NOTE: If you don't watch House, check the first comment on this post for an explanation of each character.
Open on the pregame festivities at Super Bowl XLI in Miami. Peyton Manning and Brian Urlacher greet at midfield to share a handshake.
Peyton: Good luck out there today.
Urlacher: You too.
Just then, Urlacher starts vomiting uncontrollably. Peyton reaches down to make sure he's all right.
Peyton: Hey man, you okay?
Urlacher: I'm okay. Just some pre-game jitters.
Urlacher stands back up and seems all right. The ref comes in to handle the coin toss. Peyton gets the call.
Peyton drops to the ground in a full seizure while also choking, which is quite a twist because you totally thought Urlacher was the sick one. Archie Manning immediately has play suspended by the NFL, because his son shouldn't be deprived of the chance to play in the Super Bowl.
Archie: That's my son!
Cut to Princeton Hospital. House walks into Cuddy's office.
House: Hey, nice tits.
Cuddy: You're a real asshole. But you save lives, dammit. And secretly, I believe there's a vulnerable side to you that I'd like to have hot Jewish sex with.
House: Fuck you. Give me Vicodin, lapdog.
Cuddy: (rolls eyes, gives him 50 lb. bag of Vicodin) I have a case for you. Quarterback. Experiencing seizures and choking symptoms.
House: So what? Fuck him. (goes to leave)
Cuddy: But he didn't eat anything.
House turns around and is totally interested now. Cut to House's office.
House: Okay, so he's choking. His other symptoms include: (starts writing shit on a white board) seizures, hives, incontinence, pasty complexion, stuttering, arm spasms, and all the muscles in his neck appear to go slack when things don't go his way. Ideas?
Foreman: Could be lupus.
Cameron: Tests rule that out. Could be sarcodosis. (passes House a note that says, "I want the House Ranch Dressing, if you know what I mean. And I think you do. I want it on my face.")
Chase: Yeah, right! It's clearly pancreatitis!
Foreman: But we still haven't ruled out a brain tumor, virus, multiple sclerosis, axiomicardosis, foreskinosis, or some kind of other -osis.
House: Good point. Go break into his house illegally and look for shit. Because you're black and I find my own racism humorous.
Foreman: (rolls eyes, still does it anyway)
Chase: But all signs point to pancreatitis!
House: Then let's give him drugs for that and if he's fine, release him to his little football game.
The drugs appear to work and Peyton is let out of the hospital and flown in for the first quarter. He throws two picks and the Bears take a 14-0 lead. Suddenly, Peyton's eyes roll back into his head and he starts spitting blood. He's rushed to the hospital again.
House: My God. He's not getting better. He's getting worse.
Cut to commercial. Repeat the previous two scenes over two more times, substituting different incorrect disease treatments.
House: All right, everything we've tried has failed. And now his team is losing 47-0 and he's had the stupid game delayed three times.
Chase: We should run the tests again.
House: You're stupid. Are we sure there's no history of choking in his family?
Cameron: His dad says no way.
House: Yeah, well patients are lying little shits.
(goes to Archie)
House: You want your son to die, fuckhead?
Archie: Why, no one talks to me like that!
House: That's because you're too stupid to know you're being insulted. I patronizingly had my one black doctor (clearly the smartest one) break into your house and steal your game tapes. And guess what? You fucking blew.
Archie: (starts crying) But... the team around me...
House: ...Sucked because of you. We've got a medication that can treat him. Nice job endangering his life, fuckface.
Archie: (still crying) But he's not a choker! He beat the Patriots!
House: Pfft. I didn't watch that game. He's still a choking pussy in my book.
They medicate Peyton and send him back out. He throws five more picks and the Colts lose 67-0. At the end of the game, he has another seizure. Cut to commercial.
House: God dammit! Just when we thought he was cured, there were 15 minutes left in the show! Fuck!
Wilson: Maybe he has cancer.
House: Hey, fuck you. I bet your wife left you because you're a pussy.
Wilson: (sighs) This is what you do, House. You belittle everyone around you because you're too afraid to deal with your own inner demons. And if everyone else is a moron, then maybe you might actually have a speck of self-worth. But one day, it's all gonna come crashing down, and where will the people you love be then? Will you have pushed them all away?
House stares at his cane for a second.
House: Dude, you're a fucking homo. (Just then, something totally clicks in House's brilliant mind.) Homo, homo, homo...
House runs to Peyton's room.
House: Have you ever fucked a guy?
Peyton: What?! Never!
House: Don't lie to me, Golden Boy. Never taken up the ol' Saw Mill Parkway? Never visited the sausage factory? Never gone to the doctor for a meat lollipop?
Peyton: All right! All right! It was one time, with this amazing country singer. And maybe a couple columnists.
House: You moron. Don't you ever watch this show? You could've saved us all an hour!
Peyton: No, I watch nothing but game tape.
House: Dude, you're a fucking dork.
Peyton: I know. I know. (starts crying, will live but is emotionally destroyed forever)
House: Let me explain to you what happens when you get buttfucked by a columnist (the camera zooms into a computer animation of Peyton's colon, with little deformed sperm swimming around): Diseased sperm penetrate the lining of your rectum, giving all sorts of nasty little diseases.
Peyton: Yes, but which one do I have?
Cut to Cuddy's office.
House: All the symptoms match. So simple. Sort of amazing no other doctor with basic medical training couldn't diagnose it. Now let me get my hands on those major league yabahoes.
Cuddy: Ugh. Go away.
House: But there are five minutes left in the show. C'mon, man. I'm fucking crippled and shit.
Cuddy: No. We're gonna have a thoughtful, 5-minute montage set to "New Slang" by The Shins and you're gonna like it.
NOTE: Here's another completely gratutitous picture of Jennifer Morrison. Note the clenched fists. You ain't taking her down without a fight!