Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Doug & Doug's Fantasy Report - Week 9

Here's your Doug and Doug update for this week. Someone sent us an email saying they had heard we had been paid by Doug and Doug to post these. This rumor upsets me greatly, because it is not true. And I'm still lacking in money. Oh, how I would love a little blog payola coming my way. I could buy a new shirt at Old Navy, or up the Brady bounty. Or I could buy one of those issues of Hustler Hardcore. You know, the one with the black plastic wrap, with the REALLY nasty shit in it? That would be cool. I hear they use majorette batons and stuff.

Anyway, here's the video. Presented to you strictly on merit, unfortunately.

Kevin Everett GOULET! Meast of the Week -- Week 8: Halloween Advice Special

We're taking a one-week respite from honoring Kevin Everett's valiant recovery to remember a fallen hero: Robert Goulet. At least Will Ferrell is still alive.

This is a tale of four hot chicks I know. Two pairs of best friends, united in their desire for matching Halloween costumes.

Pair of hotties #1 are best friends from college. This past weekend they wore matching slutty eskimo costumes (AKA "sexkimo" or "eski-ho"). Basically, there was a lot of fur, short skirts, and cleavage. A couple people mistook them for Mrs. Claus costumes, but really: who gives a shit what they are? They're obviously costumes of some sort, and the goods are on display. That's really all I'm askin' for.

Pair of hotties #2 work together in the fashion industry. They look down on the dumb sluts they work with, and every year put together a creative team costume that everyone thinks is really cool and no one thinks is really sexy. Last year the big hit was Wayne and Garth, which worked frighteningly well because one of them is blonde and the other's brunette. Keeping with the trend of '90s phenomena that don't need to be relived, this year they dressed as Beavis and Butt-Head.

Ordinarily, there's a little chunk of the male brain that's interested in bright women with original ideas. Halloween is that little chunk's day off. So, hot girls, take a memo: I don't give a shit unless you're showing it off. I mean, these are two prime pieces of tail -- one of whom has gigantic boobs -- and they're covering it all up to dress like dudes. Well, I can't masturbate to dudes, so until you find some trashy heels and something that gives your father a sleepless night, go to hell.

This week's Meast is Antonio Cromartie. He scored two touchdowns in the Chargers' blowout -- one on a muffed snap on special teams, the other a pick-6. Also, after drinking three Gatorades and a case of Miller High Life, he extinguished two acres of burning underbrush in San Diego County with his mighty hose.

Second Annual KSK Halloween Kostume Bukkake

Someone asked me the other day if Halloween was an actual holiday and I told them to go punch the clown. Well, I didn't actually say that. The conversation actually went more like this:

He: (walks into my office without knocking, like an asshole) Hey [Punter],

Me: (actually trying to get some work done) Yeah? What's up?

He: Settle this arguement Punjab and I were having. Punjab says Halloween is not an actual holiday and I say it is. What do you--

Me: Go punch the clown, Chad. Shithead.

He: No, seriously, it's gotta be a real--

Me: Did we get the day off?

He: Uh...Well, no, but--

Me: Is this a day where it is socially permissible to consume alcohol as soon as I wake up?

He: (frustrated) No, but...

Me: But what, Chad?

He: ...But we have the costume contest in the break room after lunch.

Me: Why don't you and Punjab just skip the contest and consummate your relationship in the broom closet and maybe he'll buy you that new iPhone you wanted.

He: (leaves)

Yeah, so unless you're under 15 or someone close to you is sacrificing their abode for a midweek opportunity to get smashed, this day really has very little to offer you. I'll be doing well to catch a peek of a slutty pirate making their way down Main Street. Henceforth, we present the Second Annual KSK Halloween Kostume Bukkake, where we pick the outfits that we'd have our (least) favorite NFL personalities wearing on All Hallow's Eve. We'll get you started--yes, we listed a couple guys twice--and we look forward to your contributions in the comments:

Chris Cooley (pictured)- Slutty Nurse

Norv Turner - Edward James Olmos

Joe Gibbs - Marty Schottenheimer

San Diego Chargers - New Orleans Saints

Orlando Pace - 1950 Ford Edsel

Reggie Wayne - Detective Ricardo Tubbs

Jeff Garcia - Templeton from Charlotte's Web

Eli Manning - Peyton Manning

Archie Manning - Peyton Manning

Peyton Manning - Olivia Manning

Jeremy Shockey - Amy Winehouse

Chad Pennington - Reed Richards

Jim Sorgi - Matt Ufford

Bill Belichick - Allen Funt

Daniel Snyder - Frodo Baggins

Mike Holmgren - William Howard Taft

Quincy Carter - Eddie Murphy's character from 48 Hours

T. J. Houshmanzadeh - Eddie Murphy's character in Coming To America

Jeff Garcia - Eddie Murphy offering rides home for the "girls"

Ben Roethlisberger - Placido Polanco

Mike Ditka - Joseph Stalin

Brady Quinn - Sarah Jessica Parker

Julius Jones - Thing 2

Mike Vrabel - Jake Gyllenhaal

Jeff George - Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite

Matt Leinart - Glenn Quagmire

Larry Fitzgerald - Matt Leinart

Roger Goodell - Richard M. Nixon

Gene Upshaw - Kunta Kinte

Jon Kitna - Larry The Cable Guy

Herm Edwards - Worf

Tom Coughlin - Tom Coughlin

Kellen Clements - Baby Jesus

Purple Jesus - A grape-flavored deity of his choice

Peter King - Deanna Favre

Chad Johnson -- Keyshawn Johnson

Vinny Testeverde - A styrofoam cup in a landfill

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE – The Bounty On Tom Brady’s Knees Raised to $50 (Plus Bag Of Reese’s Cups)

It’s Halloween tomorrow, and the scariest thing about the holiday this year is that it’s midway through the NFL season and no defender has had the guts, nay, the overly swollen gonads, to take me up on my offer of $30 American dollars to snap Tom Brady’s legs like a Snyder’s of Hanover pretzel rod. What’s the matter, NFL defenders? Too goddamn CHICKEN to rob a man of his livelihood and deprive football fans of watching the best team in NFL history take shape?

Pretty pathetic.

You people are nothing but a bunch of cowards. Which one of you will finally have the courage to deliver a late hit to Brady’s tibia well after the whistle has blown? My old o-line coach used to tell us to keep hitting through the “echo of the whistle”. Now, you’re playing your games in quite a large stadium, so I’m sure the whistle is still echoing a good five minutes after the play has ended. An extremely late and vicious hit would then be legal. At least, it would be to me, and that’s all that really matters. Yet none of you have been able to sack up and carry out this vital task.

I’m the one laying it all on the line here. I’m the one who had the courage to step up to the plate, anonymously and online, and ask someone to do my dirty work for me. That takes balls. That takes grit. That takes gumption. And others have stood up and taken notice. That’s right, the Tom Brady Knee Bounty Sensation is sweeping across the nation. Americans from all over have emailed in, asking to donate $20 of their own. These are good, hard-working people, people who deserve to see a man who has everything crippled on live national television.

It’s a grass roots campaign that’s spreading like goddamn wildfire. Why, just check out this guy with an acoustic guitar and a pirated copy of Final Cut. Or, how about an endorsement a little known guy named Michael freakin’ Wilbon?! To wit:

…if I was on the opposing team, I'd hit Tom Brady with everything I had as late as I could and take the penalty and join the fight that would surely follow. Football is a violent game and there's got to be somebody out there sharpening his fangs for the Patriots Golden Boy in the 4th quarter one of these weeks.

That’s right, kids. No need to read any deeper into the context. Michael Wilbon completely and unequivocally supports the KSK bounty on Tom Brady’s kneecaps. Finally, the mainstream media shows a little courage in their convictions.

And yet, here we are, NFL defenders. It’s midseason, and you’ve continued to let all of us down. You should be ashamed. You should go home right now and cut off your finger as penance, just like that one dude in “Black Rain” did.

