I Cannot Possibly Babysit All Of Darren McFadden’s Illegitimate Children

Wade: Hoo boy! Preparin’ for this draft certainly has been a mountain of work. Back in my daddy’s day, we’d never have dreamed of this level of preparation: scouting reports, interviews, workouts, background checks, statistical analyses. My, my goodness. I tell ya, it’s nothing like it used to be. Heck, I could work 24 hours a day and there’d still be more to do if I wanted to!

But I tell you what. Ain’t no rule saying I can’t burn the midnight oil without treating myself to a bottle of suds or two.

(opens office mini fridge)

Yep, it’s eight o-clock. Past the point of no return. If I’m gonna be late preparing these here scouting reports, I may as well settle in for the long haul. There’s something about a beer late at the office. It makes work feel a whole lot less work-like, I reckon. I’m sure gonna enjoy this.

(pops bottle)

Now to simply bring the bottle to my lips and tip it back so that the frosty liquid can, by force of gravity, fall into my mouth…

(door flies open)


Jerry: YEEEEEEEEHAAWWWWWW!!!!!! Yee! Haw! YEEHAW!

Wade: Oh, no.

Jerry: Well, well, well! Drinking on the job, are ya, Chubtard?!

Wade: Sir, I hadn’t even…

Jerry: CHUBTARD CHUBTARD CHUBTARD CHUBTARD CHUBTARD!!!! You like that name, Chubtard?! I thought of it when I was bareback riding my bull over here tonight! I like it because it says you’re both chubby AND retarded! And you are! CHUBTARD!

Wade: I don’t like that name, Sir.

Jerry: That’s what makes it so fun to say, Minister Fudge! Now, what the fuck makes your fat ass think you can drink alkeehol on the job? You don’t own this team! Know who does? Huh? Do you know, Fat The Dripper?

Wade: You do, Sir.

Jerry: YOU GODDAMN RIGHT! THE OL’ DOUBLE-J, OWNER OF THE DALLAS COWBOYS, MOST VALUABLE FRANCHISE IS ALL OF SPORTS AND CROWN JEWEL OF THE GREAT STATE OF TIXAS! TIXAS!!!!!

Wade: Yes, Sir.

Jerry: Hey, Fatlock! Only the DOUBLE-J gets to enjoy his alkeehol on the job! You got me, Faaaatlock?

Wade: Yes, Sir.

Jerry: What kinda fucking beer you drinkin’ anyhow, Chubtard? Bud Light?! BAHAHAHA! That ain’t no drink! (pours self drink that’s one half sarsaparilla and one half skin liniment) Now THERE’S a drink! I do like my sassparilly! You ever try sassparilly, Captain Cumbersome?

Wade: No, sir. Not really my cup of tea.

Jerry: Not your cup of tea? TEA? Jesus, for someone with such a loose ass, you sure are a tightass. You stir that tea with a black cock? Drink some of this, Tubby.

Wade: Sir, I…

Jerry: Just try it. You need to loosen up, Fatty. Matter of fact, put that work aside for tonight. We’re gonna get shitfaced, then we’re gonna head over to the titty bar and get TITFACED!

Wade: But these scouting reports!

Jerry: Oh, fuck the scouting reports! We’re not gonna need those this year, Pop Secret. Double-J’s got a slippery ace up his ol’ sleeve. Now drink, Dumpty! DRINK YOU BIG FAT FAGGOT!

(two hours later at a bar)

Wade: (drunk, singing) You wanna be startin’ something! You got be startin’ somethin’! Mama say mama sah nama moo sah! Mama say mama sah nama moo sah! Mama say mama sah nama moo sah!

Jerry: (also drunk) SING IT, BOY! HOO WEE, YOU’RE JUST LIKE THE FAT CHICK FROM HEART!

Wade: Mama say mama sah nama moo sah! Mama say mama sah nama moo sah! Mama say mama sah nama moo sah!

Jerry: I tell ya, you aren’t such a bad time when you got a little liquor in you, Chubtard.

Wade: Well, you never asked to hang out.

Jerry: Oh, bullllshit, you big fat dicklicker! I invite you out all the time! I invited you to my wife’s daffodil party!

Wade: You made me bartend.

Jerry: THAT’S BECAUSE EVERY GOOD PARTY NEEDS A FAT, FRIENDLY BARTENDER! IN A BOWTIE!

Wade: (does a shot) I never liked you, Jones. You ain’t no better a man than me.

Jerry: Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Chow. I didn’t mean no harm. I wouldn’t keep you around here if I didn’t think you were the right man for the job.

Wade: You mean it?

Jerry: I do.

Wade: Will you shake on that?

Jerry: I will.

