Sundays 10:30 PM on HBO

Now this Friday night, I guarantee you, it is gonna be the biggest goddamn comeback celebration any y'all have ever seen. There's gonna be people cheering, and screaming, and spotlights, and fireworks. I wouldn't even doubt if there's a couple chicks showing their f*cking p*ssies off.

Remember, there is no "I" in team, but there is a "u" in c*nt. So don't be little jealous c*nts, ok?

I wouldn't doubt if some of the muchachas show their panochas off. They might show their panochas off. They might be waving their panochas all over the place.

No, I was using an alias. Steve to me, just kinda seems like the name of somebody who has absolutely nothing going on in their life.

This is a dangerous place, Stevie. If you were to stay here, I can't guarantee that you'd make it home alive. You would not only be responsible for watching your own back, but also mine. You'd also be responsible for doing alot of my personal errands, more than likely my laundry.

Over the course of my career, I've played on many different teams - some I liked, and some I really f*cking hated. I am not mentioning any names, but let's just say that Seattle can tongue kiss my sh*thole. The best way to get a new team on your side is to trash the last team you played for. Talk sh*t about how their fans suck, and their women have pancake t*tties.

And if that doesn't work, then just like prison, you pick the biggest, baddest dude on the team, and you kick him in his f*cking teeth.

On the long road to grief recovery, don't be surprised if you've got to spill a little blood to get sh*t fixed. With all great comebacks, somebody usually gets f*cked.

Sometimes being on the mend can get old real quick. Like when you're doing all this awesome sh*t to show motherf*ckers that you're cool now. And one day, you realize that maybe the person you are truly trying to fix yourself for has moved the f*ck on. And there you are, left in the midst of a battle, that suddenly means nothing.

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