOL!

Wade: WHAT?!

Jones: No, no, no. The word you should use from now on is: QUE?!

Wade: But I don’t even know Spanish!

Jones: Did you think I didn’t think of that, Tubby? Hell, I know your fat ass doesn’t speak any Spanish. The only Mexican you’ve studied is the ingredient label on a fucking Old El Paso jar! No, I’ve hired a special language consultant specifically to help you convert the entire playbook into Spanish. C’mon in, darlin’!

Dora: Hola! Me llamo Dora! And this is my pet monkey, Boots! We’re going for a picnic lunch! El almuerzo!

Jones: Almuerzo! I love it! Can you believe this little wetback will help us out for just thirty cents a day? And I gotta tell you, her mother is one intense PIECE OF ASS! She rode me like I was a goddamn Arabian mustang!

Dora: Let us play the drums! Las congas!

Wade: Sir, this is insane. We can’t teach the players Spanish and convert the entire playbook in just one day! That girl isn’t even real! She’s a cartoon character!

Jones: Well then, you make one shitass businessman, Pudding Tits! There is no I CAN’T at goddamn Valley Ranch! You work with little Paco here.

Dora: Dora!

Jones: Whatever the fuck your name is, kid. Make it happen, Buffalo Butt. You’re not leaving this complex until my boy ROMO’S poster is on the wall of every Nicaraguan child that has a wall to look at! And beat those Patriots, El Gordo! That’s Spanish for “The Fat Man”! I like it because it means you’re fat!

Wade: Fuck.

Jones: WAAAAAAAHOO!!!! AYE AYE AYE!!!! ANDALAY ANDALAY ARRIBA ARRIBA I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!

Wade: Oh Jesus Jesus Jesus. Holy guacamole. I hope no one’s using the bathroom stall.

(runs into bathroom, stall is occupied)

Oh, man. This is bad. Goodness gracious, that Chipotle burrito tore right through me. If this feller dudn’t hurry up, I’m done gonna soil my britches. Maybe if I stand in front of the stall like so, he’ll know someone’s waiting to use it. Please. Please please please, hurry up. I can feel that ol’ rattlesnake pushin’ his way out.

Wait a second. I know those boots. Are those rhinestone alligator skin boots?

(stall door flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HAW!!!!!!!!! YIPPEE KAY YAY, COCKSUCKER!!! ANOTHER LONE STAR TORPEDO FOR THE DOUBLE-J!!!!!!

Wade: Aw, shiiit.

Jerry: Boy I tell ya, that there was the single finest dump I’ve taken in this facility. First class. Top o’ the line. Tell you what, Fatty Cha Cha, that’s the kinda bomb that kills Japanese schoolchildren! KABOOM!

Wade: Mr. Jones, you’re blocking the entrance…

Jerry: Yes sirree, absolutely pristine log I laid. It was two-beacher, with NO paperwork!

Wade: Mr. Jones, please.

Jerry:
My turd is big
As an oil rig
(clap clap clap)
DEEPINTHEHEARTOFTEXAS!!!!!!

Wade: Mr. Jones, if you don’t mind, I have to use that latrine myself.

Jerry: Oh, I don’t think so. That bank any takin’ any more deposits for the day, if you know what I mean.

Wade: Oh, Lord.

Jerry: Besides, that ain’t no handicapped stall. And I seriously doubt your fat ass can sit down without a whole lotta help from a railin’. Am I right?!

Wade: Well, if you’ll excuse me, then. I have to run.

Jerry: Shit on your own time, you big fat tube of Jimmy Dean. It’s time to talk about my boy ROMO! Did you see what he did out there?!

Wade: Well, yes, I was on the sidel…

Jerry: Tore that Bears defense a new asshole! I tell ya, my boy ROMO could be elected governor of Texas, he’s such a goddamn star! And this team is 3-0! THREE GODDAMN WINS AND NO GODDAMN LOSSES! Who’da thought we’d go 3 and goddamn 0 with your fat ass at in the driver’s seat? I’m amazed you even have room to work the steering wheel, King Hippo!

Wade: Sir, I really do have to…

Jerry: Listen, Tubby. I saw a power ranking that had us at Number 3 this week. Well, I want YOU to get my boy ROMO up at the top of that there list! NUMERO FUCKIN’ UNO! You hear me?

Wade: That’s fine sir, if I could just use the lavatory for moment…

Jerry: I don’t pay you to squeeze one out on the company’s dime, Pumpkin. Besides, IT’S TIME TO SLAP YOUR TITTIES!!!

Wade: Sir, no…

Jerry: No arguin’! It’s titty slappin’ time, and I’m feeling frisky!

Wade: Sir, I beg of you…

Jerry: I need to slap me some tits! Who’s got slappy titties?! Who’s got slappy titties? Is it you?!