(shakes Wade’s hand, knocks him out with one punch)

(cut to one day later)

Wade: Wha… where am I?


Wade: Who are all these children? (phone rings) Hello?

Jerry: YEEEEEEHAW!!!!!! WAKE UP, CHUBTARD!

Wade: Where am I?

Jerry: You are at a home I recently purchased for a young man named Darren McFadden. And, more specifically, for his many various offspring.

Wade: But why?

Jerry: I told you my boy ROMO was goddamn STAR, didn’t I? And I told you he needed more stars, did I not? Well, this young man is a goddamn SUPERSTAR! And we’re gonna make him the next great running back for the Dallas Cowboys! I'm trading all our picks to get him! But I need my boy MCFADDEN to focus! I can’t have him worrying about those little babies scurrying around and shitting all over the place! YOU will get to oversee their growth and what not personally. It’s Fatty Day Care!!!

Wade: So this is why you got me drunk? So you could trap me here!

Jerry: That’s my boy Wade! Always figuring out shit AFTER it’s happened! Way to go, Tits-fer-brains! Now listen, those octuplets need formula on a staggered rotation of every five minutes! And you better get it to them soon! Darren ain’t been home for seven days! Look how pale those little bastards are! They're barely half-Negro anymore! There’s also three more kids upstairs. And six more in the basement. And his latest, Superb, is due from the hospital later today. Oh, and there’s Maury.


Maury: Hey.

Wade: Who’s Maury?

Jerry: He’s Darren’s oldest son. Make sure he gets his Weetabix in the mornin’, or he gets feisty!

Maury: Where’s my cereal, bitch?

Wade: But who will take care of the team while I’m doing this?

Jerry: You can talk to him yourself.

(passes phone)


Garrett: Hmm. I was told those children needed a father figure. But you’re more figure than father now, aren’t you?

Wade: You dirty snake!

Garret: Oops. Gotta run. Ta!

(passes phone back)

Wade: Shit.

Jerry: Enjoy the not-quite-miracle of foster fatherhood, Chubtard! YEEEEEHAWWWWW!!! WOOOO HOOOOOOO I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!

J-Load Weighs His Grief

Think I'm finally getting a handle on all this grief weight. I know the founder of Popeyes isn't coming back, but he'd want us to soldier on in his memory.

And there are really so many fast food options, for all parts of the day. Heck, Taco Bell invented a whole new meal. A fourth meal.

I'm like Prufrock -- I can measure out my day in drivethroughs. But I'm thinking healthy now. Maybe I'll use one of those fancy innernet gizmos to map out my course of eating tomorrow. This time, I might even walk it.

Let me just sign in real quick.

Hey, what's this?

"Egg McMuffin inventor Herb Peterson dies"

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

[Eats handful of Funyuns]

Omm mom mom erm foom

J-Load Has His Own Stop-Loss

[Giants voluntary off-season workouts]



Trainer: Lorenzen! You've put on another 10 pounds. Jesus, son. The season ain't been over but a month and a half.

Lorenzen: [Entire chicken in mouth] Mmmpppharm aarrphumm eb fffajjmack

Eli Manning: Jared, I thought we agreed that you were gonna get more active this year. Y'know marking the 10th anniversary of the Subway Jared's dropping 245 pounds. Strahan even got the secret from him: eating Subway sandwiches while recuperating from gastric bypass surgery.

Lorenzen: Haarrfff faarrfff nnnarrfff

Manning: Okay, uh, please take the chicken out of your mouth.

[Removes chicken, then another behind it]

Lorenzen: But the founder of Popeyes just died! It's grief-related weight!

Manning: You do know the chain isn't going anywhere, right? It's a massive corporation with 1,800 locations in 20 countries. That guy probably wasn't even involved with it at the time of his death.

Lorenzen: It's not going away?

[Removes 12 biscuits from jacket and pants pockets, sheepishly places them on nearby table]

Manning: It can't keep going on like this. I know, with David Carr coming in, you've fallen to fourth on the depth chart. But after Carr and I declare our love with a white-gloved double-suicide, you'll be right behind Anthony Wright. You've got to be in game shape.

Lorenzen: Look: I'm incorporating extra movements into my daily routine like you said. I press at least three more buttons on the microwave than necessary. I took that flatscreen out of my fridge. I took the minifridge out of my nightstand. When I go to McDonald's with my lady, I make sure to eat at least three napkins for vitamins. Don't I, bacon bits?


Tamara Lorenzen: [mutters affirmative tone with chicken in mouth]

Lorenzen: I tried everything to deflect my mind from food. Really, I have.

Religion.


Art.


Even doting on our pets.


I tell you it don't work! I'm just destined to be fatty forever and ever. It's a curse I got to live with.

