Rex, what did I ever do to you?

Oh. Rex. You’ve satisfied many a young coed, and you’re so potent Olin Kreutz had an uncomfortable discussion with his wife as to how he was able to bear your child. But you’re no HipHopopotamus. You’re not even a rapping jellyfish. You’re just a useless waste of space who makes me long for Kyle Orton’s neckbeard. At least he doesn’t have the arm strength to throw the ball to the other team.

YOU ARE NOT BRETT FARVRERVERUH. Bitch. And now you're being replaced. So suck it. Although here's your response: I’m Not Going Down Without A F--k!

There is a special place in hell for you, Bernard Berrian. It will be you, Todd Pinkston, Plaxico Burress and Reche Caldwell. You’ll all be standing over a pool of lava, and Satan will be twenty yards away with a Juggs machine. All he’ll do is fire little cherubic babies right at your hands, and you’ll have to watch as those little chubbers drop, one after the other, into the boiling magma below because you can’t catch, you pathetic pieces of warthog intestine.

Does anyone remember Dante Hall? Keep that in mind the next time you think you’re the nuts, Devin Hester.

I understand, defense. You’re on the field all the time, because Rex Grossman hates his own receivers. And the injuries are once again piling up: Brown is out again for the year, Briggs went down, Vasher hurt himself, Ogunleye is banged up, and insert further synonyms for getting the piss knocked out of you. But you know what? You are the Chicago Bears defense. Have some self-respect, you pikers. Another tight end goes off on you? Dick Butkus and Bronko Nagurski are going to come to your homes and eat your children, because you don’t deserve to reproduce. And you’ll only have yourselves to blame. Sure, Grossman throws the ball like he spreads his seed – that is, indiscriminately. But he has no high-level brain function. His upper lobes were severed in a freak orgy-related accident (a lesson for all you kids – oral sex is not for amateurs). Urlacher, we all know about Paris Hilton and her powers of mental retardation. And Archuleta, it’s not your fault you have the physique of a thirteen-year-old bulimic girl. Or maybe it is your fault. I don’t care. The point is, tackling is important.

Oh, and Robbie Gould? You kick, you don’t pass. Remind Lovie.

I feel like I'm talking to the same people every week. Muuuuuuhsin! Make some plays, dammit! I guess I'll give some bang to Mark Anderson for his monster sack. But none of the rest of you get any cookies.