Thursday, January 31, 2008
It's Super Bowl time, so we at KSK asked a high-ranking NFL scout to analyze the both teams for strengths and weaknesses. This man was offered anonymity in exchange for his complete and utter candor. In this post, he analyzes the Giants:
Everyone knows that the key to stopping the New York Giants is distracting Eli Manning. What they don't know is that the best way to distract him is by kidnapping his imaginary friend, Moishe...Kevin Gilbride might be a brilliant play caller, but he's a lousy gardener and a selfish lover...Jared Lorenzen's bones are fucking huge...Plaxico (pronounced Plexico) Burress has an evil twin named Plaxico (pronounced Plaxico) Burress. One of them is really good, but nobody knows which.
Amani Toomer has never seen Kindergarten Cop so don't even bother...Chris Snee is known as "Crocodile" to his teammates because his only friend in the whole world is an Egyptian Plover...Grey Ruegamer is urged by coaches to "get his mustache bloody" on the playing field...Michael Strahan isn't gay, but he dabbles...Jeremy Shockey has an Eli Manning doll, but he's yet to master the art of voodoo...If you say his name backwards, R.W. McQuarters will drop a the football.
Aaron Ross has been a new man since his girlfriend Sanya started taking him from behind...In addition to playing on the defensive line, Barry Cofield runs a successful accounting firm in South Hampton...Sinorice Moss is still waiting to meet Eli Manning for the first time...Kawika Mitchell dreams of retiring to open an eatery in Remsenburg, Long Island called P.G.'s Wodehouse.
Thanks, Mr. Radioactive Scout!
Ernest Borgnine: I have to tell you, this is pretty disappointing. I mean, here we are, Super Bowl week, All we've done is sit in our hotel room for three days and watch DVDs.
Punter: Will you just settle down? None of the good parties have happened yet. We're here on radio row now, surrounded by celebrities, players, and media. Somebody is going to invite us to a party tonight. I just know it.
Ernest Borgnine: You better be right about this.
Punter: I am right. And we've been watching good movies, for the record.
Ernest Borgnine: Sure, sure...So does he really have a twin brother?
Punter: Who are you talking about?
Ernest Borgnine: That Charlie fellow. From the last movie we watched.
Punter: No, I'm pretty sure he just made that guy up.
Ernest Borgnine: But his name was in the credits.
Punter: Really? I didn't see that.
Ernest Borgnine: Yeah, both Charlie and Donald were there.
Punter: Yeah, I don't know about that. I did think Charlie was pretty clever, writing himself into the screenplay like that.
Ernest Borgnine: I thought it was pretty arrogant, and pretty lazy. I mean, why does he have to be him? Why can't he just make up another character? It's not like he doesn't have any to choose from. I mean, look around here, for example. This place is filled with characters. Marshawn Lynch is over there. And over there is Terry Bradshaw. There's Adam Brody, There's--
Punter: Holy shit...Adam!
Ernest Borgnine: You know Adam Brody?
Punter: Sort of. We've never actually met, but we've exchanged emails.
Ernest Borgnine: Well then how is he going to recogni--
Adam Brody: Punterrrrr, sup bro? This is, uh, this is just like that one scene in that obscure movie whose name even I can't remember. Dude, you're not gonna believe this, but check it out, this guy Matt Cassel, you know, I think he's a kicker or something, but he--
Punter: Goddamn it, Adam, he's New England's backup quarterback.
Adam Brody: Whatever, man, you know I don't follow the defensive players, but anyway, he, uh, he's co-hosting this rad party with Motorola out in the burbs, and I'm going, you know, and you and your dad should try and go, too.
Ernest Borgnine: What do we have to do?
Adam Brody: Just find Matt, who's perusing the grounds as we speak. He will accommodate.
Punter: Good deal, man. I can't believe you're gonna be the Flash. That kicks ass.
Adam Brody: Yeah, as long as Wonder Woman is--MATT!
Matt Cassell: [walks over] Off the fucking nozzle, bros. Off the fucking nozzle. [Hands each person a VIP lanyard, wanders off]
Ernest Borgnine: What a disturbed young man.
Punter: Hey, that guy's alright.
Adam Brody: No, bro, he's kinda messed up. You're not gonna believe this.
Ernest Borgnine: Try us.
Punter: Yeah, man, try us.
Adam Brody: Okay, so I guess he had a big meeting with the coach last night...
Matt: You wanted to see me, Coach?
Coach: Yeah, Matt, come on in. Have a seat over here on the bed.
Matt: Um, okay.
Coach: Look, Matt, it looks like Tom is pretty injured with this ankle sprain. And you know I'm sick of hiding him from the press. And, well, I think it would be only fair if I gave you a chance to earn the starting job.
Matt: Aw, thanks coach, I really appreciate this. So, I'll be getting more reps in the 7-on-7s this week?
Coach: Well, not exactly.
Matt: Oh. Well...will he and I be doing competitive drills in walkthroughs this week?
Coach: No, not exactly.
Matt: (confused) Um, then how exactly am I competing for the job?
Coach: You see that red sweatshirt on the bed, Matt? That's my Little Red Riding sweatshirt. You see, Matt, I've been waiting for this moment since you were at Southern Cal. I'm gonna put on that red sweatshirt and curl up on this bed with you. And then you and I are gonna fuck like wild seals in the Arctic night. Like a couple hamsters trying to eat each other. And if you can take the pounding that you know I can provide, right here, right now, you’ll be our starter.
Matt: Oh no.
Coach: Think about it, Matt. I'm gonna make you howl like the three-legged coyote in heat that you are. And then I'm gonna snap my offensive genius off in your ass. You’re gonna wish you were in prison, but it’s a small price to pay for worldwide glory.
Matt: Pl-please stop it, Coach.
Coach: Oh, Coach, what big eyes you have! Say it, you pissant!
Matt: This isn't right--
Coach: CALL ME GRANDMA YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!
Matt: (jumps off the bed) Whoa, whoa, uh, sorry...I'm sorry, coach. I - I can't do this.
Coach: (stands up) You do it, Matt. You fucking do it or you're gonna get kicked around this league like a frozen dog turd on an Alaskan oilfield.
Matt: I'm sorry. (walks out)
Coach: Very well. (yells) Tommy! You're starting on Sunday!
Tom Brady: (from under the bed) Thanks, Mister! Can I go back to my room now?
Adam Brody: You believe that shit, bro? Have you ever heard anything so disgusting?
Ernest Borgnine: It’s truly awful.
Punter: Shoulda fucked him. But hey, we’ve got a party to get ready for. Where’s my hovercraft?
Ernest Borgnine: Hovercraft?
Punter: Yeah, I have a hovercraft. It’s my post.
Adam Brody: Nice. Is is black?
Punter: It is now!
Adam Brody: DAMN! I’m dizzown like a wedding gown!
Ernest Borgnine: Okay, but go easy on the turns. These hovercrafts historically don't corner well. And one more thing.
Punter: What is it?
Ernest Borgnine: Well, if this is your post, can I do something? It will just take a second.