[Lorenzen sobs. Eli turns away in disgust, whereupon Lorenzen begins stuffing biscuits back in pocket]

I Do Not Feel Comfortable In The Confines Of A Strip Club

Wade: Welp, I’d say this has been a solid offseason so far for us. We had that tough go of it against those pesky Giants, but dangit if they didn’t go hog wild and win that Lombardi Trophy! My my my! I think that’s a good sign for us as a team. We’re a bunch of young’uns, and now these boys know what it’s gonna take to get that ring.

Mostly, I’m glad Mr. Jones saw it in his heart to give me a second chance. This coachin’ life can git pretty darn lonely sometimes. Movjn’ around all over the country, you ain’t got no time to put roots down. Friends seem to come and go just like that. But we’re finally out of the crazy season, and maybe Darlene and I can finally go out on the town with a few of the neighbors, make some new friends, and have ourselves a spot of fun for once in a blue moon. Matter of fact, think I’ll arrange a dinner party at PF Chang’s this very same day. Hoowee, the Mrs. will be surprised at ol’ Wade takin’ a little bit of the initiative and makin’ plans!

(picks up phone)

I wonder if they still have those lettuce wraps. I sure do like the way they…


Jerry: YEEEEEEEEHAAWWWWWW!!!!!! Say, is it fat in here, or is it just YOU?! YOU FAT FUCKING GLOP OF SHIT!

Wade: Oh, no.

Jerry: On the phone with the delivery boy again, Fleshy Gordon? Don’t you know that if you keep makin’ that poor Chinaman pedal his bike over here, his little chopstick legs’ll fall off! MY GOD, YOU’RE FORCING HIM TO RIDE THE TOUR DE SHRIMP TOAST, YOU BIG FAT ASSHOLE! I see March Fatness arrived RIGHT ON TIME FOR YOU this year!

Wade: Sir, I’m making plans for the evening, if you don’t mind.

Jerry: Never mind that, Divine. I’ve got shit for you to do. Besides, I’m assuming the only plans you’re making for the evening involve a pint of Dulce De Leche and kneading your pork loin to a copy of Vanity Fair your old lady left lying around the house!

Wade: I was trying to schedule a dinner date actually.

Jerry: Son, you married dinner a long time ago. THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR YOUR FAT ASS TO BE MAKIN’ PLANS WITHOUT THE DOUBLE-J’S CONSENT, TUBBALICIOUS!

Wade: Sir, it was just one night.

Jerry: Well, table it, Rush-to-eat Limburger. WE ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF FREE AGENCY! And I want this team to make a splash! Why do you think I kept you around, Fatty? If I’m gonna make a splash, I may as well keep the man who can drain an ocean basin just by dipping his toe in it! Now, if I learned anything from this season, it’s that my boy ROMO is a goddamn STAR! But it’s not enough to have just one STAR! We need a whole shitload of stars here so that my boy ROMO doesn’t feel all that pressure. AND I DON’T SEE ANY STARS COMIN’ THROUGH THAT DOOR, BAREFOOT CONTESSA!

Wade: Well, we were able to bring in Zach Thomas…

Jerry: That’s wonderful, Tubby. I’m glad you and the grease stains on your Wranglers liked that signing. BUT ZACH THOMAS AIN’T NO STAR! I wanted Randy Moss walking through that door, and all I got was Jason Taylor’s retard brother-in-law! His decline is as inevitable as Barack Obama’s future assassination! I want NEWSMAKERS, you fat fucking crescent roll. I’m askin’ for delivery and you’re givin’ me DiGiornio. And DiGiornio AIN’T SHIT!

Wade: Well, what do you suggest?

(door flies open)



Pacman: Where them bitches at?

Wade: Oh, no. No way. That feller ain’t nothin’ but trouble.

Jerry: GODDAMN RIGHT HE IS! He‘s perfect! Just think, every time my boy ROMO takes Jessica Simpson down to the Caymans for a good Texas tenderizin’, my boy ADAM here’ll be raisin’ hell to keep those fat, disgusting reporters distracted. Ain’t that right, Adam?

Pacman: There’s too much light in this club. That bitch too fat with all this light. I NEED A COKE.

Jerry: Settle down, Adam. This is not actually the strip club. We had to stop here in Coach Quizno’s office here before we get to the club. Remember how I told you not to throw quarters at our receptionist?

Pacman: Man, fuck that bitch.

Wade: We can’t sign him! He’s not even reinstated!

