Relatives were reportedly seen boarding up their windows and putting “Sold” signs on their front lawns with the news that the New York’s biggest twin’s collapse since the towers has befallen the rotund Ryan brothers, and they were hilariously fired from the pathetic Buffalo Swills. Combined with the Shakespearean downfall of their secret triplet Chris Christie, those lard-asses are busy losing jobs instead of the hundreds and hundreds of pounds of blubber they so desperately need. Now their horrified kin were dreading Christmas dinner as never before, for they knew the local supermarkets would have to be stripped bare in order to properly allow those big fatsos to drown their sorrows—in gravy.
Sure enough, come baby Jesus’ birthday both staples of the family’s big dinner, every pie imaginable and buckets of lard, were sold out for miles around. Even worse, the fowl policies of the Ryan’s/Christie turkey holocaust from last month continued, and have now depleted the turkey population by over six million. They even threw them into ovens, the cold-hearted bastards.
As their soon-to-be bankrupt food wranglers nervously paced around their home, everyone’s least favorite failed coaches were the first to arrive, on a custom-made tandem bicycle made out of adamantium. About an hour or so later Christie finally arrived, explaining that he got stuck in traffic. “Fuckin traffic jams,” he snarled. “Who’s responsible for those fuckin things?”
About six minutes later over $32,000 worth of food was reduced to nothing but gaseous emissions. It looked like a field of locusts had been over for dinner.
Having sufficiently clogged their arteries, each blob oozed over to the living room to break out the hooch. Several shots later Rex was ironically blubbering that between the lowly Wets and Swills, he’d been run out of New York and New Jersey like he’s Vito from the Sopranos. After an elderly aunt asked when one twin got fired did the other lose his paycheck, she was swiftly decked and viciously gored to death. It seemed like tensions were running a tad high—albeit subtly just beneath the surface.
It had been that way all season. Initially, their first glorious reunion since the slimy womb from whence they came was blissful, yet somehow turned into something gross. As scientists often remind us, twins are weirdos by nature, and one of their most disturbing features is the so-called “Twin Language” phenomenon. Oftentimes as toddlers, twins will form their own verbal interactions that remain undecipherable to anyone else, and they are able to “speak” that language to each other for life. What few people know is that the only thing even more powerful than “Twin Language” is “Triplet Language.” In the Ryan’s/Christie’s case, they can communicate to each other in high-pitch squeaks and clicks—not unlike blue whales. Relations between the two coaches eventually became so strained that one team insider revealed, “They don’t even click at each other any more.”
As the booze continued to wash down their gullets like so much krill, finally, and inevitably, the accusations began to fly over the firing. Rex blamed Rob for his chocolatey fingers constantly rendering the playbooks stickily useless at crucial times. Rob said it was Rex’s constant twin antics—like deciding to dress up as each other on the sidelines to see if anyone would notice—that made the front office lose patience. Christie chimed in that perhaps it was just because they were both shitstain coaches and was swiftly decked and viciously gored to death.
Suddenly the fact they were Polar opposites became too much to bear when Rob pointed out the irony that Rex was run outta town like Vito, since they share a similar build and sexuality. After struggling for many hours to each rise from their chairs and fistfight, luckily physics was on their side, and as they lumbered forth only their gargantuan bulbous bellies collided. The subsequent earthquake killed 47 people in Guam.
After that unpleasantness all was forgiven in favor of continuing the old Ryan’s/Christie Christmas tradition: pigs playing pigskin. They dragged Buddy out from the basement where they keep him, put a referee shirt on him, propped him up in a chair Weekend at Bernie’s-style and proceeded to have one of the all-time great gridiron battles. Unfortunately after one play the game had to be called off when both men suffered massive heart attacks.
As that heartwarming tale describes, the holidays are a time when your family is there for you when you need them. Especially in tough times, like when you suck at your job.