Ernest Borgnine: [yells] YEEEEE-HHAAAAAWW! WHOOPDY-DOO!!! I AM FLIPPING CRAZY!!
Punter: [confused] Yeah, that was a bad call.
Adam Brody: It was almost there, but not really.
Ernest Borgnine: Oh well, I tried.
I am the head man of the most powerful sports league in the world. Millionaires seek me out in a crowd to shake my hand. Lavish gifts come pouring into my office just for the consideration of being spit on by me. I've met presidents, monarchs, and emporers, and rest assured that The Rogg has been king in every court.
And don't forget that the Rogg is one perceptive son of a gun. I know what you came hear to discover. I can almost hear the question rolling around in your head. Have I ever banged a black chick?
The answer is yes. Yes, I have.
She was an education major during my last year at Wash and Jeff. I like to call it "Wash and Jeff," because people always ask, "Who's Jeff?" I don't think it's very funny, but I enjoy making others look stupid. It's a gift, really. Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Her name was Chrissy, and she was amazing. Big boobs, big ass, and yet somehow still skinny as a rail. She defied proportion just as she defied society's expectations of a black woman in 1980. She always wore these button-down shirts, pleated skirt, and argyle socks. I always hoped that one day I might see one of those massive jugs bust out of that shirt. Jesus, if I had a dime for every time I had jerked off to that thought. Big titties know no season.
She had this cute little afro, usually with a headband, and if you saw her walking your way you'd swear your cock was going to detonate in your pants. She had that "it" thing, and every time I saw her I had to run off and put "it" out of "its" misery.
We had an economics class together in the spring, and I remember one day she came into class crying. I remember going up to her and gently, just gently putting my hand on her back. She turned around and, with tears still streaming down her face, she smiled at me. I thought I was going to fall over. Somehow, I managed to ask her out to dinner that night. She smiled again.
Dinner was a blur. I remember inviting her up to listen to some Earth, Wind & Fire. She came up, and before I could close the door, she was already naked. Then she jammed her hand down my pants, and I started to play with her, too. I think she could tell I was a little nervous. "You doin' alright, baby?" I nodded; I was nervous. We laid down on the floor.
I didn't last more than a couple of minutes, but it was great. So great. We kissed, and then I went into the bathroom to wash up. When I came out, she was gone. We had class a couple days later. I couldn't wait to see her, but she never showed up. I found out that she had dropped the class.
You doin' alright, baby?
A couple weeks later I found out that she'd had a big fight with her boyfriend the day she was crying. That's why she was crying when I saw her. I fight the urge to second-guess everything that happened on that night. Our night. What was real, and what was revenge, I just don't want to tear that apart.
You know, I could close a billion-dollar deal every day for the rest of my life, and I'd still never get the feeling I did when Chrissy came up to my apartment that night. "You doin' alright, baby?" Sometimes I can still hear those words. Some things just stay with you, I guess. My dick still has a scar from our endeavor that evening. You wanna see it?
The celebrity Super Bowl pick is a time-honored tradition, one we at KSK are super fucking excited to be a part of, as we have in the past. For the next two weeks, stars from the world of entertainment, politics, and more will drop by to make their picks for the big game in the Pink Taco! Up next, Inmate #34590874598 in the Federal penal system, Michael Vick!
Vick: Oh, man.
This jenkem, this is the strongest shit I’ve ever done. And when I say “shit”, I mean it literally! How’s that next batch cookin’ up, Pookie?
Pookie: It’s goin’ good!!!!
Vick: I gotta pick this Super Bowl game and shit. Who do I pick, Pookie?
Pookie: I dunno, MV7. You gotta write that shit down and give it to Loop down the hall. He’ll set you up.
Vick: Shit. I guess I’ll pick the Giants. How do you spell Giants, Pookie?
Vick: Whoa whoa whoa. Hold up. Slow down. Go back to the beginnin’. How do you spell G?
Vick: (crumples up the paper) Man, fuck this shit. Let me get my nose in some more of that doodoo.
Vick: (sniffs) Oh yeah. That'll do, doodoo.
As you know, Tom Brady has baffled reporters in recent days by sporting a protective boot on his foot and being conspicuously absent from the Pats’ initial Super Bowl practice sessions. After much research, we at KSK have discovered not only the nature of Brady’s injury, but where he was while his team practiced without him. He was, in fact, in Seattle, at Seattle Grace hospital. Here now is a transcript of what happened, as told to us by a surgical resident at the hospital.
Annoying Meredith Grey Voiceover: Cutting. As a surgeon, it is our job to cut. Sometimes we cut deeply. Sometimes we cut just a little bit. But we are always cutting. And when we cut, we leave a scar. And when we leave a scar, we know just how deeply we have cut those we come into contact with. And those cuts can add up to one big cut over time. And we cannot uncut what we have cut. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
(Meredith wakes up in bed)
Meredith: My God. I drank far too much Chardonnay last night. I had a dream that I was falling. What does that mean? How does that impact my life? Derek, how am I going to get through this?
(turns over in bed to find Tom Brady in bed with her)
Meredith: OH MY GOD! You’re not Derek!
McDreamboat: What happened? A doctor was fixing my leg up, then you came in to bring me ice chips, and then some other doctor came in with wine. Then another one came in and started dancing around. Do you people even do any fucking work at all?
Meredith: Oh, my God. I… I can’t be here right now. What does this all mean for me? For us? My god…
(enter Izzy with a cake)
Izzy: Who likes cake in the morning… HOLY SHIT! You banged a patient! You banged a patient! (bursts into tears) I can’t believe you would do that to me! You knew this would remind me of Denny!
Meredith: But he’s not Denny…
Izzy: Don’t you bring up Denny to me! Okay? You have no right! He was so amazing. (laughs while crying) We were going to open up a free clinic in Africa together. We weren’t going to make any money. In fact, we had no sustainable plan for it at all. BUT I CARE ABOUT MY PATIENTS, DAMMIT!
Meredith: Please, Izzy, don’t tell anyone. Not even George. Oh God, what will this all mean for me?
(cut to Izzy at the hospital. Derek approaches)
McDreamy: Hey, you seen Meridith?
Izzy: Oh my God, you know? (bursts into tears) I thought she never would have told you!
McDreamy: Told me what?
Izzy: What? Oh, you didn’t… OH GOD! (bursts into tears) OH GOD, IZZY! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? YOU SHOULD HAVE KEPT YOUR MOUTH SHUT? WHY DO I ALWAYS HURT THE ONES I LOVE?
(wanders out into rain while a KT Tunstall song plays for five minutes)
McDreamy: That was odd.
(enter Dr. Bailey)
McDreamy: Dr. Bailey, have you seen Dr. Grey?
Bailey: No, I have NOT. Okay? I do not have TIME to go hunting for interns. I do not have TIME to be concerned with your love life. I do not have TIME to take my focus away from my patients. I do not even have TIME to tie my shoes, Dr. Shepard. I WISH that I had that kinda TIME. I WISH I had TIME to look for MY loved ones. I WISH that I had TIME to have coffee in the courtyard. But I do not HAVE that kind of TIME. Do you understand, Dr. Shepard? Have you taken the TIME to understand that?
