Garrett: Hmm. Yes. Indeed. A pity we couldn’t overcome our foibles and beat those ghastly Lions. Ech. Detroit. I told Muffin the stories about a town riddled with poverty and white youths who have VOLUNTARILY adopted to the urban lifestyle, even going so far as to engage in the “talking music” she simply cannot stand. Oh, the look of horror on her face. She needed a Pimm’s cup just to soothe her jostled nerves. Thank goodness the Worthingtons came over for a dinner party later on that evening! A FINE EATING. Muffin’s delicious “engagement chicken” was enough to cast aside thoughts of that decrepit enclave!
(door flies open)
Judd: It is good to see you, brother!
Garrett: Ah, far better for me to be seeing YOU, brother!
Judd: Ha ha ha!
Garrett: Ha ha ha!
Judd: Ha ha ha!
Garrett: Ha ha ha! What news do you bring? I’d like to commend you, fair brother, for being the lone scout who knew of the devilish talents of Laurent Robinson!
Judd: Indeed. A fine scouting. I chose him for his name. LAURENT. I adore it when the “shadow people” aspire to names belonging to the French gentry!
Garrett: Ah, but we have a problem, brother! Despite our bold efforts, we still failed to prevail on Sunday!
Judd: Indeed. Shame that ROB RYAN had to let us down like that.
Garrett: I agree. If only ROB RYAN had managed to coach well enough to allow us to win!
Judd: So we agree that ROB RYAN is culpable in this instance, yes?
Garrett: Oh yes. I’m quite sure Mr. Jones won’t be happy with ROB RYAN once I explain things.
(door flies open)
Jones: YOU FUCKING SACK OF SHIT! YOU LOUSY SPECKLED CUNT! WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BOY ROMO?!!!! Rick Perry and I were gonna go huntin’ at Ni**erhead after that game and he CANCELLED because he does not hang with losers!
Garrett: Now now, dear Jerral. There’s no need to panic.
Jones: NO ONE CALLS ME JERRAL EXCEPT SUSAN SKAGGS WHEN I’M STICKIN’ IT IN HER BRISKETHOLE! Didn’t I tell you my boy Romo was a star? HE’S A FUCKING STAR! You saw him! He beat the Niners and the Redskins with ONE RIB! He has the bravest ribs in the great state of TIXAS! And he was about to outrib those fucking Lions when you RUINED HIM! You fucking overeducated twat! I HATE YEWWWWWW!
Judd: Now, now. Let’s not overreact. We are still 2-2, are we not?
Garrett: And we COULD be 4-0, sir. Bob Costas noted it himself. A fine man of stately breeding. Brings a touch of class to an otherwise unrefined broadcast.
Jones: FUCK BOB COSTAS WITH A PAIR OF GRILL TONGS! I don’t give a fuck about what we could be. We had those pieces of shit right where I wanted them and you had Romo throwin’ all second half, LIKE A MEXICAN GRENADIER! Can’t you see my boy needed to hand the ball off more? No one goes out of bounds like my boy Felix Jones! No one! That’s as secure as a football can get!
Garrett: I think you’re looking at this the wrong way, sir. After all… losing is a TWO-WAY street, is it not? I mean, our good man Romo may have thrown a careless pick or two.
Judd: Or three.
Garrett: Hush now. But the Lions still had to score, did they not?
Jones: THEY HOUSED TWO PICKS, YOU RED SHIT!
Garrett: Ah, yes. But they still had to score ONE MORE TIME, no? And who let you down in that moment? Who was the one in charge when we needed our defense to be impregnable?
(door flies open)
Wolfman Rob: OWOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
Garrett: (points) It was him.
Wolfman Rob: Oh holy shit, I drank 70 shots of tequila and floor wax last night. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? Ever stick a tequila worm up a hooker’s coochie? I’m tellin’ ya: They can see the future when you do that. Real added value there. WHY CAN’T I GET SOMEONE TO PLAY A LITTLE THIN LIZZY IN THIS OFFICE?
Jones: Explain yourself, Ryan! Your defense fucked us HARD!
Wolfman Rob: Defense? What are you talking about? His piece of shit quarterback gave the ball away like it was Chinese herpes!