Well, perhaps you need a bit more motivation. Perhaps drastic measures are needed here. Perhaps it is time… TO RAISE THE BOUNTY TO FIFTY WHOLE DOLLARS!!!!!

That’s right. Soak it in, NFL defenders. That’s Ulysses S. staring you right in the motherfuckin’ grill. He was one of our worst presidents ever, but the man rocked one hell of a beard. With this single $50 bill, your life could change FOREVER! Think of things you could buy:

-Showtime Rotisserie Grill (Set it and forget it, bitches)
-“Are You Being Served?” DVD box set
-Synthetic hair extensions
-Bottle of top shelf liquor (not for drinking, but for interior design purposes)
-Lunch for two at Houston’s (if you don’t order any alcohol)
-Balsa wood model boat kit
-Very large bag of asparagus

Holy fuck, that’s some good shit. But that’s not all. Act now, and I’m also throwing in this special Halloween bonus: an entire bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup singles.

That’s right. The Mona Lisa of trick-or-treating candy. No need to go from house to house dressed like Jacinth Baker with a knife sticking out of your chest. No need to knock on doors, hoping for a Reese’s cup (or a Fun Size Snickers. Snickers minis are horseshit), getting a roll of fucking Smarties, and then pissing on the side of the neighbor’s house. No, I’m giving you the good stuff directly.

So man up, Dwight Freeney and Robert Mathis. I got $50 and some delightful Halloween treats for you if you give Tom Brady’s calf a good forearm shiver. C’mon, guys. He rocked a pageboy cap in his last press conference. Don’t you just want to tear that motherfucker to pieces? Don’t let me down.

No, strike that. Don’t let AMERICA down.

Pfft. More like Matt...McMansion!

Look at that insouciant air of contentment. And that was taken last year, before I won my Super Bowl ring. Yeah, I totally earned it. I wear it on the sidelines, even when I pretend like I'm warming up. Peyton smirks at it disdainfully after he throws a TD pass, but I like it just fine. He can't break my stride, because, well, I sit, mostly.

But it all got so much better. Yes, folks they just added a new lane to Easy Street -- Jim Sorgi got himself an extension.

What's that, Matt Cassel? YOU'RE still in your original contract? YOU still haven't won a ring? YOUR douchey fans are angry at you for throwing garbage time picks against the Dolphins when the Pats are already up by 40 points?

Oh sure, you ran for your "Eff You TD" against the Redskins. I'm pretty sure Mickey from Natick scored in that game, too. Well, I had my first two pass attempts of the season Sunday against the Panthers. And I completed one of them! My 62.9 passer rating scoffs at your meager 19.2.

And you call yourself a backup.

If Brady goes down, you're a total liability. Me? I'm like the tiny nuke backing up America's 50,000 other nukes.

Sunday, you and me. It'll probably be close so neither of us will actually get in the game. How's about this: the first one of us kicked off the bench because a lineman wants to sit down loses. The Colts love them some Sorgi, especially when they hide my car keys and kick me in the knees. You're just another cog of Belichick's machine. I'm like those extra parts you get with IKEA furniture, y'know, in the really nice plastic baggy?

But with a RING.

Shawne Merruhman, You Call Yourself A Steroid Abusuh?!

So I have flown all the way down from Sacramento to Sunday’s Chargers game, yes, expecting to see some of the greatest steroid abusuhs in the whole world. I flew down in my private jet, by the way, which was FANTASTIC AND WONDERFUL. And what do I get for my troubles, yes? I get you, Shawne Merruhman. Imagine my disappointment in finding you looking so lean, yes, and top-light. And to see that your forehead, yes, it has not expanded to the point of gross deformuhty.

Shawne Merruhman, you call yourself a steroid abusuh?!

I make big laugh at you. Ha ha ha ha. You are little more than a namby-pamby wurst-swallowuh, yes? How many hausfraus have you grabbed and made bangbang with lately? Back in 1979, I broke a personal best by groping over 765 asses in just one month, yes. And when I groped an ass, I groped it HARD, yes. I would tear it, the woman’s asscheek, clean off her body. She would never sit on a shittuh the same way again. If she wanted to make braunschweiger in the toilet, yes, she had to squat like a 1932 Vienna homosexual in a back alley. It was FANTASTIC AND WONDERFUL. Have you ever done such things as this, tiny little Shawne Merruhman? Then you cannot call yourself a true steroid abusuh, yes.

A true steroid abusuh, he does not research his steroids, yes, or know where they are coming from, the steroids. That is for little Heidis. I was dedicated, yes, to being a top bodybuilduh. And that meant I was willing to plunge into the unknown, or to plunge the unknown into me. One time I injected myself with this pure mercury, because this mercury, it is liquid metal and I wanted to be like the T-1000 and stab people and milk cartons with my liquid metal knife-arms. This did not work, yes, and sometimes I see diamond patterns now. But I am still more man than you, miniature Shawne Merruhman. You would not be as willing to split open a homeless man and devour his pancreas. I did do this, yes, and now I am governuh of Colliefuniuh. And I am a Kennedy, which is FANTASTIC AND WONDERFUL. Let us see you rape your way to the top, with this rape, as I have, yes!

If you were as dedicated to the art of the body as I was, eensy weensy Shawne Merruhman, you would have been able to do something about these terribuh wildfiruhs plaguing the FANTASTIC state of Colliefuniuh. I stopped them, the wildfires, yes, personally over the weekend. You know how I did this? I took this old, unwashed tank top of mine, then I flew up in my private heluhcopter (which is FANTASTIC AND WONDERFUL), and then I wrung this sweat out, yes, onto the fiuh. Not only did the fiuh go down, but this fiuh, it promised to stay away so long as it never had to be subjected to my steroid-enhanced stench.

I bet you have very small testuhcles as well. This problem did not plague me, yes, because I used these, the steroids, to grow my entire body. I often injected them, the steroids, yes, directly into my luftballoons. As a result, my testuhcles are now 15” in diameter each, which is FANTASTIC. Are you FANTASTIC such as this? Ich don’t think so.

Shawne Merruhman, you are not a real steroid abusuh, yes. You are just a very small man. My father, he would laugh at your puny frame, yes, and mixed ancestry. Then he would take his schnitzel, yes, and stick it in your Holstein. Then he would include you in our Austrian hamlet’s annual Braising of the Jews, where we braise them, the Jews. Because we Austrians have real dedicaytion. You are not a real man, yes. Let me show you what a real man looks like. Look at this:

This is a REAL MAN: a real man, yes, who knows what it takes to grow his body with this sheep spittle and discarded uranium. This is how a real steroid abusuh does these things. It is FANTASTIC, yes.

Monday, October 29, 2007

Your Monday Night Game...Quickly

Tonight's game promises to be at least entertaining, at least significantly better than last night's matchup, My Thumb vs. My Ass.

Hey, the Packers are pretty good this year. They've successfully not sucked, despite not being able to run the ball for shit. Brett Favre has had two weeks to prepare, coming off a shitty game against somebody. Oh yeah, Washington. Really, defense has carried this team, but Favre gets most of the credit, as the media is obviously very desirous to see an old white guy succeed.

Denver managed to beat Pittsburgh last weekend (I'm glad somebody did) after Elam bailed their asses out yet again with a 49-yarder from the fairway as the clock ran out. This will be Cutler's first Monday Night start, and I immediately predict to see Jaworski provide a detailed and figurative slurping of the young quarterback, if only to not feel left out while Kornheiser performs his tired, grandiose technique of same with the Original Gunslinger. Look for Tirico's generous doling of tissues during those waist-up camera shots from the booth.

Punter's Pick: Broncos, 24-10.

KSK Gamebook: Week 8 Games

-Of all the days during the week my kid refuses to take her regularly scheduled 1PM nap, it had to be Sunday. Damn you, child. If you weren’t so cute and helpless, I’d leave you in the recycling bin.

-Okay, Cadillac. I have an answer to your question. If the car in question is a fucking Cadillac, then no.

