Sean Taylor Memorial Meast Of The Week – Week 17

Did you ever wonder to yourself, “Man, the Pro Bowl sure is useless. I wonder if there’s something even more useless out there.”

Well, you’re in luck. Because today is the Iowa caucus. Yes, the Iowa caucus. It’s like a PTA meeting, only with politics! Lest you thought the Iowa caucus was some kind of statewide tailbone, I’m here to enlighten you as to just how the process works:

1. People gather in a room
2. Cheese danishes are shared
3. Chris Matthews stands by breathlessly and watches, while simultaneously masturbating using own brow sweat

And there you go. To call it meaningless is to insult other meaningless things, like Harry Knowles’ life, or the lyrics to a Sting song. Yet this shit gets covered like a Ritz cracker on Planet Unicorn. Well, here’s what I have to say to you, Iowa caucus: Fuck you. Fuck your counties. Fuck your arcane process. And fuck corn.

Your Measts of the Week are Trent Cole of the Eagles and Jared Allen of the Chiefs.



These are retroactive meast awards. I’m not even sure how both men played on Sunday. All I know is that, outside of Pat Williams, these were the two best defensive players I saw all season long. So there you go. Enjoy your award, men. It’s certainly got more meaning than what some dry-crotched schoolmarm in Des Moines thinks.

This Bye Week is Just What the Team Needed

Wade: Ahhhh, nothing quite as relaxing as a hard-earned bye. The players got a nice, light workout today, and I've got the assistants studying game film for any of the three teams we could face a week from Sunday. I think it's time I got to work on my New Year's resolution.

(gets on treadmill in office)

(begins jogging)

Phew! This is harder than I remember! Just gotta get in the groove... C'mon, Wade!

(door flies open)

Jerry: YEEEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWW!!! I thought I smelled pan drippings in here!

Wade: Oh... (panting) ... No.

Jerry: Get off that treadmill, Rosa Porks! Look at you. Your t-shirt's soaked with gravy!

Wade: Sir, that's my sweat. I'm trying to get healthier in the new year.

Jerry: The hell you are! You'll get a fucking heart attack when I TELL you to have a heart attack! Don't even think about freelancing on me!

Listen up, you disgusting food blister. You got more important things to be doing than marinating in your own juices.

Wade: Oh, no. What do I have to do now?

Jerry: That goddam Simpson whore tried to sink our season! I want YOU to make sure my boy ROMO doesn't invite her back to the stadium when we kill those Seattle faggots!

Wade: Sir, it's pretty unlikely we'll face the Seahawks.

Jerry: Who said anything about football, turdcurd? I'm inviting Schultz and Bezos for some golf this weekend, then Johnson's gonna blast their heads off when I give 'em a tour of the locker room! HOO WEE! Can you believe that?!? I'M CRAZY!!!

Wade: You hired Tank Johnson to murder two billionaires?

Jerry: HIRED? We already have that felon under contract, you goddam Hefty bag of Chunky soup! It's YOUR job to convince him when to do it!

Wade: And you don't want Jessica Simpson here with Romo when our defensive tackle is killing your enemies?

Jerry: I don't want her here EVER, Fatsy Cline! I want them broken up by the end of the week or I'm canceling your Christmas bonus! Say goodbye to your bag of jalapeno poppers!

Wade: Sir, how am I supposed to break up our quarterback and his girlfriend?

Jerry: Easy. Check out this cherry piece of ass!

Wade: Mr. Jones, that's my daughter.

Jerry: You bet your motherlard of a keister it is! That's why it's so perfect! You can set 'em up tomorrow!

Wade: Sir, I don't know if--

Jerry: Look at that little piece of Texas tail! She's got her momma's legs and her daddy's titties!

Wade: Sir!

Jerry: Now, ROMO likes 'em famous, so play up her new movie and tell him she's gonna win a damn Oscar. And tell her to play it fast and loose. I ain't gonna lose a Super Bowl because that slut didn't give him the full casting couch treatment.