Garrett: Nonsense. Don’t you see, Jerry? Our good man Romo was PRESSING! Yes, that’s it! He was pressing to score more because he knew the DEFENSE wasn’t steadfast! As if I would call that many downfield throws on purpose! I had a revolutionary game plan! Seventy-five scripted two-yard passes to Jason Witten. THE DEATH OF A THOUSAND SMALL CUTS.
Wolfman Rob: (farts) There’s a small cut for you.
Wolfman Rob: I don’t need any of this political bullshit. I went through all this back in ’86 when I was coachin’ in the Ecuadoran League. The head coach of THAT team was a gay. Big gay. And one night I’m struttin’ around the local flophouse naked as can be when I walk into one of the fiesta rooms and there he is, gettin’ sucked off by a thirteen-year-old boy! Now, look. I ain’t got no problem with any of that freaky business. Lord knows I’ve stuffed a vagina with olives in my time. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, and if that thing he has to do is a small Ecudoran boy, well now that’s between him and the boy. And the boy’s parents, I guess. Actually, I bet the kid’s parents were dead. ANYWAY, I kept my mouth shut. But the next day, that piece of shit head coach was rattin’ me out to the GM for bangin’ hookers and crashin’ my motorcycle into the local tribe’s sacred firepit! And out Rob Ryan goes on his ass! So you’ll excuse me if I don’t partake in this BULLSHIT. We got the #1 run defense in the league, fuck you very much.
Garrett: Ah but see, perhaps that’s the issue! Don’t you see, Jerry? His defense is playing so well, he’s giving Romo TOO MUCH TIME! He’s purposely outshining Romo to put him in a precarious position!
Wolfman Rob: That’s retarded.
(chews on turkey drumstick, never uses a napkin)
Judd: Look at him, Mr. Jones. He’s absolutely revolting. You can’t tell me that this man’s carelessness when it comes to proper EATING and grooming haven’t rubbed off on our quarterback!
Jones: I guess that’s true. Ryan, I’m aimin’ to make this a CLASSY outfit! Did you see the art in the lobby? MILLION DOLLAR SHIT! Maybe you oughtta cut your hair.
Wolfman Rob: Not a chance. You ain’t tamin’ the wolf’s mane. This hair has gotten me more ass than a chest full of gold.
Jones: I DON’T GIVE A SHIT! You will cut your hair and you will shower!
Wolfman Rob: Showering’s for pussies.
Jones: God fucking dammit, HOW DID I GET STUCK WITH THE DEFECTIVE RYAN TWIN? I expected you to be bold and aggressive. Instead, you waddle around on the sidelines and get chicken grease all over the headsets!
Wolfman Rob: I like a little flavor in my microphone sponge thing.
Jones: I AM THE BOSSAMN HERE AND I MAKE THE RULES! Do you see Princeton Boy objecting whenever I undermine him in the media, or half-coach the team when I’m on the sideline?
Wolfman Rob: No. Because he’s a pussy. He probably showers.
Jones: FALL IN LINE!
Wolfman Rob: No.
Jones: I SAID FALL IN LINE, BOY!
Wolfman Rob: Watch that boy shit, whiteskin. I keep a knife in my bellybutton. This shit ain’t my problem. You wanna fire me? Fire me. The Wolfman doesn’t give a pussy hair if you do. I got a bungalow in Cabo and the entire Sammy Hagar catalog ready to fire up when you take me off the hook. Get your fucking shit together. Tell Smile Boy to stop throwing picks like a goddamn idiot. Then we can win some fucking BALLGAMES and go out waterskiin’ and taggin’ ass. Good fuckin’ day to all of you.
Garrett: You see? Such callous disregard for social mores!
Judd: Did you see under his fingernails? THERE WAS MEAT.
Jones: I ain’t firin’ him.
Garrett: Whuh whuh whuh whuh…
Judd: Whuh whuh whuh whuh…
Jones: You set my boy Romo straight, or else I’m takin’ all of yew out back and shottin; you dead like dogs! YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?! THE DOUBLE J ISN’T FUCKIN’ AROUND THIS TIME YEEEEEEEHAW I AM FUCKING CRAZY!