Jerry: Listen, fatass. I am working diligently with the league office to get my boy ADAM here back on the field. Don’t you doubt the Double-J’s ability to make that happen. I got more pull in that office than you do at the Dunkin Donuts register! Adam is good young man. He’s just got a little sickness, you see. He has a very specific kind of agoraphobia that keeps him from feeling comfortable outside his safe place. It’s just that HIS safe place is the Gold Club.

Pacman: TURN THE FUCKING MUSIC UP! I CAN HEAR MYSELF THINK!

Wade: Well, what do I do about it?

Jerry: That’s just the thing. YOU will be chaperoning Adam from club to club through the duration of his stay in our fine, stripper-laden city. Way I figure it, with your fat ass there, there’ll ALWAYS be somethin’ in the way of Adam and any kind of trouble. He won’t be able to flick nary a clitoris without having to traverse your mammoth terrain first. It’d be like tryin’ to give Jupiter a reacharound.

Wade: Sir!

Jerry: Just you wait, Adam. You’re gonna feel REAL safe in this town. You’re gonna be tits deep in SMU commuter student pussy in no time!

Wade: This is incredibly inappropriate, Sir. I do not feel comfortable in the confines of a strip club.

Jerry: Oh, loosen up Turnblad, if it’s physically possible for you to loosen up your body more than you already have. I’m sending you to the titty bar FOR WORK! THIS IS HOW BUSINESS GETS DONE IN TEXAS, GUMGUZZLER!

Wade: We’ve got a lot of draft prep to do and more. Who’s gonna do all that if I have to stay with him 24/7?

(door flies open)


Garrett: Oh, dear. I was told to beware the peptides of March. Yet here they are in their most corpulent manifestation.

Wade: YOU! I thought you were dead!

Garrett: Hmm. Yes. Indeed. Ha ha. I’m afraid you fell for a bit of a ruse, my fudgy friend.

Wade: What?!

Jerry: Oh come on now, DJ Bisquick, you didn’t think I’d actually shoot my boy GARRETT, didja? HOW ELSE WAS I SUPPOSED TO GET THAT FAT COCKSUCKER PARCELLS OFF THE PHONE? I gave Princeton Boy here a new contract. $4 million a year ain’t too much for my boy wonder!

Wade: But that’s more than I make!

Jerry: Which is why you get to escort Adam here to the ol’ Poon Saloon! NOW GET YOUR ASS OUTTA HERE. I DON’T WANNA SEE YOU BACK HERE UNTIL ALL YOUR CASH IS GONE AND YOU SMELL LIKE SOMEONE DUMPED A GALLON OF JESSICA SIMPSON’S DESSERT PERFUME ON YOU!

Pacman: Hey Fatman, let’s go get pussymad.

Wade: This sucks.

Jerry: WAAAAAHOOOOOOO!!!!! GET CHANGE FOR A HUNDRED AND BURY THEM ELBOWS IN SOME TEXAS ‘TANG, YOU FUCKING FAT PIECE OF OSSO BUCO! NYEEEEEHAW I AM FUCKIN’ CRAZY!!!!

$20 Million Gonna Buy A Lotta Hotcakes

I like this new Cleveland team. I like the way they do business. I get traded, and then they give me $20 million dollars.

That is some good shit.

I tell you this, $20 million gonna buy a lotta hotcakes. I had planned on just having a steak and a milkshake for my 1 o’clock lunch. Then maybe another steak and milkshake for my 1:30 lunch. But with this $20 million in my pocket, ain’t no reason I can’t go get myself a big stack of them hotcakes.

I know IHOP usually be for Sundays, but this different. I bet they let me in right away. I bet they’d even let me have a booth table, so long as they press the table against the other side of the booth so’s I can be accomodated.

Then, I’mma order me some hotcakes.

You get them hotcakes right off the griddle, and that shit be good. I bet I can even request a separate scoop of whipped butter for each cake, and that would be good as well. I bet, for $20 million, they even give me two kinds of fruit.

You know what would be good on them hotcakes? Chocolate cake.

I’m gonna wear a suit when I get them hotcakes. Because this is a double special occasion. I wonder if they could dip the hotcakes in eggs, so that I can have French hotcakes, because that would be very expensive and international. I bet that how Donald Trump eat them hotcakes.

I like hotcakes.

Brady Quinn Expects To Compete For Browns' Starting Job, Affection Of Other Men

When Quinn walked into the green room for the NFL Draft last April, he probably thought he was going to be a top ten pick, maybe even go number one. But he didn't, as you'll recall. He went 22nd.

When Charlie Frye shit the bed in Week One, Quinn thought he was probably going to get a huge bump in playing time, maybe even start a few games in his rookie season. But he didn't. Derek Anderson jumped in and set the NFL ablaze, jump-starting the Browns to a 10-win season, and probably saving Battletoad Crennel's job in the process.

