Seriously, man. I am the biggest g0ddamn gossip hound you ever saw. I just love Hollywood news. I follow it religiously because I have to be in tune with the "industry." If some starlet with lots of money and no real frame of reference on life breaks up with some fuckhead lead singer for some edgy band that I've never heard of, then I want the fucking SCOOP! And if there was an ice cream flavor named Maggie Gyllenhaal, you can bet your sweet ass that I'd...I don't really have an ending for that. But if I coulda worked in a callback with "scoop," it probably woulda been pretty awesome. Whoa.
No, so anyway, Baltimoresun.com is reporting that Maggie's brother, Joey Gyllenhaal is first in line to play the lead in a motion picture about Joe Namath's life. You might remember Jack from that gay cowboy movie that was up for a bunch of awards a couple years ago, but it lost the Best Picture Oscar to that one movie where Matt Damon fingers that one chick during that traffic stop. But then, like she saw some dog in the road and flipped her SUV and so he had to rescue her from that burning car, so everything was cool after that.
But seriously, Fred Gyllenhaal is an amazing actor, and I'm sure this movie is going to be the bee's elbow. I mean, it's Joe Namath! I just hope that he gets that part locked up, and that he doesn't end up on one of those horrible Hollywood magazine shows with a DUI or something. Man, I'm glad this kinda stuff doesn't happen in sports.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
From Drunk Athletes come more photos of Brady Quinn getting hammered and acting like Brady Quinn. I know you Browns fans would like Quinn to stop holding out and get into camp. But I'd argue that you should cherish this time you have disassociated from Quinn. Really. Savor every minute.
Hat tip to The Big Lead, the raddest blog in town.
It took lots of research, but I think I finally have my draft board all set for Thursday. We’re drafting early this year, but I don’t think it should be much of a problem. I don’t see any Portis-type injuries on the…
OH FUCK!!!!! FRANK GORE BROKE HIS FUCKING HAND!!!! AHHH!!!!!!
Oh God. Oh god, what do I do now? I mean, what the fuck do I do now? It took hours just to slot him fourth! And now… now where the fuck do I put him? Does he stay in the Willie Parker tier, or does he drop to the Willis McGahee tier? What if I draft 7th or at some other queer slot? And where the FUCK do I rank him for my keeper league?
Oh, God. I think I’m gonna shit my pants.
What if I have to pick between him and Brian Westbrook? Should I skip both and take a lesser back with no injury problems? But what if THAT guy gets injured and Gore returns to stud form? God, I would hang myself if that happened. Should I take a receiver instead? What if he gets injured? Christ, then I’ll want to commit seppuku.
Relax, Drew. He’s a stud. Remember when you drafted him in the 4th last year? Made you feel like a fucking genius, didn’t it? He’ll come through. Don’t be afraid to draft him. Old Gorey's still got the magic!
Unless Michael Robinson bogarts his goal line carries.
OH, DAMN YOU, PRACTICE! DAMN YOU TO HELL! FOOTBALL PLAYERS DON’T NEED TO FUCKING PRACTICE! LEARNING ISN’T WORTH THE DANGER, I TELL YOU!
I want all skill position players frozen in carbonite until the season begins. You hear me, head coaches! Quit toying with my potential prized possessions, you Machiavellian fucks!
Maybe his hand will heal in time. Maybe it’s nothing. But God, what if it’s something? What if this impairs his receiving abilities? What if he loses his 3rd down touches? What if he fumbles? Oh God, not the fumbling again. I just can't take it!
/downs shot of mezcal
Ah, the burning serves as a distraction. Must... not... worry... about... it...
But what if the hand just nags the shit out of him all year long and he’s always Questionable every week? Guhhhhhh. The word Questionable gives me hives. I can’t draft questionable. I must draft fucking definitive!
Maybe I should just take Peyton Manning and roll the dice with Jamal Lewis or something.
/bashes head against wall
/swallows handful of Advil
AHHHHHH, I CAN’T BELIEVE HE BROKE HIS HAND! WHY COULDN’T IT HAVE BEEN MY OWN, GOD?! GAHHHHHHH!!!!
I don’t know why they call it Fantasy football. This is a fucking nightmare.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Five Fast Facts About The Rams:
-Fullback Madison Hedgecock moonlights as the newest star in the asstraffic.com stable.
-When Pacman Jones’ suspension was handed down, defensive end Leonard Little had a good, hearty laugh. Then he got drunk, hopped in his car, and took out a retiree crossing the street.
-Seriously, fuck Leonard Little.
-Guard Richie Incognito’s Nebraska education makes him oblivious to any and all jokes made about his last name.
-When dining out, head coach Scott Linehan will always order the strangest thing on the menu, only to immediately regret his adventurousness. Linehan has regurgitated such items as turtle blood soup, braised tripe, elephant sweetbreads, cured pig jowl, and a fritto misto with ox asshole.
Projected 2007 Record:
8-8, T-1st in NFC West
Actual 2007 Record:
7-9, T-1st in NFC West
Ten Yards Of Awkwardness With: Marc Bulger!
During our NFL prekakke celebration, I’ll be sitting down to chat with players from various teams across the league. For the Rams, it’s starting quarterback and West Fucking Virginia’s own Marc Bulger.
Big Daddy Drew: Marc, thanks for taking time to sit down with us.
Marc Bulger: No problem.
Drew: Last year, I made the finals of my fantasy league. I’d never even made the playoffs before, so I was pretty psyched. The team I went up against had both you and Stephen Jackson. You threw 4 TD’s, while Jackson had over 250 combined yards and scored 2 TD’s. This isn’t really a question, but I just wanted to tell you: Watch your back. Okay? Because I’ll be watching yours. Comprende?
