Steve Irwin Memorial Meast of the Week- Super Bowl

The Super Bowl MVP is gay, that fact was hammered in when Fetus Head was handed the award while standing on a pedestal high above his unworthy teammates. So while Peyton was preening, Dominic Rhodes was doing his bit for Disney, and Tony Dungy was expressing his man-love for Jesus (which may or may not be a pet name for Peyton) we started thinking about who really put on the best performance of the night.

When it came down to it there was only one real option, this is a guy who battled back from a devastating hip surgery, played his ass off in the pouring rain, and entertained millions of people with his gloriously innapropriate shadow puppets (he's been searching for a perfectly matching pussy since puberty).

Ladies and gentlemen your Super Bowl Meast of the Week is Prince.



Now I have to start planning next week's Pro Bowl party.

KSK Gamebook: Super Bowl XLI

-The Monday after the Super Bowl needs to be made real holiday. Everything right now is way too fucking bright. Flourescent light is the enemy of happiness.

-This assuredly lackluster edition of the Gamebook came to you from the lovely Georgetown apartment of Unsilent Majority. I walked in, and there were two two-foot bongs sitting on the coffee table. Oh, to be 23 again. I brought chili, chips, sour cream, and a small bag of chopped scallion garnish, all prepared by me. Call me gay. I don’t fucking care. The scallions make the dish, dammit.

-Also joining us was Christmas Ape, whose right arm was covered in cat scratch marks. And I mean covered. It looked like he had gotten into a fight with a rosebush. Apparently, Jean Grey morphs into Phoenix all too often. Ape says it happened while “playing”. Ape, you may be thinking it’s playtime, but I assure you that fucking cat has nothing but homicide on its mind. Kill that fucking evil creature before it overtakes you.

-UM also provided forty jumbo wings. For three of us. Plus chili. My asshole is charred. I need to douse my toilet paper in witch hazel to accelerate the healing process.

-The pregame show might have been the worst thing I’ve ever seen. The Cirque de Soleil show managed to trump an Olympic opening ceremony in both gayness and inexplicable spectacle (“I cannot find my bag of rainbows!”). And Katie Couric looked like she had just been kicked out of Rex Grossman’s bed. Horrible.

-Phil Simms is slowly morphing into Terry Bradshaw.

-Also, in the pregame Peyton Manning had giant red triangle imprinted on his forehead. It looked like he had been wearing a helmet three sizes too small for hours prior to the game. And I can see that happening. I wonder if Manning ever just walks around in his uniform with his helmet on during odd hours. As if he has no other mode of function. I bet he slept in his uniform Saturday night.

-Lesley Visser in HD looks like something out of “The Dark Crystal”. I really didn’t need to see that.

-This was not the world’s greatest game, so the conversation flowed freely during the course of the evening. Conversation topics ranged from 80’s Australian pop band Icehouse (“I just freeze every time that you’re near me and it’s all over you, ELECTRIC BLUE!”), to Ape’s very dated NetFlix queue (Next up: “Head Office” and “The Heavenly Kid”) to local DC strip clubs. One of the better-known DC strip joints is a place called “Good Guys”. I can’t think of a more poorly named heterosexual strip club. Would you walk into a strip club named Good Guys? You’d expect seeing Adam Vinatieri on the pole more than Nikki Tyler.

-What the fuck is going on with Jimmy Irsay’s mustache? It’s got a mini-Hitler embedded right in the center. Or is his top lip crevice so deep that it casts its own shadow? Either way, Malcolm Glazer has a new rival for weirdest facial hair among NFL owners.

-This may be the end of Rex Grossman as a starting QB for the Bears. He’ll probably be back next year, but almost certainly with competition for the job. And the world will be a little sadder for that. Grossman is many things: inconsistent, turnover-prone, sexually deviant. But one thing he is not is boring. And in a league that all too often rewards bland robotic discipline (see the MVP), that’s getting a little harder to come by. Let this not be your last hurrah, Sex Cannon. The world needs your arm to do pussies harm.

-That “King of the Negroes” joke was hilarious when I was drunk.

-Congrats to the Colts. But, more importantly, congratulations to me for winning $10 on the Colts, my only sports bet of the year. Pay up, UM, you fat fuck.

-I had two options for driving home last night with a few beers in me: take the Canal Road to the Beltway, or shoot right down on Wisconsin Ave. One way involved high speeds and no stoplights, the other had stoplights every 500 yards or so. Here’s my question: when you’re drinking and driving, which route is better? Should you take the route that forces you to go slower and stop occasionally, or hit the gas? I took the latter. Fuck that slow shit.