Wade: What--?

Jerry: Don't act surprised, Peter Porker! Your daughter's been auditioning in LA for over a year! She's seen more wieners and batter than a Mayer-Butterworth wedding!

Wade: ...

Jerry: HOO HOO! I can't wait for my boy ROMO to dump a load of Arlington man chowder on her head! I want a full report on whether she can sit down the next day! And pencil me in for next Wednesday. Double-J needs his ashes hauled!

Wade: I hate this job.

Jerry: Wahoo! I'm gonna win it all this year thanks to that tramp's tangy little juicebox! You're my best hire ever, Billups!

Wade: Phillips.

Jerry: YAAAAHOOOO! ¡ARRIBA ARRIBA! ¡ÁNDALE! I AM FUCKING CRAZYYY!!!

Sean Mahan is Killing Me, Slowly and Painfully: The Hater's Guide to the Postseason

If you find yourself confronted with an NFL postseason without a rooting interest and unmoved by Don Cheadle soliloquies, you must draw from the well of that most powerful of human emotions. Okay, well, lust probably won't do here. But the second most powerful, hate, will serve as a fine proxy. This is the first in a series of posts filled with bile, spleen, vitriol and all-around nastiness toward all the teams involved with the sordid roundelay we know as the NFL Playoffs.


AFC 4th Seed -- Pittsburgh Steelers (10-6)

I've never hated a Steeler as intensely, as quickly as I hate Sean Mahan.

I realize it makes little sense. He's only in his first year with the team and hasn't done much that anyone who doesn't follow the Steelers would notice. It took me years to sour on Kordell Stewart, someone whose failings and messy sodomy everyone in the league would be familiar with.

And other than the general, staggering crappiness of his play, I know nothing of the guy. His Wikipedia entry is three sentences long, but handily contains the telling phrase "no notable achievements." He did go to Notre Dame, though, which is pretty close to guaranteeing he's a junk grabbing douchebag (sorry Bettis).

Of course, what really rankles me is his place in history. The Steelers have had three starting centers in the last 33 years and they've all been very good to great: Mike Webster, Dermotti Dawson and Jeff Hartings. The three combined for 14 All-Pro selections from 1975 to 2006. It's pretty central to their whole identity as a smashmouth team. That's like following three Drew posts with an Ape post.

This year, however, the line is beyond porous and has given up the second most sacks in the league. To be fair, that's not all Mahan's fault. You can't tell me that, though. Any time Roethlisberger gets dropped, I'm yelling at Mahan, even if the rusher came off the corner beating Willie Colon. Or if Ben is doing that thing where he runs around the pocket actively looking for defensive linemen to bounce off of.

It's gone full-on irrational, this Mahan Mahating. The assessed value of my apartment has dropped? I know Mahan's shitty blocking is driving the real estate crash. Rejected for that promotion? Mahan's giving scoops to other papers. Can't bed that girl I'm going after? Mahan probably turned her off guys.

Just take a look at that lumpen asshole. He looks like Tom Cruise in Vanilla Sky after he got his face jacked up.

He looks like the putzy dad on a CBS sitcom. He looks like he has minimum three balls in his mouth.

In honor of said fucktaster, I've taken to calling broken condoms Mahans, for poorly inspired protection joke reasons. I'd say Jamie Lynn Spears was the victim of a Mahan, but I'm pretty sure she was more a victim of being a Spears, which means going without a connie, ya'll. If the term stuck as with Santorum, that'd be cool, but I'd rather the guy be on the first trebucket ride out of town.

Get fucked and get gone, Sean Mahan.

The People Vs. Heinz Field: The Hater's Guide to the Postseason.