Drew: That goes for your family as well. Protect them. Sometimes I black out, and I can’t be held responsible for what happens when “Mr. Stick” takes over.
Drew: You spell your name Marc with a “c”, which is the French way of spelling it. Is being sacked something you’re just naturally good at, or is it more of a learned skill?
Bulger: Our line is better this year.
Drew: When they make a live-action “Shrek” film, will Orlando Pace be tapped to star?
Bulger: I don’t know.
Drew: Mike Rumph is on your roster. How much pressure do you feel to score 60 points every game?
Bulger: We have a good defense.
Drew: You took over starting QB duties from Kurt Warner. When Brenda Warner leaves you threatening voicemails, is it scary, or just sort of humorous?
Bulger: Brenda is a very nice person.
Drew: I’m sure that’s true during the day. I’m talking about during a full moon. You know. During the Feasting Hour.
Bulger: I don’t know what you mean.
Drew: The Rams signed Drew Bennett in the offseason. How do you feel about the team’s stance against performing physicals on free agents? Is this some sort of Christian Scientist policy?
Bulger: Drew had a physical and is healthy.
Drew: You went to West Virginia. I have a question about wine pairings. What moonshine goes well with grilled nutria? I was thinking a ’79 Jimbob Reserve.
Bulger: I don’t know.
Drew: You’re originally from Pennsylvania. Do you enjoy breathing out of your mouth as much as everyone else from that state does?
Bulger: I’m proud to be from Pennsylvania.
Drew: I’m sure you are. Brock Berlin is on the Rams roster. Why?
Bulger: I don’t know.
Drew: The Rams signed Randy McMichael during the offseason. What has McMichael taught you about punching pregnant women?
Bulger: Randy’s great.
Drew: Your team goal this year is to win the NFC West. Isn’t winning the NFC West kind of like being handed a free Frisbee at a radio festival?
Bulger: It’s a hard division.
Drew: You recently signed a contract extension with $27 million in guaranteed money. Do you ever resent the fact that you’re rich and single but forced to live in St. Louis?
Drew: Seriously? I’ve seen chicks from that town. They all wear stirrup pants and have boobs you could hide a box of paper clips under.
Bulger: I’m happy in St. Louis.
Drew: Offensive tackle Todd Steussie is an alleged steroid user. And offensive tackle Alex Barron went to Florida State. Is this the most rape-savvy offensive line in football?
Drew: Safety Corey Chavous is known around the league as a savvy draftnik and personnel evaluator. But if that’s the case, why hasn’t Chavous recommended that the Rams release Corey Chavous yet?
Bulger: Corey is still good.
Drew: Rams owner Georgia Frontiere strikes me as the kind of old broad who starts drinking gin at 10AM in the morning, then tries to bang the pool boy around noon, only to become a sobbing wreck when he rebuffs her advances. Agreed?
Drew: Is it true that Frontiere played the evil sister in “Whatever Happened To Baby Jane”?
Bulger: That was Bette Davis.
Drew: Is it true she starred as Blanche in a stage production “A Streetcar Named Desire” and begged the actor playing Stanley to actually rape her?
Drew: Do you ever think to yourself at night, “Whew! Thank God we’re in the NFC. At least we have a fighting chance.”?
Drew: Doesn’t 1999 seem really, really, really far away to you?
Drew: Would you consider kissing me?
Drew: What if I flashed you a little leg? See this milky white inner thigh? It could be all yours.
Drew: Marc, thanks for your time.
Bulger: My pleasure.
Bill Walsh died today. And I thought it would be a nice idea to pay tribute to a guy who helped make the NFL what it is now. Except for the dogfighting. He had nothing to do with that.
Walsh was the guy who made it okay for smart people to like football. And, while that may mean he is indirectly responsible for Gregg Easterbrook, on the whole I’d say he did a whole lot more good than harm. The reason the game is so entertaining today outside of Cleveland is because of Walsh’s innovations. He’s the reason millions of people across the country enjoy the shared experience of watching the NFL together: friends, families, colleagues, idiot bloggers, and more. And that’s a pretty sweet mark to leave on the world.
Walsh won three Super Bowls in just 10 years of coaching. He is survived by his wife, a son and a daughter. I hope he’s up in heaven right now, showing God the correct way to run the 32 Waggle Pass.
Now that the NFL has decided to start playing games abroad in an attempt to extend their global fanbase, we at KSK have taken it upon ourselves to begin a multi-part series schooling our international friends in all things NFL. Next up: China, with your tour guide Orson Swindle, of the great Every Day Should Be Saturday. Take it away, Orson.
China, you won't understand this, because you all speak Chinese. Or so I'm told. I went there with a 500 word vocabulary, which seemed like 495 words too many, since the five words most Chinese people use every day to a curly haired filthy bearded laowai are foreigner, hello, aaiiiiiggggh!, prostitute, and beer. Those five in combination with yes and no should get you through most situations, as shown in the following sentence:
"Yes, foreigner. Prostitute? No. Beer? No? Aiiiiiiiigggggh!"
China's got a billion people, so you know some of them can be conned into watching the NFL simply because there are a billion people in China, and over one hundred million of them don't seem to do anything but smoke. And if the NFL has a target market, it's people who sit around doing nothing but smoking--look at where they put their last four expansion teams. Cleveland, Houston, Jacksonville, and Charlotte are all chain-smoking zombievilles like most rural Chinese villages are, except without the thrill of dodging randomly placed feces of undetermined origin on the street.
