Garrett: BROTHER! Dearest brother! Oh, these are tumultuous times, dearest brother! I’ve not been this despondent since our beloved Princeton Tigers Croquet Squad lost in the 1986 semifinals to Bard! Ugh. We went to a Roy Rogers later that evening because we knew we were not worthy of a GOOD eating. Oh, I still remember how sticky the tables were. The restaurant consisted of nothing more than fried chicken and the residue of careless breeding.
Judd: Don’t fret, dear brother. Your strategy was BRILLIANT.
Garrett: It was, wasn’t it? Icing one’s OWN kicker!
Judd: WORTHY OF GOSSIP ON NANTUCKET!
Garrett: Ha ha ha!
Judd: It was not your fault, dear brother. You know this. You know that your strategy would have paid off handsomely for us had our lowly kicker understood its machinations.
Garrett: Indeed. Icing the kicker has a mathematical history of failing, so why wouldn’t it also fail with our OWN kicker?
Judd: My goodness, simply explaining its brilliance gives me the goose bumps, dear brother!
Garrett: I think also know who’s REALLY to blame here.
Judd: Indeed I do.
Garrett: Does no one remember that LaRod Stephens-Howling was allowed to simply rummage through our backfield, like some sort of tawdry ghetto looter?
Judd: I remember.
Garrett: That horrible Howling.
Judd: That awful Howling.
Garrett: That damned Howling!
Judd: Who is to blame for all this Howling?
(door flies open)
Wolfman Rob: OW-OOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
Garrett: YOU! You are the one responsible for all this blasted Howling!
Wolfman Rob: (burps) Wait a second… Where I am? This isn’t Joe’s Crab Shack!
Garrett: As head football coach of the Dallas football Cowboys and as your immediate professional and intellectual superior, I demand an answer for your shortcomings!
Wolfman Rob: Shortcomings? You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, Red. I pack six good inches down in the saloon. It’s not a big horse, but it gets the job done. I just showed it to the Jags owner when I interviewed yesterday. I know Saddam Hussein is big on “proving your manhood” or whatever.
Garrett: Wait a moment. Are you telling me you engaged in flirtations with another organization?
Wolfman Rob: Pfft. The Wolfman don’t flirt. Flirtin’s for gays and strays. Saddam and I? We got a little NASTY. You should see the titty bars in that town. NO LAWS. I met at least three different strippers who threatened to kill me that night. Now that’s MY kinda town.
Garrett: SABOTEUR! SABOTEUR! Jerry! Jerry, come quick!
(door flies open)
Jerry: YOU FUCKING TITS! YOU FUCKING CLOCK-RAPING TITS! DON’T YOU CUNTS KNOW HOW TO USE A TIMEOUT?! I don’t pay you to be my puppet coach just so you can FREELANCE! I may as well have been fucking a tomato during the fourth quarter of that game! YOUR FRECKLED COCK COST US A TWO GAME LEAD!
Garrett: Now now, Jerry. I know you’re piqued. But I think we’ve found the REAL root of our problem.
(stares at Wolfman)
Wolfman Rob: Who, me? FUCK THAT. I’m not the one protecting timeouts like they’re Tebow’s v-card!
Garrett: YOU were the one who allowed the winning touchdown!
Wolfman Rob: Well, you can chew on my old dick. You know, Jamie…
Garrett: It’s Jason.
Wolfman Rob: Really?
Wolfman Rob: You’re putting me on, right? Your name’s not Jason. It’s Jamie Crandall.
Garrett: IT’S JASON GARRETT. OF THE HUNTING VALLEY GARRETTS.
Wolfman Rob: Huh. Wonder why I’ve always thought of you as Jamie Crandall. Must have been a name I saw in a Marmaduke strip or somethin’.
Garrett: He can’t even get my name right, Jerry!
Jerry: BOTH OF YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP! Oh, I had plans for this postseason. Big plans! I was gonna take my boy ROMO up in Jerr Force One for another triumphant sky orgy! Then we were gonna fly over Philadelphia and spit on Andy Reid’s buttered chin!
Wolfman Rob: I can get down with that.
Jerry: AND YOU SHITHEADS FUCKED IT ALL UP! I’ve got half a mind to replace you with Mike Gundy! Now there’s a man!
Garrett: I’ll have you know that ROBERT here has undermined this team by engaging in negotiations with Jacksonville! He has completely distracted this organization and I think it’s time you acted SWIFTLY and DECISIVELY.
Jerry: Is that true? Are you looking to coach in America’s herpes sore, Ryan?
Wolfman Rob: Aw hell, I don’t know. They put me on a plane, and I went! ANY TIME A RICH ARAB INVITES YOU ON A PRIVATE PLANE, YOU GO. I remember one time I was coaching in the Syrian League, 1984. Well, the whole league is owned by this crazy Sultan, and he parks his jet right in front of my car and tells me to get in. so I get in, and he flies me to his palace! And inside the palace was a fountain of liquid coke. And they had dead prisoners strung up on the walls that you could shoot for fun! And he imported over 900 international beauty contestants for his personal harem! And he gives me the pick of the litter! Well, I don’t hesitate. I pick the pregnant one, because pregnant women are PROVEN COMMODITIES. And I’m sittin’ there, workin’ her over and feelin’ the sweat drip off my beard, and she pulls me close and says to me, “You must help us. We’re slaves. The Sultan has been holding us captive for 16 years!” And I tell her, “Honey, can’t we discuss this after I make it onto that gorgeous giant belly of yours?” And after that… Well, shit. I don’t really remember what happened after that. There was lots of yogurt.
Garrett: This isn’t going anywhere!
Jerry: All right! That is it! You men are all OFFICIALLY on the hot seat! Jennifer, bring me the hot seat!
Wolfman Rob: Holy shit, can I buy that? That would look great in my “eatin’ garage”.
Jerry: No! THIS CHAIR IS A SYMBOL OF YOUR CUNTERY! You beat those Giants or the Double J will come spankin’ all of yer hides like a horny bishop!
Garrett: Oh, to be smart and misunderstood.
Jerry: BEAT THOSE NEW YORK HOMOS OR ELSE WE’RE GONNA HAVE OURSELVES A GOOD OL’ FASHIONED FIRING PARTY! YEEEEEHAWWW WOOOOHOOOOO I AM FUCKIN’ CRAZY!