Omigod, everyone's gonna be watching and I haven't got a THING to wear! These assless chaps are too last fall. And this leather halter top is far too suggestive. GOOD GOD, WHAT DO I DO? SOMEBODY SAVE ME!
Gunn: Go with the little black dress and don't look back, dear.
No pirate costume?
Gunn: Always be wary of the costume look. This is FASHION, my dear. MAKE IT WORK!
I will, Fairy fairy godmother! I will!
Me not so implessed by your rong sclamble, Sirky Gallald. I eat bigger cat than you.
Me has more heart than your whole team or any other store in town, and will sell for you, super exclusive price.
Jaglar grab facemask super fantastic hard on two-point conversion but official pletend he no see. He can no marry my daughter.
No feel rike smirre now.
Okay, maybe rittle smirre.
This is Erin.
She likes Indianapolis because it feels so cosmopolitan.
Erin was a Pi Phi at Indiana before finishing her degree in marketing at a smaller college closer to home. This allowed her to spend more time with her high school boyfriend, whom she later learned cheated on her. Her voice trembles when she says that she doesn't regret her decision to leave IU.
Because she's the only remotely attractive woman on the Colts cheerleading squad, she tends to act like she's too good to talk to men who approach her. She never goes home with anyone on the first date, unless he has an expensive car and she happens to drink too much. If that happens, she's likely to cry after or (more likely) during coitus. If she doesn't cry after drinking too much and sleeping with someone, there is a one hundred per cent chance she will tell him that she loves him. The next day, she won't remember the admission, and a week later, she will wonder why he never called her back.
Erin can only have an orgasm through oral sex. Her rare performance of fellatio is marred by apathy and poor technique.
Her father left her mother when Erin was eight.
AFC 3rd Seed -- San Diego Chargers (11-5)
[A quiet dinner party]
Sarah: This one time, when I was little, my family was on a road trip and me and my brother were acting up. So my parents just pulled over to the side off the road and let us out.
Dan: Whhhhhaaaaaaaaaaat?
Sarah: I mean, they did come back, like, five minutes later. They just went to the next exit then doubled back and got us. But we were terrified. Just sitting alone at this rest stop.
Lori: You totally should have just told somebody. You could have gotten your parents in a shitload of trouble. "Hi, our parents abandoned us!"
Sarah: I know, but I...
[A knock at the door]
Lori: I'll get that.
[door busts open]
Philip Rivers: Hey hey, betta ask someboddaaayyyy! What's with all the long faces, lookie fucking loos? Heh. Heh. Heh. Funny fucking anecdote the famous athlete must've interrupted, huh? I'm sure it's everyday a starting NFL quarterback barges in your place. Whoa, where's the goddamn party at?! I don't wanna blow my fucking Wednesday night for shit.
[Someone emerges from the kitchen]
Rivers: What's this cheap shit you got here?
[quaffs entire bottle, spits half on the floor]
Rivers: God, that fucking sucked.
[Throws bottle in high arch toward wall. Bottle doesn't hit wall for a full minute]
Rivers: What? You got a problem with an NFL QB trashing your place? I might as well sign the shards of fucking glass. YEAH, THE FUCKING GLASS! What's this you got on the wall? A Degas print? Aren't you such a sophisto?
Rivers: Me? I don't get art. Art is for fags. Even people named Art are incredibly fucking gay, y'know. RIGHT!? This one's okay though 'cause it's got Mr. Miyagi in it. God, that's so fucking funny. MR. MIYAGI!!! Teach those dancing bitches!
[slaps nearest person on back, laughs in their face]
Rivers: I fucking love Karate Kid. That's why I love Bill Simmons so much. Because he devotes column themes to old fucking movies like Rocky III like it's fresh material. The divisional round column will be about the crappiness of airline food or the quality of computer porn.
[slaps nearest guy on back]
Rivers: This guy likes porn. Huh? Buddy? Huh? FUCK YOU.
Rivers: I don't need this shit.
[Whips out cell phone. Holds it to his ear impatiently for 20 seconds]
Rivers: Fuck you, LT. Pick up your fucking phone. Why is it ringing through? Dick.
[Rivers surveys the increasingly impatient crowd]
Rivers: But, yeah. I gotta get going. It's been fun and shit.
Aren't you gonna offer me some food to get me on my way? Isn't that what considerate hosts do for professional athletes who grace their lame parties? Or is this just a get-together, so the rules don't apply? HUH? WHAT KIND OF SHIT IS THIS? WHY YOU CAN GET-TOGETHER MY BALLS.
[Storms out]
[LaDainian Tomlinson emerges from behind couch]
LT: Is he gone?
Rivers pic sent by reader Roger R.
