Sodbusters Go Hog Wild in Chicken Wind, PA

Morris Crimpanfortis begins to doubt his prowess when it comes to pitching his sister Noreen on TV show concepts. He realizes that more pizazz is needed to stand out from the teeming masses. He comes to the strange and wrongheaded conclusion that walkup music will make a difference. Morris cautiously approaches Jonas Cider, whose band the “Sodbusters” plays nightly at the Grilled Canary, one of those raunchy clubs over in Chicken Wind, PA. They meet at the Five-Points Highway Diner for peach pie and sweet iced tea. Morris lets Jonas know he would never EVER set foot in a place like the Grilled Canary, and the negotiations go downhill from there . . .

TO: Jonas Cider, Bandleader

FROM: Morris Crimpanfortis – General Manager, WXX-TV

RE: Your Thoughts on Something

TRANSMITTED VIA FACSIMILE (with no guarantee of receipt)

Hey Jonas, this is me, your old pal Morris Crimpanfortis:

I just had a thought: some of my pitches don’t seem to be achieving the greatest impact with the higher-ups, and I’ve come to the realization it has to do with presentation. As such, I’m looking for a little more pizazz to make my pitches stand out in the crowd, something that will offer an added punch.

A Long Way from Chicken Wind, PA

Jonas, I know that your band the “Sodbusters” performs at the Grilled Canary over in Chicken Wind. Before I begin, let me make something abundantly clear: I don’t know the first thing about what goes on inside of that seamy establishment and i never have, nor never will, set foot in that unsavory “joint” (as some would call it). I’m not holding anything against you, but if you and your colleagues agree to write and perform music for me, I want it under a different moniker. In other words, I clean break from the Canary, is that understood?

May I offer a suggestion? Why not rename your group the “Spobusters?” It does not deviate that dramatically from the name you’re currently using. In fact, if you analyze it, it’s kind of a clever play on words. The term Sodbusters, of course, refers to farmers who plow the land and turn the soil. I understand why your bandmates wear ripped and faded apparel that caters to the American agriculture base. I just can’t see your typical farmer with that many tattoos. Can I ask that you dress a little more formal when it comes time to performing my music? And I don’t want to see any leather vests exposing bare, flaccid guts hanging over bulging belt buckles. I don’t want to see beards shaved like checkerboards, nor do I want braided nose hairs, or turkey bones through nostrils, or pierced eyelids and definitely no tattoos showing portraits of disgraced politicians.

Back to the name “Spotbusters.” See, we’re in the communications biz, and we call commercials “spots.” So you have a little media thing going on, an inside reference (I think that those in the know call it “inside baseball”), and then you have me, looking for my first show concept to hit paydirt. See, once I become a known commodity, I’ll be on Easy Street from here on out. It’s just getting past my sister, who is the gatekeeper of the programming vault. Family members seem to be my toughest critics. But I’m willing to give this music a shot to see if it loosens things up.

A Little Less Volume – Please?

Now, about your music. I heard you at a community fair last summer – NOT INSIDE THAT ESTABLISHMENT, THE GRILLED CANARY! Believe me, you were loud. You were so loud, I couldn’t concentrate on the game I was playing. I think I was throwing baseballs at stacked milk bottles, trying to topple them. I missed every time, and the people behind the counter and those waiting in line jeered at me mercilessly and made fun of me and mocked me. The booing would have been worse if not for your excessive volume. So I thank the Sodbusters for minimizing the catcalls that were directed at me.

Also, the musicians will perform as the house band on the set of my new game show, Place Commercial Here. Whenever contestants appear stumped and fumble for answers, the house band will perform what I call “Kidding around Music.” I don’t exactly know how to describe it. But I am confident that you, Jonas will know precisely what I’m talking about. Of course, if the contestant comes up with the correct answer in record time, the band plays “Look at Me” music, and if the contestant loses it all, the house band will play “The Get It Next Time Blues.” I think you may want to enlist the services of a tuba player for that.

Lose the Lawyers

I strongly recommend that you DO NOT hire an entertainment lawyer to negotiate your contracts relative to my offer. I do not know what your agreement is for performing at the Grilled Canary. Did I explain that I know NOTHING about what goes on inside of that highly questionable establishment?”

Well, the ball is in your court Jonas. Ask me, this is a great way to literally clean up your act and jump into the legit side of the entertainment biz.

Let me know OK?

When All Else Fails, Let the After-party Roll!

