"I told you it wasn't pretty coach..." the assistant said as he turned off the television.
Rush Propst sat there red as a ripe Alabama apple...speechless...fuming smoke from all orifices except for the mouth. And even that one didn't remain closed for that long...
"BACKWOODS!? I'M DESPERATE!? 5 TIME ALABAMA STATE CHAMPION, 10 DISTRICT TITLES!!!"
"THAT PRISSY GATDAMN ITALIAN SCHMUCK, I WILL HANG HIM BY HIS SPICY ITALIAN MEATBALLS, STRING HIM UP BY HIS GATDAMN NOODLES. IMMA FEED THAT MARIO AND LUIGI KNOCKOFF TO MY "BACKWOODS" DOGS. I'LL SHOW HIM WHAT MY PUREBREED "SON OF A BITCH" WILL DO...HELL EVEN ITS MOTHER WOULD GR-"
"Coach! Coach, please calm down...you're blood pressure! Yo-You're gonna ha-"
Propst adjusts his shirt, wiped his brow, tucked his Hoover hat low over his eyes, and cleared his throat.
"Get the [censored] out. What I'm about to do is grown man business. Bring me the scouting report for Allenville, a bottle of Jack Daniels and some Ibuprofen."
"Coach?" uttered the assistant, completely perplexed as to how Propst switched off his rant so quickly and efficiently.
"Did I stutter, boy?" Propst said, calm and in control.
"No, sir. I'll have them up shortly...anything else I can do for you?"
"No, I will take it from here. Now git!"
With that, the assistant ran out of the room down to his desk to retrieve the scouting reports.
Once the assistant was gone Propst rose up from his desk and stepped up to his window. He looked down on his team running drills on the field.
"I hope these boys are ready for the hell I'm going to put them through this season."
Propst smirked and closed the shades and sat back into his desk chair.
"So this is what it feels like to swim with the rest of the big fish, hunh?"
Propst ominously looked down at his team's game schedule of big fish and looked down at the last game.
"Hah...and it just had to be the gaddamn "Sharks" swimming with the big fish...we'll have to see about that."
Rush Propst sat there red as a ripe Alabama apple...speechless...fuming smoke from all orifices except for the mouth. And even that one didn't remain closed for that long...
"BACKWOODS!? I'M DESPERATE!? 5 TIME ALABAMA STATE CHAMPION, 10 DISTRICT TITLES!!!"
"THAT PRISSY GATDAMN ITALIAN SCHMUCK, I WILL HANG HIM BY HIS SPICY ITALIAN MEATBALLS, STRING HIM UP BY HIS GATDAMN NOODLES. IMMA FEED THAT MARIO AND LUIGI KNOCKOFF TO MY "BACKWOODS" DOGS. I'LL SHOW HIM WHAT MY PUREBREED "SON OF A BITCH" WILL DO...HELL EVEN ITS MOTHER WOULD GR-"
"Coach! Coach, please calm down...you're blood pressure! Yo-You're gonna ha-"
Propst adjusts his shirt, wiped his brow, tucked his Hoover hat low over his eyes, and cleared his throat.
"Get the [censored] out. What I'm about to do is grown man business. Bring me the scouting report for Allenville, a bottle of Jack Daniels and some Ibuprofen."
"Coach?" uttered the assistant, completely perplexed as to how Propst switched off his rant so quickly and efficiently.
"Did I stutter, boy?" Propst said, calm and in control.
"No, sir. I'll have them up shortly...anything else I can do for you?"
"No, I will take it from here. Now git!"
With that, the assistant ran out of the room down to his desk to retrieve the scouting reports.
Once the assistant was gone Propst rose up from his desk and stepped up to his window. He looked down on his team running drills on the field.
"I hope these boys are ready for the hell I'm going to put them through this season."
Propst smirked and closed the shades and sat back into his desk chair.
"So this is what it feels like to swim with the rest of the big fish, hunh?"
Propst ominously looked down at his team's game schedule of big fish and looked down at the last game.
"Hah...and it just had to be the gaddamn "Sharks" swimming with the big fish...we'll have to see about that."
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