If you find yourself confronted with an NFL postseason without a rooting interest and unmoved by Don Cheadle soliloquies, you must draw from the well of that most powerful of human emotions. Okay, well, lust probably won't do here. But the second most powerful, hate, will serve as a fine proxy. This is the first in a series of posts filled with bile, spleen, vitriol and all-around nastiness toward all the teams involved with the sordid roundelay we know as the NFL Playoffs.

AFC 5th Seed -- Jacksonville Jaguars (11-5)

"Heinz Field is terrible. That's a lawsuit pending" -- Fred Taylor 1/1/08

Plaintiff's attorney: On numerous occasions the conditions at Heinz Field have been found to be substandard, on others disastrously uninhabitable. My client asserts that the grounds have left him subject to permanent injury. What have you to stay to that?

Heinz Field: glug glug glug glug glug

Defense attorney: Objection! Point of fact: Did not Fred Taylor rush for 147 yards and a touchdown at Heinz Field not more than a month ago? And has Fred Taylor not been injured by the following things throughout his career: Popsicle stick houses, the blown seeds off a dandelion, dust mites, tall grass, fallen Jenga blocks, taking off his socks and tripping on the end of an escalator?

Plaintiff's attorney: My client's history of impairment is immaterial to the downright neglectful and irresponsible tending of Pittsburgh's playing surface. What matters is that on any carry this weekend he could sustain a career-ending injury for no other reason than the field is a sloppy midden heap.

Defense attorney: I wish to call to the stand Hines Ward, a player who has competed on the surface without incident since the stadium opened in 2001.


Defense attorney: Hines, would you describe the turf at Heinz Field as substandard?

Hines Ward: Rrrraaaahhhhh. That so sally! Almost ridicurous! Seen many worst condition than that. Back home, each leceiver get sampan when go out on route.

Hines Ward: See? He wide open for super fantastic catch! I think Fled Tayrol is just lazy pampered Amerrrcan. He no know meaning of hard work.

I can smirrre now?


Plaintiff's attorney: Very well. I have someone of my own who I would like to call to the stand: Troy Polamalu, who has played his entire career with Heinz Field as a home stadium, has been dogged by knee injuries this season, most likely caused by the shoddy playing surface at Heinz. Troy...



Polamalu: (speaking softly, inaudibly)

Plaintiff's attorney: You're gonna need to speak up, Troy.

Polamalu: Help, sinky sand!

It's Like Isiah's Popcorn, Only More Bland!

Hey Isiah, fuck you!

Joe Buck and Troy Aikman are teaming up outside of the bedroom announcers booth to bring Americans more of what they need most, buttery popcorn covered in mysterious goo. This is nothing new for Joe "Dude" Buck, who's always been happy to shill Budweiser, but it could mark the beginning of Aikman's career as a nationwide pitchman. In fact, he's already been attached to such other notable companies as Generic Brick, Wheat Flake Cereal, and various imitation handbag manufacturers.

The Fackin’ Patree-uts Are Fackin’ 16-0, You Fackin’ S—tbawxes!

You fackin’ Paytree-ut haters out there thought we couldn’t go 16-0. But we Pats fans nevuh had any doubt. And there is no doubt as to who will be victorious in Arizonuh five weeks from now. I haven’t felt this confident of anything since I passed around my petition to have that Persian family kicked out of my neighborhood. NO FACKIN’ MAGIC CARPET RIDIN’, LAMP-RUBBIN’ CAMEL JOCKEY FAMILY BELONGS IN FACKIN’ QUINZEE, MASS! AM I RIGHT, PEOPLE?!

You know what really fackin’ pisses me off? The gawddamn Paytree-uts go 16-0, and those fackin’ shitbawxes in the media still don’t give them any fackin’ respect! It’s a fackin’ joke. Like these Wild Caaaaad teams. Why are they paying attention to these Wild Caaaaaaaad teams? None of them stand a chance AGAINST THE FACKIN’ PATS JUGGUHNUT! Fack that. The Paytree-uts would facking kick the shit out of them like I kick the shit out of my dog, Beasley. He’s a good dog. But when he barks, I gawtta give him a taste of my Lugz, you know what I’m sayin’?