McDreamy: My God, you’re a human dynamo.
Bailey: Yes I am.
(Derek finds George)
McDreamy: Dr. O’Malley, have you seen Dr. Grey?
George: Who, Meredith? Uh, no. I… uh… gee… well… not really sure… I guess… Kinda awkward here… You’re so handsome and perfect and you do everything right… and uh…. I’m such a douche… so… uh… I WANT TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY, GOD DAMMIT!... uh... Listen, is it normal to lose your erection inside a woman?… Is it?… Because I do that with Izzy. Like ALL the time. She just starts talking about the environment while we’re doing… you know… and I just can’t keep…
McDreamy: You know what? Just stop talking. I’ll find her on my own. Okay?
(Derek finds McSteamy)
McDreamy: Mark, have you seen Meredith?
McSteamy: Can’t find your girl again? That’s too bad. Listen, why don’t you let me run a train on that little number? You and I know I’m the only guy at this fucking hospital with a set of balls on me. You can’t like that Olive Oyl bitch THAT much. She’s not even hot. Your ex-wife? Now THAT was a piece of ass.
McDreamboat: Excuse me, has anyone see Dr. Grey?
McDreamy: Excuse me?
McDreamboat: I need to find Dr. Grey.
McSteamy: Why do you need to find HER?
McDreamboat: Well, it’s a bit embarrassing, but I think I might have left my wallet at her place. I need to find it or else I’ll miss practice.
(Meredith enters from down the hall. She sees all three men together.)
Meredith: Oh, my God. McDreamy, McSteamy, and McDreamboat all together! They’re a McTeamy! AHHHHHHH!!!! WHAT’S IT ALL MEAN FOR ME?!!!!
McDreamy: Meredith, what’s going on?
Meredith: I… I…
(Just then, 500 plane crash victims are wheeled in to the main entrance)
EMT: WE GOT 500 PLANE CRASH VICTIMS HERE!!! WE NEED TO TRIAGE AND INTUBATE THESE PEOPLE!!!
Meredith: Oh my God. They’re so hurt and mangled! What’s it all mean for me? Why am I such a cunt to my sister?!
EMT: WILL YOU FUCKING MOVE, BITCH?
Meredith: Oh my God, I’m so rattled. So very rattled. DEREK!
McDreamy: Calm down, Meredith. Just calm down. Take a deep breath. Just calm down. And take a deep breath. Stay calm? Are you calm? Let’s all be calm. Let’s be calm now. Look at me. Be calm. Now look at your shoes. Are you calm?
Meredith: Yes, but WHAT DOES THIS ALL MEAN FOR ME? AND FOR US?
McDreamy: I can’t keep doing this, Meredith. I can’t keep doing this. You keep running away from me. And I keep running to you. But then you keep running some more. And then I keep running to catch up. There’s a lot of running. And I get so tired. So very tired from all the running. I don’t want to run. I want to walk. And stroll. And mosey with you. But I can’t walk with you unless you stop running and decide to shift down to a slower type of gait.
Meredith: I don’t know what I want, Derek. I don’t know what I want, but all I know is that I want someone who is happy with the fact that I don’t know what I want. Because I never know what I want, because I’m an annoying fucking shrew.
Christina: OH MY GOD! DID YOU SEE SOME OF THESE BURN VICTIMS? They have jet fuel burns. JET FUEL BURNS! You know how long I’ve been waiting to get my hands of a heart that’s been charred by jet fuel? I’ve read all about that shit. What are you fuckers sitting around for? This is MY FUCKING CHANCE TO GET AHEAD AND YOU’RE IN MY GODDAMN WAY. YOU PEOPLE AREN’T HARDCORE!!!
McDreamy: Why are you friends with that cunt?
Meredith: I don’t know. We like to dance. Oh Derek, what does all this MEAN for me?
McDreamboat: Uh, can I get my wallet?
(cut to Seattle skyline at night as Snow Patrol song plays)
Annoying Meredith Grey Voiceover: Cutting. They sometimes say that the first cut is the deepest. But what they don’t say is that the second cut can be just as deep. And, in the end, WHO we cut is just as important as what we cut. If only we could cut out all this cutting.
(cut to black)
Yes, Seacrest knows the pregame show is starting soon. Fucking FOX. Starting the pregame show 72 hours in advance. That’s a lotta time to fill, people! It’s a good thing Seacrest is here to preside over the festivities in a brisk, vacant manner. When you want it done right, you go with a pro. That’s why they brought in Seacrest for this. Everyone says they can do Seacrests’s job, and THAT is the key to Seacrest’s success. He makes it look far easier than you could possibly imagine.
But Seacrest is not ready to go out there yet.
What, Robin? No, the foundation is all right. A little uneven. Not your finest work. But good enough. And the suit is excellent. The tapered legs and skinny tie really show off how hard Seacrest has been working with his personal krav maga instructor. Look how streamlined this body is. It’s almost an optical illusion.
Can Seacrest get a spritz?
(Assistant comes over and sprays rose water in his face)
Thank you, Fran. Now, about the hair. Obviously, you were right to not go with the faux hawk. Now that Beckham is here, it’s far too domesticated. I know we shifted from the faux hawk to a kind of Deryck Whibley look last year, but I think that was too juvenile. If Seacrest stands for anything, it’s poise and professionalism. Now, where is Seacrest's juice?
(assistant comes over and brings juice. Seacrest spits it out)
What is this?! There’s no grapefruit in here! Remember: It’s one third guava, one third tangerine, and one third grapefruit. With a clove of garlic. And the orange in here was not organic. Seacrest can taste its Chinaness. Forget it. Just bring Seacrest a bottle of Kona Nigari. Filtered through a cheesecloth. AND CAN SOMEONE PLEASE GIVE SEACREST A PUMICE STONE EXFOLIATION ON HIS HEEL? There’s excess buildup.
Did anyone here see “No Country For Old Men”? Yes? What did you think? Well, to tell the truth, Seacrest wasn’t moved by it. There were things he would have done differently, for certain. Didn’t like the sound design. Thought it telegraphed too much.
Have any of you practiced Taoism? Seacrest is thinking of dabbling.
What? We’re on in five? Well, that’s no good. Seacrest isn’t ready yet. No, it’s not you, darling. You’re fine. But we’ve only got five minutes here, and no one has brought Seacrest his morning cock to suck.
So, where’s the cock? The cock is usually here by 8. So, where is it? Dick Clark didn’t have to wait for HIS cock. So where is Seacrest’s?
(ten naked men are brought in)
Oh, this isn’t a good assortment. Are these cocks local? They look like they were flown in. They hardly smell fresh. They smell like Archway cookies. Where are the cocks from Ojai Seacrest asked for? THOSE are good cocks. These cocks are hardly anything special.
Well then, we’ll just have to wait. Get that large black guy who hosts the pregame show to fill the time. I’m sure he can giggle his way through something and give them the weather. Seacrest isn’t going anywhere until he gets a decent cock to suck.