[Correction: Jacksonville has plenty of randomly placed feces, but of definite origin. It's 100% pure incontinent retiree shit. We apologize for the error.]
Anyway, they're allegedly going to rule this century, so we might as well send them our ultimate weapon: the NFL.
China will hen xihuan...
-China is an ancient culture full of past glories that happened millenia ago, which Chinese people will obnoxiously remind you of while they shoo away beggars and hock loogies loudly onto the ground. The Dallas Cowboys should have an immediate toehold on dominating this kind of a market.
--Booming business in Beijing's state-sanctioned sex toy shops with arrival of Fred Smoot.
--As in the NFL, hooliganism is a crime punishable by death in China, meaning Roger Goodell could have Mike Vick and Pac Man Jones put to death by state mandate with no union muss or fuss. This is still something China would fucking love--they hold their executions in stadiums.
--Culture of rampant gambling and mad speculation means ex-NFLer Art Schlicter has an instant 'in' as a spokesperson.
--Mutual appreciation by Chinese people and NFL players of expensive, gas-flavored cognac and solid-gold plumbing fixtures.
--China will open new export market in illegal supplements to Shawn Merriman, who will immediately test positive for unsanctioned levels of bear bile, tiger penis, and lead in his blood. (Lead, you ask? This is a Chinese export. Chocked full fo lead for your convenience.)
--Just like the NFL, no one in China has AIDS.
--NFL offers new way to punish dissidents, who could be assigned to life of quiet torture in the gulag that is the Washington Redskins front office.
--Uniform playbooks? Crushing conformity of thought? We smell romance.
China will run over the NFL with a tank like a student protester for...
--19 hour work days for NFL coaches? Pussies.
--Esera Tualo, Peter King and Bret Favre also practice a felony punishable by death in China.
--Bill Cowher's inability to father a son makes him a laughing stock as an analyst and announcer.
--NFL? Mostly black guys. China? All Asian chicks. A match made in heaven for NFL players, and in hell for Chinese men.
--Players' inability to smoke during plays.
--The presence of that dirty half-breed Korean Hines Ward.
--Rich Eisen's sweaty, desperate display of "yellow fever" whenever a Chinese woman is around.
--Pregame buffets sadly devoid of braised chicken asshole.
--"Dragon Bringing Sun To Earth" Mantis Kung Fu Throat Chop sadly forbidden under NFL rules.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Reader Dan V. sends us this tender Michael Vick image. Kudos to you, Dan.
For your Friday cheerleader, here's former Ravens cheerleader Stacy Kiebler, who is almost as cute as a litter of puppies, but not quite. Click here for more. Have a good weekend, kids.
There’s nothing worse than heading to a good restaurant and then ordering the wrong thing. This happened to me last week. You know the drill. You order something, and it’s pretty good. Then you take a bite of something the person next to your ordered, and a giant OH FUCK sign flashes in your head. Then you spend the rest of the meal in a deep state of regret, hoping the person next to you doesn’t finish their dish so you can pounce on it like a homeless person on half a drumstick.
Well, that isn’t happening in this draft. That’s right: it’s the restaurant where you’re eating your last meal. You’re going to die. How? Doesn’t matter. Death penalty. Cancer. Really bad hangnail. Whatever it is, you ain’t living much longer, so here’s your last chance to enjoy some food and libations. And the tab is on God, so you can order as much as you please, and stay as long as you please.
The rules? Pick a restaurant. It must still currently exist. After you pay the tab, you drop dead on the spot. So no, “I’ll pick any restaurant in Vegas and then go bang a hooker afterwards!” And no picking restaurants located in strip clubs and shit. Shut the fuck up and concentrate on the food. If you pick a chain restaurant, and they can range from McDonald’s to Nobu, all of its locations are off the board. Once you pick a joint, you must wait 10 picks until you choose another.
My pick is Murray’s Steakhouse in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
Murray’s may not be the world’s greatest restaurant. In fact, I’m quite sure it is not. Some in town even prefer Manny’s for steaks. I’m picking this one straight for sentimental reasons. I ate here when I was 14. Ordered the silver butter knife porterhouse. And you know what? You really could cut it with a butter knife. Fucking. Nice. Joey Browner sat three tables over from us. Joey Browner was a black belt in karate and my favorite Viking of all time. I bet he too has a wallet that says Bad Motherfucker. Did I have a good meal? I did.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Even the most lay readers of this site know we're alt.nerd.obsessive fans of The Simpsons, larding nearly every post with arcane references and quotes from the show. I try to make a game of it. I see how many obscure Simpsons references I can make in an hour, then I try to break that record.
Like most of those whose formative years occured during the show's ascent (for the record, seasons 3-9), I have a lot of personal memories tied up with at least the first nine seasons or so. My best friend and I became close in 8th grade through quoting the Don Homer ("Don Homer, my son, he's-uh..." "Ah. ah. ah. ... That's-uh good-uh donut.") bit to death. Even back then, in 1995, we speculated on when a Simpsons movie might get made and what they could do. Of course, had it been made then, it'd have been a brazilian times better.
The show has so dramatically shaped my sense on humor and outlook, it's hard for me to identify with people who haven't followed it. Most of the seminal literary or cinematic references of our time I saw on The Simpsons first and then recognized in the actual work they were visually citing. I once forced a date to wait 30 minutes before going out because The Lemon Tree Episode, a personal fave, came on during the hourlong daily block.