And when Horse Balls finally got paid in free agency, with guaranteed money nearly double what Quinn is slated to earn, one would suspect that the Columbus, Ohio native had finally learned his place in the League.

Yeah, not so much. He's expecting an open competition in training camp.

“My whole goal is preparing myself and getting ready to try to take over the starting job and lead this team,” Quinn said Saturday during [sexual intercourse with two other men, three underage boys, and a dalmatian for] an appearance at an auto show.

Browns GM Phil Savage, who's like Ozzie Newsome, except he's white and never played in the league, and a lot younger, has Anderson locked in as the starter:

"When you sign a contract like we did with Derek, I don't think there's going to be an 'open [rest stop exit for homosexual athletes to engage in any sort of] competition'," Browns general manager Phil Savage said. "We go in with Derek as the lead horse. You don't sign a contract like that and say, 'hey, it's an open competition'."

However, Coach Crennel is insinuating that Brady Lite will get a look:

"You have to [have the occasional sphincter stretching if you expect to get better as a football team or they're gonna bring in some damn white boy to] compete for your job. That's the same at the quarterback spot [where we have a nice dichotomy between super-masculine and downright Nancified, and then a third guy who I don't know much about]. Both of those guys [and that one girl from Notre Dame] are going to compete and then we'll see who gives us the best chance. We've always done it that way and that's what we're going to do [right after I polish off this rack of ribs, some baked beans, slaw, brisket, pork tenderloin and extra-large Barqs root beer. Holy shit, I love root beer]."

I'll never understand coachspeak.

HELP! HELP! HE’S GONNA KILL US ALL!

Wade: Oh, God no. Oh, God. Oh, this is not happening. NOT happening. 13-3 right down the toilet. Must be something I can do. Think, Wade! THINK, you ol’ dog you! He’ll be here any second. Maybe I should just start clearing out my desk now! Yes, yes! Gotta do that.

(starts clearing out desk)

Dag gummit! I can’t clean all this in time! Better take only what I truly cherish. This photo of my family and the pen my father gave me. No time for anything else!

What’s that sound? Oh, God! It’s him!

(door flies open)


Garrett: There you are! Oh, my portly comrade, we have to do something! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME, GOOD MAN! He simply won’t listen to reason!

Wade: You expect me to help you, after all you’ve done to undermine my authority?

Garrett: But you never HAD any authority to begin with! Besides, I am at the mere beginning of a very long and decorated career. Don’t you see how much I have to lose compared to you, my porky little pepperpot? Surely my various machinations against you were not meant personally, Good Sir! But you know as well as I what a cutthroat business this is consuming us! Here, now, in this terrible crucible, we must forge an unlikely bond to withstand the coming hurricane!

Wade: I don’t know…

Garrett: Please! You must trust me! I have a Princeton degree that explicitly states I am unable to fail at life. The frostbitten testicles I incurred during Sophomore streak shan’t go in vain!

Wade: Fine. FINE! What do you suggest?

Garrett: We blame… THE ITALIAN!

Wade: Sparano?

Garrett: Yes, that’s his name! Very shady fellow. Not of good heritage. Has an unpleasant odor. Looks a little like Victor Conte. I don’t care for Italians. They are a duplicitous, grabby race of people.

Wade: I don’t know. That seems awfully immoral.

Garrett: Is football a moral game, my rotund friend? Does the best man ALWAYS win? Does the scoreboard care for our transgressions? No. Football cares not for ethical values. It is strictly a game of survival, like life at its very core. You and I. WE MUST SURVIVE!

Wade: Oh, fine. We’ll blame him. He’s outta here today anyway.

Garrett: Good! Now quick! Let’s hide!

(They hide in a closet.)

Wade: (whispers) You know, you make a good point, Jason. I never felt like Tony was 100% on board with us. Going off to Bristol to film segments with Kenny Mayne. Sending tape of our practices to Parcells. Selling shoplifted pashminas in the press box during games. Entitling this week's o-line game plan "Jailbreak". I always wondered if he was the right man to help us, or if he…

(door flies open)


Jerry: WHERE IS THAT BIG FAT SHIT?! WHERE IS THAT ENORMOUS, FESTERING WASTE-OF-LIFE THAT CLOGGED UP MY SIDELINES FOR EIGHTEEN POINTLESS WEEKS?! THAT FUCKING HUMAN HOT AIR BALLOON? WHERE THE NO-GOOD, WESSON-GUZZLING MEATMUFFIN THAT RUINED MY BOY ROMO?!

Oh, I see. HIDING AGAIN, are you? Haven’t we played this game before, Peter Panna cotta? Haven’t we proved, again and again, that your fat, disgusting ass will leave an easy-to-follow, snail-like trail anywhere you go?! It’s just like a following a legless woman on the rag! I can smell the friction between your thighs, CHOKOZUNA!

