Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Will Leitch Enjoys His Day Off


Will Leitch, esteemed editor of Deadspin, has never been anything but the nicest person in the world to me. In a roundabout fashion, I owe the fact that I work full-time as a sports blogger to him. However, none of that stopped me from bugging his apartment and installing a camera in his shower to see what he'd do on his day off.

I didn't learn much from the extensive wire-tapping -- he's basically been alternating between masturbating and working on a New York Times Op-Ed all day -- but he did take and extremely long, strange shower this afternoon.

Is this creepy? Yeah. Voyeuristic? Definitely. But, as we all know, Will's the one that made us sports voyeurs. Appropriately enough on this Halloween, we are his Frankenstein monster.

The audio: "I can't believe I let Balk run Deadspin. What am I, stupid?"

He remembers hearing that Denny Green will finish the season as the coach of the "Buzzsaw."

Yeah, I have no idea, either.

It got pretty freaky after this picture. I forced myself to destroy all consequent photos.

[For a full explanation -- and a few pictures that are even more hilarious, go here. Sorry, Will. But you had to know I'd do this.]

Will Leitch: A Day In the Life

I read the news today oh, boy
About a lucky man who made the grade

Will Leitch, our Patron Saint of the Blogosphere, is taking a deserved day off following the Cardinals' World Series victory. A lot of people (losers and/or stalkers) have been wondering how a guy could possibly tear himself away from his passion, and they've wondered how he'll fill the time. Once again KSK is here with all the answers to questions that you're too shy to ask. Let's all take a peek into a day off in the life of a loser.

To Do List

  • Read KSK, attempt to comprehend the brilliance
  • Find out how much Scott Spiezio made this season, convince Denton to double it
  • Sodomize that guy from Can't Stop the Bleeding
  • Call Tom Perrotta, ask him to reimburse 2 hours of life and $10
  • Check in on Deadspin's progress, demand more money from Gawker
  • Pose in front of some bricks in case somebody out there is taking pictures
  • Steal Bill Simmons' address book, tear out the page marked "Kimmel, Jimmy"
  • Pay somebody to kick Kimmel's ass
  • Update shrine to Andy Rooney
  • Dance like nobody is watching you, destroy the video evidence this time
  • Decide between Smells Like Teen Spirit and On a Plane for next book title
  • Sunbathing in Central Park with ARod
  • Prepare Mayoral campaign for Mattoon, Illinois
Hell, who needs Deadspin when you've got all of that to take care of in a single day. What else do you think Mr. Leitch might be doing today? Let us know in the comments.

The KSK NFL Halloween Costume Bukkake

You're stuck in your office right now, and chances are the only person who dressed up for Halloween is that one fat broad in accounting. She probably also brought in candy, ostensibly for the office, but really so she can gorge herself.

A quick note on Halloween candy. The following candy is acceptable at Halloween: Reese's, M&M's, Snickers, Kit Kat and Twix. Give out anything else and you deserve to have your house egged and shit on. Three Musketeers and Milky Way are just subpar versions of Snickers. Hershey's Miniatures suck because you have to dig for Krackels and Special Darks. Mounds, Almond Joy and Nestle Crunch are all right. But really, those first five candy bars are what everyone really wants. So get you ass to CVS a week early next year if you don't have these. Don't fuck around.

Anyway, time to play a little game. Since Deadspin has been infected with "the gay" today, it's now our job to give you a little commenting fun. It's the KSK NFL Halloween Costume Bukkake! Just think of a good costume for the NFL personality of your choice and list it below. Some suggestions:

Mike Nolan: The Fuhrer

Shawne Merriman: Sammy Sosa

Troy Polamalu: Rae Dawn Chong

Donovan McNabb: Stan Marsh

Nick Harper: Steve Irwin

Will Leitch: poorly dressed Ferris Bueller

Alex Balk: Jeff Garcia

Daunte Culpepper: An actual football player

Peyton Manning: Eric "Stumpy Joe" Childs

Terrell Owens: A heterosexual

Drew Rosenhaus: Fagin

Suzy Kolber: A man

Grady Jackson: Gilbert Brown

Gregg Easterbrook: Mel Gibson

Bill Simmons: Bish

Leonard Little: Ted Kennedy

You get the idea. Best ideas will be included in the update. Enjoy!