My expectations for the movie? None too high. The trailers and spots look a bit like the last seven seasons, pratfall-y and stupid. But I'm hoping the producers just have enough faith in the brand that they don't feel the need to give away great material from the film in the ads. Still, you know it would take dogs-with-bees-in-the-mouths-and-when-they-open-their- mouths-they-shoot-bees-at-you to keep me away.
So, to mark this sweet moment, we
planted this lemon tree, lemons being the sweetest fruit available at the time went on The Simpsons Movie web site and created avatars of the Gay Mafia, offering our readers a rare glimpse (excepting that TV whore Ufford) of our collective animated countenances.
You had to look at it for a good few seconds to make sure it wasn't really Kearney, didn't you? And, yes, when he has a kid, it's sleeping in a drawer.
You'll notice that's Scratchy on the shirt. Because I own a cat, in case I hadn't already mentioned that fact a hundred times too many.
Little does flubby know Clasina Valkenberg has obtained a trademark on the soul patch.
We were hoping Unsilent would make a more accurate avatar. He's not nearly that tall.
Someone apparently has a pretty deluded, er, positive self-image.
He was a little let down by the lack of towel accessories in the avatar feature.
takes this minor embarrassment in stride.
The Iggles' Sheldon Brown is on the cover of the latest Sports Illustrated abso-fucking-lutely blowing up Reggie Bush in the playoffs last season. Brown said of laying out Bush:
"It was like running through a cardboard box.
Seriously. Cardboard box."
Yikes. We say take heart Reggie, he couldn't have been talking about one of those flimsy little shoe boxes, Brown must was obviously referring to a tough corrugated cardboard box used for shipping major household appliances.
All of this is a mere pretext to post two brief, but glorious, moments of YouTube splendor:
Ah, 1987. We were all so much more careful, more prepared for the worst twenty years ago. No one was on Prozac. The Unabomber bombed freely. The Japanese stood poised to destroy every American business. Consecutive summer Olympics had been marred by Cold War boycotts. And presidential scandals were all about taking the money from illegal arms sales to sworn enemies and using it to illegally fund rebels opposing a sworn enemy on a different continent (Take that, blowjobs and far-ranging organizational incompetence). It was an era where we handled impending doom with abject fear, instead of today's more popular ironic detachment and willful ignorance.
And though few remember it, pit bulls -- not the well-intended gambling addicts training them to kill -- were the next Great Menace. Hey, something had to replace Soviet Russia.
Yes, it was 20 years ago this week that SI featured the dangerous "pit bull terrier" with an ominous "Beware of Dog" sign posted on the fence around its magazine. And I think we need to reflect on this. It's time to give Michael Vick a break and look at the real enemy: pit bulls. Because has Vick ever actually killed a pit bull? Well, yes. Probably. But he was mostly putting the animals that he cared for out of their misery. Animals that were MAULED BY PIT BULLS. Not humans. Not Michael Vick. Pit bulls. And they need to take some of the blame.
Alas, young Ookie was only seven at the time of the SI cover story, and SI KIDS didn't make its debut until 1989 (And even then it was all puff pieces: Look at this popular athlete! We photographed him smiling AND jumping!). It's safe to say he missed the lessons of this SI feature that targeted young athletes with pro aspirations. Among the warnings about pit bulls:
- Minimal shedding negated by propensity for bleeding on carpet.
- Tendency to hump other dogs against their will, eat babies.
- Product of communism (probably).
- Did not participate in Hands Across America.
- Are easily bred to believe Holocaust did not occur.
- Likely to kill adorable cobras.
- Menacing nature confirmed when pit bull puppet attacked Ronald Reagan puppet in "Land of Confusion."
- Probable source of AIDS.
- Fur not very soft.
- Will totally fuck up your NFL career.
Unfortunately, the warning went unheeded on the gritty streets of Bad Newz, and now it's NFL fans who suffer at the loss of the most electrocuting player in the league.
Thanks a lot, pit bulls.
(Image found by Football Huddle 3.0)
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Special Instructions For Vick 'Haters':
The Ookie Manifesto, As Submitted To (And Denied By) Our Good Friends At Deadspin
I'll be one of the first to admit that one of the problems with Chancellor Goodell's wave of personal conduct righteousness is the near-total disregard for due process. Michael Vick, among other players whose names and situations have been well-documented, face harsh suspensions (or even expulsions from their respective teams) with little more than a wave of The Rogg's hand. Vick's situation, obviously more emotionally charged than those before it, appears even more perilous. Casual observers, even Vick supporters, risk being labeled as "haters," which, I guess, is bad.
So how would one be able to publicly show support for Mr. Vick? Especially when the media, PETA, and the Salvation Army are all out to get him? Fortunately, KSK has obtained such a manifesto, in 3 parts, geared toward providing Ookie with the fan base he currently so desperately needs.
This guide was intended to be posted AS A COMMENT on Deadspin earlier today (I'm not making that up), but was intercepted by noted Combudsman Rob Iracane. KSK then brokered a deal with Mr. Iracane to acquire the manuscript, along with the rights to reproduce it in this space, as a way of telling the "other side" of this fascinating tale.
I present the Ookie Manifesto:
FUCK ALL OF YOU VICK HATERS YOU CAN SUCK THOSE DOGS DICKS.
HOW COULD YOU FUCKING FAGGOTS CARE SO MUCH ABOUT DESTRUCTIVE ASS PIT BULLS, THESE FUCKING DOGS HAVE BEEN RECORDED KILLING FUCKING HUMANS. SO SHUT THE FUCK UP AND KISS HIS ASS!!!!