Noreen Crimpanfortis, Vice President of Business Affairs for Hyper-Citation, Inc. faxes a special memo to her wayward brother, Morris Bartlett Crimpanfortis, V, as he languishes in coal country. Noreen previously copied him on the all-network memo, commanding every decision-maker in stations across the country to stay clear of anyone who hints of a Kalabrashion connection. Noreen makes mention of the fact that the after-party for the Silt Ridge Midnight News, when put up on the satellite, has gained worldwide attention. Apparently, no one is watching the local newscasts, but they’re tuning in from all over the world to catch the extravagant after-parties, held in the lot out in back of the towering Graphite County Opera House. Noreen notices that there is a lot of property in back of the opera house, representing a lot of lawn to mow. Morris seemingly has a problem with his sister’s analytics, as the property in back of the opera house is still covered with snow. He wonders how he should respond to this. What if they resort to using snow blowers? The memo slips disconsolately from his cluttered desk to the littered floor, and he just leaves it there . . .  

TO: Morris Bartlett Crimpanfortis, V

FROM: Noreen Crimpanfortis, Vice President of Business Affairs

RE: You’d Better Start Paying Attention!



I don’t know if you’re going to see this. I don’t know if your fax machine works. I don’t know if the satellites are working. I don’t even know if you look at what comes across your transom. But if you do see this, I urge you to ACT on it and FOLLOW ALONG with what I’m trying to impart to you.

FIRST, you are surely aware that I have rang the ALARM BELL on yet another dastardly Kalabrashion takeover ploy. This one involves the fine folks at Kentucky Power Glide. You may have already seen the preliminary plans. It’s going to be really elaborate, one of the most elaborate ever, with this undulating sod bridge high above the Jersey Turnpike.

The Undulating Sod Bridge: Quite a Sight

Don’t ask me, I don’t what they do to make it undulate. Nor do I fully understand why it even has to undulate in the first place. But I just know it adds to the excitement for motorists of seeing people mowing the lawn high above. Then, you have all the ancillary stuff, including the flying grass blades and dandelions. Well, you get the picture. I’ll be going back there to kick off the launch. I don’t think you’ll be needing to make a plane ticket, though I guess it’s within driving distance for you. C’EST LA VIE, Y’ALL.

Morey, I don’t need to tell you about the games the Kalabrashions play. They’ll smile at your face and shiv you in the back as cool as a cucumber, no questions asked. Their latest sham involves pretending to be friendly landscapers. Has anyone approached the opera house yet to bid on mowing? If so, I need you to REPORT THIS ACTIVITY immediately to me. The same goes if anyone else in that backwater burg of Silt Ridge has received inquiries about placing landscaping bids. Don’t take this the wrong way, Morey, but do people in that sorry neck of the woods even have lawns? Or is it just kind of the slovenly-weed-encrusted-moss bank mentality? Don’t listen to me; that was a low blow.

Diabolical Landscapers with Deep-Seeded Issues

But you, dear brother YOU it seems have a rather large target on your back. My research shows that there’s a substantial expanse of lawn in back of the Graphite County Opera House that you use for parking. How do I know this? Well, it seems that one of your enterprising techies on the Silt Ridge Midnight News has taken to streaming your pre-news tailgate parties and sprawling after-parties on the international satellite network. When, of course, the satellites work.

Don’t Forget about the After-parties

I checked the analytics recently, and there are millions . . .  MILLIONS of people tuning in to your tailgate parties and after-parties. Don’t get me wrong, NOBODY watches the midnight news. Those pathetic efforts are abysmal, by the way. But the parties? Wow Morey! You’re scoring some awfully big numbers. Father would be proud. WRONG! He can’t know a thing about this. How would that make his empire look, having a station known for its after-parties more than for the actual newscasts? NICE GOING, dear brother, your incompetence WINS THE DAY YET AGAIN!

One thing I did notice: the parking lot in back of the opera house is grass. I know it gets awfully beat up in the snow, but this is one more place where the Kalabrashions can score boffo points. If I were you, I’d really be on guard about nice people knocking on your door to take care of the lawn out in back. Can you envision the mayhem they can cause if they get the contract and then run roughshod during an after-party? What makes the whole thing worse is the satellite coverage. The WHOLE WORLD would be looking on as they took it to the Crimpanfortis family on their own territory. Oh Morey, even you must be able to see how detrimental such a scenario would be!