KSK Gamebook: Pats-Vikes on MNF

Before I start the Gamebook, I wanted to note that I watched some of "Football Night in America" on Sunday night. This was the first time I saw it. Usually, I'm eating dinner when it's on. I'm not missing anything. Here's a quote from Jerome Bettis I heard:

No one's talking about the Colts. When Peyton Manning is on the field, he gives that team a chance to win. Look out for the Colts.

Hey thanks for the heads up, Bus. Those Colts are real up-and-comers. And who's this Manning guy? He's pretty good!


-It's Halloween today. I had one good Halloween costume in my life, and that was when I went as Popeye and Mrs. Drew went as Olive Oyl. I wrote SPINACH on a coffee can, stuffed a corncob pipe with weed, and got fucking destroyed. Awesome. As a father, I'm now exempt from ever having to dress up for Halloween again.

As a husband, I also now have to nod in sympathetic disapproval to my wife any time a girl gets all slutted up for the occasion. Which pains me. I never got laid on Halloween when I was single, and that annoys me. One time at college I was talking to a girl who went as Wilma Flintstone for Halloween. She cut up the end of a pillowcase and wore it. That's it. A fucking pillowcase. And she was hot. And she laughed at one of my jokes. And I did nothing. Guhhhhhh. My life is littered with tales of screwing up readily available poon tang. If you're a guy in college reading this, do me a favor. If a girl you know is all slutted up tonight and clearly likes you, just grab her and fuck her. Tell her it's for the Drewman. Don't screw it up and spend the rest of your life masturbating through hot tears of regret like I do.

-Onto the game. Some of last night's costumes at the Metrodome included: a purple Darth Vader (purple really takes the menace out), a purple gorilla (Grape Ape! Grrrrrrrape Ape!), and a guy wearing what looked like a Mad Ball on his head. Remember Mad Balls? Fucking crazy, man.

-I find it ironic that ?uestlove, who had a hand in making this music video (one of the greatest ever), now plays backup for Hank Williams before a football game.

-Concerning last night's end result: Guhhhhhhhhhhhh. The comforting thing about the Denny Green/Mike Tice era is that, when the Vikings lost, you could always blame it on the fact that the team just didn't give a shit that day. There were times under Green when the Vikings look genuinely surprised that they had to go play a football game. But the Vikings last night had no such excuses. They went out, played hard, and were summarily exposed as a fucking JV team by the Patriots, who pretty much undid all the good things the Vikings had built on the first six games of the year. Fuck you in the pants, Boston. I went to bed at the end of the third quarter.

-One thing I'll never understand. The Pats won the toss and took the ball to start the game. And yeah, I know they scored, but why the fuck does every team do this? You should always defer if you win. There's no downside to receiving the kickoff to start the second half. If you're winning, you can help put the game away. If you're losing, you can climb out of your hole. Why don't teams ever defer?

-Beer and candy corn do not mix.

-Ad Roundup: What makes IBM special is their willingness to spend hundreds of millions of dollars on an ad campaign that doesn't sell anything. I went on the Fathead website. You know how much a Fathead costs? $99. Are you shitting me? A hundred bucks to stick a big helmet on your wall? Fucking draw one. The Playstation 3 baby is creepy and weird. The Project MyWorld girls are whores. And The Santa Clause 3 opens Friday, which is unnecessary on at least six different levels.

-Tony Kornheiser and Joe Theismann engaged in a discussion as to why Tom Brady isn't more well-known. Let's see. The man has appeared in ads for Visa and the Gap, was named Sportsman of the Year, and has nailed various movie stars. Real low profile that guy keeps. I didn't even know who he was until last night! He and that Manning guy are sneaking up on people!

-Tony also marveled over the list of players who have left the Patriots over the years. You know which other team also lost a lot of players over the years? All of them. It's called free agency and the salary cap. All hope for Tony K has now been lost.