-Seriously, those ads are starting to get on my fucking nerves. It’s hard to fuck up an ad when you put Kate Walsh (above) in it. But I should never underestimate the gross incompetence of American automakers. And if I don’t get the Kate Walsh ad, then I get the ad with the other, random guy, asking the SAME FUCKING QUESTION. “The question is: when you turn on your car, does it return the favor?” Not that big red fucking boat you’re showing me right now, my man.

-Emily Deschanel plus Wonder Woman costume = boner

-KSK readers have feuded for a while over which Deschanel is superior: Emily or Zooey. I’m firmly ensconced in the Emily camp, but let’s go to the red carpet!

This is an easy call for me, but perhaps not for you. Emily’s got height on her sis. And she has more, uh, you know, ampleness. Whereas Zooey (on the right) has the ankle tattoo, so you know she’s up for giving you a wild ride. Plus, she does a lovely “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”. Still, I remain firmly in Emily’s corner on this one. Perhaps a duel of the boners is called for. My penile epee will outpoint you any day of the week.

-When the Patriots play another team, the other team may as well not fucking exist. I’m not blaming the announcers here. It’s hard to talk about the other team when they aren’t doing anything. I think the Patriots might break a bigger sweat in practice. In fact, I’m convinced of it. And yes, the Brady bounty will be increased later this week. Fucking Brady and his functional body.

-If you saw any of Romeo Crennel’s locker room speech after the Cleveland win, you wouldn’t have been very inspired. I didn’t know you could say “all right” that many times in one minute. Romeo’s clearly a big Johnny Two Times fan. “All right, men. All right. Good win, but we’re not done. All right? We’re not done. We’re at 4-3, 4-3, and our head’s above water now. All right? OUR HEAD IS ABOVE WATER! All right, but we’re not done. Our head is above water, but we’re not done. All right?” All right, coach.

-Also heard Braylon Edwards in the postgame say the Browns needed to “forget about tomorrow” and concentrate on the Steelers. Hard to do the latter when you do the former, Braylon.

-Eek! The FOX football robot has a jack-o-lantern head! And he’s demanding robot candy! (Robot candy, if you were unaware, is made from human plasma.)

-If Budweiser is the Great American Lager, then Newt Gingrich’s “1945” is the Great American Novel. In Gingrich’s book, the Germans win. Terrifying!

-Next week’s Colts-Pats game is a regional game. If you live in Houston or Oakland you don’t have a satellite dish, you’re probably not going to be very happy come Sunday at 4:15PM. Unless you enjoy watching Daunte Culpepper try and grasp a football with his tiny little midget hands.

-I listened to some of yesterday’s Redskins game on the radio. The Redskin radio analysts, in case you did not know, are Sam Huff and Sonny Jurgenson, who between them probably own 15% of a functioning human brain. I have to say, it's almost BETTER when the two analysts are senile old guys. At least they have an excuse. And at least their early onset Alzheimer’s makes for fun exchanges. Like this one, which happened on the Redskins’ opening drive:

Sam: This is good. The defense is getting a rest.

Sonny: The defense hasn't taken the field yet!

Sam: I know! They're getting rest!

I bet that booth has a chamber pot in it.

-I watched the Eagles-Vikings game yesterday, and I really have nothing to say about it. Except that Brad Childress needs to be shot dead and left in a ravine.

Hey Joe, Suck My Dick

Sweet ass spelunking Jesus, those were not good times. Call me a reactionary but I'm here to call for the head of Coach Joe Gibbs. Some say it's sacrilege to utter such opinions in the District of Columbia, but most certainly realize that this shit has gone on way too long. Dennis Hopper's character from Hoosiers could have done a better job preparing his team for a game after sucking the ethanol out a hippy's gas tank. The Redskins don't have the personnel necessary to compete for a title but they sure as shit shouldn't be losing by 45 to anybody. For the love of God, even those teal-clad ball-garglers managed to keep things interesting. They found a way to put the ball in the endzone even after Ronnie Brown got hurt, but all you can do is shrug your fucking shoulders spread your cheeks wide for Belichick's stubby little captain to make you a man? Fucking shit, man.

If Joe Gibbs had coached the 1980 Olympic hockey team we'd all be speaking Russian. Da.

If Joe Gibbs had coached the 1971 Marshall Thundering Herd the town of Huntington would have wished they'd been on that fucking plane.

If Joe Gibbs had run the Boston Celtics Franchise he would have traded Bill Russell for an old white point guard to run the second team and pre-game Bible study.

If Joe Gibbs had the mount on Secretariat he would have pulled in the reigns after the first 1/8th mile.

If Joe Gibbs were the President of the United States...well actually things would be about the same, except that Kim Jong-Il would have blueprints of every nuclear reactor in America.

Yep, I'm still pretty fucking pissed. Offense can't function without an "NFL quality" line? Fine, get beat. Defense can't stop Tom Brady? Fine, get beat. Nobody calls Randy Moss for pushing off? Yeah it sucks, but fight back. Instead of bending over for the Patriots why not call Sean Taylor over during the next timeout. Here's what you do--give him some earplugs, convince him that any whistles he hears are his imagination, and tell him that the next play isn't over until somebody is in traction. At least then we wouldn't be the the NFL's newest prison yard bitch.

Hey Joe...uh, where you gonna run to now, where you gonna run to?

Yeah, Mexico. You should totally go hide out in Mexico for a while.

And now for Mr. Belichick...

A lot of people want me to lay into heartless football coaching machine, but what's the point? Doing so would be counter-intuitive, it just serves to feed the beast. What I really don't understand are all of the emails I've received about how I shouldn't bitch about the Pats running up the score, which is especially odd because I don't really remember doing so.

Here's where I stand on the issue, Brady is a dick, Gibbs is a pussy, and Belichick is an asshole.

Yeah, they're assholes for leaving their starters in after the Skins started to sit defensive players, but we're pussies for letting it happen. Should Brady be throwing deep jump balls to Randy Moss when they're up 42 in the fourth quarter? It seems pretty ridiculous, so why not get them to stop? Instead of going up for the ball why not just keep your feet and flip that country motherfucker on his head?

Now that's football.

We Gotta Teach the Children Everyday, Keep a Song. Show Them the Light, Teach Them Right From Wrong.

Though receiving scant attention from the mainstream press, Marvin Lewis yesterday was continuing his mentoring program with Cincinnati-area at-risk youth.

Marvin Lewis: Okay, glad you could make out here today, uh...

At-risk youth: Terence Hawkins.

Marvin Lewis: Terence, right. Okay, I'm gonna let you take over for a bit. We're up 3-0. We stopped the Steelers on their opening drive, but now they're moving down the field. This is a critical point in the game. Our offense is playing well, but we don't need to play catch-up on this defense. Whaddaya got for me?

At-risk youth: Okay, right. Okay. Yeah. I think I remember what my mans was telling me to do last week. Let's try this...Madieu Williams, spin around real fast.

Madieu Williams: Whoawhoawhoawhoawhoawhoawhoawhoawhoawhoa

At-risk youth: Cool. A'yo, Leon Hall. When Hines Ward makes a routine move to the inside I want you to run straight at that goal post.

Leon Hall: Goal post. Got it.

At-risk youth: Dhani Jones, take a seat.

Dhani Jones: Has anyone espied my copy of "Piscatorial Eclogues"? You would be ill-advised if you displaced my Dr. Cornel West bookmark.

Marvin Lewis: Okay, who are you subbing in for Jones?

At-risk youth: No one.

Marvin Lewis: But you only got 10 men on the field.

At-rish youth: 'xactly. It's called the 46 defense. Because four plus six equals ten. I learned that shit last week from the new Mick Boogie mixtape.

Marvin Lewis: What's it called?

At-risk youth: 's called "Four Plus Six Equals Ten."

Marvin Lewis: What does tha--

At-risk youth: It's about drugs.