And you, Miami Dolphins! You too can hang on my ballsack. Fackin’ Dawn Shoola. You old piece of shit. Why don’t you go play some fackin’ backgammon and drink some fackin’ Sunsweet prune juice, you fackin’ pantshittuh! You too, Mercury Morris. Why don’t you go snort some cocaine and drive your car into a telephone pole, you stupid daaaaaa-kie! Ha! Black people are so dumb.

(drinks lighter fluid)

Oh my God! Is that G-Love and Special Sauce? Fitz, turn that shit up! This shit fackin’ rawks!

My baby’s got sawce!

This whole hatred of the Pats comes from simple jealousy. You fackin’ Pats hatuhs out there are just jealous of our incredible success. You’re jealous of Tommy Brady’s good looks, and Bill Belichick’s superior intellectualness. But you are also jealous of Boston as a whole. You are jealous of our fine schools, like Hahvuhd, and M-eye-tee, and South Quinzee Gun Repair And Event Planning Correspondence Institute, which I attend. You’re jealous of the Red Sox. And the Celts. And the fact that we legalized gay marriages specifically so that we could jump faggots coming out of da church and give them the fishhook.

And you’re jealous of the guns. Admit it. They look fackin’ great. My girl Tina likes it when I do the military press with my shirt off, and I can’t blame her. Right, honey?


Nice, huh? I just got her to go from smoking 5 packs of Pahluhmint a day to 4 and a half. It only took five weeks of slappin’ her around and calling her a fat, smelly piece of dogshit to get it done. You fackin’ fatass Pittsburgh fans have that kind of discipline? I think not.

So keep on hatin’ us, you piece of shit fans of other piece of shit NFL teams. Me and all my buddies from Quinzee feed off of that shit. It only makes us stronger. And, as you can see, I am quite strong already. My boss says I have a real few-chuh in moving armoires. Suck on that. 19-0 is inevitable, you pansies. There’s nothing you can do about it. Just sit back and enjoy ow-uh dawminunce. TAKE YOUR BEATING LIKE A MAN, LIKE BEASLEY DOES!

And, in case you still feel like whining, I’ll be here all postseason long, aftuh every fackin’ Pats blow-oot, to remind you of how fackin’ superiuh the fackin’ Pats are. Because we fackin’ DESERVE this success. Okay? I personally had to struggle through all those early years of the Pats, when they never went to the Super Bowl. Except in ’85. And ’96. I had to live through the indignity of purposely avoiding Pats games because they were loosuhs, and I did not care about them. That hurt. So if you think I’m not gonna revel in Pats’ awesomeness. YOU AAAA OUTTA YOUR FACKIN’ TREE, SHITBAWX!

The Bucs Are In The Playoffs? Cool. But I Can't Fit In Those Seats!

NFC 4th Seed -- Tampa Bay Buccaneers (9-7)

I'm so happy the Bucs are in the playoffs. But if they think I'm heading to that stadium on Sunday, they're drinking crazy juice! I can't fit in those seats! The armrests are way too rigid. I need them to have some give. And lots of my Tampa-area friends agree. We were just talking about it the other night while dining at Houlihan's. We're not European, you know. A 20 1/2" wide seat isn't gonna cut it, Buccies!

Plus, the stadium is so big! I can't walk all those long concourses! They have mild inclines! No thank you, sir! Catwalks make me dizzy! They confiscated my inhaler last time. I nearly choked on my own larynx.

So I'm super happy you're in the playoffs, Bucs. But no way I'm making it to the game. Take heart, men. I'll be cheering you on from my orthopedic chair!

This Year, I Resolve To Not Kill Any Dogs And S--t

Ha ha! Trick resolution, bitches! I'm in jail! I couldn't even kill a dog if I wanted to!

I win!

