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!!!!!