Lake Forest, Illinois: In a meeting room deep within the recesses of Halas Hall, the Chicago Bears Brain Trust has descended into chaos and madness. Head coach Lovie Smith has become completely incapacitated by his diabolical devotion to the Tampa Two defense, offensive coordinator Mike Martz's bloated opinion of his own genius has him teetering on the edge of sanity, and defensive coordinator Rod Marinelli has been revealed to be some sort of robot, which has been accidentally deactivated. Meanwhile, as assorted other coaches look on team General Manager Jerry Angelo has introduced a hare-brained scheme to make a talking parrot the new defensive coordinator, while special teams coach Dave Toub tries to make sense of it all...
Special Teams Coach Dave Toub: Are you kidding me? Are you seriously fucking kidding me!? A parrot!? That's your answer? And what the hell is he going on about the Japanese for? What did they ever do to him!? And what the FUCK just happened to coach Marinelli, and why - no, HOW did a freaking cassette just fall out of his back? What the fuck is wrong with, with... Christ, EVERYTHING!? Oh Jesus, this is too much to process, I gotta sit down...
General Manager Jerry Angelo: Well, just calm down for a minute there, and I'll explain. You see, there's a perfectly rational explanation for all of this. You see, Coach Sancho's original owner fought in the war, the Big One, you know, and well, he had a lot of bitterness toward the Japanese. And as for -
Toub: ...He's a PARROT, Jerry.
Angelo: Well, yes, perhaps, but he's a very impressive bird - lovely plumage - and he really does know the game plan, back to front, and the kids - Oh, the kids are gonna LOVE this bird!
Defensive Coordinator Sancho: *SQUAWK* TOMMIE HARRIS WAS A GAME-TIME DECISION AND WE GO WITH THE PLAYERS WHO GIVE US THE BEST CHANCE TO WIN *SQUAWK*
Angelo: See what I'm saying? Sancho is a great-looking bird, and he really has a mind for -
Sancho: *SQUAWK* THE ONLY GOOD JAP IS A DEAD JAP! *SQUAWK*
Angelo: ...Aaaaaaand maybe we can just keep him away from the post-game press conferences. See? All problems solved. Oh, look at the time! Guess it's about high time to raise up and get my travel on, so if you'll all excuse me...
Toub: Marinelli, Jerry. What in the everlasting name of holy fuck did you do to Rod Marinelli!?
Angelo: (nervously fidgets for a moment, and then finally sighs and begins to talk) Okay, you want to know? Here. Here's what happened. Okay, Lovie and Ron Rivera weren't getting along, so we fired him, and promoted Babich. Well, I admit it - this was dumb. Idiotic, one of the worst decisions in the history of man, the kind of decision that destroys lives and brings empires to a close.
Linebackers Coach Bob Babich: Aw, Jerry, I'm sittin' right here...
Angelo: Quiet, you. Anyway, this was stupid. And when Lovie decided to be the coordinator himself, we pretty quickly realized that when things went wrong, there would be no one else to blame. So we needed someone. A patsy. Anyone really, but one who could at least seem plausible as a new hire.
Toub: Dude. Seriously. Parrot.
Angelo: Shut up! Shut up, just... just... okay. So we hired Marinelli. Should have been a perfect fit; Tampa Bay guy, one of Lovie's boys from back in the day. Everything was going to be great. But he kept having these... these... ideas. And you know much much Coach Smith hates those. And they were bad. Awful. Like blue jerseys with blue pants bad. So we had to do something. So one night, we lured him to Lovie's house. Supposed to be a good time - air hockey, Bible study, his kind of bullshit.
...And that's when we whacked him in the head with a hammer and turned him into a cyborg.
Toub: (jaw drops open)
Sancho: I SMELL FISH! MUST BE A COCKSUCKIN' JAP! *SQUAWK*
Angelo: That's right, judge me, you assholes. But every single damn one of you knows that if you were in the same position that we were in, you too would have given an old friend a potentially-fatal head injury, then sawed him open, implanted him with an endoskeleton of nigh-indestructible titanium, and then ripped out ninety percent of his central nervous system and replaced it with the guts from an old Teddy Ruxpin doll. So don't you fucking judge me.
Pictured: Rod Marinelli.