Marvin Lewis: But you can't have only 10 men on the field. It makes it easier on the offense.

At-risk youth: Nah, nah, coach. My man told me 'bout this thing, right. Like, he told me, if you play 10 dudes on dis down, you can play, like, 12 on the next and shit. And you if you play nine dudes...

Marvin Lewis: YOU CAN PLAY 13! Oh, man. That is genius. Yo, Bresnahan.

Bresnahan: Yeah?

Marvin Lewis: You're fired. Terence here is my new defensive coordinator.

(Bresnahan shrugs, walks away without bothering to take headset off.)

At-risk youth: Aight. I'm thinking, like, we play, like, five guys per play in the second quarter, then in the second half, we can play the whole team on defense.

Marvin Lewis: Fantastic. If Tomlin didn't wear sunglasses all the damn time, you could see the terror in his eyes.

At-risk youth: Yo, can I get your prints on this gun, right quick?

San Diego Is ON FIRE!!!!

Wait, that came out wrong.

Seventeen Points Isn't Too Big of a Spread -- Except for the Redskins! by Unsilent Majority

Mike Vrabel makes this post 1000 words shorter

Good morning, football fans. We're happy to inform you that our resident Redskins fan and gambling addict, one Unsilent Majority, is still alive this morning -- if just a teeeeeeeeensy bit touchy -- despite the Redskins playing the role of Monica Bellucci in Irreversible yesterday. In fact, he'll be along later with some good ol' homerade if we can get him to pull his head out of the oven.

In the meantime, let's take a look back on Maj's gambling advice over the last several weeks.

October 2

The New England Patriots are the NFL's version of blood diamonds, they may be evil and tainted but they'll make you rich! Richer than astronauts! Do you want to know how you too can actually enjoy the diabolical reign of Belichick and company? Of course you do! How else are you going to pay off your student loans from that semester at DeVry? Follow my three easy steps (plus one fuckin' complicated step) to success and soon you'll have a boat filled with gorgeous women like you were some sort of brilliant midget with a twin brother in tow.





Yep, it's really that easy. Now go sell all of your earthly possessions (yes, your daughter counts) and take the proceeds directly to your offshore bookie of choice.

October 4

New England -17 vs. Cleveland
I've now increased my bet on New England for the third consecutive week. Now we're up to a $100 wager, by the end of the season I'll be living here.

October 19

New England -17 at Miami
Patriots--FUCK YEAH!

October 26

Washington +17 -115 at New England
I've bet on the Pats every single week this season so it's been easy to tell what's going on here. They kept covering so Vegas kept raising the spreads... But now the Pats are playing an actual team (disclaimer: team may not have actual coach) with a defense rated in at or near the top of the league in every relevant category. I'm not saying that I'm picking my Skins to win outright, but Jesus fucking Siddhartha, they're certainly more capable than the incompetent pussybaskets of the AFC East.

Don't do it Maj! You still have the Wizards!

Sunday, October 28, 2007

F--k Baseball And F--k You

What the fuck is this shit? I thought Sunday Night was Football Night (tm)? I was ready for a game. A football game. And now, here I sit, at 8 o'clock, after a full day of...stuff...and now YOU'RE TELLING ME THERE'S NO GODDAMN FOOTBALL ON TONIGHT?

I don't want to...wait, what's that? There's no football...because of baseball? No, noooo, this is fucking bullshit. This is America, goddammit! We don't cancel football for baseball. They cancel baseball for rain. For fucking rain, man! They can't even stand up in the face of precipitation! We cancel games for when presidents get shot in convertibles, not for some lame-fuck baseball game. We can have a cocksucking game in tea-and-crumpets London, but not tonight? At its regulary-scheduled space in my life? Fucking bullshit, man.

This does it. I don't wanna hear Jerome Bettis ever again, telling me that Sunday Night is, or was, whatever. Not if he's gonna fold up his tent like some loafer-toting French infantryman every time baseball walks into town. As of now, Sunday Night Is Jerome Bettis Runs Like A Little Bitch Night. It wasn't bad enough when Willie Parker ran you out of Pittsburgh. Now you've got Tim McCarver and that crooked little finger he keeps up Joe Buck's ass running you off of the calendar. You've gotta represent, Jerome; this looks pretty fucking Grosse Pointe.

Leave it to fucking white people to ruin everything, man. Cocks.

Friday, October 26, 2007

The Friday Cheerleader Post
Maids of the Missed?

While rumblings of a Buffalo Bills move to Toronto are hardly new, they certainly have gained traction since the team announced last week they were seeking league permission to play some of their games in the Great White North.

Sadly, the writing is on the wall for the upstanding people of upstate New York-- as soon as the old man buys the farm that team is his-toe-ree. Enjoy your Sunday afternoons at the Anchor Bar after you get Irsayed. Unless you are willing to do something about it, of course. Like maybe assembling at the border with pitchforks and torches and showing those Canadian fuckups what you're made of.

I wanted to dedicate this week's column entirely to the Buffalo Jills (yes, they actually call their cheerleaders the Jills). Problem is... they're not that attractive. Enjoy your weekend.

By popular demand, a different shot of a favorite Bronco honey from the past. Popular demand = me. I'm popular. No, really.

"Oh, eat my chair." - Rick Gassko

Maj hates to see them leave, but he loves to watch them go.

Major Dad vs. Lt. Eckhardt. WHO YA GOT?

It may not mean much in the grand scheme of the league, this meeting of the 2-4s, but it does mark the first showdown between Andy Reid and his former coordinator, Brad Childress. And it may be the last. They were once allies, now they're - well, they're not really bitter foes. But they have embittered the fans of their respective teams. Let the bad blood flow while they still have jobs. WHO YA GOT?


Brad Childress_______________Andy Reid


Bald Clueless _______________Fatty Lumpkins

Mustache dye color

Auburn___________Honey mustard sauce

Secret weapon

Purple Jesus_________The best white receiver who isn't Wes Welker

Preferred weapon

Shitty quarterback________________Whiny quarterback


Keeping best player on bench___________McDonald's as a pizza topping

Shameful admission

Outshined by Mike Tice_____________Has sons dumber than Mike Tice


Passing on 3rd and short _____________Bacolate and scrapple

Finishing move

Three and out____________Finishing move? Wait, so you're not finishing that?

Note: Reader Michael D. insists that Michael Jeter's version of Mr. Noodle is a better Brad Childress doppelganger. You be the judge.

Credit to Welcome to Tardville for the Reid pic.

I Just Want You [to] Close

Welcome to the latest installment of Always Be Covering.

I've just returned from week out of town and I'm still trying to get caught up on my shit. Last week's failed teaser (imagine, a failed teaser!) and successful single bet (thanks Dreamboat, fuck you Matt Cassell) left me with a relatively even bankroll but I went and got greedy. After losing another late teaser (I'm firm in my belief that the Philadelphia Eagles should be lit on fire) Things were looking ugly, so I decided to go heavy on the Steelers. That was the second worst thing to happen to me on Sunday night (the sliding glass door to the hotel balcony locked behind me...i don't want to talk about it), but thank Jesus for the Indianapolis Colts (and that woman who heard my cries of desperation). I won the straight-up bet and the first half Colts/Under teaser to put me up roughly $13 for the week. That's the kind of comeback that will keep me in Dockers forever!

Let's get on with these picks, I have a full DVR to catch up on over here.

All bets are for $25 dollars, all of the remaining money will likely be squandered on college football games.

Cleveland -3 (-115) at St. Louis
Stephen Jackson says he's playing, so I'm already a bit nervous. I mean yeah, the Browns have done quite nicely in the department of coverage, but they're still the fucking Browns.

Indianapolis -7 at Carolina
Who plays quarterback for Carolina? You know what, nevermind, I don't really give a shit.

Pittsburgh Steelers -4 at Cincinnati
I have never spelled Cincinnati correctly in my entire life, then again, I think Babes In Toyland is more than a little bit Kevin Spacey. The Queen City? I thought as much. I think Steely McBeem is a top.

