“Gentlemen, we need a new commercial and I’m ready to listen to ideas. Smith?” “Well, boss, what if we got the guy from Alice and Pete Rose to sing a fucking duet about smelling like a man?” “You’re going to run this fucking company one day, Smith.”

I think we can all agree the party hasn’t really begun until Elvis pulls out a rifle.

Somebody should buy this and drive across America blaring the theme song. It may be the only thing left that can unite us.

Super Sky Point to Mike Ditka. I moved to Chicago in 2003, over a decade after “Da Coach” prowled the sidelines at Soldier Field for the final time. Yet his presence has always felt current. He arrived in 1961, a crew cut chunk of granite who hauled in a dozen touchdowns as a Pro Bowl rookie tight end. A quarter of a century later, he was carried off the field in glory at Super Bowl XX. Four decades later, his shadow casts large as ever over the banks of Lake Michigan as the only Bears head coach to ever hoist that precious Lombardi. He’s beloved in this town for many reasons. Because he always said what he meant and meant what he said - even if sometimes he shouldn’t have said it. Because he loved the common man. Because even when he was an asshole, he was OUR asshole. Walter Payton is the greatest Bear. Dick Butkus is the most violent. George Halas will always be Papa Bear. But no one, and I mean no one, better represents what it means to be a Chicago Bear, or a Chicago Bears fan, than Mike Fucking Ditka. St. Peter, grab a helmet, because today he’s young again. #RIP

We need to have a conversation about M&M’s jacket giant hat guy …