(ten more naked men are brought in)
Better. But they still lack a certain je ne sais cock. Send them back.
(five more naked men are brought in)
Hmm. Not bad. Well groomed. Not much wrinkling. Nice texture. I suppose these cocks will have to do. Robin? Fran? Could you leave us alone for a moment? Seacrest has to prepare himself.
What do you gentlemen think of canary yellow this year? I hear canary yellow’s gonna be very big.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
The celebrity Super Bowl pick is a time-honored tradition, one we at KSK are super fucking excited to be a part of, as we have in the past. For the next two weeks, stars from the world of entertainment, politics, and more will drop by to make their picks for the big game in the Pink Taco! Up next, it's Jennifer Love Hewitt!
Can I just say something? I'd like to say something about all the comments that have been made about my body? I don't care if you said it or not. I know you were thinking it. Oh, trust me, I know.
You know, it's not like all of YOU are perfect, okay? I mean, New England is almost perfect, but that doesn't make them RIGHT! There are a lot of teams right now struggling with their identity, okay? And just because you FREEKS are masturbating to people besides me is no reason for you to...I just (sobs)...you guys are just so mean...I just...I know it's big down there...I've tried pilates...I've tried Jenny Craig...it's just really (sobs)...it's hard for me...Valerie Bertinelli makes it look so easy...(sobs) Can I get a tissue please? ...Can someone...will someone bring me a goddamn tissue? ...I just don't...HEY WILL ONE OF YOU GET ME A FUCKING TISSUE?!?!
Valerie, if you so much as pass me on the street I will fucking kill you. You perky little bitch. "Oooh, look at me! I lost all this weight! It's so easy!" Go fall down a goddamn well, you Paisan whore! Kirstie Alley and I are going to eat you like a pack of wild boars! Nobody crosses J-LOVE! NEVE CAMPBELL TRIED THAT SHIT AND HAVE YOU HEARD FROM HER LATELY? NO I GUESS NOT SO SHUT IT! YOU MAKE ME TOUCH YOUR HANDS FOR STUPID REASONS! BITCH!
So, next time guys? Just be cool, okay? Hee-hee. That was a real laugh, I swear.
Our own Maj was a co-host of this week's Blog Show with Jamie Mottram. And I really have only one thing to say about his appearance.
YOU MEAN HE'S NOT BLACK?!!!!?!?!?!
Well, that is a fucking tragedy. Like most of you, I had a certain vision of what our Maj would look like. I thought he was a big burly black man who became a centaur by night. I also hoped he'd be taller. And that he wouldn't sound like a Time/Life operator.
Ever wanted to buy a KSK t-shirt, only to realize, “Hey, I’m the only asshole who’s gonna get the joke on here!” Well, fear not. For we have devised a line of t-shirts that will not only make you more appealing to the opposite sex, but will also act as a vital mood indicator. For instance, are you drunk?
Now Jerramy Stevens knows he can pull you into the bushes and have his way with you! Or, are you high? Of course you are. No one reads this site while lucid! So make sure your parents are aware with this jazzy number.
Or perhaps you’re feeling romantic. You love KSK, but what you really need is love. Well, this Namath-inspired number will have you locking lips with anonymous drifters in no time!
Yes, KSK Slashies. Simple. Elegant. And ready to accommodate all your future vomit stains. Any t-shirt can make a fashion statement. But what the world really needs is a t-shirt that makes a literal statement about just how aimless and sad your life is! Whee!!!!
And if you have any suggestion for new Slashies, let us hear ‘em.
It's Super Bowl time, so we at KSK asked a high-ranking NFL scout to analyze the both teams for strengths and weaknesses. This man was offered anonymity in exchange for his complete and utter candor. In this post, he analyzes the Patriots:
“I don’t understand why more teams don’t try and deploy strobe lights to get Tedy Bruschi to seize up. Did you know strobe lights can cause stroke victims to relapse and foam at the mouth? I wish we had done that… The best way to limit Tom Brady’s effectiveness is to hit him early and often. Just kidding. You’re fucked no matter what you do… I once saw Kyle Brady eat a Scotty Terrier he ran over with his pickup. Apparently, he does that sort of thing quite often…
“The key to the Patriots’ passing game isn’t Randy Moss. It’s Wes Welker. If you stop Welker, you limit Brady’s options AND you take the Pats’ fans out of the game, because it’s very bittersweet for them when a black player catches the ball… Doesn’t Kevin Faulk remind you of Dallas Clark, the way he always gets first downs right when you think you’ve stopped them? Fucking Faulk… Matt Cassel was Matt Leinart’s backup in college, which also meant he got all his backup tail at parties. And if there’s any place that has great second tier pussy, it’s USC…
“Logan Mankins has a cabin in the woods where he keeps an arsenal and canned goods that can last 100 men 100 days. I think he plans on killing lots of illegal immigrants when he retires… A lot of people think a cover 2 scheme will frustrate Randy Moss. But you know what really frustrates him? A woman with a sassy mouth… I once saw Rodney Harrison help an old lady across the street, and then beat her to death with her own purse…
“Actually, all their defensive players are dirty. I once saw Vince Wilfork chew on a guy’s scrotum… And I saw Richard Seymour fart in a guy’s earhole. Then he stabbed the guy in the heart with a letter opener he kept in his sock. The guy died on the field… Brandon Meriweather says he plans to break all of Jerramy Stevens’ career raping records… Junior Seau went through a painful divorce recently. Football is all he has left. That’s why I suggest intentionally injuring him in the first quarter and watching with glee as he realizes his life is now an empty vessel… Mike Vrabel never learned to read at OSU and only responds to inquiries if they are put in football terminology. You can’t say, like, “Pass the milk” to him. You have to say “WHITE GALLON OUTPOUR!” if you want that shit…
“Larry Izzo makes supplemental income by letting rich men pee on him… I saw Ty Warren once eat an entire Armani suit… Adalius Thomas is their most versatile player, and not just one the field. He can cook, clean, paint, do woodwork, play the clarinet, and clean out his rectum with a pure apple cider vinegar enema, all in one day… Asante Samuel has a fondness for starting fires in closets… Bill Belichick has actually already scanned and memorized this scouting report.”
Thanks, Mr. scout man. Stay tuned for the Jints later in the week.
And all you sportscasters and sportswriters who will spend this week gushing over the Super Bowl, it would be nice if a few of you mentioned that, a mere four months ago, NFL commissioner Roger Goodell found the Patriots guilty of "a calculated and deliberate attempt to avoid long-standing rules designed to encourage fair play and promote honest competition." Two billion people will watch the Super Bowl; almost all of America's children and teens will watch the Super Bowl. If the bottom line of the event is "It's fine to cheat, you'll get away with it," what message does that send?And once the cheaters take over you know who will hold all the power? That's right...
