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The Locker Room Chronicles: Volume 1

Gentlemen and the rare lady that comes around to hang out with us dudes:

Welcome to the locker room chronicles. I, a member of Team Erudition, am here to provide a never-before-seen look at the true workings of the Eagles' locker room drama. Each volume will detail a story that will never be exposed in the media or reported on Twitter, but assuredly, definitely, probably happened.

Without further ado, I give you:

--CHAD HALL'S FIRST TOUCHDOWN--

Scene: The locker room of Lincoln Financial Field after the close loss to the Cowboys wherein our JV team only lost by one point. DeSean Jackson stands by his locker paging through the scripts for his various TV commercials.

(Enter Chad Hall, excitedly.)

Hall: Gee whilikers, DeSean! I caught my first TD! Kolb found me in the back of the end zone! I put a double-move on a DB and everything! I'm a gosh-darn-dandy NFL player! I'm just like you!

Jackson: YOOOOO WHERE CALI AT DJACCCC ALL TURNT UP IN HURRR

Hall: What? What are you talking about, DeSean?

Jackson: YOOOOOO I BE ON MAH GRIND ALLL NITE MAKE THAT $$$$$ DOLLAZ

Hall: Guys, I think DeSean's sick!

(Enter Jeremy Maclin, carrying large book and wearing a tweed jacket)

Maclin: Don't bother, Chad. DeSean's always in twitter mode for at least an hour after the game. He won't be coherent for a while.

Hall: He actually *talks* that way? What the do-daddy-heck is wrong with him?

Maclin: He's an idiot. Haven't you seen that chin-beard he grows? Are you surprised he can barely speak english?

Hall: Good point, Jeremy. (Notices Maclin's book) Is that our playbook? Studying up on the game plan so we can beat those no-good-clod-choppin' Packers?

Maclin: (Heaves a sigh) No, Chad. This is a volume of French existentialist philosophy. The only way I can be anywhere near stimulated on this team is by Sartre, not by our idiotic coordinators and walrus-esque pig of a coach. (Takes out snuff, sniffs it, sneezes) Bother. Have you seen my pipe? I must have left it with my white paper on the moral implications of downfield blocking...

Hall: (Excitedly) Whatever! I caught my first touchdown today! Did you see me on the stutter-and-go? I was awesome!

(From a distance) Shut up, you self-righteous, red white and blue shit-stain!

(Enter Todd Herremans, extraordinarily pissed off)

Herremans: Look, you little fucker. You only caught that TD because the defenders lost track of your hobbit-looking pipsqueak ass in the middle of their zone. You suck. Take your fucking stars and stripes and your positive attitude and get the fuck out of my locker room!

(Hall begins to cry)

Maclin: Now Theodore, was that really-

(DeSean interjects)

Jackson: I BE ALWAYZZ UP ON MY J.O. NEVER STOPPIN KEPP IT POPPPEN

Maclin: Have you finished?

(DeSean begins trimming his chin-beard)

Maclin: Thank heaven for that. Now, Theodore, was that really necessary? Chad's just excited he did more than mildly confuse the defense on a gadget play that isn't actually designed to get the ball to him.

Hall: I'm versatile!!!

Maclin: Shut up, Chad.

Herremans: Yeah, shut the fuck up, Chad! Chad sounds like chode! You little fuckstick! My dick is bigger than your fucking thighs! I have shoes that are bigger than you! I could fit you in the glove box of my sketchy-ass black van! You're small, damn it! YOU'RE TOO GODDAMN SMALL!

(Hall begins crying again)

Maclin: You know, Theodore, he is bigger than DeSean.

Herremans: Yeah, but DeSean's fast. He's faster than my shits after Chili night at the Herremans house. Anyway, you can shut up too, Maclin. Your eyes bulge like those fucked-up ornamental fish rich white people buy to try to seem accepting of Asians.

Jackson: YEEEEEAH TEACH ME HOW TO DOUGIE TEACH ME TEACH ME HOW TO DOUGIE

Herremans: Whatever.

Maclin: What's wrong with you lately, Theodore? You've been pissy as hell.

Herremans: Dude, do you have any idea how much it sucks to not be able to smoke up? Coach Reid has been watching me ever since that stupid incident in training camp. I haven't been high for a year. Why the hell do you think my run blocking has gotten so much better? I'M ANGRY ALL THE TIME!

Hall: (sobbing) Todd, it's not morally righteous to discuss bowel movements in public! My commanding officer in the Air Force said so! You're a... a... a foul-mouthed lazy-pants!

Herremans: You disgust me! I will toss you like a goddamn shot-put , you little yankee-dankee-doodle pygmy!

(Herremans moves to strangle Chad Hall, is stopped by the arrival of a lurching, slobbering Jason Peters)

Peters: GRRRRAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHH.

Maclin: Shit! Who forgot to feed Jason Peters?

Peters: CHICKENNNNNNN GRRRRAAARRRRRRRRRRR

Herremans: Dunlap! Bring your lanky turnstyle ass over here and give Peters his Popeye's before he starts eating the athletic tape again.

Peters: YAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHH

(Peters is given seven buckets of chicken)

Peters: GRAAAAAAAAAHHH SLOBBER OM NOM NOM NOM NOM

(Peters lumbers off)

Herremans: That guy scares the shit of even me. He doesn't talk or anything.

Maclin: I heard he ate a basket of sweater-wearing kittens once. Thought they were hot dogs.

(David Akers overhears, yells)


Akers: Hey! Those Kittens were righteous Jesus kittens! They said their prayers every night! I was going to give them to my heathen, sex-desiring wife so she'd stop interrupting my P90X workouts and rosary recitations! You Godless FUCKS!

Herremans: Shut up Akers. You're old. You lead the team in being old. Go read your fucking bible.

Akers: Todd, that's an ignorant thing to say. Leviticus 18 says-

(Maclin throws a football tumbling about two inches off the ground into the distance. Akers panics and sprints after it, screaming 'DAMN IT, SAV!')


Herremans: Thanks.

Maclin: It's okay. I hate kickers.

(Enter Jon Dorenbos, bouncing like a fucking superball while clearly not being in anything even resembling the physical condition of anybody else on the entire team, including defensive coordinator Sean McDermott)

Dorenbos: Hiiiiiiiiiii guys! Pick a card! Then write your name on it! Then fold it twice and stick it up my asshole!

The rest of the locker room: SHUT THE FUCK UP, DORENBOS! SHUT THE FUCK UP AND FUCKING DIE!

(Dorenbos bounces off home to have sex with his ludicrously hot wife, which does not now and has not ever made any goddamn sense)

Herremans: I don't even know what's going on here anymore. This shit would never happen if Dawk was still around.

Maclin: What shit?

(Ernie Sims walks past. He is wearing a shark costume, holding a pistol, and reading a manual entitled 'how to concuss people.')

Herremans: That shit, baldy.

Maclin: And people think this franchise is so stable.

FIN