Tom, seven touchdown in seven possessions. How do you guys seemingly score at will?
You only won by 46, Tom! What kind of humble pie is Belichick gonna serve up now? Huh?
(pulls Tom in and whispers)
I want you, Tom. I want you NOW. After the game, I want you to meet me at the Residence Inn, and go to Room 301. And once you’re in there, I want you to throw me down and bang me like a man just coming out of the desert. I'm begging you. Hunt this MILF. Let me be your weigh station, baby. Your fuck stop.
Just do the nastiest shit to me that you can possibly think of. Nothing is off limits, Tom. NOTHING. If you want to beat me with a wire whisk, that’s fine. I’m 3’9”. Want to toss me like a dwarf around the room? You got it. Fucking hold a pistol to my head if you want. Fuck, bring Mankins in. I don’t care. Just be sure to big that big, luscious Michigan Wolverine in your pants with you. I want that cock, and I’m not stopping until I get it. Treat me like Belichick treats the media, baby. I don't mind playing rough.
Yeah, I know you have a girlfriend. I’m not here to mess that up. She’s gorgeous and rich and smart and all that shit. I get it. Baby, I’m not here to be some sort of homewrecker. I just want the cock. That’s all. I’m a mature woman. I know how to handle this type of shit with discretion. You don’t have to give me your number, or your email address or anything. Just serve it up in me and hit the showers, Champ.
It can be our little secret. I won’t tell a soul that you treated me like Mike Tyson treats a stray cat. Just think of it as an arrangement. Maybe we can get together every few weeks or so. And you can hollow me out like a chocolate Easter bunny. We can even agree to a "no talking" thing, if you want. I have a similar deal with McNabb.
But please. Just give it to me. It’s lonely out on the road. See you in Room 301, sweetheart.
NOTE: Peep this video from Zubaz Pants.