I, Bill Belichick, am having a serious Case of the Mondays.

We lost our second game last night. 9-2 makes me fucking irate. In fact, it makes me home-wrecking irate.

Sure, the way those pussies in the league office score the game, we won, and now we’re 11-0. But I’m not one of those league office pussies, am I? I gauge Patriot wins and losses like a fucking man. ATS. The true barometer of greatness. That’s how I roll.

Sure, 22 was a big number. But so what? We could have covered that shit. Were we not playing a team coached by one of the Superfans? Do Andy Reid’s kids not make Rod Stewart’s kids look like Rhodes Scholars? Was the opposing quarterback not the same ferry that couldn’t satisfy Heather Mitts in the sack?

Dammit! They were asking for a Patriots beatdown! Heather Mitts would be walking funny six days a week if I had anything to say about it!We should have won by forty. I blame the players. I brought my fucking A game. They kept looking at the scoreboard. I kept telling them to, “Forget about the Eagles, we’re up against the Stardust.” But it just didn’t sink in. Their minds were elsewhere. Ever since Brady shot those Stetson ads he’s been a retard when it comes to picking up blitzes. I knew I shouldn’t have let that homoerotic shit go down. Dammit!

And it’s not like Goodell doesn’t know about my boredom with Super Bowl rings and my new quest to demolish the spread and line the pockets of every Masshole named Sully this season. I bet Goodell laughed himself to sleep last night. I’m going to shiv that smug son of a bitch sooner or later.

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