Image via bangitout.com
Say what you will about those Lazy Tuesday goofs, but at least they didn't work too hard at looking ridicuwockle. These guys, on the other hand, seem to gone through Herculean efforts to look achingly dopey. I hope these dancers got paid. Not in money of course, but an ice cream sandwich sounds about right.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
The celebrity Super Bowl pick is a time-honored tradition, one we at KSK are super fucking excited to be a part of, as we have in the past. For the next two weeks, stars from the world of entertainment, politics, and more will drop by to make their picks for the big game in the Pink Taco! Up next, Baltimore City detective, Jimmy McNulty:
A lot of chatter in the Eastern saying something's going on with this Patriots and Giants meetup. Know anything about that? These are two crews that just had a some beef not too long ago. Repping different areas though. Doesn't make sense.
[Sighs] Fuckin' A.
[Takes quick pull of Jameson bottle]
We're just sitting rubbing our dicks together while we could be doing some real police work. Just don't have the backing to come down on these things anymore. If city hall got its shit together, we could have men down on every corner making picks. As it stands, don't no one in this town have any idea what's going on.
[Downs eight shots of Jameson, licks a strange woman's butthole]
Fucking chain of command. You know, you pull all these wins out of the vacants and what? We make a little noise, it gooses the stats, but it's not enough to make Carcetti really give a shit, not with the ass-pounding he's taking on the schools issue. But if we can make it look like one team, say the Patriots, got all these in a row, eighteen and fucking oh, ain't no way they can dodge all that attention. Undefeated team? Shit, you'll get national press in here. All's we gotta do is create a pattern.
Bunk: Nah. Naaaaahhhhh. Ain't gonna have no part a' this shit, Jimmy. Man's gotta live by a code. You can do this shit, but you do it alone. Hell, everybody know Giants ain't got shit anyway.
[McNulty drinks flowerpot full of Jameson, staggers off bar stool]
What the fuck did I do?
I have to tell you, my dear, I’m feeling an awful lot of pressure this week. There’s more media scrutiny than ever. Coughlin’s been riding us really hard. And we’re up against possibly the best team in league history. I feel so tight. I want to focus on our game, but all these distractions… I just can’t seem to shake them off.
I need something that will take my mind off of everything and help me focus.
I need a release.
I need TO release.
Don’t go! Hear me out! I know you think this is some sort of crazy, demeaning perversion. But I’m telling you, baby. I’ll be able to concentrate on this game much better if you just let me poop on you.
I know it’s a touch unusual. But aren’t we ALL unusual in our own little ways? Some men like to collect stamps. I don’t ridicule them for it. I was taught by my father to follow my passions in life, and that would lead me to success. And my passion is to push out a big ol’ Butterfinger right on your chest. Don’t you see? It’s that passion that will lead my team to success!
What do you mean, it’s disgusting? I think you’re far too repressed by society. We’re always taught to fear our own bodies, and our own sexuality. Why are so we afraid of what is so inherently natural about us as a species? Are you the sort of person that would shun a woman for breastfeeding in public? No?
Then why won’t you let me empty my Poop-Doh Fun Factory out on your face?
I think it’s a fear of intimacy issue. Perhaps you think it’s too much, too soon. Has a man hurt you before, my dear? Did he disrespect you? I am sorry to hear that. You deserve better. You deserve a man who will hold you, and cherish you, and help Fantastik your tummy clean after unloading a day-old, fully digested salmon steak onto it. And that man is me. Which would you prefer: a man who shits all over you metaphorically, or one who simply yearns to do it literally?
If you’re worried about messiness, rest assured I know what I’m doing. I have eaten nothing but bananas, whole wheat bread, and other gluten-heavy foods this week. All very binding. There will be no runniness of any kind. Just a fresh, clean piece of turd pudding. You’d be amazed at the uniform shape I can achieve. And the color! You won't find marbling like this on a slice of Kobe beef!
What do you mean, all I care about is sex? That’s wrong. I care about you. And yes, I care about sex. I’m not ashamed to admit that. Sex is important to me. My identity as a sexual being is part of my identity as a man. All I ask is that you accept that. And that you accept my enormous brown battleship invading the gap between your tits. If you can’t handle that, then I feel sorry for you. Because how will you ever learn to trust someone if you don’t let them drop a steaming brown UPS package on your doorstep?
Oh, fine. Go! I thought you might be different. I thought you might actually be willing to take $500 for the privilege of letting me turn your ass into a big brown Jackson Pollock painting. But I see you lack that sort of confidence as a woman. It’s a shame. We got a big game out there on Sunday. And this big brownie cooking in my ass is just gonna go to waste riding down the toilet chute.
To think, we worked so hard to get here! Months and months of training to get to this very point. Where we could call ourselves champions, and I could drool a big fat Rotwurst out of my gaping asshole onto a lady of culture.
But I guess you don’t respect that. I guess you don’t really care about the dreams of a young boy named Osi, who came from Africa hoping one day to take care of his family, and to play in a Super Bowl, and to make a woman gag on his 5-lb. Neutron bomb of a bowel movement. Maybe one day, you’ll change your mind. Maybe you’ll learn this is about more than you.
But until then, I bid you good day. I doubt you’ll find a poop quite like this anywhere, my dear.
Easily the worst part of the Super Bowl is the ceaseless stream of predictions that flood the airwaves and clog the intertubes. Everybody has an opinion this time of year, whether they are a professed expert or some guy in your office who's breadth of knowledge comes from what they heard on the easy listening station. Nobody really cares about these predictions, but we recognize everyone's right to offer up an entirely subjective final score. Well now the players themselves are joining in on the fun.
And then, as he entered the stadium and turned left toward the Giants locker room, Burress was asked for his prediction. Burress never hesitated, flatly stating "23-17."
So there you have it, Giants win!
With that issue settled we sat down with Plaxico to hear some of his other insightful predictions. We'll let him tell you what he thinks...
I like Dukakis by ten electoral votes.
The Grenadines will hold their ground.
Disco is here to stay!
There's an Oscar in Tom Green's future.
Roe v. Wade? It's Wade all day, baby!
We'll be in and out of Baghdad in no time.
TBL will earn a Pulitzer for his interviewing skills.
Asbestos is the building block of our future.
Hitch your wagon to Marcy Playground's rising star!
People will be talking about Brad Renfro's death for years to come.
Google's stock isn't going anywhere.
NWA will be together forever.
Can't go wrong with sub-prime mortgages.
Newspapers are a never-ending growth industry.
Bhutto wins in a landslide.
Fred Thompson has that Republican nomination locked up.
Prop Joe will bring order to the drug trade, you'll see.
You'll never hear a word about Leitch's book.
Reggie Nelson will be impressed by this post.
The Maj's television debut will go off without a hitch.
Jerramy Stevens really just needs another chance.
George Foreman will get his belt back.
Dan Snyder will figure it all out.
Drew will be very agreeable about Super Bowl party plans.
Did you see Britney shaved her head? She really can't sink any lower, huh?
That Amy Winehouse is gonna pull it together one day.
The Great Bambi won't comment on this thread.
Also, Patriots 31-21, just to be safe.
