We're coming up on our first anniversary here at KSK and I gotta tell you, it's been a great ride, what with all the antagonizing sportswriters, antagonizing readers, antagonizing commenters, spurning loved ones, race-baiting, hippie bashing, NASCAR debasing (why, patron saint, why?), soft porn purveying, gay unicorn planet watching, and, lately, the posting of lots and lots of improbable fictionalized dialogues between NFL figures.
It's enough to wear a guy (or six) out. It doesn't help that there's not a whole lot going on in the world of the NFL until training camps open, so we're taking a week to recharge our batteries and buy new bath towels.
It'll be as hard on us as it is on you, believe you me. As we were discussing this, Unsilent said he had a few timely posts to put up, Punter wanted to do another installment of his adventures of Fitty, I wanted to speculate on just how little game Plaxico Burress has to strike out in a bar full of Jersey girls, then Drew cried, then Caveman cried, then I cried and then flubby sneezed. Oh God bless him, he's such a little soldier.
So, until sun-up Monday, May 28, you're on your own for slipshodly written, warmed-over satire of things loosely related to the NFL. Oh wait, that's Memorial Day. Make it Tuesday, fucktasters.