Big Daddy Drew continues his media-kkake going by making a guest post today. It involves a catfight. You'll like it because they might kiss! Buy Men With Balls today, or we'll never do Friday Cheesecake again.
(Saturday night. Lubbock, TX)
Erin: Well, Coach, ya finally got over the hump! How happy are you for your kids? (smiles radiantly)
Mike Leach: Oh, Iím very happy for them, Erin. But you know who the real winner was tonight? Plane geometry. You see, by employing 10-foot splits between the offensive lineman and having Michael Crabtree run nothing but hitch routes, I think the children of the world tonight have finally realized what a vital role spatial targeting plays in this game.
Erin: (bats eyelashes) Tell me more.
Mike Leach: Oh, Erin. What are ya talking to me for? The real reason these kids are so excited is because they get to talk to you! Look at Graham Harrell blushing over in the corner.
Erin: Oh. Heís so sweet!
Erin: Oh, wait. Just a moment, coach. I apologize. Hello?
Stacy: Knock it off, bitch.
Erin: Excuse me?
Stacy: You heard me, you whore. Stop flirting with all your interviewees.
Erin: Flirting? Me? I donít know what youíre talking about. Coach Leach and I have a very professional relationship. Which is why I can give him playful punches to the shoulder and trade late night text messages with him. (playfully punches coach Leach) Right, coach Leach?
Stacy: No, thatís the very definition of flirting, you filthy fucking strumpet. And another thing: Stop giggling.
Erin: Giggling? (giggles) I donít know what youíre talking about!
Stacy: There! You just did it there, you little fuckstop! STOP ACTING LIKE YOU DONíT KNOW YOUíRE FUCKING HOT!
Erin: Me? Hot? (smiles radiantly) NO WAY! Oh my God, Iím such a nerd!
Stacy: Sure you are, honey. Iím sure every nerd out there has an ass tighter than a volleyball, a rack you run a bumper car into, and the kind of golden, wavy hair you only see in a goddamn Pantene ad. Youíre about as nerdy as Mick Jagger, you lousy mynx.
Erin: But itís true! I AM a nerd! (flips hair) Oh my God, in high school, I was such a TOMBOY!
Stacy: Holy shit. Not the tomboy thing againÖ
Erin: (tilts head and allows bangs to gorgeously drape over side of face) I was! Oh my God, we had baseball cards and everything. I was such a tomboy.
Stacy: ZOMG! You must have been just like Mary Stuart Masterston in ďSome Kind Of WonderfulĒ! You lying little hussy. I bet you were so hot in high school that your whole goddamn life was one giant Designer Impostors body spray ad. ďWhen a man youíve never met before suddenly gives you flowersÖ thatís the power of little Erinís magic cooch.Ē YOU CUNT.
Erin: Look, what do you want out of me?
Stacy: I want you to admit it. Admit youíre a smoking hot little cockbox. Admit that most men would happily desert their families just for the chance to stick one between your uprights. Admit you put real thought into wearing that Banana Republic cowl neck top with matching pencil skirt.
Erin: Oh, this? I just threw this on.
Stacy: BULLFUCKINGSHIT! You calibrated that outfit for maximum fuckability, you little cockubine. Listen, all I ask is that you stop ignoring the fucking obvious. Look at me. Iím an attractive woman. But you donít see me dressing to the nines and then trying to tell everyone how much of a slob I am. So knock it off, little Miss ďProject Sideline.Ē Otherwise, Iím gonna run into you one day. And when I do, Iím gonna grab your hair and drag you fifty fucking yards. Then Iím gonna tear your clothes off and wrestle you to the ground, and smear mud all over you, and draw you into the kind of catfight that will have every man watching ejaculating like a goddamn water fountain.
Erin: Iím sorry, but I just donít know what youíre talking about. Iím just hanging out with my buddy, coach Leach! (gently places hand on Leachís back, smiles so radiantly it can be seen from space, arches back ever so slightly to exaggerate prominence of breasts)
Stacy: Oh, Jesus.