Once again, the smoke has cleared, and two teams are set to square off in the culmination of a hard-fought season. And you know what that means: we're only days away from another exciting year of Arena Football.
Why my network refuses to give this league year-round coverage will remain one of life's great mysteries, along with creationism and why Japanese girls on subways never fight back.
By now you've noticed that Tom Brady was wearing a protective boot last week to protect the right ankle he injured during the AFC Championship. An injury to the plant leg can be absolutely devestating to a player not only at the quarterback position, but also the suspended congress position and the doggy-style position.
I've studied film on Brady and have noticed that such an injury can hurt the timing of his release point, and will limit his control of any significant output. There's a good chance things will blow up in his face if he's not careful. He'll have to warm up extensively, but once the lights go on and gets that first shot out of the way, he can settle into a rhythm and distribute like a 19-year-old guard in a maximum-security juvy girls' penitentiary.
Ben Roethlisberger's comments about wanting the Steelers to find a tall wide receiver are a cruel reminder that SIZE DOES MATTER in the National Football League. Hines Ward could not have been pleased to hear the dissatisfaction of his quarterback, but this is the NFL, not Seoul House Restaurant on James Swart Circle, and Ward has to do more than regulary refill empty water glasses and memorize menu items by their coded letter-number combination. He's gotta perform in the red zone and bring that fortune cookie to his quarterback's table, or else it's ahn nyung hee ke se yo for this not young slant-eyed homo.
If there's one thing more homosexual than my choice of eyewear, it's baseball season. ESPN's own Pedro Gomez is gearing up for another year of covering the sport for the worldwide leader. I've been visiting Mr. Gomez on occasion, and I have yet to see him breaking down game film or studying the tendencies of the so-called athletes that he allegedly covers. This is conclusive evidence that Pedro Gomez is an illegal alien and must be deported immediately.
I've set up a makeshift 13-camera closed-circuit television system around his home, office, and La Bamba's. I'll be studying his tendencies, day after day, night after night, until I can find just the right opening to deliver a 25-yard toss of justice to my associates at The United States Immigration and Naturalization Service.
If Dana Jacobson needs a stripper pole for her Super Bowl party, maybe she should try this Pole. Heh. See? That's funny because I'm Polish... Eh. Okay. I guess ethnic humor doesn't work these days.
Monday, January 28, 2008
When I was asked to renumerate over my Super Bowl pick, I really had to contemporate what the differences between these teams are. And let me tell you, the differences between these teams are manifest! Now, the Giants have played atrophyingly well in the postseason. They’ve built up some serious mentholatum. I also like how they use Brandon Jacobs and Ahmad Bradshaw in a pontoon system. But, with Eli Manning throwing the ball so good, it makes the team so much more two-directional.
I also like the bounce the Giants have established defensively. With the front four racking hammock up front, that gives defensive corroborator Steve Spaghetti the agility to mix his coven of witches in the secretary. They’re very flaxseed oil like that.
BUT… I cannot ignore how well these Patriots can masturbate the ball down the feel. THEY DO IT SO AFFECTIONATELY! With Laurence Macaroni in the backfeel, and Kevin Faulk catching those outlet malls, they can really masturbate it up and down the feel. They can run outside the hash pipes, or pound it right up the butt. That’s the reason I think they will avail down in Felix on Sunday.
And that’s just the running backs! The Patriots don’t have to intimate you up front in order to win. They can also play with great fitness as well. When you have a Randy Moss, and a Wes Welker, and a Donte Stallworth, you’re going to be able to extort those backup players in the secretary. And the Giants have injuries! Let me tell you, they are like a rash unit over there! I do not think some of their backup players will be able to rehabitate in time for this matchup, and that’s going to prove paranoid in this battle of tits between Coughlin and Belichick.
But I hope I’m wrong! I hope this is a close, tight conflagration. If the Giants can stay in close peroxide to the Patriots’ score in the 4th quarter, I think they will have a very good chance to you slurp that title away. But it won’t be easy! This is going to be very, very compensated for the Giants.
But I’m looking forward to it. I’ve won a Super Bowl title, and it’s an amazing feeling. It’s the pinocchio of sport.
Photog: Yes. YES. That's it. Show it to me. Give me ze claws. You're a TIGAH.
Lunge at me, Tigah! Play with my innards! Toss them about like confetti and roll around in zem! Strut confidently in your nature preserve. You're a savage beast incapable of remorse or spleeet ends. Make me lust for your senseless need to kill.
Okay we're done. [Waves hand] Be gone.
Where is my three o'clock? Michele demands to know.
[Door flies open, rose petals scatter forth while celestial music plays]
Tom Brady: You would be well advised to make an inquiryyyyyyyyy
Hey everybody. I hope my tardiness didn't put you off your schedule. Did I? Really? Huh? Gee, I'm sorry.
Just flying in from Monte Carlo. It's a lovely town but it wears on you after the first few dozen visits. They have these weird, magic elves there that healed my ankle in almost no time at all, freeing me up to engage in a 12-way with these crazy Persian princesses and then I got a mud bath. Good as new! [Carefree whistling]
[Finds a $100 bill in pocket]
Photog: Zo we are ready to begin, yes?
Brady: Yeah. Great. Let's do it.
Photog: Yes! Yes! Preheat my face to a million degrees and make it melt, fancy man. Don't give me fey! Give me coy! No, that's arch!
[Theme to "Greatest American Hero" ringtone goes off]
Brady: Hold on. [Answers] Hello? Oh, hey, Randy. Yeah, would love to hang out, but I'm in the middle of something. You wanted to eat where? Can we push it back to seven? Yeah, sure, Wes and Asante can come, too. The more the merrier. Uh-huh. Okay, cool. Yeah, see you then. [Turns off phone]
Heh. Teammates. Love those guys.
Now where were we?
Photog: Yes! Tussle the hair. Give me about 30 percent more nonchalance. Raffish up zat smile.
Photog: Zokay. More smoldering. More! No, that merely scalds me! I need ze white hot! Sizzling may work on zhose bobby sockers but the camera zees your lies! I want heat spots to develop on the film!
Photog: There. You have done it. My camera has literally been engulfed in flame. Another stroke of genius by Michele. Go now, mindless meathunk.
Brady: We're all done? Awesome. Thanks.
[Eats Wonka bar, finds golden ticket]
Hey, all right!
The celebrity Super Bowl pick is a time-honored tradition, one we at KSK are super fucking excited to be a part of, as we have in the past. For the next two weeks, stars from the world of entertainment, politics, and more will drop by to make their picks for the big game in the Pink Taco! Up next, it's Gilbert Gottfried!
A talent agent is sitting in his office, and this family walks in. Man, woman, two kids and a little dog. The talent agent says, "Let's see what kind of an act do you do."
So the family gets completely undressed. The man starts fucking his wife. The daughter starts jerking off the son, who is fisting his mother while she's riding her husband, who in turn starts fingering the dog's asshole.
