professionalism #18
“yeah, but, he’ll never be able to coach in the NFL.”
“what do you mean? he’s been a coach. he just got hired as Pittsburgh’s head coach. that, by definition, means…”
“what i mean is, he’ll never be any good.”
“he’ll never be any good?”
“nope.”
“and you know this because…”
“…they’ll never listen to…”
“…you’re the fuckin’...i don’t know. you think you're the fuckin’ great swami of the NFL now, or somethin’?”
“what?”
“you know better than the Rooneys?”
“all i’m saying is, he’s too short.”
“you’re fuckin’ crazy.”
“i’m for real. he’s too short.”
“he is not.”
“he is…he’s like 5’8” or something, and none of those players will respect him, cuz they’ll see the fear in his eyes, cuz they’re all like fuckin’ monsters and giants and shit, and he’s done.”
“he’s done?”
“done. they’ll never…”
“hey jackass, he’s over six foot.”
“he is not.”
“he is.”
“how do you know? did you check an old William and Jefferson roster to get his height?”
“William and what? Yale, baby, he went to Yale.”
“Yale? you’re crazy.”
“i’m crazy? you’re the one who’s nuts. the players won’t listen to him cuz he’s too short? what kind of shit is that? that’s the dumbest shit…”
“man fuck you…just cuz you know i’m right…”
“you don’t know shit about fuck.”
“but i know about fuckin’ the shit outta your mom.”
“see…that’s just disrespectful. i was never disrespectful to your mom.”
“my mom?”
“i might’ve been your daddy if i didn’t pull out.”
BOOM!!!
“what the fuck was that? you…you shot me…”
“i’m tellin’ you he’s too short to be a coach.”
“you…you shot me…you shot me in the fuckin’ arm. i’m bleeding.”
“let me see. flesh wound. just grazed you. you’ll be alright.”
“you…you fuckin’…”
“you, you, you. shut the fuck up. you want a band-aid?”
“no.”
“i was just trying to tell you he won’t be no coach. why’d you keep fuckin’ with me? huh?”
“man…maybe you’re right. i’m gonna go get this cleaned up. i’m gonna go call the cops.”
“yeah. go on.”
“what do you mean? he’s been a coach. he just got hired as Pittsburgh’s head coach. that, by definition, means…”
“what i mean is, he’ll never be any good.”
“he’ll never be any good?”
“nope.”
“and you know this because…”
“…they’ll never listen to…”
“…you’re the fuckin’...i don’t know. you think you're the fuckin’ great swami of the NFL now, or somethin’?”
“what?”
“you know better than the Rooneys?”
“all i’m saying is, he’s too short.”
“you’re fuckin’ crazy.”
“i’m for real. he’s too short.”
“he is not.”
“he is…he’s like 5’8” or something, and none of those players will respect him, cuz they’ll see the fear in his eyes, cuz they’re all like fuckin’ monsters and giants and shit, and he’s done.”
“he’s done?”
“done. they’ll never…”
“hey jackass, he’s over six foot.”
“he is not.”
“he is.”
“how do you know? did you check an old William and Jefferson roster to get his height?”
“William and what? Yale, baby, he went to Yale.”
“Yale? you’re crazy.”
“i’m crazy? you’re the one who’s nuts. the players won’t listen to him cuz he’s too short? what kind of shit is that? that’s the dumbest shit…”
“man fuck you…just cuz you know i’m right…”
“you don’t know shit about fuck.”
“but i know about fuckin’ the shit outta your mom.”
“see…that’s just disrespectful. i was never disrespectful to your mom.”
“my mom?”
“i might’ve been your daddy if i didn’t pull out.”
BOOM!!!
“what the fuck was that? you…you shot me…”
“i’m tellin’ you he’s too short to be a coach.”
“you…you shot me…you shot me in the fuckin’ arm. i’m bleeding.”
“let me see. flesh wound. just grazed you. you’ll be alright.”
“you…you fuckin’…”
“you, you, you. shut the fuck up. you want a band-aid?”
“no.”
“i was just trying to tell you he won’t be no coach. why’d you keep fuckin’ with me? huh?”
“man…maybe you’re right. i’m gonna go get this cleaned up. i’m gonna go call the cops.”
“yeah. go on.”
...fifteen minutes later...
[knock knock knock]
“come in.”
BOOM!!!
“you…you shot me.”
“A HA HA HA HA HA!!!”
“you shot me in the pinky toe.”
“paybacks, motherfucker.”
“i thought you were going to get that cleaned up.”
“naw…i went and got my pistol.”
“well, you know what this means.”
“i do.”
“we’ll just have to wait until next season.”
“we will. and in the meantime?”
“we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”
“indeed.”
“i’m hungry. let’s get a taco.”
“come in.”
BOOM!!!
“you…you shot me.”
“A HA HA HA HA HA!!!”
“you shot me in the pinky toe.”
“paybacks, motherfucker.”
“i thought you were going to get that cleaned up.”
“naw…i went and got my pistol.”
“well, you know what this means.”
“i do.”
“we’ll just have to wait until next season.”
“we will. and in the meantime?”
“we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”
“indeed.”
“i’m hungry. let’s get a taco.”
Johnny St. Clair wuz here at 11:58 PM
1 Comments:
I haven't chuckled this hard since "momma said to punch baby in the face for knocking over my x-box."
She went flying across the room...dear God!
Post a Comment
<< Home