Washington +17 -115 at New England
STUPID FUCKING HOMER BET ALERT! Or is it ?(probably) I've bet on the Pats every single week this season so it's been easy to tell what's going on here. They kept covering so Vegas kept raising the spreads. Now they've gotten to the point where they just toss up 16.5 or 17 (excluding the Dallas game) and up until now it hasn't been a bad strategy. They've probably drawn the ideal 50/50 split amongst bettors who thought teams like Buffalo and Miami would hang. But now the Pats are playing an actual team (disclaimer: team may not have actual coach) with a defense rated in at or near the top of the league in every relevant category. I'm not saying that I'm picking my Skins to win outright, but Jesus fucking Siddhartha, they're certainly more capable than the incompetent pussybaskets of the AFC East.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

God declares Billick's play calling to be “some bullshit”

Proof of divine connection: from a murder arrest
to walking away with a humble.

God, the omnipotent, all-knowing supreme being of all creation this week proclaimed Brian Billick's call of three straight pass plays in short yardage situations to be “some bullshit, man.” These words were conveyed through the Lord's chosen spokesman to mankind, Ravens' linebacker Ray Lewis. In an address to his faithful, God, who in his eternal wisdom, has seen fit to deliver his blessed word via medium frequency Towson, Maryland sports radio, went on to describe the Raven's record thus far to be “straight-up bullshit.”

Despite being able to commune directly with the hearts and minds of all living creatures though the power of the Holy Spirit, God chose to express his proclamations through the vessel that is a rapidly-deteriorating linebacker prone to lawless behavior. Former Raven Adalius Thomas has characterized the team as having a “me-first” locker room. The Almighty-through-Lewis called these comment, “just mo' bullshit, y'all.”

The holy communicational hierarchy.

When long-time listener, first time-blaspheming heretic “Barry from Dundalk” suggested that God should consider the shaky pass coverage of corner Corey Ivy, a perturbed Yahweh/Allah/Vishnu/Jah made it clear that he “ain't even trying to hear that bullshit, man.” The Creator chastised Barry, whose soul had just been rendered forfeit for eternity, and reminded him that He “would go upside that head wit' a quickness.”

The Word of the Almighty can be heard at 1300 on your AM dial, Monday afternoons between the Stephen A. Smith Show and “B-more Sports Nutz Weekly”.

Dolphins Struggle With Injuries, Geography

So Channing Crowder is probably gonna get a start in that game over in England this weekend, as Zach Thomas is hurt, so he'll have a limited amount of time to pick up some of the nuances of that defense. You know, stuff like zone blitz packages, hook coverage, and, well, learning that people in London speak English.

"I couldn't find London on a map if they didn't have the names of the countries," he said. "I swear to God. I don't know what nothing is. I know Italy looks like a boot. I know London Fletcher. We did a football camp together. So I know him. That's the closest thing I know to London. He's black, so I'm sure he's not from London. I'm sure that's a coincidental name."

I'm sure it is.

Thanks: Rotoworld, via Brandon M. (no link sent, so fuck you)

KSK Guide to American Football For Pussified Countries Of The International Arena: England!

NOTE: With the Giants/Dolphins game going on this Sunday at Wembley, I thought I'd repost the England guide from this summer's international series. Enjoy.

Hello, English people! Or should I say, top of the marnin’ to ya? Huh? Huh? It’s my honor to take you on a tour of all things NFL and explain why it might appeal to you folks in London, or as I like to call it, “Seattle With Funny Accents.” No doubt you’ve heard of the NFL, but haven’t had the chance to learn more about it because you were too busy breathlessly overhyping lousy bands (“The new Travis album is absolutely MASSIVE!”) and eating spoonfuls of mayonnaise straight from the jar. But with this crash course, I think you’ll learn to lurve the NFL almost as much as you enjoy the comedic stylings of Ruby Wax.

In addition, you Brittainians have been bestowed with the honor of hosting the first-ever regular season NFL game to be played on European soil. Unfortunately, Sunday's game will be played between the New York Giants and Miami Dolphins, which means it will bear more than a striking resemblance to the American Bowl preseason games and London Monarchs WLAF games of years past. My apologies. Nevertheless, that didn’t stop 40,000 of you from snapping up tickets for the game at Wembley the day they went on sale. Sure, most of those tickets were probably bought by American citizens living abroad. But I’m sure the remaining 6 of you actual UK natives will learn to enjoy watching Eli Manning overthrow receivers with the same inexplicable sense of schadenfreude as us Americans.

So, in preparation for Sunday, here’s a handy Let’s Go guide to the NFL tailored to the sensibilities of all you pasty, strawberry-blond Limeys. Now let’s get pissed on some American football!

What You’ll Think Is Ace About The NFL:
-The Manning family. They’re just like the Royal Family, only somehow more inbred
-With Americans in the stands, you’ll have a proper outlet for violent hooliganism
-Tampa QB Jeff Garcia only man on Earth gayer than Graham Norton
-Excuse to drink pints of Beamish Red every Sunday between the hours of 6:15PM and 5:30AM
-FOX camerawork eerily resembles hacky jump-cutting of a Guy Ritchie film
-Terrible Dolphins offense mimics the start-stop rhythms of Dizzie Rascal
-Gives Americans something to occupy themselves, delaying them from doing horrible things like invading sovereign nations and producing American remake of “Coupling”
-Fun to notice differences between Stuart Scott's lazy eye and Thom Yorke's lazy eye
-Halftime show allows for quick trip to Sainsbury's for HP Sauce and cold meat pies
-Opportunity to see heterosexual black men, of which England is conspicuously absent
-Being across the Atlantic means John Madden cannot visit
-British affinity for the words “cunt”, “cunty”, and “cunting” will really help drive the inherent sexism in the sport home
-Frequent stoppages in play allow Brits more time to enjoy national pastime of cattily bitching about everything
-Stern NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell would be quite adept at quelling any Irish uprising ("Oh, I'm sorry! Our troops were supposed to use rubber bullets!")
-Switching to NFL allows transition from shitty blogs like Arseblog to superior dick joke blogs like KSK

What You’ll Think Is Absolute Shite About The NFL:
-The padding. Yes, yes, rugby players are tougher because they don’t wear pads and play exclusively in hot pants (nice kit!). Whatever. I’m sure Ray Lewis wouldn’t last one second playing for Leicester. You keep on believing that
-For Welsh fans: distracting amount of vowels in player’s last names
-Not enough advertising on uniforms or field
-Massive Jason Taylor robot will eat your wee ones
-Lack of Carling scarves in the crowd
-The coaches. American coaches are far less histrionic than their British soccer counterparts. You’ll never hear things like, “WHAT IS THIS UGLINESS?” from an American coach. Sir Alex Ferguson has more charisma in his gusset than Andy Reid does in his whole big fat body
-Joe Buck. Yes, we also hate him here. So why do we put him on television? No clue. Tough shit. He’s your problem now
-Game played by group of people that still fail to acknowledge subpar talents of Robbie Williams

Tailgate Options:
We all know British food tastes like fresh parrot shit (Cloves? Tom Collins mix? Frozen pie crust? Mmmmm!). But, luckily for you, the early 20th century British slave trade created an influx of Indian immigrants that actually knew how to make passable cuisine. That’s why I suggest an all-Indian tailgate party outside of Wembley. Feast on Aloo Gobi, Samosas, Chicken Tikka Masala, Daal, Naan, and other tasty dishes. But make sure you get some meat in there. That all-vegetarian thing with Indian food is for faggots men who enjoy the company of other men.

Players That Will Appeal To British Sensibilities:
-Eli Manning. No one’s whiter than Eli Manning
-All kickers
-All punters
-Suspended players Chris Henry and Pacman Jones will happily reenact the drunken escapades of Jennifer Saunders and Joanna Lumley
-Persistent fuckup Michael Vick like a black, mobile Pete Doherty
-Dhani Jones. Literate linebacker could pass himself off as lead singer of Bloc Party if need be

I hope you British folk enjoyed our condescending little tour through our American footie league. We’ll see you at Wembley on Sunday! Thought you were seeing Paul Rodgers fronting Queen and destroying Freddie Mercury’s legacy that night? Boy, are you in for a surprise!