-And now we enter into the horrid offseason. Lest you think we at KSK will rest on our laurels, you are wrong. Football season may be over, but Dick Joke season is all year round. We’ll also get to cover awesome offseason events like the Cowboys coaching search (Chan Gailey’s free!), the combine (or as I like to call it, “Hardbodies III”), free agency, the draft, and the inevitable player arrests. Frankly, I’m excited. My team blows, so the offseason provides me with weekend upon weekend of the Vikings NOT shitting all over the field. And for that, we should all be grateful. Now leave me the fuck alone. I need a nap.

I Am King Of The Negroes!

I win, bitch!

NOTE from BDD: People, for the love of God, don't make James Dungy jokes. You're already going to hell for reading this site. No need to expedite the process.

Halftime: Juuuuust A Bit Outside

Colts lead 16-14 at the half.

We could use a laser toward Saturn right about now.

Update from DC: Drew wants everyone to know that "Prince fucking ruled!" Seriously, he's still sporting a bulge.

Pregame Show--What.The.Fuck.

This is the gayest thing I've ever seen on network television (and that includes Grey's Anatomy) .

Quoth Drew: It's like a French abortion.

My take is more sinister. I'm convinced that Roger Goodell is actively trying to ruin my life.

We'll be back throughout the pregame/game/halftime ceremony with our thoughts. Join us in the comments.

Re: Marlee Matlin signing the national anthem
Drew: Write that down so we can make a deaf joke later.

It's good to be amongst friends.

Nice work by Joel on that anthem, short and sweet. Sure am glad I didn't bet on that fucker.

Patrick Manley has a manly mustache. Who the fuck is Patrick Manley?


HOLY FUCKING SHIT! DEVIN HESTER FOR PRESIDENT!

I hope this doesn't play out like the Florida/Ohio State game. I'm just glad I didn't go out for that cig.

Nice toss Peyton

DREW at 6:37: REX IS FUCKING GOING DEEP.

Dispatch from Miami: Still Alive. But Barely.

It's 3 p.m., and I'm just now making the transition from drunk to hung over. Kind of like yesterday. No chance of me writing a real post, as I barely have the motor skills to type.

It's raining here in Miami, which is proof that (a) God likes me this this shade of pale, and (b) He likes seeing Sarah Spain wet. But then, who doesn't? (I guess I should mention that I met her Saturday night, briefly. She is attractive and nice. Her friends: also attractive and nice. She was also hammered, though possibly less hammered than I. Her medical student date whom she chose over me was with her, and he seemed a little too handsy with her, if you ask me. And he was all, "I'm NOT a child molester!" and I was like, "Sure buddy." More on this later. I have like 8 posts of material from this weekend.)

ANYWAY, I'll say this: Bears are the new Steelers. With my steely, precise mind of science, I've calculated that a full 90% of NFL fans here for the game are Bears fans. Which is just one more reason to root for the Colts -- I want to see an entire city of crushed souls.

Oh, and here's a picture from the Penthouse party.


Those referee chicks were annoying. They kept blowing their whistles, and I was like, "You've really gotta stop doing that." Then they blew their whistles some more.

NOTE: This post also published on With Leather.

KSK Super Bowl XLI Comment Bukkake

And, so: this. Our long, but not long enough, season's journey into night has come and we are left with a contest of wills between two Midwest teams with black coaches. One quarterback has megacephalous and wants Chesney "deep in the Manning vault." The other has extended his bloodline further than Genghis Khan.

Here are our plans for today:

Caveman, as you know, is an asshole partying it up in Miami with hookers, C-list celebs and Joe Namath. We hope he pulls as Agent Zero and gets arrested in hilarious fashion. Or, you know, gets in the stadium. Either way, we're gonna be in need of some material soon.

The D.C. KSK Contingent (Unsilent, Drew and myself) will be watching the game at Unsilent's Mary Beth-El Orthodox Temple of Football, where he'll do regular readings from the Torah, or the 'Skins 700 page playbook; that is, when we're not on the look out for commenter Clint burning crosses outside his front door. I'll be groaning that this whole Super Bowl thing should have ended with Forty. Good news for our female commenters: There will be butter involved, but likely it'll just be used for Drew's breadwiches.

Punter will have the game on just loud enough in the background so as to overly disrupt his donkey porn and Challenger disaster viewing.

And flubby will be leaving flowers at Falco's unmarked grave, which means he'll just drop them on some arbitrary patch of dirt during halftime and leave it at that.

Leave any and all comments on the game, commercials, your hatred of Norbit and whatnot.

The Super Bowl--It's Like the Super Bowl of Gambling

...and all the stars are laying their bets.