YOU FUCKING CRACKERS TRIED TO GET HIM OUT OF THE LEAGUE A LONG TIME AGO DEAL WITH IT HE IS A GREAT ATHLETE . ONE OF YOUR FELLOW FEMALE CRACKERS WENT BEHIND THIS AFRO AMERICAN AND PICKED UP HIS FUCKING WATER BOTTLE AND SAID IT SMELT OF WEED. ONLY IF THIS BITCH IS ALSO A FUCKING DOG AND A REGULAR CHRONIC SMOKER WOULD SHE BE ABLE TO SNIFF THE SCENT OF WEED ON THE TOP OF A WATER BOTTLE.
VICK IS RIGHT!!!! ALL THE TIME YOU GO VICK!!!!!
RAY BU(FUCKIN)CHANNON IS A BITCH
1. Perform canine fellatio immediately. Kiss ass.
2. Even the g0ddamn dogs are out to frame Vick.
3. Ray Buchanan is a bitch.
Now you know. And knowing is half the battle.
I have officially received over 5,000 links from people about the fact that “Man Vs. Wild” is rigged. I know. I read too, people. I can find this shit on my own. You can stop with the schaudenfraude now.
These Bear haters out there make me sick. Why don’t you just tell me Santa Claus doesn’t exist?! It’s not important that Bear’s show is real, okay? It’s only important that I believe it’s real. And these “investigative reporters” and “government officials” are making that a real bitch. Can’t they just leave me and my man-crush alone? They’re ruining the latent homosexual fantasy for everyone, especially me. The man ate a live fish and drank elephant shitjuice. Okay? He’s a badass. Does no one appreciate a little showmanship anymore?!
Besides, how do you know the Pine Resort Hotel At Bass Lake wasn’t haunted?! Maybe he needed to go kick some ghost ass or something! Or maybe the internet access at the resort was dial-up! Tell me you could survive that! Or maybe he needed to save other guests from a man-eating rhino that had been helicoptered in! Okay? It’s conceivable. Isn’t it? Isn’t it?
/breaks down crying
OH, BEAR! Why did you do it, Bear? I thought I knew you! I thought you were rugged! I thought you were a bigger man than Les Stroud, who bores the shit outta me! Now, it’s like I don’t even know you! All the letters I wrote to you… all the photos I had framed… all the Vermont Teddy Bears I outfitted with fleece vests... all the high tech surveillance I conducted on your family… ALL FOR NOTHING! We could have had it all! We could have shared blueberry pancakes together! How dare you betray your
secret gay lover #1 fan? You bastard! I’ll never watch a one-man-surviving-barren-landscapes show again!
I hate you! I hate you!
Unless you want to get a beer sometime or something. That would be kinda cool.
Oh, and the video above is of lions stalking and taking down an elephant in the dead of night. Fast forward to the end to get to good stuff. TELL ME IT REALLY HAPPENED, BEAR!!!!
I suck at naming fantasy teams. Every year I come up with a fantasy team name (last year’s were Babette’s Meast and Hot Carl Lee), and every year I discover myriad other team names that put mine to shame. This is disappointing, as 50% of the joy I derive from fantasy football comes from naming and drafting my team. Everything after that is almost a letdown. There are 10 to 12 teams in every league (or, if you happen to be Punter and lack the ability to count, 14). Chances are, my team isn’t going to be the one that wins. And, if I do happen to win, then I’m just another asshole who brags about winning his fantasy league. I fucking hate those people, and so do you. It’s all sort of downhill from the initial thrill of starting out the year. You Arizona Cardinal fans can surely sympathize.
Well, this year, the pressure was even higher to come up with an acceptable team name, because the good folks over at Yahoo! Sports have invited us to join their Blogger All-Star (oxymoron alert) League, which they’ll be covering from week to week. It features us, Will Leitch, MJD, and other assorted chronic masturbators. As such, we could not select team names that were dirty (Boner In Your Butt, anyone?), homophobic (Chris Simms Is A Fag!), or ethnically displeasing (South Carolina Cracka Ass Crackas). This, as you might guess, created an almost impossible challenge for myself and my KSK colleagues. It meant we had to come up with names that were actually clever. Not our strongest suit. In fact, it’s not even a suit we have in our wardrobe.
There are no real rules to coming up with a fantasy team name. They tend to fall into categories: Dirty, Film/TV/Music/Internet references, News references, Puns, and Potpourri. Names can overlap categories, of course. But, for this exercise, let’s tackle these one by one. It’s a fantasy name brainstorming session! Actually, since we’re dealing with my brain, it’s more of a brainfogging session. I'll be assisted by some KSK friends, including flubby, who excels at this practice (his NCAA pool name this year? Octopussybasket.).
Unusable for our Yahoo! League, but usable for the KSK keeper league. Dirty names never get old, because they are dirty. Sure, Space Dockers is not the most original team name. But hey, it’s space docking. It’s funny, because it’s horrible. Here were a few during my initial brainstorm session:
-Laser Rocket Cocks
-Fuck You Brandon Jacobs
-TO Loves The Cock
-Angry Butt Pirates
-Beaver von Bismarcks
None of these are good. In fact, they’re all horrible. I don’t know how you make a cock salad, and I don’t want to find out. I assume ranch dressing is used for symbolic purposes. Laser Rocket Cocks is almost acceptable, because it works in a football reference. But, overall, these are God awful.
Fact: Over 70 million fantasy teams last year were named Whale’s Vaginas. The problem with making references now is that everything has officially been referenced. Think that Krull reference was a great pull? Wrong. Lots of other people also grew up in the 80’s, too. Jagoff. Frankly, I blame “Family Guy” and “I Love The 80’s” for beating every possible reference available into the ground. Even Internet references like “Carl Mondays” and what not can get tired within 24 hours (especially in our hands!).