Then the father gets up and starts jerking off the son. Then the mother lies down and the daughter starts pissing on her mother's face. The dog shits on the the mother. Then the father starts jerking off onto his daughter's face, who then starts fistfucking the dog. The dog's O-ring blows wide open, blood AND SHIT SPLATTER EVERYWHERE, and NOW EVERYONE IS FUCKING AND SUCKING in this puddle of BLOOD and SHIT and PISS and CUM. Do you want me to start it from the beginning?
Then suddenly, the daughter pulls out a pocket knife and STABS HER FATHER IN THE LEG. But as she stabbed him, the man was sucking off the boy, and as the man clenches in pain, he BITES OFF HIS SON'S COCK in what can best be described as a fit of agony. BLOOD SQUIRTS EVERYWHERE. In fact, SO MUCH BLOOD is coming out of the boy's penis so fast THAT THE PENIS IS BEING PROPELLED THROUGH THE AIR BY THE SPRAY OF BLOOD LIKE A LITTLE RED BOTTLE ROCKET, as so often happens under these circumstances.
THEN THE DAUGHTER pulls a WIRE COAT HANGER OUT OF THE SUPPLY CLOSET and starts untangling it, while the newly-castrated son is rubbing PEANUT BUTTER INTO THE DAUGHTER'S ASSHOLE, which the DOG IS LICKING OUT FASTER THAN THE BOY CAN SMEAR IT IN. It's sort of an ass-Spackle, you see.
And DURING ALL OF THIS, THE WIFE RAMS AN UMBRELLA UP HER HUSBAND'S ASS, AND TRIES TO OPEN IT. BUT THEN THE DOG GETS DIARRHEA FROM EATING SO MUCH PEANUT BUTTER THAT HE SHITS RUNNY DIARRHEA IN THE CORNER OF THE OFFICE, RIGHT ON TOP OF WHERE THE BOY'S ONCE-AIRBORNE COCK HAS NOW COME TO REST. THE MAN THEN GETS A SUDDEN BURST OF INSPIRATION, as artistic people are often prone to do, WALKS TO THE CORNER, YANKS THE UMBRELLA OUT OF HIS ASS, AND STARTS PISSING ON HIS FAMILY, using a distinct left-to-right motion, you know, like one of those sprinklers. BUT THEN DISLODGING THE UMBRELLA CAUSES ALL THIS SHIT TO CASCADE DOWN HIS LEGS ONTO THE DOG'S SHIT, ONTO THE YOUNG BOY'S BLOODY SEVERED COCK.
Now pay attention here, because this is where things start to get a little out of hand. THE YOUNG GIRL FINALLY GETS THE COAT HANGER UNTANGLED, AND THEN JAMS THE HOOK END OF THE HANGER RIGHT UP HER CUNT, AND STARTS PUMPING HERSELF FURIOUSLY with the coat hanger. THE WOMAN TRIES SUCKING THE BOY OFF, BUT IS REMINDED BY THE SPRAYS OF BLOOD FROM HIS SCROTUM TO HER FACE...THAT HIS COCK LAY LIFELESS IN THE CORNER UNDER A PILE OF SHIT AND BLOOD AND PISS. SHE'S THINKING ALL OF THIS...WHILE FINGERING HER OWN ASSHOLE.
SO INSTEAD OF SORTING THROUGH THE MESS, because really, who has that kind of time, THE WOMAN STARTS SHOVELING HANDFULS OF SHIT IN HER MOUTH UNTIL SHE FEELS THE STIFF BLOODY DONG BRUSHING THE BACK OF HER THROAT, AMIDST ALL THE BLOOD AND SHIT AND PISS AND SWEAT--OH, THE SWEAT--INTO HER MOUTH.
THE YOUNG GIRL FINALLY YANKS THE COAT HANGER OUT OF HER PUSSY, AND LO AND BEHOLD AT THE END OF THE WIRE HOOK IS DANGLING A SIX-MONTH-OLD FETUS. THE DAUGHTER GRABS THE FETUS BY THE UMBILICAL CORD AND STARTS SWINGING THE FETUS IN A CIRCULAR MOTION OVER HER HEAD LIKE A BOLO WHIP. AND IT'S MAKING A WHOOSH-WHOOSH SOUND. Whoosh-whoosh and so forth.
THE WOMAN PULLS THE BOY'S DICK OUT OF HER MOUTH AND STARTS FUCKING THE DOG IN THE ASS WITH THE SEVERED COCK. THE MAN STARTS EATING OUT THE DAUGHTER'S ASS, AND IS DELIGHTED WHEN HE REALIZES HE CAN STILL TASTE THE PEANUT BUTTER, ONLY THIS TIME, IT'S EXTRA CRUNCHY.
MEANWHILE THE BOY HAS PASSED OUT ON THE FLOOR RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF ALL THE BLOOD AND SHIT AND PISS AND CUM AND IS HASTILY REACHING FOR INTRAVENOUS FLUIDS, UNTIL THE DAUGHTER SWINGS THE FETUS AT THE BOY'S HEAD, AND SHE KNOCKS HIM UNCONSCIOUS WITH THE FETUS. THEN THE DOG RUNS OVER AND STARTS EATING THE FETUS WHILE THE DAUGHTER STARTS SUCKING THE BLOOD OUT OF HER BROTHER'S SCROTUM.
Then EVERYONE STANDS UP and they all take a bow.
"That's an interesting act," the talent agent says, which was really kind of an understatement when you think about it."What do you call it?"
"We call it," the family says in unison, "The Patriots!"
Sunday, January 27, 2008
As many regulars of the site are well aware, when Patriots fans feel slighted, they are wont to unleash a flurry of statistics and shoddily reasoned arguments in the comments section to prove that they are, in fact, only 87 percent as racist as we claim they are.
Now it seems Pats fans are getting out in front of us by boasting about research that, at least this dippy Boston Herald writer says, proves Pats fans are "smarter, classier and healthier and own pricier homes than the riff-raff who root for the New York Giants."
Let us now cast a discerning eye on the results:
Some 62 percent of Pats fans living in the Boston area earned a bachelor’s or postgraduate degree or have some higher-education experience, compared to 59 percent of Giants fans.
Beyond failing to state whether that three percent difference falls within the margin of error, there seems to be some flawed methodology here. Fans in the Boston area? Aren't they the NEW ENGLAND Patriots? Seems as though you're culling from a pretty select sample of one fanbase and not the other.
Likewise, 72 percent of Pats fans live in homes worth north of $200,000, compared to 63 percent of Giants yahoos.
"Look how much aaah propahtee vaahyoos go aaahp once we chase aaat all tha daaaawkies!"
Pats fans consistently show better taste than their Gotham counterparts. We drink Amstel Light, not Bud Light. Giants fans slug back lots of whiskey.
This is something to be proud of? Drinking Amstel Light in lieu of whiskey? Not sure who the arbiters of taste are here, but Ufford's rifle would like to have like to have a quick word with you.
We are likely to read connoisseur magazines like Wine Spectator. Gotham fans like to pig out on junk food like pretzels, chips and nuts. They’re also less likely to favor organic food than other New Yorkers.