Wade: I do not have slappy titties.

Jerry: (slaps his tits) IT’S YOU! YOU GOT SLAPPY TITTIES, BOY!!!! WAHOO! YIPPEE! RAMALAMADINGDONG!!!

Wade: Sir, if you don’t let me leave, I’m afraid I’m going to make a bit of a mess.

Jerry: Well all right. Get on in there and shit, boy.

(goes into stall, five minutes pass)

Jerry: You sure are takin’ your time in there, Titty Magee!

Wade: Sir, it’s hard to go with you standing there.

Jerry: Hard?! You tellin’ me you can’t handle the pressure, Mr. Kathy Bates?! Well then, consider this an important exercise! SHIT THAT LOG OUT!

Wade: Dear Lord, I’m never gonna be able to do this.

Jerry: YOU DRIVE THAT TURTLE OUT TODAY, PROFESSOR KLUMP!!! MY BOY ROMO AIN’T GOT NO TIME FOR POOP! GREASE THAT ASSHOLE! LET’S GO! LET’S GO!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HAW I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!!!!!!!

Wade: Good golly, is it 2PM already? Boy, I am famished! Haven’t had time to eat all day. But it seems pretty quiet around here now. Yup, I think I’ll just kick back with this delicious Black Angus sub from Quizno’s. Let me just tear open this small packet of pepper to give this baby a kick! Oh, man. This looks good. Finally, after a long, hard morning, Wade’s finally gonna get some much needed chow in his belly. Now just to open my mouth and direct the sandwich towards my oral cavity…

(Doors fly open)

Jones: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAW!!!!!!!

Wade: Oh, dear God no.

Jones: Did you see what my boy ROMO did to those faggots down in South Beach? That’ll teach Jason Taylor to sell Nivea aftershave balm and fuck white women! My boy Romo is a goddamn star, you big titty monster!

Wade: Sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like to enjoy my lunch for a moment.

Jones: Lunch? You want LUNCH? Hoo boy, the last thing your fat ass needs is scheduled eating! I’m surprised you weren’t fucking that sandwich when I walked in here!

Wade: Sir, please…

Jones: Listen, Moby Dickless, we have work to do! Now, my boy Romo is taking off thanks to my Princeton boy! Get in here, Princeton boy! Look what Ricki Lake here is trying to do to this poor sandwich!

(Enter Jason Garrett)

Garrett: Oh dear. Seems someone matriculated at a school that did NOT teach proper nutrition. Are you in concurrence, Mr. Jones?

Jones: Shit yeah! I didn’t know Hamburger University had a football team!!!!

(Jones and Garrett laugh)

Garrett: My goodness, you are an obese man. Did your parents keep you in the house, or did they simply let you graze out in the pasture? Do you know what we did with the obese students back in Princeton, Mr. Jones?

Jones: Tell me! Tell me!

Garrett: Nothing! Because no one at Princeton is obese! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!!

Jones: Oh, that is fucking great! You know, you’re not so bad, for a Northern queer! I can’t wait for you to take over Bessie The Cow’s job next year!

Wade: Can I just please enjoy my lunch?

Jones: You’ve enjoyed enough lunches for this lifetime and the next, Tubgirl. I’ve got a new assignment for you!

(Enter Tank Johnson)

Tank: I’m Tank. I like guns. And fucking.

Jones: WAAAAAAHOOOOOO!!!!! Look that feller!!! Doesn’t he just look fucking MEAN?

Garrett: Indeed. He’s a terribly frightening Negro.

Jones: I mean, his name is Tank! How can you not like that?

Tank: I want a Slim Jim, motherfucker.

Wade: Well, when I’m finished here, I can help take Tank through the defensive playbook.

Jones: When you’re finished?! I think not, Wade Folds Five! I want this young man starting next week! And I want you to personally get him up to speed!

Wade: Isn’t he suspended?

Jones: I’m workin’ on that. Don’t you worry your fat little blimphead about it.

Wade: I’m just not sure if we can get him ready…

Jones: That’s because you’re too fat and slow! You’re so fat, we had to lower you into the stadium through the hole in the goddamn roof!

Wade: That’s not true!

Jones: This young man is the key to our defensive success! And he’s perfect for our fanbase! He loves guns! Texans love guns! It’s a perfect match! YIPPPPPITY YIPPITY WAAAAAAA!!!!!!

(Fires guns in the air)

Tank: Those are nice guns. I want them.

Jones: Keep ‘em! I’ve got thousands of them!

Garrett: How grand!

Wade: God, I’m starving.

Jones: Tough shit, Flab Wagon! Git your sorry as back to work! WORK! WORK! WORK!

(Beats him with a riding crop)

Wade: I hate my life.

Jones: YEEEEEE DOGGGGIE, I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!!