(closet flies open)

Garrett: Right here, Jerry! I’ve caught him! See? I’ve found him!

Wade: “Caught” me? Why, you no-good, cotton-pickin…

Jerry: Well, well, well. If it isn’t The Cabinet of Dr. Calimari! I GOT A PEDESTAL IN MY TROPHY CASE AWAITING YOUR SORRYASS EXPLANATION, JELLYTITS! TOO BUSY COUNTING UP ALL YOUR POINTS FROM PLATE WATCHERS?!!!!

Wade: Sir, I apologize to you. I am sorry that we lost yesterday. I tried to prepare the men best I could. But, in the end, it wasn’t enough. It happens, I’ve found. You feel like you’ve done everything you can, and yet, things can still go awry. And I learned long ago not to kill myself over things I only have so much control over. I wish our effort had been good enough for you. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t good enough. And I’m not good enough. And that’s the way it is. You’ve got a younger, hungrier coach here ready to take over. And I can’t blame you for that. I’ll be packing up my things and leaving now. I’m gonna go home to my God and my family, and pray to be a better man.

Jerry: Hold up there, Tubby.

Wade: You mean, you’re not firing me?

Jerry: BAHAHAHAHAHA! Of course, I’m firing you! Nothing more fun than firing a fat man! Nothing like seeing the fat in his eye sockets droop when you let him know he’s a sorry excuse for a human being! YOU ARE FUCKING FIRED, FATSO!

Wade: Oh.

Jerry: How could you choke like that? You know why I hired you, Biglardo Tubbs? BECAUSE YOUR FAT ASS COULDN’T POSSIBLY CHOKE ON ANYTHING! You’ve got the gag reflexes of Miley Cyrus after swilling a gallon of HGH!

Wade: I don’t know.

Jerry: Well, that’s a typical answer. YOU’RE FUCKING FIRED TWICE OVER, YOU FAT FUCK.

Wade: Okay. I get it. I’ll go.

Jerry: Oh, no. I don’t think so, White Oprah. I ain’t done with you, yet. Since you are no longer in my employ, I dare say that you are hereby trespassin’ on my poppity. AND YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS IN TEXAS WHEN YOU TRESPASS ON ANOTHER MAN’S POPPITY?!

(takes out silver-plated shotgun)

Jerry: Boys, say hello to Danielle. She’s my favorite shotgun. Used her to gun down a truckload of Guatamalan meat packers out in Odessa, and she’s never let me down. UNLIKE YOU!

Wade: HOLY SHIT! HE’S GOT A GUN! Sir! Wait! Don’t do this! It’s not right!

Jerry: If shootin’ a fat man is wrong, I DON’T WANNA BE RIGHT!

(blows hole in the wall)

Wade: Sir, you’re overreacting!

Jerry: Overreacting? My boy ROMO is a goddamn STAR! And you ruined him! You and Princeton Fag over here!

Garrett: Me? Surely you jest!

Jerry: Surely I jest? Jest this, you fucking Northern flamer.

(shoots Garrett in the head)

Jerry: That’s what you get for tryin’ to put too many ingredients in the goddamn BBQ sauce!

Wade: Oh my God. HE’S DEAD! YOU KILLED HIM!

Jerry: Didn’t I tell you I was crazy? I AM FUCKING CRAZY!

Wade: Don’t kill me, Sir. I have a wife. A family. I’m a good man!

Jerry: Oh, I’m not gonna kill you. Not yet, least. No, there’s something I’ve been wantin’ to do since the day I hired you. (undoes belt buckle) Time to put the ol’ Double-J brand on this steer!

Wade: NO, PLEASE!

Jerry: I’d tell ya to squeal like a pig, BUT YOU ARE A PIG. SO JUST FUCKING SQUEAL, WILBUR!

Wade: (pulls down pants, bends over) How did I let myself get into this?

Jerry: YEEHAW!!!!! WOOHOO!!!! TAKE THAT FLAVOR INJECTOR, RUMP ROAST!!! I AM FUCKIN’ CRAZY!!!!!

We Didn’t Qualify? This Is Such Bullsh… Hey, Someone Left A Sock On The Ground!

I can’t believe this! We go 10 and fucking 6 for the first time since I don’t even know when, and we get knocked out of the playoffs all because those pansyass Titans got to play the scout team for the Colts’ scout team? This is such BULLSH…

Oh my God! Oh my God! Someone left a sock lying on the ground! It’s mine! IT’S MINE!!!!!

(gets sock)

God, I love socks. This one looks like it was in the gutter for a bit!