Therefore, dear brother, I ask you, I plead with you, I beseech you to please, please, PLEASE heed my warning and take the proper precautions when total strangers knock on the Will-Call Office door and ask to take care of your landscaping needs. REALIZE that you are staring into the eyes of the enemy, and take immediate action that will make the Crimpanfortis family PROUD OF YOU.

Heightened Alert for Smarmy Landscaper Bids

Instead of bombarding me with your constant and useless barrage of weak pitches, I seriously recommend that you focus the majority of your efforts on thwarting the enemy, thus keeping Silt Ridge pure and pristine, and free of the ravages of the cabal of Kalabrashion vultures.

But don’t, and I repeat . . . DO NOT produce a public service announcement warning fellow citizens about the imminent threat posed by the evil pack of landscapers. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, Morey, but if there’s a way that a simple PSA could coalesce into a scalding hot mess, something tells me you would FIGURE OUT A WAY!

Grass-slaying Hyenas Get No On-air Love

Noreen Crimpanfortis, Vice President of Business Affairs for Hyper-Citation, Inc., orders this dictate for the higher-ups at the various TV stations across the country owned by her father, the legendary Morris Crimpanfortis, IV: under no circumstances are they to give any airtime, or mention any names of the salivating hyenas who want to take their empire down. In a scathing all-company memo, Ms. Crimpanfortis warns stations along the line to turn a cold shoulder on any requests for commercial airtime or news features. The Kalabrashion crowd will stop at nothing to get their evil brand of malice front and center in the public’s mind, so this will serve as a notice to be on the lookout when these seemingly innocent businesspersons who come knocking on your pristine corporate doors. If you have a lapse of judgement and hire one of the crews, it’s all on you; Hyper-Citation will try coming at the problem from fifteen different angles, but at the end of the day, if you ignore this memo, it becomes fully your deal to figure out . . .

TO: All Network Personnel Including General Managers and News Directors

FROM: Noreen Crimpanfortis, Vice President of Business Affairs

RE: Shutting Down the Kalabrashions


Read this and react at your own peril. I am requesting you – no, check that . . . I am ORDERING you to refrain from giving the Kalabrashion jackasses one MINUTE of mention on your TV stations, including all broadcast, streaming and social media platforms. That means no mention in newscasts and definitely, NO SPOT BUYS.

Here’s the deal: it’s not like this has never happened before. Every time Hyper-Citation rolls out a new display, these arrogant jackals feel the need to throw their two-cents into the mix. Case in point: remember what they did in response to our spider web in Music City? They went on a multi-city tour and poured out dump truck after dump truck of live roaches into crowded movie theaters, concert venues and jam-packed shopping malls. Big joke, right? Hah-hah. I’m still laughing myself silly over that one. WRONG!

High-minded Cockroaches Dealing with Co-op Dollars

Those louse-ridden cretins are it again, counterfeiting another one of my father’s glorious testimonies to commerce, art, advertising and magnificent visual splendor. My family’s plans call for an undulating sod bridge high above the Jersey Turnpike to showcase the stellar qualities of the Kentucky Power Glide lawn mower line. You may recall airing multiple flights on your stations in the past. You scored some nifty co-op dollars off that little lash-up right? That paid the electric bills, and handsomely padded someone’s commission check. I’m not being smart here, I’m just reminding you where your loyalties had better lie. Where your bread and buttocks are buttered. You CATCH MY DRIFT?

The Kalabrashions have found a new way to draw attention to their devilish enterprises while attempting to drag us down in their malicious undertow. My sources tell me that they have galvanized a desperate campaign to turn lawn mowing into a horror show. Here’s how it works: they worm their way into a town, undercutting the competition – and you better not call me on the fact that I just made a pun – and act all cheerful and polite. They keep this mealy M.O. up for a few weeks, for three or four quality cuts – and then BLAM! It’s lights out.

Making Mincemeat of Lawn & Garden Parties

What do I mean by that? Well, they’ll show up uninvited and unexpectedly at lawn parties and outdoor weddings and they’ll turn on the charm in the most bizarre, disconcerting of ways: in this case it means heavily supercharged lawn mowers that have been distinctively customized to bring out the greatest levels of fright in the intended victim – meaning the stunned and frightened customer. It gets worse, because after tearing up the lawn and peoples’ sanity during precious outdoor events, they then take it to high school stadiums while actual GAMES ARE BEING PLAYED! I don’t have to tell you the mess that results when they take out their venom on artificial turf. It’s a blizzard of stems, with whirring blades converging RIGHT ON THE PLAYERS!