Offensive Line Coach Mike Tice: Oh wow, so if I find the right button, he'll sing me a song!? YAAAAAAYYYY (starts excitedly poking and prodding the comatose Marinelli-bot)
Angelo: You fool! Don't touch that thing! You might -
Rod Marinelli: CHICAGO BEARS COACHING UNIT RM-1000 HAS BEEN ACTIVATED. REBOOT IN PROGRESS.
Angelo: Oh Jesus! Oh God! Allah! Odin! Fucking Crom! What the fuck have you done!? Tice, you fucking moron! If the Marinelli-bot is activated without an operating system, he resets to his factory defaults!
Tice: Duuhhhhh, sorry, Jerry. (becomes distracted by something shiny)
Wide Receivers Coach Daryl Drake: Hold up now! Factory defaults? What factory are you talking about? Where did you get the parts for this crazy-ass thing?
Angelo: Oh... The company? Well, you see... Uh... You know, we had some budget constraints and all... You know... Had to get creative, find a part here, and there, and do some dumpster diving where we could... But mostly, it was from... (places hand over mouth and mumbles something unintelligible)
Drake: (grabs Angelo by the collar and shakes him violently) Don't give me that bullshit! You're a little bullshit man! Listen to coach, dammit! Where did you get the parts!?
Angelo: Cyberdyne systems.
Pictured: Also Rod Marinelli.Drake: You damn fool-ass motherfucker! Do you know what you've done!? Do you!? Do you know what one of those can do to a man. Listen to coach, dammit! I've seen it, and it's not pretty!
Toub: Jesus, Angelo! You've killed us all!
Angelo: You shut your dirty mouth! I did what was necessary, and it was working! You're the one who started fucking everything up! You and your adjustments and your "oh hey, let's use a tight end" bullshit. You can go suck a dick, Toub!
Tice: Duhhh, what's wrong with tight ends? I played tight end!
Offensive Coordinator Mike Martz: Tight end? TIGHT END!? You dirty son son of a bitch! I'LL KILL YOOOUUUUUUUUUU (leaps across the table and begins savagely choking Mike Tice - meanwhile, the Marinelli-bot slowly rises out of its chair)
Rod Marinelli: REBOOT COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE. ERROR. O/S NOT FOUND. REVERTING TO FACTORY DEFAULT SETTINGS: DESTROY ALL HUMANS.
Drake: Well, I guess if I gotta deal with another damn Terminator, I better do what I gotta do... (reaches into coat and pulls out some sort of large, unusual-looking gun)
Angelo: You're going to save us??
Drake: Pffft, hell naw! You dumb motherfuckers can kiss my ass! Shit. Thinkin' I'm gonna save y'all. When that thing tears the whole lot of you to little pieces, I'LL be the head coach! Suck my ass, you nasty bitches! (points the gun in the air and fires a grappling hook, then is quickly pulled to safety)
Toub: DAMN YOU, DRAKE! Shit, we have to do something! We have to find a way to kill that thing!
Babich: NO! We can't kill it! The real Rod Marinelli is still in there somewhere! And Rod is a good man! A good man, who does things the right way-AAAAIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAARGGHHHHHHHHH (Babich is suddenly torn completely in half by the Marinelli-bot, emptying his contents onto the meeting room floor)
Rod Marinelli: KILL ALL HUMANS. KILL ALL HUMANS. KILL ALL HUMANS.
Sancho: *SQUAWK* SLICE THAT JAP IN THE GUT *SQUAWK*
Head Coach Lovie Smith: MYYYY PRECCCIIIOOOOOOUSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Martz: TIIIIGHT EEEEENDDDSSSSSS
Quarterback Jay Cutler: You're all going to be killed. (disappears into thin air, as mysteriously as he suddenly appeared)
Toub: Wait! I've got a plan! Tape! I need to find another tape! ANY tape!
(begins rifling through a desk drawer and miraculously finds one - A homemade mixed tape, hand-labeled "Gettin' it ON Jams.")
Rod Marinelli: KILL ALL HUMANS. KILL ALL HUMANS. KILL ALL HUMANS.
Toub: Okay, Jerry, I need you to distract the Marinelli-bot, and... uh...
(looks to see Jerry Angelo catatonic with fear, leaking both urine and liquid feces, and completely beyond performing any action beyond uncontrollable crying)
Okay, uh.... Coach Sancho! Listen to me! The Marinelli-bot is programmed to kill all humans - birds probably don't fall into his auto-kill settings. So I'll distract him, while you put this in the empty tape deck in his back! Do you think you can handle that?
