Chili-Wacked

I have mixed feelings on the Purple firing Brad Childress. On one hand, he was a totally overmatched coach who had no idea how to run an offense or modivate his players. For reals, he was like a 16 year old getting an Aston Martin as his first car instead of a Ford Tempo. He just looked confused about how to operate the damn thing and then ended up crashing it into a telephone pole.

On the other hand, Chilly provided so much material. He looked like one of two things most days. Depending on the day he looked like either a sex offender or the star of 90's sitcom Major Dad, Gearld McRaney. The sex offender days were when he wore a black Vikings sweatshirt like my dad wears to bum around the house, and the Major Dad days were when the Vikings were getting plowed like Jill Kelly. Plus, his play calling thing looked like a Denny's menu, which provided at least 10 "Run 86 red right and get me a Super Bird" jokes. Per game.

At this point I am so damn numb from the farce that this Purple season has become I really can't feel a thing. I think anyone could coach this team better than Chilly, but I really don't care right now. I sort of hope Fav-ray retires and they throw T-Jack to the wolves to see if he can cut the mustard as a starter. And hopefully if they do, they can run 78-Trips-Left Moons over My Hammy a few times.

Here is a song to get through the Purple Malasie:



Hear that? It's the happy sound of seeing your chick with another dude. Oh, who the fuck cares? Do you hear fucking how joyous this is? I mean, with whistling, hand claps, and a freaking live audience who needs that two timing ho? Big ups to Cat Stevens for writing this and the Tremeloes for playing it.