Still, that won’t stop millions from naming their team “Sexy Time Explosions” this coming year. And you know what? It’s still pretty fucking funny. Here were some from my discard pile:
-A Planet Full Of Unicorns
-Sandy Sullivan’s Gaping Snatch
-Man Vs. Zakk Wylde
-Big Black Cocks With Pearly White Cum (this may also fit in the Dirty category)
-Pumps And A Bump
-Mary Worth’s Suicide Watch
-The Ambiguously Gay Uffords
As you can see, it’s hard not to spruce up some of these references with salty language. Additions like “gaping snatch” are always an improvement. And look, a Hammer reference! But not a reference to when Hammer was popular, but to his ill-fated gangsta makeover! It’s doubly ironic! Koolaid Maroneys makes me happy, and any chance to make fun of Ufford is always time well spent. Otherwise, some of these names are about as funny as a new Deadspin commenter.
Current events in sports or other news are always a good foundation for naming teams. Especially if it refers to an athlete or coach who is in trouble. It’s an enjoyable way of laughing at another person’s personal anguish. Why, I just spent an hour today trying to think of every possible name involving the word Ookie. And any reference to a coked-out Lindsay Lohan is guaranteed to remain current. The problem, of course, is that most news references can grow old before the end of the year. Don’t believe me?
-Joslyn Morse’s Manpussy
-The Killing Of A Chinese Ookie
Fred Smoot and Scooter Libby jokes. Man, do those topics have legs! Especially in a keeper league! I liked “The Killing Of A Chinese Ookie”, but Yahoo! wouldn’t allow names longer than 20 characters. Buttfuckers. I use the word “Manpussy” any chance I get, but that was out. As you can see, I went a bit overboard on the Ookie references, which brings us to…
Fantasy team names bring out the aspiring New York Post headline writer in all of us (my personal favorite Post headline, regarding a scam at Ground Zero: “Ash-Holes”). Puns are considered hacky, lame, and the refuge of a shitty writer. Which is why I thought of hundreds of them. I’ll only list a couple here to spare you the pain.
-Goodell Ship Lollipop
-Schorno for Pyros
-The Cunt of Monte Cristo
I write ad headlines for a living. If it weren’t for puns, 99% of all advertising would cease to exist. As would shitty, horrible team names like these.
Freed from confining genre names, random names allow you to come up with shitty names or in-jokes that have nothing to do with much of anything. GO WILD!!!!
-Body by Mangini
-Bong Hits For Satan
-The Winking Nipples
-Maraschino Jeff Garcias
-Dan Shanoff’s Shaved Back
Body By Mangini was a personal favorite of mine, since it made fun of Eric Mangini (he has tits!) and myself (I do too!) simultaneously. Pot jokes always get a good reception. People love substance abuse. I have no evidence that Shanoff shaves his back. That was all through the power of my imagination.
As I said, many of these categories overlap, which is how I came up with my final team names.
KSK League: Brian’s Dong
Yahoo! League: BradyQuinn Handparty
Brian’s Dong is a combo of Dirty Name, Movie Reference, and Lame Pun. But I liked the fact that it represented the gay porn name for some old football weepie I never watched. Starring Gay Sayers!
Yahoo! has accepted the latter name for now. No one can resist a tribute to this photo:
And the Borat reference, while tired, was fitting. EXTREMELY fitting. So it had that going for it, which was nice.
But names are in the eye of the beholder. You may like the name Brian’s Dong. You may prefer Pan Down For Reggie Bush. Regardless, the important thing is that YOU like the name you picked for your team. After all, you’re the only asshole on Earth who cares about it. Until Week 10, when Larry Johnson tears his patellar tendon.
So happy naming to you, fair fantasy players. I hope you come up with something better than the shit I came up with. I’m quite certain you will. Your names welcome in the comments.
And if you’d like to know the names of the teams in the KSK Keeper League, here they are:
-My Hot Babysitter Raped Me
-Mattoon Green Wave (Hey Leitch, try something new for once)
-No Poon For Plaxico Tax
-We Are The Diamonds, We Come From Glasgow
-Birmingham Church Fire (from UM, an inspried choice)
-Al Harris’ Fruit Bowl
-Mr. Irrelevant (Way to make an effort, Mottram)
-Cleverly Named Team (from DJ Gallo. There’s a reason he gets paid to make jokes and I do not.)
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Five Fast Facts About The Bengals:
- Now that Kevin Federline's career has ceased to be even a publicly acknowledged farce and thus is rightly suppressed into the canon of embarassing cultural ephemera that can only be discussed between sighs in hushed tones, no. 1 fan Carson Palmer has forsworn music altogether. At least once he gets tired of the new Linkin Park album.
-TJ Houshmazood should still be your first overall fantasy pick, especially if your name is Sarah Schorno.
-With the Steelers' hiring of Mike Tomlin in the offseason, Marvin Lewis risks no longer being the most successful black coach in the AFC North. But at least he won't be the fat one.
-Rudi Johnson's entire given name is Burudi, which doesn't sound anything like Burundi. At all. A good thing, as Burundi is filled with giant crocodiles that can fuck up tigers.
-Because he's a Bengal, and partially for show, Chris Henry always remembers to finish off pummeling 16 year olds with a Tiger Uppercut.