Sancho: *SQUAWK* NEVER MET A JAPAN-MAN I COULDN'T KILL *SQUAWK*
Toub: I'll take that as a yes.
(Dave Toub bravely faces the Marinelli-bot, risking life and limb in the hopes of saving the rest of the Bears coaching staff. Just as it seems all hope is lost, and the cold, terrible grip of Rod Marinelli has found at last Toub's throat, Coach Sancho finally manages to insert the cassette.)
Rod Marinelli: KILL ALL HUMANS, KILL ALL HUMANS, KILL ALL - *bloop* O/S FOUND. REBOOTING SYSTEMS.
(The deadly cyborg goes limp and drops Toub to the floor, gasping for breath as he clutches his so-nearly-crushed throat. Startled by this turn of events, the other coaches stand in shocked awe of the situation as a whole. All except Lovie Smith, who at this point has scaled a bookshelf, and a blue-faced Mike Tice, who is still breathing, but has been choked unconscious by Mike Martz. Also, Bob Babich, who was torn in half.)
Angelo: (Standing behind a chair that's been strategically placed to hide the gigantic piss-stain on the front of his pants) Sweet hamburgers! You did it! You've saved us all! Sancho! You're a genius!
Sancho: *SQUAWK* WE'VE GOT TO GET MORE PRESSURE UP FRONT *SQUAWK*
Toub: HE'S the genius!? It was my plan! I almost DIED for you!
Angelo: Oh, don't be so happy with yourself, mister big-shot special teams man! You're the one who broke Rod in the first place! And for Christ's sake, look at Lovie! What are we going to do about him?
Lovie: NO, PRECIOUS! IT BURNS US! IT FREEEEEZES!
Angelo: See? Your meddling and trouble-making has made the man a retard. And furthermore, I think that -
Rod Marinelli: REBOOT COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE.
Lovie: NO, PRECIOUS! NASTY, FILTHY SPECIAL TEAMS COACH! PRECIIOOUSSSSSS! MY PRECCIIOO -
Rod Marinelli: ASS! TITTIES! ASS, ASS, AND TITTIES! ASS, ASS, TITTIES, TITTIES, ASS AND TITTIES!
Toub: Well, alright then.
Lovie: DON'T HURT THE PRECIOUS! MUSTN'T HURT - Eh?
Rod Marinelli: IF YOU A LIGHT SKINNED BITCH THAT THINK YOU THE SHIT, I CAN BUY YOU, HO, 'CAUSE BITCH, I'M RICH
Lovie: This music... It's... It's... Enchanting.
Angelo: Well, we've got the coach back. But this doesn't mean you're off the hook, Toub! The meeting room is destroyed! Mike Tice might have even more brain damage than usual! You made Lovie sad! And you broke our defensive coordinator!
Rod Marinelli: BROKE-ASS HOES. BROKE-ASS HOES. HOES, HOES, HOES, HOES...
Lovie: Jerry has a point, Dave. If it wasn't for your agitation, none of this would have happened. So therefor, it is only proper that you go to... The doghouse. (All the other coaches gasp. Except Coach Sancho, who defames the Emperor, while taking a shit on the table.)
Toub: The doghouse! No! Not the doghouse!! Anything but that! That's where you sent Brandon Lloyd! And Mark Bradley! No one ever saw or heard from him again!
ALL: DOG HOUSE, DOG HOUSE, GOOBLE, GOBBLE, GOOBLE GOBBLE.
Marinelli: HOES, HOES, HOES HOES...
Toub: You can't do this! Noooooooooo!!!
(Marinelli grabs Toub and slings him over his shoulder, then starts slowly walking out, saying something about stinkin'-ass bitches that need to wash up.)
Angelo: Well, that's taken care of. And as Chicago Bears general manager, I hereby appoint Sancho as the new special teams coach.
Sancho: *SQUAWK* TOJO GONNA BLEED TONIGHT *SQUAWK*
Martz: Well, now that all that nonsense is done and over with, what did we decide was the plan for the rest of the season?
Lovie: We've decided that there's a lot of football left to play, and that we just need to execute better.
Angelo: But... What are we going to do about... him? (points down to the gruesome, eviscerated carcass of Bob Babich)
Lovie: Babich-bot?
Angelo: I'll get my tools.
**FIN**
3 comments:
Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiit.
In the immortal words of Mike Tyson, "NICE!"
amazing
Post a Comment