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Doug & Doug's Fantasy Report -- Week 7

Here's your Wednesday evening Doug & Doug fix, to give you a five-minute reprieve from baseball. Goshkins! They're playing through some moderate rain. What intrepid warriors!

Here's my fantasy report: I had Ronnie Brown on the better of my two fantasy teams and now the best back I have on that receiver heavy team is Kenny Watson, who though enormously kind to me last week is about to give me nathan going against the Steelers' run D, then return to the job to Rudi Johnson in early November. I'm 5-2 going on 5-8.

Fear Not, These Dolphins Have Become My Friends

Oh, hello.

I'm sure some of you are worried about my predicament: me underwater without a breathing apparatus, these bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops truncati) circling in a menacing fashion.

Fear not, citizens. All is not as it seems. After I fended off the males' initial attempts at gang rape, I've slowly gained acceptance into the pod. Not that it hasn't been difficult at times: I'm not the best swimmer to begin with, and this football equipment has only exacerbated my clumsy navigation of Poseidon's kingdom. Unlike my new friends (I'd tell you their names, but the series of clicks doesn't translate well to our primitive language), I need to breathe more frequently than every 5-8 minutes. And have you ever tried letting one half of your brain sleep while the other operates your active body? You can't learn that overnight.

But things are progressing. My sonar is practically fluent. The saltwater stopped bothering my eyes thanks to the development of a nictitating membrane under my eyelids (somebody tell Coach Dungy I prayed for it -- he'll handle the news better that way). And I've found that few terrestrial meals are as satisfying as tearing through a school of Atlantic herring cruising through the Gulf Stream.

I'm sure my quiet leadership and precision out-patterns are missed in Indianapolis, but I really feel at home here. Besides, my connection to the pod may prove to be a key alliance for the Colts. I've heard squeakings that Belichick's got some friends down here, too...

Kevin Everett Honorary Meast of the Week and a Moratorium on Talking About Obnoxious Pats Fans

We've reached our threshold for discussing how much we hate New England's fans, at least for the remainder of the week. Maj will probably chime in with something on Sunday when the Pats beat the Redskins 600-6. Until then, allow us to totally disrespect New England by turning our gaze toward some of the other NFL teams.

We've gotten scads of comments and e-mails from Patriots fans accusing us of being jealous, resentful haters who despise them for their freedom, righteousness of spirit and ability to engage in reasoned arguments. As a Steelers fan, I'm the only truly unabashed Patriots hater among our cadre of cocksmen. Ufford actually likes them, that stupid contrarian. He should go write for Slate or something.

Yes, I'm bitter about the two AFC Championship Game losses at home and I'm envious of their recent success. But mostly it's everything we've covered at length over the last five or so posts. They're all terrible people and I hope their kids grow up to be Yankees fans and vote Republican. I can only thank Yahweh that the Ravens blow goat nuts or my life would be totally devoid of meaning.

Anyway, your Meast this week is the Seahawks' Darryl Tapp, who nearly doubled his previous career total of 4.5 sacks with another four against the Rams, as well as contributing a forced fumble. All with a broken hand. He was busy fisting your mother with the other.

NFL PostSecret Week 7: Where Secrets Are Kept But Gently Mocked

It's an unfortunate world we live in when someone feels so hemmed in by the pressures of society that the only way they feel they can confide in someone is to mail an artfully constructed postcard to some dude in Germantown, MD who packages them together and sells them in bounded collections. Well, the NFL is even more harsh and doubly forbidding of confession, but those struggling with it can always turn to NFL PostSecret. At least we aren't making money off their pain. That's only for the league to do.

NFL PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where players and coaches or whoever I feel like making fun of mails in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard. It's also a satire of this.

-----Email Message-----
Sent: Tuesday, October 23, 2007 9:26 PM
Subject: Die

At least Ape gets to go to hell.

-----Email Message-----
Sent: Tuesday, October 23, 2007 9:26 PM
Subject: CFL weed

Has hints of maple syrup!

-----Email Message-----
Sent: Tuesday, October 23, 2007 9:26 PM
Subject: Drew**

kid u are a hypocrite cuz i bet u neva saiid all that shit u said in ur blog (which by the way makes u fuckin fat virgin geek fuck that spends his time writing blogs i mean who the fuck does that u fuckin fat fuck...ur gonna die a virgin kid) to someone while u lived in the greater Boston area....ur a fuckin loser kid u think the whole nation "hates" us...ur so fuckin retarded kid like the whole nation is gonna think of one issue and that issue being Boston fans and their GOOD fuckin teams in every sport......ur fuckin dellusional and stupid...u and ur little crew of Boston haters are like 10 percent of the whole american sport fans...kid by u writing all that bullshit u wrote in ur blog u made urself sound stupid, c'mon bro grow the fuck up, find a girl, get laid for once, lose some weight, and get out of ur mothers basement, and stop playin halo 2 cuz all yall computer geeks are fuckin inlove with halo.....

**Excerpt from actual e-mail Drew received in response to his Boston sports fan post.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Greggggggg Easterbrook Would Like To Beatify Dungy, Send Patriots To Jew Hell

We've had some fun at the expense of Pats fans lately. But I've always been of the mind that the Patriots and their fans are simply annoying. Really, really, really fucking annoying. But little more than that.

But Gregggggg Easterbrook, with whom we have had our fair share of fun in the past, would like to go one step further. Easterbrook believes that the Patriots are literally offspring of Lucifer himself. No doubt because they stay up past midnight. It’s nearly impossible to convey just how douchey this column is, but let me just give you a taste of Easterbrook’s stern sermonizing from today, in which he treats the Pats as if they masturbate with crucifixes and the Colts as if they poop rainbows.

Argument for the Indianapolis Colts as paladins who carry the banner of that which is beneficent: Sportsmanship, honesty, modesty, devotion to community, embrace of traditional small-town life, belief in higher power, even love of laughter.

I’m pretty sure Easterbrook and Peter King could fight to the death regarding who leads the league in laughter. The rest of this paragraph borders on the completely insane. The Colts embrace small-town life? What the fuck does that even mean? They were drafted to play in that piece of shit town. And it's not small. It's a major fucking metropolitan area. Do they listen to more John Mellencamp than the Patriots as well? I don't see any Colts helping Barney Fife lock up winos at the county clink. I don't see them delivering fresh pecan pies to my windowsill.

And they believe in a higher power? All of them? Who fucking cares? I’m assuming then that the Patriots enjoy carving pentagrams in the earth and then slaughtering lambs in them. Witness this passage about Tom Brady:

That constant smirk on Brady's face reminds one of Dick Cheney; people who smirk are fairly broadcasting the message, "I'm hiding something."

When I think of Tom Brady, I think of many things: bounties, chin clefts, great hair, Gisele’s crotch, my raging inferiority complex... I rarely think of Dick Cheney. What’s Tom Brady hiding, apart from the two or three other bastard children in his arsenal? I’m guessing not much. I’ve heard Brady speak on TV. He ain’t exactly Mr. Cunning, if you get my drift. He’s Californian, for God’s sake. The reason he reminds people of Joe Montana is because of the vacant staring.

I haven’t read Easterbrook in quite a while. When the fuck did he completely lose his mind?

This Is What You Get For Wearing A Favre Jersey

I gotta get a dozen of those chairs immediately.

F--k This. I’m Gonna Be A Cop.