Free Airtime Going Forward a Definite No-no

So listen up people – and I’m especially talking to you, GMs, GSMs, AEs, News Directors, social marketers and brand managers – do not, and I repeat DO NOT give these salivating jackasses one IOTA of free airtime during the news or as advertising clients. They relish making their antics into news events. DON’T GIVE THEM THE SATISFACTION. If you must report these landscaping travesties, do so in a vague way. Make it seem like small-time antics, like this is kid stuff. Don’t – and I repeat DO NOT attribute these putrid indiscretions to ANYONE. And do not, DO NOT NAME NAMES! No harm, no foul – NO BIG DEAL, right?

I’m glad that’s all understood. But let this serve as sufficient warning: if I get wind of any of you attaching the Kalabrashion name to one of these grass clipping fiascos, your job status in the vaunted CRIMPANFORTIS TELEVISION GROUP will be severely in jeopardy. Coppice?

Now that we’ve cleared the air on this score, carry on. Please.

The Alexander Hamilton Service Plaza

We are privy to an interoffice memo between Boris Fornhenge, Director of Design and Engineering for Hyper-Citation, Inc. and Noreen Crimpanfortis, Vice President of Business Affairs. Mr. Fornhenge heads up the engineering department that executes flawless designs incorporating the wild dreams that Hyper-Citation comes up with into operational spectacles for the whole world to enjoy. In this confidential and potentially explosive memo, Mr. Fornhenge warns his exuberant superior about the perils inherent in the unpredictable sod bridge high above the New Jersey Turnpike. Mr. Fornhenge alludes to the use of safety rigging, but in the end realizes that Hyper-Citation has its own set of guidelines that don’t necessarily rely on harnesses and safety nets. Meanwhile, Noreen receives word from her father, Morris Crimpanfortis IV, that there may be a change of venue in the near future for young Morris. Noreen tries not to think about the host of calamities that loom for her blithering brother if he were forced to take a position with the stunt team on this risky display high above the Jersey Turnpike . . .  

TO: Noreen Crimpanfortis, Vice President of Business Affairs

FROM: Boris Fornhenge, Director of Design and Engineering

RE: Preventing a Disaster at the Alexander Hamilton Service Plaza


Greetings, Noreen. Just to spell out this billboard situation for the fine folks at Kentucky Power Glide, let me reiterate something in hopes of making it perfectly clear: we’re not playing around with this sucker. I am concerned for the stunt personnel riding the lawn mowers. First of all, I hope we all agree to suspend operations at the first sign of rain. Do you know how slick that bed will get up there? Nobody mows their lawn in the rain anyway, right? And transitional seasons between winter and spring and fall and winter–it could start freezing at that elevation. Has anyone taken that into account?

Danger in the Air

I know that Hyper-Citation contracts with Dirkie Tirk’s stunt professionals, and they’re all top shelf I am not in the least calling into question their commitment or ability. I’m just wondering if the drivers of the lawn mowers shouldn’t wear safety harnesses. It might help if they should happen to catch a bad roller and pitch over the side.

Now, I realize that Hyper-Citation generally eschews safety harnesses and other hidden contrivances, claiming that the devices somehow compromises the “purity” of these gut-wrenching displays. I’m not here to argue with success; just to let you know where I stand on certain baseline issues.

In that same vein, I hope that rotating six hour shifts is not asking too much. If I understand correctly, crane operators at the shipyard are only required to work four-hour shifts. And that might be stressful work, but not as rife with potential danger as what these performers are going to be forced to endure. Do you know the raw, nonstop punishment this enterprise will entail? This is extra mile stuff we’re talking about here.

Human Grass Blades Don’t Help

I have an additional concern with the sheer number of human grass blades bungee jumping off the display. We are right now looking at upwards of 2,260 jumps per hour. The parking lot of the adjoining Alexander Hamilton toll plaza will be a beehive of activity as the blades use this as a landing zone (LZ). We need to incorporate static lines so they have a means of returning quickly and uniformly to their grass pods at various levels of the sod bridge. I’m just concerned that the constant stress resulting in the pulling and tugging of the diving grass blades does not compromise the integrity of this massive undulating structure.  The dandelions with jet packs will be a much more manageable proposition; their maneuverability will not impact negatively on the infrastructure of the sod bridge. Rest assured, I will be monitoring every facet closely once the display launches.