"When you put it on something happens"

Welcome to the Super Bowl edition of Always Be Covering. It's been one long fucking season and like my bff I've been grinding it out Joey Knish style. Well there's no time left to dick around; this weekend I plan to win enough money to cover the upcoming expense of my fantasy baseball team. That means I need to raise a few hundred bucks plus a season's worth of transaction fees (and I transact more than a Bristol coke dealer in the early 80's...you remember svelt Berman don't you?).

Every week I've been here offering guidance to the masses--don't thank me, it's a matter of noblesse oblige. Given my Kreskin-like ability to predict the outcome of NFL games you should feel entirely comfortable with your wagers. I'd post my record for the season but it's simply not necessary, this is a matter of trust. Besides, I'm way to lazy for all of that math and it's probably closer to the Washington's winning percentage than Chicago's (I'm a motherfuckin' expert!).

what to do
my wallet's gettin thin
and I just lost my watch last night
well I gotta problem
just one answer
gotta throw it all down
and kiss it goodbye

Since this is the final Sunday of the season (the Pro Bowl is far less satisfying than a good Deuce McAllister) I'm giving you winners for the point spread, two possible MVP winners, the first quarter, the over/under, and the coin flip.

Consider me the Blake to your Shelley.

Sex Cannon's +7 vs. Fetus Head's

All season long the dogs have been shitting on the favorites. The Colts just are very good but they aren't that great. There's no reason to give up a full touchdown to a team that's made to beat Indy. Case in point: the Jacksonville Jaguars. They aren't a great passing team but they beat the Colts so bad that the entire team started answering to the name Toby.

Potential Chicago MVP: Alex Brown

I fully expect Peyton Manning to shit himself at some point, Tarik can't protect his pasty ass forever.

Potential Indianapolis MVP: Jim Sorgi

See above.

OVER 48 Points

Both teams can put points on the board with their offenses. Then there's the absolute stone cold guarantee of defensive and/or special teams touchdowns. At the very least I expect to be thoroughly entertained--as opposed to almost every other time I watch CBS. Jim Nantz, a tradition like no other.

Chicago +.5 EVEN First Quarter

I'm not sure what everyone's thinking on this. Chicago can get off to a hot start just as easily as Indy and they have the benefit of the half point and a better payout (Indy is -.5 -130...that means it costs an extra $30 to win $100 dumbass).

Coin Flip Indy

Dungy prays harder.

We'll be around throughout tonights game, feel free to loiter.

Was It Over When The Germans Bombed Pearl Harbor? HELL NO!

Barring some unforseen spurt of ambition in the next couple of hours, you are reading what will be our last workday post of the 2006 season. After all the games, the posts, the cheerleaders, the bukkake, we're down to our last game, and it is the biggest game of all.

Our hero will attempt to vindicate his gunslinging self, and the infamous Fetus Head and his band of minions will attempt to thwart him. Yet we are hopeful. We gently cradle a bastion of hope in our hands and cautiously await fulfillment, as our champion waits to throw a laser to two toward Saturn one final time.

Just to set the record straight, we're not going anywhere during the offseason. We may let Drew sleep for a couple hours and maybe start a search for Falco's body when we get around to it, but we intend to provide the same perspective on pro football (and maybe a few other things) that you've come to expect from this crazy-assed cadre since our parade of phallic escapes began just seven short months ago.

In celebration and in lieu of our standard Friday cheerleader fare, we present these images from the New As-Good-As-Defunct Masturbator's Pastime, the Lingerie Bowl. The third renewal of legacy of tackle tits-and-ass will be sure to still give us a solid halftime viewing alternative on Sunday, not to mention a solid chubby.

See you next week.

Steve Irwin Memorial Meast Of The Week - NFC Championship

This is Katie Couric. I fucking hate Katie Couric. I don’t know when this deathless monotone was labeled perky, but I can’t think of a worse descriptor. Katie Couric is as perky as I am classy. She exhibits all the warmth of a fucking emperor penguin. The mom in Ordinary People was more caring. I know trees that have more spontaneity.

If you plan on watching CBS’ Super Bowl pre-game telethon (and I do not), you better get used to seeing this vacuous harpy on your TV screen. That’s right, Couric has butted her way into CBS’ pre-game show in order to do a piece on Hines Ward returning to Korea with his mom. And nothing gets you psyched for this year’s Super Bowl like a story from last year’s Super Bowl. I can easily wait.

What Katie Couric needs is a good old-fashioned hate fucking. And I know exactly the man to give it to her. He’s the guy who managed to string together four consecutive decent passes in the NFC title game, a rare personal feat. He's this week's Meast. But, more importantly, he’s the guy that would shatter Katie Couric’s vertebrae driving her into the headboard. I think you know exactly who I’m talking about:


Courage. Bitch.

NOTE: Special thanks to Nick K for the t-shirt design. We will be coming up with our own very soon.