(fashions a shiv)

I better save this for when I get out! I bet I can kill a shitload of dogs in 2009 with this thing!

You Mean There's More?: The Hater's Guide to the Postseason

If you find yourself confronted with an NFL postseason without a rooting interest and unmoved by Don Cheadle soliloquies, you must draw from the well of that most powerful of human emotions. Ok, well, lust probably won't do here. But the second most powerful, hate, will serve as a fine proxy. This is the first in a series of posts filled with bile, spleen, vitriol and all-around nastiness toward all the teams involved with the sordid roundelay we know as the NFL Playoffs.

NFC 5th Seed -- New York Giants (10-6)


[Raymond James Stadium]

Eli Manning: What is this shit? I thought the season was done last week. We played the Patriots, right? That was our Super Bowl. I actually tried and everything. I imagined it to be a really important squash game, with the loser having to pony up for all the POM Wonderful after the match. But we lost and that's it, right? Then why the fuck am I stuck down here in godforsaken Tampa Bay?

Eli: Fine. Someone get open. C'mon. Plaxico, where are you?

Plaxico Burress: Wha-huh? Nah, man. It's the playoffs. And I got no love from that drunk bitch last night in Ybor City. You're on your own.

Eli: Shiiiiit. Shitshitshitshitshit.

Wait.

No. It can't.

It can't be.

What the fuck is that?



Eli: Tiki! Oh, Tiki, my sweet prince, you've come back to me!

Ronde Barber: Actually, I'm -

Eli: No time for apologies. Just take the ball.

[Ronde runs the ball back for a touchdown]

Brandon Jacobs: The fuck you doing, man?

Eli: Don't be sore, Brandon. You've done well as the feature back, but it's back to the TD vulture role for you. Tiki has returned. And none too soon. I feel as though my bonhomie of the sport has risen anew.

Tom Coughlin: SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM

[Eli throws seven pick-sixes to Ronde on consecutive offensive snaps]

Tom Coughlin: SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM GET PEYTON ON THE PHONE!

Peyton Manning: 'Sup numbnuts. Heard you've got yourself in a spot of trouble.

Eli: Hey snotbreath.

Peyton: Think I could interest you in The New Razor from Sprint?

Eli: Maybe. It would go well with a Citizen Eco-Drive Watch. How many can I put you down for?

Peyton: The ultra-thin, sleek design of the A900 by Samsung is enough to turn heads, but this phone is not just another pretty face. Coupled with the great features of the Sprint Power Vision Network, Bluetooth Wireless technology, and megapixel camera it is the perfect blend of fashion and function.

Eli: Yeah, well, Citizen has now gone high-tech with its new line of solar powered wristwatches. These new Eco-Drive watches will never need to have the battery replaced. And they come in a wide variety of styles for both men and women.

Peyton: That sounds like a right fine idea. Perhaps I could put it on my Mastercard. You know I have something of an ad campaign going on with them, don't you know?

Eli: We all know about your stupid pep talks, Pey-Pey. Well, me and dad got this thing going with BankPlus. They've got 61 offices in 34 Mississippi communities.

Peyton: Holy shit. That's it? You're hawking a crappy community bank with dad? What's wrong, the Honda dealership near the highway turn you down?

Eli: Credit cards are predatory, anyway, buttrash. They charge outrageous interest rates and they dupe college kids and the feebleminded by giving away T-shirts.

Peyton: Speaking of T-shirts, maybe you could be the next Snorg girl.

Eli: They get a squash shirt and we'll talk.

Who got KTFO? Chris Henry got KTFO.

Commissioner Roger Goodell recently increased the penalty for first-time violators of the NFL's banned substance policy from a four-game suspension to a four-game suspension and then getting knocked the fuck out on national television. Check out the Titans' Chris Henry getting his junk knocked loose by the Colts' Darrell Reid.

Happy New Year, kids. We resolve to be even more awesome in 2008.