I want you to put yourself behind the wheel of that riding mower for one minute. Think back on the most daring, gut-wrenching, puke-inducing amusement park ride you’ve ever been on. Then multiply it by ten and double it for good measure. That does not even begin to describe the sheer terror of riding a lawn mower over a rise in the terrain, then dipping sharply to a place where you’re hanging on for dear life. When motorists realize there is a person 250 feet above the turnpike trying to keep an edge while the structure seemingly tears apart at the hinges…well, I don’t have to tell you the kind of instant international notoriety this will score for Kentucky Power Glide, Inc.

When All Else Fails . . .

As a final note, I have spoken with representatives from the highway commission regarding use of the parking lot of the Alexander Hamilton service plaza. If something happens to go terribly wrong up there–Heaven forbid–we have permission to use their property as a staging area for the medevac equipment and all other associated emergency operations.

How to Safely Sex a Gator

An interoffice memo from Roscoe Dubesquee, Head Maintenance Tech and Rat Wrangler, asks Noreen Crimpanfortis to clarify her stand on the gator. There is a question of size, disposition and sex. Roscoe doesn’t know if a female would be such a good choice. He wonders about her laying eggs on the living room floor high above the Interstate. He also inquires if they think they’re going to sell air conditioners in the middle of an Ohio winter. Roscoe is fully prepared to drive to Florida to take delivery on the critter, but just wants to make sure he’s doing the right thing. The minute you get an alligator on your payroll, you’re kind of stuck with the not-so-cute-and-cuddly fallout.

TO: Noreen Crimpanfortis, Vice President of Business Affairs

FROM: Roscoe Dubesquee, Head Maintenance Tech and Rat Wrangler

RE: That Alligator You Requested


You asked me to look into what is entailed shipping a gator up from Florida to Dayton.  Let me first make sure I’ve got this straight: it’s Dayton Ohio not Daytona, FL correct? You realize, of course, it would be a whole lot cheaper if it was Daytona Fla? Let me tell you how messed up this can get if we don’t cross our tees and dot our eyes.

Is this Even Legal?

First of all, somebody is going to have to check with the state, b/c the outfit I found who will sell me the critter does not ship to certain states, including OHi, without all the paperwork from the game commission and stuff like that. So we need to check with them. I’m not sure how big you want the thing out of the box. The place I’m talking to sells them from a foot to eight feet. You can get their feed pellets for twelve bucks a bag. They go through about a pound a day. It’s organic stuff and high in protein. Gators don’t eat much. Tell that to the drunk trying to pet one on the snout. Hah!

I Just Work Here

Please, can somebody tell me what an alligator has to do with air conditioners? This is the company we’re working with on this, right? The HVAC guys? You realize we’re starting the campaign in the dead of winter. I hope we’re not trying to sell air conditioners in the middle of an Ohio winter. Does this mean we need to knit a coat for the big lizard? And how are we getting him atop the catwalk, are we going to hoist him in a sling? Do we even know if it’s a . . . him? Maybe we want a “her” instead. Just sayin’. It’s your call.

How do you know a Male from a Female Gator?

I can make a joke about the male/female thing but I know it would get me canned so I’ll beg off. I’ve been to all the seminars, even the ones on the Internet, and I know how much stock you put in them, particularly the videos, and so I can respect that b/c I want to keep my job. Even though my job some days seems a little fuzzy. BTW, I’m talkin’ videos about how to act in the workplace, not videos about telling if a gator is a man or woman. Am I clear on this? And oh, BTBTW, am I going to OH to help this bad boy up on the planks? And he ain’t gonna go ‘round the clock I hope. Is he just gonna lay up there on the living room floor? I hope nobody thinks a gator’s gonna just lay there.

We’ll Know Soon Enough about this Man or Woman Thing

I guess we’ll know soon enough if it’s a female if it starts laying eggs. Is everyone prepared for that? Huh? Your prize gator starts dropping eggs on the living room floor above the Interstate. There you go, that’s a real can of worms. Maybe I should specify a male, have somebody get his fingers bit off while checking him out. Oops, I maybe shouldn’t have said that. Guess I need to go back to that dad-blamed workplace video.

Then, you know what’s gonna happen if something goes haywire. If the crane drops the sling and the gator hits his head on the widescreen TV. That wild-haired PEOPLE group is gonna be gunning for us. Oh yeah, baby, we won’t need heaters with them breathing down our necks. Are y’all ready for that?

What’s wrong with a Little Female Companionship?

