When you realize you have no days off. (Kevin C. Cox/Getty Images)

There is never a guarantee you’ll get a Patriots Schadenfreude Day. There are years when they win a Super Bowl and you just gotta sit there with gritted teeth while Brian O’Brian from Dickchester hoots and hollers and flashes imaginary rings and celebrates yet another Pats Super Bowl win by blinding an immigrant.

But not this year. No, this time the Patriots ate shit to a team quarterbacked by Nick Foles and coached by a picnic dad, and so you better believe I am gonna summon every single petty, misguided instinct within me to bask in the glow of that defeat. You lost, Boston. I know my team also lost and always loses but your team lost YESTERDAY. Your grunting dictator of a coach got too cute by benching his starting cornerback and your android QB got the ball taken from his magical Wolverine hands at the end and now everyone is happy because FUCK YOU.

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FUCK YOU they cry from Philadephia.

FUCK YOU they cry from Atlanta.

FUCK YOU they cry from Seattle, and Carolina, and maybe even St. Louis a little.

All over the world, the people gather as if for worship, except in this case they’re doing it to lift their middle fingers aloft and cry out FUCK YOU. Choirs of small children gather on stage risers in tasteful white robes to sing the words FUCK YOU in angelic tones. Passing cumulus masses in the sky arrange themselves into a warm FUCK YOU shape as a message from the heavens. A lone woman runs across an alpine mountainside to tell the hills the news that the Pats have lost, and therefore FUCK YOU FOREVER.

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I have no faith that you whiny, entitled dipshits will take the worldwide celebration of your demise (for now) as a hint, but I hope you do. New England has some very fine schools, and yet none of them appear to offer any sort of course in How To Go The Fuck Away. You guys could use one. You guys could stand to go take a sabbatical in fucking Iceland for the next three decades. Go away. Fuck off. Leave the rest of the sporting world alone with your endless, bipolar neediness.

Tom Brady? Christ, go the fuck away. Go learn how to be a human being instead of weird-ass, circa-2008 A-Rod pharmabot you currently are.

Bill Belichick? Go the fuck away. Go to some rocky point and spend your remaining days as the dour lighthouse keeper you were born to be.

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Marky Mark? Go the fuck away. Playing a cop does not make you an actual cop.

Bill Simmons? Go the fuck away. Go record some fucking emergency three-hour podcast wrap-up of Once Bitten starring Lauren Hutton, and then delete that file.

Ben Affleck? Go the fuck away. Go vape in the parking lot outside a Little League game or whatever the fuck it is you do now.

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Robert Kraft? Go the fuck away, you horny old frog. Sell this team and spend the rest of your time holding airborne Bon Jovi karaoke orgies.

Go the fuck away, Pats fans. You’ll have to find a different year to celebrate your team’s dystopian zeal for making literally every human being replaceable, and to pretend the Pats’ greatness somehow makes up for your own myriad, hilarious personal shortcomings. Go fuck the away, DO YOUR JOB. Go the fuck away, NO DAYS OFF. #NotDone? No, you are done. Fuck off.

I would tell you all to eat shit but Philadelphia decided to literally do that instead. Whatever. YOU LOST. This is a good day. I’M GONNA PASS OUT FREE TURKEYS TO EVERYONE BECAUSE THE PATRIOTS HAD THEIR SHIT RUINED.