Projected 2007 Record: 13-3, 2nd seed in the AFC, first round bye
Actual 2007 Record: 8-8, 3rd in AFC North, miss playoffs
Having the Bengals be the face of unruly behavior and lawlessness is, though undeniably always a treat to this Steelers fan, growing ever more tiresome. What's worse: all the jokes have been mined. And far from just old, it's somewhat unfair. As Cincy fans are quick to point out, such behavior is hardly exclusive to them. But most within the media or the blogosphere would have you believe a league without the Bengals would be as such:
I mean, it didn't look like any of them were even thinking about raping that girl. Certainly not the guy who looked kind of skeeved out about getting touched by a - hyuh - girl.
My suggestion to you, Bengals, is to return to being abjectly terrible and never look back. Don't underachieve. Don't even achieve at all. You were so adroit at being pathetic for so long that I think the throes of withdrawal that came with modest success caused a dark night of the soul and a drunk driving of the soul and an aggravated assault of the soul. The soul's got a long rap sheet, is what I'm saying.
The beauty of my plan is that you don't even have to give up Chad Johnson or Houshmandzadeh. It can be just like old times, with that familiar Carl Pickens/Darnay Scott tandem. Sure, Carson may have to throw a few more frustrating picks to resemble Jeff Blake, but I think he'll find that it will come naturally after not too long.
I'll understand if you don't agree. Those plaintive, longing Ryan Parker songs make agonizing losses fucking beautiful, man.
image courtesy of fark.com
You might have heard about this new game, All-Pro Football 2K8 (that's gamer language for "Too Kate" -- which I assume is a a tender dedication from the game's programmer to e-lover). It's the one that couldn't get licensing from the NFL so they simply created their own fictional franchises and stocked the rosters with former NFL legends. While the game's cover features such respectable citizens as John Elway, Jerry Rice, and Barry Sanders (very careful to put the white guy in the middle) the real star is on the inside...
(watch it all, the highlight comes at the very end).
Now let's recap...
You've got OJ Simpson in a video game. Fair enough.
You make OJ the star player on a team called The Assassins. Pretty Questionable.
Your mascot for the Assassins is a giant, hooded, knife-wielding maniac who celebrates touchdowns with a stabbing motion? Bellissimo!
I find this intriguing and I believe it's my duty to expand on the idea. Here are my suggestions for All-Pro Football 2K9 (e-bestiality is not cool!)...
The Bong Squad
Jerramy Stevens and Leonard Little*
Mascot and Logo:
*at least one of them should be out of the league by then.
We welcome your Player/Team/Mascot (and/or logo) suggestions in the comments.
Monday, July 23, 2007
So Orlando Brown is picking up the paper the other day and reading about how all the referees in basketball have ties to the mob.
Then Orlando Brown read that those refs are rigging games.
This made Orlando Brown think.
This made Orlando Brown flash back to 1999. This made Orlando Brown think of you, Jeffrey Triplette. This made Orlando Brown think that little flag-throwing “accident” you had wasn’t much of an accident at all.
Jeff Triplette, I am gonna find yo ass.
Jeff Triplette, I hope you are living in a small, European country that has no extradition treaty with the United States. I hope the house you are staying in you has a secret passage located behind a bookcase that only you know about. I hope that passage leads to an underground chamber that is stocked with lots of canned food and other non-perishables.
Because, if you haven’t done any of that, I will find you. And when I find you, I’m gonna fucking destroy you.
Oh, I know you apologized. How very convenient. You were just “careless”. Sure, you were. I’m sure you were real careless surgically removing my cornea with a handkerchief. Could have happened to anyone, eh? Had nothing to do with the fact that you are a decorated war veteran who probably took courses in hand-to-handkerchief combat, eh? Had nothing to do with any possible ties to the Bonanno crime family, eh?
Orlando Brown is skeptical. No, now that this new information has come to light, Orlando Brown thinks it might be nice to seek a little bit of retribution on yo monkey ass.
You took my eye, you piece of shit. Nobody does that to Zeus without getting a lightning bolt crammed down their esophagus. You may be tricky with a handkerchief, my friend, but Orlando Brown is skilled with over 27 different firearms and blunt objects.
Oh, and this time, I’ll be bringing these.
Advantage: Orlando Brown.
Jeff Triplette, Orlando Brown is a very religious man. Not only does he believe in eye for an eye, he actually is more than happy to go above and beyond that. An eye for a leg, perhaps. Or maybe an eye for a testicle. Or even an eye for a large intestine. Or, perhaps I’ll be feeling extremely biblical that day and trade an eye for all of the above. Enjoy reffing games with only half your vital organs, you son of a bitch.
Are you scared yet, Triplette? You should be. You should be kissing your family goodbye, and wearing adult diapers to guard against pooping yourself with fright.
Because I’m gonna find you. And when I do, it ain’t gonna be no light shove like this.
No, it’s going to look more like this.
So look out, Mr. Triplette. Zeus is gonna go Ixion on your ass.
PROGRAMMING NOTE: My 2007 Vikings preview is up over at Deadspin. And 10 out of 10 commenters agree: it's a piece of shit!
In case you missed it, last week we rolled out KSK’s new “FREE OOKIE” shirts to recognize Ron Mexico’s contributions to Western Culture. We reluctantly agree with the fashionistas who say these shirts have revolutionized the casual apparel market as the world knows it. No big whoop. Then a few days later this showed up in our inbox:
You are using the name Ookie for promotional items but must be unaware that my company has a registered trademark for that name. Therefore I am sorry but you should no longer use the name. I appreciate a response.