Reading Wine Spectator is fine and dandy, I suppose. I enjoy me some vino every now and then (Read: drinking it now, will be drinking it then) but I don't really bother to read up on it. If that's your hobby, that's cool. But bragging about reading Wine Spectator? Those are pretty rarefied heights of doucheiness with subtle notes of smoky asshattery. Also, I'm pretty sure every NFL fanbase is less likely to prefer organic food than the other residents of the surrounding area.
When Pats revelers aren’t watching football, they’re hitting the slopes skiing or going for a sail. They’re also more likely to belong to country clubs. When Giants fans aren’t booing Giants coach Tom Coughlin or punk quarterback Eli Manning in that New Jersey stadium they call home, they’re out practicing their tennis backhands in the backyard.
Belong to exclusionist country clubs, do you Pats fans? Shocker. And, to be fair, Giants fans practice their backhands on their wives in the backyard.
It’s also worth noting that the Patriots are an equal opportunity franchise, drawing more female fans than the competition. Nearly half of all Pats backers - about 43 percent - are women. In Giants country, just 31 percent of the fans are female.
The Patriots are actually done a disservice with this one. 100 percent of their fans have a vagina. That only 43 percent identify themselves as strictly female is a touch unclear.
There you go, Pats fans. Get your charts ready.
Thanks to miamidiesel for the tip.
[ Christmas Ape ] 1/27/2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
[Theme to Naruto ringtone]
Peyton: 'Sup Dong Wong DeMarco.
Eli: What do you want, suckbutt? I'm trying to watch old episodes of Goof Troop.
Peyton: Heard the news? I'm coming to watch my lil' brudda play in the big game. Need a quick pep talk? A cell phone plan? A credit card? Flood insurance? Tasteful decor for your living room?
Eli: What? I told you to stay away, Pey-Pey. You know how I play when you're around.
Peyton: Can't just let you tie the Manning Family Record for Super Bowl titles that easy. Gotta pay your dues. I had to wait a bit longer for mine.
Eli: You're just gonna let Brady win? Is that it?
Peyton: That asshole already has more rings than I'll ever get. What's one more?
Eli: I'm gonna tell dad! He'll set you straight, like that year he made you sleep under the sink when you put the milk back in the fridge with only half a sip left.
Peyton: Tell him all you want. He'll be right next to me in a big Oreo costume. We'll be walking up and down the aisles selling programs and beer. We move product, youngin'. That's grown man business.
Then we're gonna pass out masks of my face to Patriots fans at six bucks a pop. Ruin Romo had a good ring to it, so this'll be Make Eli Cry. A whole stadium of Peyton faces staring you down. It'll be like that scene in Being John Malkovich where everybody is Malkovich.
Eli: You know I don't watch grown-up movies!
This isn't fair! I want my ring like Peyton has! He won't share his!MMMMOOOOOOMM!!!!
Friday, January 25, 2008
Coin toss: Tails -105 vs. Heads
Fifty percent of the time, it works every time. This is quite possibly the best bet of the week.
Coin toss winner: New York -105 vs. New England -105
In the five Super Bowls won by New England and New York the eventual winner was the team that lost the coin toss. It's science, people!
Team with longest kick return: New York -155 vs. New England +125
Is Domenik Hixon fast?
Could his parents spell retard?
Only if you spot them the "retar-"
Does any of this matter?
Just the first part.
Team to score first: New York +160 vs. New England -200
Sure, why the fuck not. I'm going to go ahead and call it as a 32 yard field goal by Lawrence Tynes.
The bonus to the above bets is that you could potentially lock all of them up within the game's first possession, leaving you with a large sum of money to bet on the remainder of the game. Plus it's a way to bet on the Giants without actually betting on the Giants!
Super Bowl MVP: Asante Samuel 15:1
Brady is the obvious favorite, but his payout doesn't really make it worth the investment. Moss and WelKAH! may tempt some at 4:1 and 5:1 respectively, but imagine what they'd have to do to wrest the award away from the Dreamboat. That's why I'm going to the defensive side. Well, that and Elisha of course. Sure, the mealy-mouthed little brother has been pretty fucking impressive in recent weeks, but I think we all know that he's going to crack under the pressure like a wayward Mormon in Vegas.
Australian Open Women's Final: Ana Ivanovic vs. Maria Sharapova...
P.P.S. Buy a fucking t-shirt, Punter worked hard on ass kicking logo!
The Winner: Your Throbbing Erection!
Have a restful weekend, apparently there's something big on the horizon. Now I'm going to go erase the image of our readership's collective phallus with heavy doses of grain alcohol.
P.S. I think I just spoiled next week's pick.
Sorry that we've been here for, shit, 18 months now, and we haven't done as much as come up with a logo.
Sorry we keep coming up with awesome merchandise that some of you are spending the final remnants of your lunch money to order.
Sorry that we didn't have anything in our online shop to blatantly express your KSK love...until now.
This is the original KSK tee. You might recognize the logo from Ape's WYG post earlier today, and it reads KISSINGSUZYKOLBER.NET on the back. It takes 1-2 business days to ship, so you can still get it in your hands before you head to Glendale or that one guy's house that you don't like, but has a really sweet TV.
Click the shirt or go here to order this shirt.
UPDATE From 289: To help you share the love we are offering 14% off all orders over $18.00 from Jan 21-Feb 7. Use Coupon Code LOVE308 (In Canada CADLOVE308).
CHEERS to my new recliner, a purchase suggested by my orthopedist. Is it worth two months of horrid sciatica to hear a doctor mandate that you buy a La-Z-Boy? Fuck and yes.
JEERS to no games this week. We’ve gone over this ground already. But seriously, what the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK? Don’t even talk to me about fucking college basketball right now. I can’t even begin to look at that shit until March.
CHEERS to having a Wii in my office this afternoon.
JEERS to Guitar Hero III. The whole reason I don’t play guitar is because I lack coordination. Why have virtual guitaring if it’s just as fucking hard? Double JEERS for not giving me points for taking my cock out during gameplay. YOU. ARE. FAGS.
CHEERS to Leitch for his new book, on sale here. It’s certain to outsell the Gawker Guide To Conquering All Media, which, in an ironic twist, conquered no media of any sort.
JEERS to Heath Ledger’s death. Surely it’s no coincidence that, in his final role, he pretty much looks just like The Crow. And double JEERS to Mary-Kate Olsen for not picking up the goddamn phone. Bitch, you aren’t working. Quit staring at things like a cat and pick it up.
CHEERS to Hillary Clinton for her inevitable win in South Carolina tomorrow. Yes, just like the Democrats to choose a nominee 50% of the nation already can’t fucking stand. Nicely done, retards.
JEERS to me for bring up politics.
CHEERS to eggs. Oh, savory eggs. How I adore your yolky silkiness on a weekend morning. If you’re against abortion, should you eat eggs? I say no.
JEERS to me for bringing up politics again.
CHEERS to these cheerleader gals in bikinis on a Friday afternoon. Everyone in the water! Whee!!!!
JEERS to non-sequiturs.