Okay, guys. Let me run down the injuries for you. Westy tweaked his knee, but he’ll be re-evaluated tomorrow. Dawkins is fine. Sheppard is fine. Donovan plans on practicing all week. He should be good to go. We’ll update you on everything on Thursday. As for the Bears loss, it’s just one of those things. Sometimes things like that happen and you just have to…

(buries head in hands)

Ugh. Look I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. Every week, I come in and give you assholes the same vague answers to all your same stupid questions. Aren’t you tired of this shit? I am. Jesus, it’s just the same thing over and over and over again. And it’s not like it’s any better around here if we win. Shit, even when we win, 90% of the fans just want to talk about why we’re gonna fucking lose the next week.

Honestly, it’s all just a bunch of bullshit. I do my best. I really do. And sometimes, we end up having a nice season. Other times, things get fucked up and we have a lousy season. It happens like that. Don’t you people fucking get that?

I don’t need this. I sleep on a goddamn cot five days a week. I watch 80 hours of videotape a week, only 5% of which is hardcore pornography. All the videotape plays are just blending together at this point. And it’s fucking TAPE. Lurie’s too cheap to digitize this place. I still have to use a goddamn overhead projector in meetings. I barely see my kids, and now everyone’s calling me a shitty dad just because I tried to work hard to make them proud.

I’ve had enough of this shit. Fuck it. I’m gonna be a cop.

I’ve always wanted to be a cop. I know I’m an okay coach, but this mustache was fucking made for police work. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to pull some 17-year-old shoplifter over and give him a cold taste of justice. If he’s wearing an Eagles hat, then all the better. I like winning football games, but that can’t even compare to taking out some juvenile delinquent’s knees with a nightstick. BAM! Finally, coach gets to do a little hitting of his own.

You know what I’d really love to do? Go on a stakeout. God, that just sounds like the best. It’s just you and your partner (I named my imaginary partner Bobby O’Neill), hanging out in an unmarked Ford Taurus at 3AM, drinking some coffee and munching on bear claws. That would be fantastic. We could have really deep conversations about life, and how our wives don’t understand “the job”, and shit like that. And we could rip on each other too. I could be like, “Nice shirt, O’Neill, you metrosexual assbag.” And he’d be like, “Fuck you, you fat lazy shit.” I can’t get that kind of camaraderie with Mornhinweg. He’s an idiot.

I wouldn’t even have to go out in the field. I could be the dispatcher. I’d be a great police dispatcher. Look at me. Don’t I just look gruff? I could get all bossy on the radio. “Attention all units! We have a 187 in progress! We need backup! NOW!” And if any beat officer gave me lip, I could throw it right back in his face. “Don’t tell me you’re 15 blocks away, McSorley! DO YOUR JOB!”


I could wear one of those Sipowicz shirts, too. You know, the button down short sleeve shirt? I hear they’re really breathable. Looks great with a tie. You wear one of those shirts and munch on a bran muffin, and no one’s gonna fuck with you. That’s some major league respect.

I’d love to put a suspect in the box. Just grill the shit out of him. Threaten him with bodily harm until he cries out his confession. And if he tries to “lawyer up”, then I could really start to turn the screws on him. Or I could bring in Bobby to finish the job on him. Good ol’ Bobby. He’s not afraid to bend some rules in the name of the law.

If I could be a cop, then I could finally get my family back. My kids would respect me. And citizens wouldn’t complain about how I do my job, because I’d have a gun on me. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to carry a gun on the sidelines. Maybe Donovan would hurry the fuck up at the end of the game for once.

You know what? I’m gonna do it.

Screw you guys. I’m joining the force. Next time you see me, I’ll be in my Ray-Bans. You better watch your ass.

Eating at the Y in Jax

This Jacksonville fan reminds us that there are alternatives to watching this ass-whipping. Certainly, Colonel Angus would be proud.

Crazy good pull by Chris at Mister Irrelevant.

Monday, October 22, 2007

KSK ExKlusive: Peyton Manning's Most Personal Thoughts Revealed!

We're proud to announce that despite a complete lack of computer skills we've managed to hack into Peyton Manning's e-diary! Here's the first of what will hopefully be many in a look at the little girl living inside the man.

October 19, 2007

Dear Diary,

Can you believe that Ashley just tried to have sex with me?


Like I told her on our wedding night, only one woman touches Pey-Pey and her name is Mom. I have sex with my wife the same way I have sex with you Mr. Diary, by busting a perfectly straight line down the spine. I've got control like Julia Child with a pastry bag, once a year I even write Happy Birthday on her back (I can't get full release when those boobs are bouncing all over the place). But seriously, she should know better by now; sex with women is number three on my list of fears behind Hillary Clinton and ghost dads.

Here's a list of5 things I'd do before putting Pey-Pey inside of a woman's kitty cat...

1. Have gay relations with a cute little country music star
2. Defer any credit to Jim Caldwell
3. Quit acting
4. Call a real audible
5. Beat Florida

I don't see what more she could possibly want from me. One time I even let her get a glimpse of Pey-Pey and the twins. That was the first time I conducted a public viewing since the thing with the whorish trainer at UT.

Gotta run to practice...big game on Monday Night! TTYL!

Peter King Loves Tony Romo’s Effervescence

We had no less than four readers email us this morning with messages all essentially saying the same thing:

“Jesus Christ. Read this Peter King quote. Just read it. Holy shit.”

What killed me is that each reader had selected a different passage from King’s column to single out. So, it’s not as if King is being hopelessly inane once or twice per column. This man is remarkably consistent in his silliness. And, to a certain extent, you have to appreciate that.

Anyhow, reader Charles G. writes in:


I know making fun of Peter King is too easy, but the quote below kills me. You have to make fun of this.

Now, I’m going to show you the quote. But before you read it, I suggest you stuff a maxipad in your pants and close your office door. You may find yourself in a laughing stupor so severe they need to call the paddy wagon. Are you ready? No, really. Are you ready? Okay, here it is. Under MVP Watch:

"3. Tony Romo, QB, Dallas. Is it my imagination, or does Romo lead the league in smiling?"

Holy shit. I’m just… I can’t… I can barely breathe… smiling… Romo… holy ballsack… Sweet Lord. I think I love this man for all the amusement he provides. Yes, Peter. I’m quite sure Romo leads the league in smiling. It's not your imagination, though I shudder at what kind of fucked-up training room fantasy that part of your brain is currently dreaming up. Romo probably just barely edges out Brett Favre in that department. But Favre does lead the league in laughing, so that makes for a neck-and-neck MVP race. Did you know Peyton Manning leads the league in intensity? And that Tom Brady leads the league in smoldering? It’s true.

I watched Football Night in America last night, and the one thing I noticed about King on TV was that all of his reports follow the same formula, which is:

King: I called Rob Bironas last night, and I said, “Hey, how’s it feel to break the single-game field goal record?” Know what he told me, Bob? “Gee, I didn’t even realize I broke it until now!” Amazing!

So, to recap: King calls Player/Coach X, asks them how it felt to do Y, then lets Bob know Player/Coach X’s response. Like so:

King: Hello, Tony? Peter King here.

Romo: Hi, Peter.

King: Hey, how’s it feel to lead the league in smiling?

Romo: In smiling?

King: Yeah, I charted it all out. You smile way more than Joey Porter! How’s that feel?

Romo: Uh. Good. I guess.

King: (scribbling furiously) Can I quote you on that? This is great stuff!

Romo: Sure.

So, yeah. Tony Romo. Great passer. But an even better smiler. Good job, Peter. You are truly doing the Lord’s work.

The KSK Guide To Being An Insufferable A--hole S--thead F--kface Fan Of Boston-Area Sports Teams

With the Red Sox advancing to the World Series, Boston College still undefeated, KG moving to the Celtics, and this year’s Patriots in the process of becoming the best team in the history of the NFL (and you’re deluding yourself if you can't accept the reality of that), we are on the verge of witnessing a perfect storm of douchebaggery emanating from the greater Boston area. We’re talking the absolute zenith of self-important fuckfacery. The sky will turn pitch black and rain vinegar upon us all.