You can see our trademark Ookie at www.babyemporio.com
We checked it out and, sure enough, Baby Emporio sells little rag dolls for babies called “Ookies.” Twenty-six bucks plus shipping and handling for a knotted up diaper that my son wouldn’t wipe his ass with. If he could wipe his ass. Which he can’t.
Our first inclination was tell Clasina Valkenberg to go pound sand. Where the hell does Clasina Valkenberg get off telling us what we can and can’t sell? Plus we had serious doubts over any exclusiveness Clasina Valkenberg claims to have over the word “Ookie” since it appears in other places on the web. But then the shit hit the fan...
We learned from MSNBC’s Darren Rovell that the NFL has forbidden fans from purchasing Mike Vick jerseys with the name “Ookie” on the back. Ye gods, we thought, had Clasina Valkenberg got to Roger Goodell? Had the mysterious baby novelty cartel forced the world’s most powerful sports league to its knees? If the NFL couldn’t stand up to Baby Emporio, what shot did a renegade band of sports bloggers have? Internally, we debated the course of action we should take. At long last, we came to a decision.
Since Clasina Valkenberg requested our response, here it is-- drafted and vetted by a fleet of white-shoe attorneys, every single one a wily Jew:
We don’t give a rat’s ass if Clasina Valkenberg has a trademark on Ookie for her rag dolls. Trademark law was adopted so consumers can identify products from one another. Trademarks aren’t infinite in scope. Miller Brewery couldn’t stop you from selling Miller brand pencils, gum, nails etc. There is no likelihood of confusion between Clasina Valkenberg’s rag dolls and KSK’s shirt, which, incidentally, offer commentary on a wholly unrelated public news event.
[Note to any IP attorneys / smartass law students: I realize leaving out trademark dilution, free speech and other issues which may also figure in to any potential legal claims, but this is an NFL blog, We’ve already spent way to much time discussing legalities. No one wants to read boring shit like that on a Monday morning.]
So, in summary, we are changing nothing and Clasina Valkenberg can take a flying fuck at a rolling donut.
Friday, July 20, 2007
The Season is going to start soon, which means that some of the fun tangential stuff we've been doing lately will have to take a back seat to talking about the actual games. But that's cool, because right now there ain't shit on TV and I'm getting annoyed with having to read about baseball all the time. Damn, do they have to play a baseball season EVERY YEAR? That game is tired, man. If they can stop making 8-tracks, they can give up this stick-and-ball shit. Am I right?
Naw, I'm just playin', I love baseball [Note: I do not love baseball. -MMP].
Before we officially wrap up the week, here are some dates to tattoo on your forehead in reverse, you know, so you can read them when you look into a mirror:
July 24: Steelers open camp (the first NFL team to do so)
August 5: Hall Of Fame Game (New Orleans vs. Pittsburgh @ Canton, OH)
August 14: Madden NFL 08 hits stores
September 6: NFL Season Kickoff (New Orleans @ Indianapolis)
And that will do it for us. Here's Quinn during the 2007 Patriots' Calendar photo shoot. Sorry Quinn, but I bought another calendar last night. But I thought of you the whole time, I swear.
See you Monday. Why don't you go outside or something.
Performed live from the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center in the Philippines. Good seats still available! Thanks to Curly of NY for sending this to us (via poetv.com)
This Week's KSK Commenter Draft: Methods By Which You Would Commit Career Suicide If You Were a Celebrity
At a glance, this week's commenter draft looks remarkably, and deceptively, easy. I mean, you or I could fuck up our careers irreparably with little more than a stray "all staff" e-mail (that's the last time you forward your coworker one of Punter's posts) or even a good cupping of the secretary's glorious tits.
Upon reaching a certain threshold of fame, however, and the normal rules cease to apply. As is increasingly the case, one must put together a menu of faux pax and fuck-uppery to jeopardize one's career. Singular incidents often just won't do.
Killed someone? Not even a fellow celebrity? That's too fucking pedestrian. Ray Lewis kills at least three people before lunch EVERY DAY, including July 4th and Satan's birthday. Fucked some kids? I'm pretty sure I saw Michael Jackson performing on some network special the other week. Hate the Jews? Well, yes, I thought Apocalypto was a decent flick.
Not so simple, huh?
Even more recent examples, such as Pacman Jones and Michael Vick - aka "Ron Mexico," aka "Ookie," aka "Lionel Hutz," aka "Miguel Sanchez" - had to assemble a slate of improprieties. Vick prefaced the fallout of Bad Newz Kennels with an offseason of stoner high jinx. But where his true genius lie was messing with animals. People care about adorable little critters more than their fellow man. Know why we're still in Iraq? Easy. No cute animals there - camels are fucking ugly. China poses an economic threat to us but, hey, they got pandas.
The rules. You're an A-list celebrity at the peak of your career. Pick a deed or statement that could deep-six your fame quicksville. And by that, I don't mean something that will bump you down a peg in stardom or dog you for a few years. I mean "you will never work in this or any town again" type of shit. You must wait 10 picks to make another pick. There is some room for overlap. If you take away all the major heinous crimes in the first five picks, there isn't much left to work with. Serial jaywalking probably wouldn't hurt your career too badly. Having said that, try to be creative about it.
My pick is shooting the President of the United States.
A quick disclaimer so I don't get sent to Gitmo: I HAVE NO PLANS TO ACTUALLY DO THIS. Besides, I can't shoot anyone due to the crippling arthritis in my index fingers from Space Invaders in 1977.
Neither should this be taken as a political statement on my part. I'd like to shot most politicians regardless of ideology. Rather, I figure it's the surest, fastest way to ruin your public image. I don't remember Charles Guiteau going platinum after he killed President Garfield.