So what’s it gonna be? Do I drive down to the farm and pick the scaly celebrity up? If so, somebody’s gonna have to pull the permit. Hey, I think I just figured something out. Why don’t we get both? How would you like to be some guy sent up from a harem in Fla to hang out on a living room floor atop a freezing billboard in OH? Does something sound really wrong with that? How about a little female companionship? Now we’re talking, right? I’ll bet that’ll make the mean ‘ol dude happy.

And Ms. Crimpanfortis, ma’am, while we’re on the subject, you think I could get that raise we talked about a few months ago?

Your Stinking Crybaby Attitude

In this scathing interoffice memo, Noreen goes off on members of the ensemble cast of actors, trapped in the cutaway row home atop the billboard at the Columbus Blvd. exit ramp high above South Philly. Jacob gets burned for eating cereal in his underwear, but can you blame him? He and five other professional pitch-persons have been trapped atop this vertical asylum for almost six months now . . . and are growing more hostile by the minute! Noreen next lays down the law: don’t dump your laundry into rush hour traffic. She lambasts them for a failed pizza deliver attempt the other night and wonders out loud whether Jacob has taken to wearing thongs.

TO: Philly Actors on 1-95 Billboard at Columbus Blvd. Exit Ramp

FROM: Noreen Crimpanfortis, Vice President of Business Affairs

RE: Your Stinking Crybaby Attitude


You knew from the get-go this job was going to be no bowl of cherries. Or should I say bowl of Cheerios, Jacob? I know it’s been six months without a break but things are going to hell in a hand basket faster than I can process the infractions. Come on people, can we at least remain professional during waking hours?

Stop with the Underwear Already!

A few things have come to light that are really disturbing to our valued client, Bainbridge Furnishings Ltd. First and foremost, do not…I repeat, DO NOT persist in wearing your underwear in common areas that can be viewed by motorists–especially when you’re on the back porch taking out the trash.

Which leads me to my next point: no more flinging. We don’t fling things from 125 feet up and expect happy landings. That goes for the trash, and it especially goes for your laundry. I am so sick and tired of you wadding your sheets and whatever else into a tidy ball and then letting heave-ho into traffic. Do you know the problems you caused the other day? Whose thong got stuck to that poor man’s windshield wiper? And you’d better not tell me it was yours Jacob!

Jacob, Jacob, Jacob . . . answer me this. Why do men, while eating cereal in their briefs, feel the need to scratch their nether regions? Can you enlighten me on that? A little help, please, that’s all I’m asking for. In view of this I DEMAND YOU STOP EATING CEREAL IN YOUR UNDERWEAR AT THE KITCHEN TABLE─AND NO MORE SCRATCHING BENEATH THE WAISTBAND!

Am I clear on this?

Now . . . about that Stupid Pizza Stunt

Okay, so we all had a laugh the other night when one of you fools thought to order pizza from a helicopter. I know, I know . . . a drone’s not good enough for you clowns, right? Well, you went off script and got us some pub, but you also made us look like a bunch of rank amateurs. When the Crimpanfortis family negotiates a deal, they expect that deal to be signed, sealed and delivered, meaning that said pizza should have arrived at the front door piping hot and ready to consume instead of smashed into the side of the roof like a misguided pepperoni Frisbee. Do you know how bad that little stunt made us all look? And who was wondering how big a tip to leave?

Well I’ve got a tip for you: STICK TO THE SCRIPT! Do I have to repeat myself? STICK TO THE SCRIPT!

It’s the Eagles, Morons – Act Excited!

Now, I realize we’ve had problems getting a satellite hookup for the television. But you have to suck it up. When you gather around the TV, particularly during Eagles games, I want you to appear excited. You are ACTORS for heaven’s sake. Do you know what that means? It means that you can PRETEND to be watching television so convincingly that everyone passing by assumes that you’re having the time of your lives. Who cares that you’re staring at a blank screen? Just get with the program, okay!

I’m Ordering You, Keep It Together People!

I don’t know how much longer this campaign is going to last. It may go for two more years. May I reiterate a delicate subject I’ve touched on in the past? There will be no, and I repeat NO fraternizing between the sheets. If I get even so much of a whiff any of you jackasses are out of line, I’m going to personally pay a house call and pummel the offending parties. Do I make myself clear? Remember, those beds belong to the fine folks at Bainbridge Furnishings Ltd. You don’t even own the mattress pads!

Does this make it sound like you’re in prison? Let’s be clear on something: you’d have a lot more rights if indeed you WERE in prison!

Just remember one thing: at the end of the day, you’re international celebrities. Do you have what it takes to be champions? I dearly hope so.

Come on people, straighten up and fly right! Together we can make it!