What was I saying? Oh yeah. The fact that such an inspirational season ended this way is horseshit! How can the Browns be sitting at home when the 9-7 Redskins get to go? The fucking Redskins? That fucking NFC, man. It’s so arbi…

HOLY SHIT, THAT MAN OVER THERE THREW THE END OF HIS HOT DOG BUN ON THE GROUND! GIMME GIMME GIMME!!!!

(scarfs it up)

Oh, yeah. Oh, YEAH. That is a treat and a half.

(licks balls)

Can someone scratch my belly? It’s been ages since I had me a good belly scratching.

This is a very sad day to be a Browns fan. But this has been a season of hope, and I am not going to lose hope now. We have a great young team and the foundation is set for…

A FUCKING UPS GUY? WHERE?! LET’S GO GET HIM! LET’S GO EAT HIS ASSHOLE OUT!

(panting)

YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE DOOR, UPS GUY. STAY AWAY OR I WILL CLAMP DOWN ON YOUR PANT LEG LIKE ROSEANNE BARR ON A FRESH COCK.

What was I saying? Oh yeah, I really liked what I saw from Derek Anderson. He’s a real leader, and…

(sees female Browns fan)

MATE MATE MATE!

(runs after female Browns fan with cock out)

(jumps on top of female Browns fan and forcibly enters her)

Well, I guess the season didn’t end THAT bad.

(sniffs)

Oh my God! Iiiiiiiiiiit’s bacon! Only one thing smells like bacon, and that’s BACON! Where where where is it? Bacon bacon bacon bacon!

(sniffs)

Mister, show me what’s in the bag! PLEASE!!!!


IT’S BACON!

What Do You Mean, You Want Me To Spy On Jessica Simpson?

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 and Jerry Starring In “Pig-malion”, Part II

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 and Jerry Starring In “Pig-malion”, Part I

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

Yeah, I'm At The Game!

What's goin' on, man? Yeah, I'm at the game. I'm wearing the basketball jersey! Yeah, it still fits. Looks great with the sunglasses.

We're hitting Dave & Busters after the game for a late third lunch followed by an early first dinner. You wanna come? I'm wearing my "going out" hat, so we don't have to go home first. We can watch that Don "The Dragon" Wilson movie I rented afterwards. It should be the perfect Sundee. No? Maybe we'll hook up on Mondee then. Or Tuesdee. Or Wednesdee. Or whatever dee is good for you.

YOU SUCK, LLOYD!

Sorry. I just saw him walk by. Well, enjoy the rest of the game. I feel real confident about our boys. Especially with the basketball jersey on.

F--k It. We're Takin' Tuesday Off!

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!!!

Oh God, I Gotta Take A S—t

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!!!!!!!!!!

All I Wanted To Do Was Enjoy My Sandwich

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!!!!!

Oh, S--t. Romo Scored 5 TD’s

Wade: Let’s take a look at the stat sheet from Sunday night. Not a bad game for ol’ Wade. See that, pa? 45 daggum points. That’s a pretty good amount.

Wait a second.

Uh oh.

Oh, shit. Romo scored 5 TD’s. Oh, this is not good. Not good at all. That’s a really bad precedent to set. Really bad. I better call someone in the media and see if they can fudge these totals.

(Enter Jones)


Jones: WAAAAAAAAAAAAA HOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

Wade: Oh, prairie shit.

Jones: Did you see that?! Have you seen the stat sheet, Tubby? My boy ROMO scored 5 fucking touchdowns! Five! That’s one, two, three, four… FIVEGODDAMNTOUCHDOWNS!!!! YEE HAWWWWW!!!! Boy I tell ya, he treated those Giants like my ancestors treated the entire Sioux nation! Those fuckers ain’t nothin’ but ground up pemmican now!

(fires guns into the air)

Wade: Mr. Jones, I think we shouldn’t get too far ahead of ourselves. That young man had a fine game, but there are some things I think he still he needs to improve upon.

Jones: Oh, you bet he can improve! In fact, I’m counting on YOU to make my boy Romo a goddamn American hero! Picture it, Fatty: 10 TD’s in a single game! In a single half!

Wade: I didn’t mean it quite like that, sir.

Jones: Listen, Lardass. I got big plans for my boy Romo, and I don’t want you fucking them up. This kid’s better than Aikman. He’s mobile, he appeals to my crucial Mexican growth demographic, AND he’s heterosexual!

Wade: Troy Aikman is married, sir.

Jones: Pfft! That’s the biggest sign, you big dumb tub o’ goo!

Wade: What?!

