|simpler, happier times|
John: SUP BABY DICKS AND CLITS! THE CHAMP IS HERE!
Jack: Hello, son, we’re glad that you could make it. Now we can begin.
John: Is this an intervention? The only thing that I’m addicted to is winning titles, bullying officials, and ELITE quarterback play. I’m not going to rehab for any of that.
Jack: No, no, John, I would never ask a therapist to get inside your head. The reason that I got you, Jimmy, Joani, and Tommy together is because training camp is right around the corner. That means that you will be more insufferable than ever soon but I want you all to start having more fun with football.
Jim: Get to the point, dad, before I jump back inside your dickhole and abort myself. Football isn’t supposed to be fun. It is a war and I am the general with the biggest goddamn testicles and longest pubic hair.
Jack: Relax, James—
(Jim breaks bottle of Twisted Tea and holds shard up to Crean Pie’s throat)
Jack: I mean Jim--sorry about that. We’re going to start our own Harbaugh Family Fantasy Football League.
Joani: I thought that “fantasy football” was the idea of Jim winning a Super Bowl?
Jim: (still holding broken bottle to Tom’s neck) The only reason that your shit stain husband still lives is because living with him has to be as annoying as a postgame handshake with Jim Schwartz. And I want you to always be miserable like I am.
Jack: Anyway, this should be a fun way for all of us to enjoy the NFL season even more so than usual. Millions of people play this now. Why not the Harbaughs! Since you two will be very busy soon, we’re going to keep it simple. We will all just draft one QB, one RB, one WR, one TE, and a DEF. We won’t worry about kickers because they aren’t football players.
Jim: I put a hit out on David Akers after the season ended.
John: I would have done it for free. I still have Billy Cundiff’s heart under my pillow.
Joani: Can I take Charles Haley? I’ve heard he has a huge piece.
Jack: No, active players only.
Tom: Are there any Zellers in the NFL? I want my entire team to be from that family.
Jack: No, Tom, you have to take football players. I figured that we would let John pick first since he is the one true winner in the family. Jim can pick second because, if not, we will all get stabbed. (Jim nods like a maniac) Then we will go Jackie, Joani, myself, and then Tom because he isn’t a real Harbaugh and is only here by default. Go ahead, John, and make your pick.
John: Joe Flacco. My team is set. Give me another championship now.
Jack: Just as a reminder, fantasy football is much different than regular football. You want the best statistics in this league, not just wins.
John: Oh, I’m sorry. How many Super Bowl rings do you have, Anus Face? Don’t tell me how to coach my team. I’m going to have my slave subordinate, Jim Caldwell, throw deep on every play now. I just hope that Tandon Doss makes it back to me.
Jack: OK, Jim, you’re up.
Jim: Steal of the draft: 49ers Defense! (sacks the dining room table and then sprints back to his chair like Aldon Smith)
Joani: You fudge packers aren’t getting this at all. Mom! You’re on the horse cock!
Jackie: Oh dear, I’m coming! Everyone, please eat these fresh brownies that I made. They are right out of the oven.
(everyone does and compliments mom on her baking prowess)
Jackie: I made them just how you like them WITH LARGE AMOUNTS OF MY OWN SHIT! Way to eat my osteoporosis-laden turds, FAGGOTS! Give me that local stud, Aaron Rodgers. He wins me this league and I’ll suck his nuts dry. I’ll give him a Discount Double Penetration!
Joani: I’ll take Adrian Peterson. Maybe he can satisfy my womanly needs unlike someone else in the room.
(John and Jim both stand angrily)
Jack: Sit down, boys; she is talking about Two Inch Tom. I’m sure that both of you would be quite effective at banging your sister but I beg you to not do so.
Jackie: Hey baby-that-I-pooped-out, what’s going on with your sister? Is she dead?
Jim: Might be. I don’t care. Before I Iced her good and proper, I slipped ten grams of black tar heroin in the bottle. She’s going to be out for a while if she makes it at all. I got it from one of Kaepernick’s prison bitches so you know it’s good.
Tom: Why did you do that?
John: She was being a cunt. She kept talking about sambo cocks and my BRAH was upset that she had yet to mention
Frank Gore’s heavy hammer.
Jim: Exactly. Is it my turn again? I want to draft myself.
Jack: No, I’m up and I will select Arian Foster.
Jackie: Way to draft a vegan knob polisher! Do you get extra points in this queer league for eating grass or something? (queefs in Joanie’s face as she remains in a coma)
Jack: Tom, you’re up and you get to make two picks.
Tom: Bully for me! Let’s see…so many great choices. I’ll draft Ray Rice.
John: What the fuck did you just say? Are you trying to steal MY plow horse? THIS IS TAMPERING. The Commissioner will not stand for this! Ray Rice is under contract with the Baltimore Ravens. The SUPER BOWL CHAMPION RAVENS! I will not let him become a Hoosier FAGGOT!
Jack: John, we’ve been over this numerous times already. That is not how it works.
John: Oh go fuck your whore wife, dad, I’m sick of your bukkake breath. I will not stand by idly while you allow this shitty hair cut to strip my team to the core. I already had to ship Boldin over there to Piss Boy, I’m not about to let my boy, Ray, wear those stupid warm-up pants in a different sport! Jimmy, go outside and cut me a switch. Crean Pie is about to get some lashes for disrespecting the integrity of The Shield.
Tom: Please God no. I learned my lesson at Easter. You don’t have to do that again. Can I make my next pick? I want Colin Kaepernick.
Jim: YOU BUTT-FUCKING SONOFABITCH! THAT’S MY FELON, NOT YOURS! YOU DIE NOW!
(Jim uncaps his trusty red sharpie from his necklace to reveal that it is actually a very sharp knife…he begins the scalping process on Tom Crean while John is air thrusting his genitals in the direction of his mother)
Jack: Well, this went swimmingly. The Harbaugh Family Fantasy Football League lasted a whole seven minutes. My daughter is probably dead from an intentional drug overdose. My son-in-law, who I hate, is being murdered by my clinically insane youngest son. My oldest is giving my wife a lap dance. The only thing missing is—
400 FBI agents crashing through every door and window: FREEZE!!! You are all under arrest for being terrible people.
Jack: That’s more like it. Now the day is complete. I haven’t spoken to my lawyer in a few hours anyway.