I have done all that I can to stop this. I’ve offered bounties, yet NFL defenders remain too dumb, and NFL defensive coaches too incompetent to call for a drop kick right to Tom Brady’s patella. We at KSK have also tried repeatedly hammering the point home that Bill Simmons is a fucking douchebag (see below, or just wait for the next post). It’s a like a political talking point: the more often we say it, the more likely it is to stick in your brain, regardless of whether or not you actually believe it (“Oh, Bill Simmons? Yeah, he’s a douche. No, wait! I kinda used to like him! Damn you, KSK!"). But those efforts have done nothing to stem this growing doucheflood.

We are left with two options. The first option is to cultivate the hatred the rest of the nation has for these people, so that, even when the Patriots or Red Sox win, they cannot savor the victory fully. After all, if there’s any group of fans that has a “Why can’t you be happy for us?” mentality, it’s New England sports fans. Not only do they act douchey when they win. But they fully expect you to jump on the bandwagon with them. Witness Simmons’ infamous Pats-hater bitchfest from earlier in the year, one of the sorriest sports columns ever written.

Boston fans fail to grasp a standard rule of sports fandom, which is: Any team that wins a title that is not your team is fucking annoying. It doesn’t matter how the other team won. They’re not YOUR team, so they can eat a fat dick. Fuck this “appreciating” other teams shit. Normal fans don’t do that. At least Cowboy and Yankee fans have a solid understanding of just why people can’t fucking stand them. But Mickey from Natick? Nope, he’s not gonna grasp that concept. In fact, he’s not gonna grasp much of anything.

So that’s one option. But there is another option, and that is, of course, to join them. Is this a lame thing to do? Oh, yeah. Total fuckhead move. But hey, maybe you’re a Dolphins fan and you’ve abandoned all hope. Maybe becoming a dipshit asshole cumguzzler like Jimmy Fallon is your only way to stay happy. I don’t approve, but I’m not here to judge. We at KSK are here for the people, so we’ve come up with a few rules, listed below, of just how to turn yourself into one of these fans. One bonus of becoming an insufferable Boston bandwagon fan is that it gives the rest of us extra ammunition to want to gut New England fans with a paring knife, which I’m more than okay with. Hate feels good. It really gets me through my day.

Lest you think these rules are farcical, I assure you they are not. No one knows the psyche of New England sports fans quite like I do. I went to dipshit prep school in New England. I went to college in New England. My parents have lived in Connecticut for the past 17 years. You might even call me a “total fucking hypocrite,” which is more than fair. I’ve been in the heart of the douche. I’ve worn the fleece. I’ve heard all the God Street Wine songs. I know what it’s all about. I had plenty of opportunities to join the brood. Despite my own history of wanton douchebaggery, I resisted. But I’m still enough of a preppy dicksmack to help you reach your goal. Here now, is how you become one of “them”:

1. Use Manny Ramirez to justify all your stereotypes about Latin Americans, but do NOT use David Ortiz to refute any of them.

2. Bitch about Dane Cook “representing” you while, at the same time, rocking his exact same haircut.

3. Boast about Bill Belichick’s strategic genius as if it is somehow indirectly your doing. You’ll see plenty of New England fans, when seeing another coach fuck up, say to you, “Now, would Belichick do something like that? Hell no. He’d do it totally different.” You see, pointing out Belichick’s acumen is a way of trying to pass it off as your own. He’s smart, which makes you smart! Talk about Belichick the same way a proud father boasts about his child prodigy. You won’t be any more intelligent. In fact, you’ll still be a fucking eggplant. But you’ll feel more intelligent, and that’s nice.

4. Own $1,000 worth of Red Sox merchandise, but no Patriots merchandise whatsoever. The lone exception: The Wes Welker jersey. Pats fans love Wes Welker because he’s white. Just like them! They also love Tedi Bruschi, because he’s kinda white. And hey, that’s not bad either.

5. Be sure to boast about all the hot chicks Tom Brady gets to nail. Because that’s totally something for YOU to brag about.

6. Complain earnestly about how many ads Peyton Manning appears in while continuing to brag about the Pats' O-line being Brady's five layers of protection. Lord knows Brady's never been in an ad for Stetson, or Movado, or Gap, or any of that shit.

7. If you put a five into a jukebox at any sports bar, you must play “Satellite” by the Dave Matthews Band at least once.

8. Act proudly ignorant of things you already know. Like so: “Hey, who was that colored guy in that “Rush Hour” movie? He was all right.” You know damn well it's Chris Tucker, but the casual racism makes you 50% more charming to chicks in Framingham. This works even better if you’re a Boston-area college student. Yeah, you go to Tufts, but you have no fackin’ idea who those Maroon 5 faggots are. Sure, buddy. For a walking example of proud stupidity, consult this dumbshit:

9. Be sure to try and distinguish yourself as a “real fan”. All “real” Boston fans must be able to judge their fellow Boston fans' credibility. Never been to Fenway? Poseur. Didn't like the Pat Patriot logo? Bandwagoner. Went to college outside New England? Turncoat. Too young to remember the '86 Celtics? Faggot.

10. Bitch about the Boston accents in any film or TV show. “Yeah, ‘The Depahted’ was fackin’ great, but they don’t talk like that in fackin’ REVEEEEAH!!!!!” Yes, no film could ever accurately depict just how real, how fierce your hardscrabble Newton upbringing was.

11. Adopt the attitude that you, yes you, DESERVE this success. “Hey, we Pats fans know how it used to be back in the day. We earned these titles.” Don’t treat your team’s good fortune as the stroke of good fortune it happens to be. No, no, no. Your championship has to be deeper then someone else’s championship. It has to mean something more. Why? Because you fancy yourself as being introspective. Cockgobbler. Treat it like some sort of karmic reward for Len Bias dying, or some other twisted, idiotic explanation.

12. Always treat your fandom as membership to some kind of exclusive club of super cool people. Like the whole Red Sox Nation thing. Oooh, you guys all root for the same team? How unique! How special! Fucking die. Be sure to adopt a siege mentality when your team is criticized. “Hey, you can’t rip on Papelbon! He’s fackin’ one of us!” Whatever you need to make yourself feel less alone in the world.

13. Be sure to grow your hair out under your artificially aged Red Sox hat so that little hair wings sprout out the side. That looks great.

14. Laugh at your own jokes. You're so funny, guy!

15. Dip.

16. Shun Ben Affleck. Embrace Matt Damon. That apples line never gets old!

17. Finally, bitch about everything: critics, certain players who personally disappoint you, etc. They call it New England for a reason. People in England love to fucking complain. You are the newer, even more annoying model.

Follow these rules and I promise you that everyone from the nation’s remaining 44 states will want to rape you with a hammer. But hey, you’re a Boston sports fan now. You’ll be completely ignorant to your own jackassery. That’s the beauty of it. You are now just as fucking annoying as a Notre Dame football fan, or a Duke basketball fan. That's right, Pats fan. That's the level you're at right now. Enjoy your world titles, you fucking cockhog.

Your suggested rules in the comments.

Boss toss to Moss

Among other assorted derring-do. Randy Moss caught a 50-yard touchdown pass yesterday. Actually to be precise, Randy Moss' right elbow caught a 50-yard touchdown pass yesterday. Right fucking elbow-- I shit you not. In double coverage. Elbow. 50 yards. Randy Moss' elbow by itself is better 75% of the receivers in the league. Right now, the Jaguars are trying to put together a trade offer for the elbow.

Is there any thing that Brady can't heave wildly into the horizon that Moss can't go up and get? The Brady-Moss connection has now evolved from a formidable offensive stratagem to a free-wheeling, barnstorming daredevil circus act. Next week, I fully expect to see a blindfolded Brady chucking passes two at a time across a minefield while a straight-jacketed Moss catches them nonchalantly with his feet as Stars and Stripes Forever blares in the background. Or Brady winging exploding pineapples instead of footballs. At this point, I'm willing to believe anything.

“They shall have stars at elbow and foot.” - Corey Dillon Thomas