The playoffs have arrived and half of the rooting interests of KSK writers have earned the right to be eliminated by the second round. Sadly flubby's Raiders, Punter's Bengals and Drew's Vikings were cast by the NFL wayside. My poor injury ravaged Steelers will probably be starting a few tough looking traffic cones at safety and offensive line against a suddenly supa popula Jacksonville team (if you're gonna beat us, at least have the courtesy to beat New England, you humps). We know at least one team will survive for the divisional round: Caveman's Seahawks or the Maj's Redskins. WHO YA GOT?
Welcome to the WILDCARD edition of Always Be Covering! I got lucky last week when I was unable to get my bet down on New England. The result? 3-0 in the remaining straight up bets and a surprising win on a 3-team teaser. Damn, Week 17 rules. Oh well, we're on to the playoffs now and this is where shit gets tight like underage vagina.
As if you couldn't tell after two years of the MOST guaranteed football picks on the planet, I am a fucking (non-Germanic) wunderkind. And I'm not just about identifying winners in practically HALF of the games I pick, it also extends into the world of fantasy. You may remember a certain Big Daddy briefly mentioning his abject failure in the finals of the Yahoo!!! Blogxperts league, but what's really important was that it was I that kicked his big old hairy ass. It wasn't just a victory for me, but for all of the other beautiful youngsters out there. So feel free to join me in a quick celebration...
On to the Wildcard picks! Each wager is for an even fifty (just like the one pictured above, only less numb).
Washington +3.5 at Seattle
My Redskins aren't the team of destiny that all of the shitbreath analysts are making them out to be, but they sure as hell can hang with the ass-spelunking Seahawks. Joe Gibbs and Mike Holmgren will each be given an extra five timeouts to ensure that they don't fuck things up too royally.
Jacksonville -3 at Pittsburgh
There's an ancient Chinese proverb that reads, "Always bet heavy on the hot team entering the playoffs." Then there's the ancient Korean proverb that reads, "Hines Ward is super terrific number one football!" At first I was torn, then I remembered that Koreans don't know dick about the NFL.
New York Giants +3 at Tampa Bay
You want a real rush? Bet on Elisha in the playoffs.If you've ever had an aneurysm you know what I'm talking about. FEEL THE EXCITEMENT PULSING IN YOUR CEREBELLUM!
San Diego -10 vs. Tennessee
Hey, I remembered to pick a home team! They tend to do fairly well in the post season if I'm not mistaken. Jeff Fisher and Jon Gruden should get a special ribbon for trying really really hard every year.
There you have it people, the locks of the week. Here's what I'll be doing with my winnings...
Enjoy the magical weekend everyone. I'll be taking you through it all over at Deadspin.
ed. note: I have no clue what's going to happen this weekend, so just pretend that I made this picks on Xanax. Yes...pretend.
Suck it, fuck-oes! I lack class, ethics, hygiene, tact, diction and people who love me but one thing I don't is a Coach of the Year Award. It feels so good in my bindle. All the other guys down at the train yard will be jealous of my big trophy. I wonder how it'll burn in a big metal trash can?
Mumblemumblemumblemumblemumblemumblemumblemumble.
NFC 3rd Seed -- Seattle Seahawks (10-6)
Mike Holmgren: I know this: At the end of the season, I am very much wiped out. You play your last game and you fall apart. You get a cold, you get all screwed up. The losses, and I've said this, are much harder than 10 years ago for me. Much harder. I lose my patience, I get more angry.
Matt Hasselbeck: Quick, coach! I need a playcall! 2nd and 3! 2nd and 3! I've got the Redskins defense flummoxed with my elaborate disguise.
Holmgren: Oh, lost bucket. Have I truly abandoned all hope of finding you in my silly quest for gridiron success? How many years has it been? 10? 15? I remember you cylindrical shape as though I were wrapping my flippers around it now.
Deion Branch: C'mon, coach. Play clock is running out!
Hasselbeck: Perhaps I shall capture fair maiden and bind her to the train tracks with this section of rope? That will leave her woefully imperiled by a likely death by locomotive! Mwahahahaha!
Holmgren: When one reaches an advanced age such as I have, it dawns on you all the experiences you may have missed while tilting at the windmills of life. When I think of all the things I've yet to eat, all the buffets I've yet to buffet with my jaws...
Marcus Pollard: Fuck! We just got six delay a' game penalties!
12th Man Flag: [flaps in breeze in manner that sounds like booing]
Hasselbeck: Perhaps Master Wayne is in need of his morning abultions. I say, for a crime-fighting mastermind, one would think he could properly bathe himself. In all my years...
Holmgren: I was chatting with Brett Favre the other day. It'd been a while since we caught up. He was telling me about all the wondrous things about retirement and how I should never think of doing them so I can hang around for another decade and torture my team's fans.
Shaun Alexander: All this standing around has got me tired out. Can we just form a pile so I can dive into it?
Hasselbeck: You know, perhaps I should just do away with this silly playoff beard. I doesn't seem to be doing me a lick of good.
Ben Roethlisberger: YU CAWL THA PLAYLOFT BEERD? HARF HARF HARF HARF
credit Sportable for the Hasselbeck pic