Jones: I want my boy Romo to be up there with the Peyton Manning. Why should my quarterback have to cede the limelight to some pasty hick from Louisiana? My Daddy said the only good thing to come out of Louisiana was Creole voodoo prostitutes! And fuck it if he wuddn’t right! YEEEEEHAWWWWW!!!!!

Wade: Sir, it’s a very long season. He’s still learning, and he’s going to have his ups and downs.

Jones: Oh screw that, you big hungry, hungry hippo! My boy Romo is a STAR! That’s why I want you to make sure he knocks up that little country singer of his.

Wade: Knock her up?

Jones: Damn right! If Tom Brady can knock a starlet up, I want my boy to give that girl Underwood some wood under! In fact, I want twins!

Wade: How do I do that?

Jones: I dunno. Draw up a goddamn scheme, you big fat pig! Make it happen! Now give me a piggyback ride!

Wade: Please, sir…

Jones: PIGGYBACK RIDE, TITBOY!!!!!!!

(hops on Wade’s back, slaps him on the ass)

Wade: This sucks.

Jones: GIDDDDDDYAP! YAHOO! I AM FUCKING CRAZY!

God, I Can’t Wait To Go Home And Masturbate

Christ, this day is going slow. We ain’t even had our second practice yet. Then I gotta go watch film of both practices, download the rest of the staff, and then map out tomorrow’s schedule. I’m not gettin’ outta here until midnight. I know it. Dag gummit.

God, I can’t wait to get home and masturbate.

I really wish that one girl in those tight black pants hadn’t walked by earlier. All I’ve wanted to do since then is tear off my pants and just hammer myself raw. Get myself a piece of ol’ Wade Jr, if you know what I mean. But nooooo, I gotta stay here and do some daggone work. In a glass office, no less.

Shee-ut.

I got no privacy in this complex. Some asshole’s always reading the paper in the shitter. Maybe I can get home for a quick snack or something. No wait, can’t do that. Patty’s home right now with her Garden Club. God dammit. I really need to masturbate. I’m tellin’ ya, I got a hankerin’ for some spankerin’!

I know what I’m gonna do. When I finally finish up all this shit, I’mma hop in my car and speed on home, gently workin’ my knob through my pleated khakis. That way, I'll be prepared for rubbin' when I get home. Everyone should be asleep by then. Then, I’ll sneak into the house real quiet and fire up the ol’ Dell. Patty don’t know about “Private Browsing” on Safari yet. So I’mma grab some tissues and download me some hardcore shit. I like the amateur stuff. It feels more real to me. I don’t like all that staged porn. Maybe I’ll grab some lotion too. That makes my hand feel more like a cooter.

The question is: do I masturbate just once? It’s so hard to hold out for that one Texas-sized spurt. I could conceivably get off one quick jerk in the driveway, then have a longer, more-drawn out jerk when I get through the door. That way, I’m not creaming the keyboard within ten seconds. But then I’ll be tired. And hungry.

God, I need to release the fuckin’ floodgates.

If I could just find somewhere private. There’s no way I can get all this cotton pickin’ work done when I need to go masturbate so badly. If could just jerk off, I could finally get on with my day. Maybe I’ll hit a Starbucks or something. They have bathrooms that lock. I could maybe try and massage it under the table during our film sessions. I could think about that cheerleader girl from that one show. She is one dandy piece of trim. Or I could think about the black pants girl. That Angelina Jolie makes a great imaginary lay, but I haven't seen her lately. I saw a player's wife walk in here the other day that had her big, juicy rack just sticking right out. Christ, I'd like to get hold of her ass and then just ride off into the sunset...

God, I have to get this done. The film room. Gotta do it there.

But what if someone notices? Frankly, I got so much Wadebutter built up, it would make a stain on my pants the size of a longhorn. Can’t do it.

C’mon, clock. Move! I gotta get this done! If I can’t masturbate, I can’t think of nothin’ else!


Jones: Yeehaw!!!!!!

Oh, fuck! I’m never gettin’ outta here!

Jones: Hey there, tubby! You like Romo’s doin’? Hoo boy, I like that Romo! But you know what he needs? More options! More routes! More formations! I want you to stay in tonight and help design a new trips package for my boy Romo!

I got family stuff to do tonight, Mr. Jones.

Jones: The fuck you do! I didn’t hire you to love your family! I hired you to work! Now work, fatty! Work work work like the little fattykins you are!

Well, I do have to get home and grab some paperwork real quick.

Jones: I’ll have a courier get it for you! By the way, I’m trying out new cheerleaders on the adjourning practice field this afternoon. Make sure you have my boys focused on football, and not all that sweet river Texas pussy next door. Comprende, mi fucking amigo? WOO HOO! I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!!

Shit. Now I’ll never get to jerk off. I wish I were castrated.