Colin Cowherd announces he will be at Sunday’s Eagles game. What should be done?

Well well well, look at what we have here. Human ventriloquist dummy Colin Cowherd announced today on Twitter (if he’s not lying, which he most likely is) he will be in attendance at Sunday’s Eagles game, sitting somewhere in section 217.

The proof, as the famous saying goes, is in the Twitter of the plastic-faced, ratings hungry dullard:

I’m SURE he’s lying and will not actually be at the game Sunday. Would you show up in front of 40,000 rabid Philadelphians who have been drinking in the Jetro lots since 5 a.m., just a mere 6 days since you spouted out this nonsense:

But if he is…what should be done about it? What wrath shall be brought down upon one of the most hated talking heads in America?

I hesitate to suggest this course of action because of its…well….intense nature, but should we really be sympathetic when it comes to Cowherd? Doesn’t he deserve to be put in his place and finally pay the price for all of foul and vile statements he has made in the past?

I think so, but this suggestion is akin to dropping a nuclear bomb. It will bring about victory, but at what cost? What destruction will be wrought from our victory? Do we need to ruin a man’s life over something said on a poorly rated and low viewed radio/television show?

Yes. Yes we do.

I propose the Eagles devise a systematic plan to find out the specific seat Cowherd will be sitting in section 217, and prior to his arrival at the stadium, carefully place a fully inflated whoopie cushion on his seat.

All precautions should be taken for the employee that places the rubber novelty item on his seat and substantial warnings should be given to those sitting around Cowherd. A rally towel should be gingerly placed over said whoopie cushion to camouflage the item from even the most detail-oriented eye.

It seems harsh, but how do you deal with such a putrid man? Not with the pen of peace, but with the sword of war.

Imagine it. In front of God and country, the unaware, Chucky-faced dunderhead slowly sitting down and unleashing what sounds to be a tremendous amount of flatulence in front of 40,000 fans.


His family will never look at him the same way again. He will leave the city disgraced, forever tortured with the memory of his mortification…never able to shred the dishonor thrust upon his soul.

It will be perfect. It’s deviousness only trumped by its intricacies.

Or someone can just pour a tureen of boiling Manhattan clam chowder over his head. That would work too.

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