 |
| **The cameras come up from black in the offices of The Nitemare Club. Moments ago the head of security came and alerted Rob Osbourne that not only had Frank Wychek and Steve McNair just shown up, but so had his cousin and his kid and his kids block head friend and partner. Rob asks the armed security outside his office to please ask Mr. McNair and Mr. Wychek to come to his office. Moments later a large man named Bruno, no, not Bruno of the new hit IoA fag team, DEATH SQUAD, but Bruno from 138th street in Brooklyn enters accompanying the two washed up Titans players to the office of The Nitemare. ** |
| McNair: Hey Rob, thanks for inviting us to your office, that's really nice of you, maybe we can line you up some field passes for the Playoffs in exchange... NRO: Yeah fucking right, like you assclowns will make it to a playoff home game. And call me Mr. Osbourne, you washed up fuck. Wycheck: Mr. Osbourne, I don't appreciate the tone you're taking with my african american quarterback and friend, and I think you owe him, and the entire team an apology... |
 |
| **The Nitemare scratches the stubble on his chin from a week of hectic drinking, chain smoking doobs, and those god damned three hour executive lunches. He turns, fuming, towards the Tight End of the Tennessee "PROFESSIONAL (wink wink) football team" and points his finger as if giving a speech to rally the troops shootng it out in the desert, fighting the good fight, the war against terrorism. ** |
| NRO: Ya know, Frank, I think the commentators Sunday were right when they said you just haven't been the same mentally since that concussion a few weeks back. What a sad end to what could have been a Super Bowl Ring studded career had you signed with a real team, instead of Bud Adams' little gang of misfits he calls a pro team. I think you saw your last big game about 2001 pal, so if it's all the same to you, mind your own fucking business, and do not speak to me unless spoken to, do you understand, you big queer sumunabitch? Wycheck: Uhm, well, I , uh.... NRO: Thank you jerk off, now sit down and shut the fuck up. As for you McShit, no, I didn't get the name wrong, you're a McLucky piece of McShit. I guess it's the Irish slave master you got in ya giving you the luck o' the Irish, but you are a fluke, like Maniac was to wrestling, so shall you be to football. You never should have been drafted you worthless piece of shit. Look, I am giving you both the news that I am going to be announced, by Bud Adams at the final owner's meeting of the season, as the high bidder for the Titans. Now, I am iving you two the chance to ask to be traded before the news goes public. Should you choose not to be traded, you will be either benched, or released at the start o the next pre-season. McNair: But I 've led the AFC Central in many passing staistics almost since we moved here from Houston, I led the tem to the super Bowl, I was a two time Pro Bowler... NRO: And you're a fucking whiner, and a quitter. Everytime a game begins to slip, and it is hard to conceptualize seeing a way to win, your eyes fill with defeat, just like my cousin, the Gravedigger, or as he is taken back the family name he had abolished a few months ago, obviously which was for nothing but a little hype, Matt Osbourne. I don't like quitter's. I can smell fear. I will eat your asses alive just like I will his this Sunday on Heatwave. I want you two to get the hell ut of my office. Then I want you to have a few drinks, on me, then I want you to bring that asshole Gravedigger, and those two fucking punks with him. If you two wastes of life can't get the job done, I'll know wether I should even give you a chance to change my mind about benching, and, or cutting your dead asses. Wycheck: Ok Mr. Osbourne, sir, you got it! We will go out and bring you those boys! (shouting) WE ARE THE TITANS.... McNair: (also shouting) THE MIGHTY MIGHTY TITANS!!!! Wycheck: Oh who are we shitting man? McNair: Yeah, I hear ya, he's right, we are losers, fuck it, let's try and get traded to the Bengals, at least their we can looklike the greatest players on the field, cause they all suck!!! Wycheck: No, Steve, man, I ...I promised myself I wasn't gonna cry if this day ever came...(weeping)...you go ahead without me to Cincy. They don't need a Tight End, but I swear to God, John Kitna has to be dead under that helmet, he cannot seem to move everytime they play. You go, be the star of little Cincy.... McNair: But Frank, big guy, where will you go? What other team has a bi-sexual black quarterback that likes to give, but not receive, and will throw you the ball to drop? Wycheck: Quincy Carter. Besides, they love gay ass, faggot white boys for Tight Ends in Dallas, look at Jay Novacheck. NRO: WILL YOU GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE....NOW?!?!?!?!? |
| **The two soon to be ex-Titan players exit the club, snickering at Digger as they exit. Two bouncers walk up to Matt, Matt, and Jim and ask them to please leave before they are arrested. The two redneck, black sheeps of the family agree, and reluctantly take their big tubby slow friend with them. Looks liek they'll have to save all their attack plans for the ring on Sunday. FTB ** |
 |
 |