Les Miles strides to the podium without fanfare and begins speaking to a room full of reporters.

Les Miles: I’d like to thank everyone for coming today. It’s a great day to be an LSU Tiger. Please, as is usual, leave your taffy in the jars provided for that purpose up front.


Taffy in the bucket, please. You may now speak.

Reporter One: Coach Miles, how would you say offseason participation has been thus far?

Miles: Kleinpeter, I didn’t see you put in taffy.

Reporter One: Um, coach, I don’t have any today, I had to take my kid to school…

Miles: KLEINPETER! FATTY GIVE TAFFY NOW!

Reporter One: Okay, coach….

Kleinpeter takes several pencils, a roll of Wint-o-Green life savers, and thirty-eight cents in change and drops it into the taffy barrel.

Miles: Thank you, Jim. Your question.

Reporter One: Well, I was wondering…

Miles: I don’t mean to cut you off, but how many people here think I can swallow a cup full of staples without flinching?

Reporters: ….

Miles: I’ll give you all five to one if I can’t. Seriously. I CAN EAT METAL AND IT DOESN’T HURT ME ANTE UP YOU FLABBY LAPTOP MONKEYS!!!!

Reporters born in Louisiana: “TAKEN!”

Miles: Jimmy, cup of staples pronto.

Jimmy the LSU Gofer: Yes, sir.

Miles: I’m sorry, your question.

Reporter One: Well, I wanted your comment on the participation in summer workouts.

Miles: Les isn’t answering any boring questions today. Next! JIMMY! STAPLES!

Reporter Two: On your comments last week regarding Kirk Herbstreit’s reporting of you taking the Michigan job, was that…

Miles: Never true, and never was. You know what I’ve been watching a shitload of? Veronica Mars. He’d get to the bottom of this, that crafty little boy. He’s like Nancy Drew, but a dude. Maybe I could sic him on the situation and find out who told him all that. Thank you for your Taffy.

Over here–you, with the unibrow and signs of early stage coronary disease.

Reporter, sweating: What do you have to say about the retirement of Skip Bertman, LSU Athletic Director?

Miles: Never heard of him. (Crowd laughs.) No, seriously, I’ve never heard of him. (Uneasy laughter.)

Reporter, still sweating: He gave you the job here.

Miles: I’m not here to talk about the past. YOU! TALK NOW OR TAFFY!!!

Reporter Three: What would you do if dealt two aces at blackjack, Les?

Les Miles: Double my bet and stand, because I’m going for 21. Why? Because that’s how you win in football, blackjack, or anything else in life that’s really worth it like football or black jack. You play the hand you’re dealt and take risks. I ran across an interstate wearing only a deep-dish pizza and a top hat. You don’t win without doing things like that. Also, get an EKG soon.

Jimmy: Got your cup of staples right here, sir!

Les Miles drinks the entire cup of staples, slowly, deliberately, and with a glint in his eye. He slams the empty cup on the table.

Les Miles: TAFFY!!!! Pay up, wordsloths. All of it, in the bucket NOW, assholes. Mind not to crush the taffy.

The reporters surge forward and toss money into the buckets.

Miles: Now, quickly. YOU! ASK ME A QUESTION!

Reporter: Um, I really don’t have one…

Miles: GASSERS! NOW!

Reporter takes off at a dead sprint, knocking cameras and bystanders to the side.

Miles: You in the Old Navy pullover who understands value clothing when they see it! QUESTIONS OR TAFFY!

Reporter: How’s Andrew Hatch coming along?

Miles: Finest girls’ school transfer I’ve seen since Freddie Kitchens. Prettier, too. YOU, THE ONE WITH ROSACIA AND AN AIR OF SADNESS!!! QUESTIONS OR TAFFY!!!

Reporter with Rosacea: It’s a heartbreaking skin condition I can’t help! What about the kicking game?

Miles: I don’t kick field goals. NEXT! YOU WITH THE ODOR OF PET FERRET STICKING TO YOU!

Reporter: It’s my hippie roommate’s! I’d shove it down the garbage compactor if I could!

Miles: Taffy penalty for too much information! Final question, Nancy with the ill-fitting bra who desperately needs to give up on being a C and accept her fine, natural D-cup post-childbirth breasts for the wonder that they are!

Reporter Nancy: Where can I find a bra to fit my newly titanic boobs? And do you think the defensive line will be a strength of this year’s team?

Miles: Does Ricky-Jean Francois piss kerosene and eat wasps’ nests for lunch? Hell yes, they’ll be a strength. And for the bras, try the custom fittings at Intimacy. They’re expensive but they’re worth it, because their fits are immaculate. Like a thousand little midget hands caressing and supporting you, but without the molest-ey feel that five hundred midgets touching your boobs would have. I have four of them myself.

Reporter Seven: For moobs, Coach Miles?

Miles: No way. The man-rafters are still high and proud after all these years. I wear the bra around my huge, unwieldy balls. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a pile of cash to spend at Carrabba’s on my coaches and an excruciatingly painful bowel movement in my future. Better put some mozzarella and gnocchi in the pipe to smooth things out down there. JIMMY! CUE THE LIGHTS!!!

Purple and yellow lights spin around the room. A wall of guitar, horns, and drums cranks up the four corners salute. Miles puts his hand on his hips.

Les Miles: HAVE…A….GREAT…DAY!!!!


Have a great day.

Reporter: I will never, ever get used to that.

Smoke envelops him, and he disappears through the ceiling on a motorized grappling hook.