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Archive for the ‘Phil Fulmer’ Category

Dear Great Pumpkin

I learned this in the French Army!

Lose to Vanderbilt and it won’t be a question of “IF”, but a question of “WHEN” you get fired.  Of course, that’s assuming you beat Arkansas, Kentucky and Louisiana-Lafayette.

You might beat one of them.  Don’t get your hopes up.

It might be time to get back to your old job.

Who wants to hear Rocky Top?

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(RING.) Hello, this is the ol’ ball coach.

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Uh, Mr. Spurrier? This is Phillip Fulmer.

SS: Well, shoooo-weeeee, Philly-boy! What’s going on, ya big ol’ tub of lard?

PF: Uh, well, Mr. Spurrier, actually I’m calling about that dad-gum game last Saturday.

SS: What game exactly do you want to talk about, fat boy? I’m kinda busy here, being the ol’ ball coach and all.

PF: Well, Mr. Spurrier, I didn’t really take to kindly to you runnin’ up the dad-gum score on us like that.

SS: What in tarnation are you talking about, Jumbo?

PF: You know, 59 points. There was just no dad-gum call for that.

SS: Wait a minute there hefty, we didn’t play you last week. That was Florida. I ain’t the ol’ ball coach at Florida anymore.

PF: I know how much you like sticking it to us, Mr. Spurrier, but this time I ain’t gonna dad-gum forget it. You gotta come up to Knoxville next year, and we’re going to be a whole lot better. We might just run the score up on you, see how much you dad-gum like it.

SS: I think you need to call that other ball coach with the funny name, Oscar Meyer.

PF: You almost made me cry.

SS: Hey fatty, you know who I really like, it’s that gal on TV, Rachael Ray. Man I’d love to grease her up with some turkey juice and give her the old ball coaching, if you know what I mean.

PF: You stay away from her, Mr. Spurrier. I mean it.

SS: Hey, I gotta go now, fatass. Come on down and see us, ya hear?

PF: I don’t never go to Florida unless I dad-gum have to.

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Michigan-38 Notre Dame-0

Thirty-eight to nuttin’. Five td’s and a field goal to zoo.

From a historical perspective, that’d be XXXVIII to mayazero.gif. For you uneducated Philistines out there, that’s the Mayan symbol for zero, a concept they invented. But before we get all excited about how brilliant the Mayan society was and start jacking off Mel Gibson, let’s keep in mind the fact that they couldn’t invent the wheel, even after they had fucking seen it.

“Oh wise Jaguar’s Testicle, why do the evil Spaniards keep catching up with us as we retreat across the Yucatan through the jungle?”

“I don’t know, Feathered Snake, but hurry up and keep dragging our shit on sticks.”

But back to the Serial Papists of South Bend. They haven’t scored an offensive touchdown yet this year. They managed a paltry 86 yards of total offense against the Rabid Rats of Miss Again. They have at least seven or eight more potential losses on their schedule. Apparently any talent that Tyrone Willingham had left in the cupboard has already “graduated” or at least begun working in a tire factory in Gary, Indiana. Charlie Weiss has recruited the number one quarterback prospect in the country who, despite the fact that he looks like a crack-addicted emu, is supposed to be “The Kid with the Golden Arm.” Having listened to countless UT Vol fans defend his underachieving lameass older brothers, I can promise you that he will be as disappointing as Kenny Chesney’s senior prom experience.

So as far as I can tell, there are only two things to do now:

  1. Go ahead and let Notre Dame pick which BCS bowl they want to go to with their exemption before anybody else gets a chance to take their spot.
  2. Extend Charlie Weiss’s contract for another five years.

Whaddya expect when your head coach looks like something out of a Don Martin cartoon?

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[Charlie Weiss and QB coach Ron Powlus set off in search of their next starting signal caller.]

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Why the heck do we have to go out to dad-gum California to start the season? Bunch of dad-gum hippies out there.

Boy, I sure do miss Peyton. At least his dad-gum, pansy-ass brother didn’t go to school here.

I bet all those hippies out there in dad-gum California are going to take pot before the game. I hear tell that taking pot makes you hungry. I don’t need no dad-gum pot to get hungry. In fact, I sure could use a turkey about now.

Man, I sure do like that one gal on TV. What’s her name again? Rachael Ray, that’s it. She’s a dad-gum firecracker.

We got us a whole state full of dad-gum inbred, mullet-sporting trailer trash named Peyton that are all about 10 now. I hope one of them dad-gum sumbitches turns out to be a Quarterback.

I bet that Rachael Ray could whip up a turkey. I wonder if she’d let me cover her fine ass in turkey juice and lick it all off. Whoooooooooie, that would be a good time. I don’t get that kind of dad-gum action at home.

I bet if Rachael Ray and Peyton had a son, he’d be Quarterback here in about 19 years. Man, she’s so fine. Mmmmmm. Rachael Ray.

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Dad-gum it Rachael, you’re spillin’ all the juice!

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