-Chris Berman: "Hopefully, you enjoyed the first half." The Vikes were losing 17-0 at this point, and Brady had already thrown for 257 yards. Hey Chris: Go fuck yourself.

-I also enjoy ESPN's habit of cropping the halftime highlights so that the logos from other networks can't be seen. I love seeing 60% of a touchdown run. It's awesome. You fucks.

-The ESPN Halftime Halloween Derby was beyond inexplicable. Fans booed the Irvin and Theismann heads, which was nice. But the black players heads looked disturbingly like giant Sambo dolls. Did no one at ESPN think that giant smiley black man caricatures might be a bad idea? I also object to the Berman head having hair on top. Total bullshit.

-After beer and candy corn, I opened a bottle of Blanton's whisky. This is fancy whisky someone gave me for my birthday. Fancy booze is completely wasted on me. I don't savor it. I don't bury my nose in its oakey scent. I just ingest as fast as humanly possible. But it did have a metal horse sculpture on top of the cork, and that was cool. I played horsey with it while the Vikes got their asses kicked.

-Warren Moon kissed Michele Tafoya at the end of their interview. They're only acquaintances. If she and Moon were closer, he would have punched her in the face.

-The Patron Saint of our site wore a camel hair straightjacket with small pockets on each titty. Nothing beats titty pockets.

-All in all, this wasn't a very fun game to watch for the general audience. The Patriots completely outplayed and outcoached the Vikings from the start, and had an answer for everything the Vikings tried to do. Combine that with the Vikings refusal to run the ball, Brad Johnson's inability to throw a ball longer than 8 yards, and Brady taking advantage of the Pats' outstanding pass protection, and you have yourself a blowout. They even threw in some horrid refereeing (which Theismann, to his credit, pointed out numerous times) to make it even more annoying. Whatever.

Happy Halloween, kids.

UPDATE: Several astute people (i.e., people who actually take the time to read the rules for stupid people such as myself) have informed me that, in the NFL, you are not allowed to defer on the coin toss. Remind me to never try and make an actual football argument again.


So if you've been paying any attention to Deadspin lately (and unless you found the URL for this site carved into a bus stop bench, we suspect you have), you might have heard about some team winning the World Series. We'd tell you who it was, but we haven't paid much attention to that.

So Will Leitch made a bet on his team and, in lieu of his conquest, found himself with the day off today. Unfortunately, he fucked us all in the process by depriving us of a whole day of Leitchity goodness. What the hell are we supposed to do all day? Work? Fuck that, we're taking a stand.

We are stepping away from our regular AWESOME coverage of the NFL to get our Leitch fix, and to get you yours. Join us as we chronicle Will's rare weekday away from the laptop. It should be a lot like Pee Wee's Big Adventure, only without that sweet bike.

And O the questions! Will Will leave his domecile today? Will he buy a new jacket? Get a haircut? Spend some time in the gym? WE WILL KEEP YOU POSTED. We'll be updating all day with the latest, so when you get sick of that Gawker fucker, whoever he is (is it whoever or whomever?), come hang with us. At least it's all about Will someplace today. Come get some.

[Update: Apparently, Will fooled us all and is stubbornly refusing to enjoy his day off. Motherfucker.]

[Second Update: Looks like Will is off after all; the Gawker fellow has started his day, and my goodness if he's not a little bit bitchy.]

Monday, October 30, 2006

So You Might Have Heard About The World Series...

Apparently, the signs aren't the only thing in St. Louis that need work...

[UPDATE: Thanks to bigboned for putting the link up in the comments section on Deadspin. If this doesn't help with your Will Leitch fix for Tuesday, here is another clip of Will on some kind of rant, rocking the emo bangs. Awesome.]

The Steelers, Like My Legs, Are Dead and Smelly

One thing I think I should quickly clear up for people considering running a marathon is its origin. Sure, we all know it's about some low-level Greek functionary who runs 20 some odd miles to tell some more important Greek that their army has defeated another army or some shit. But here's what they don't tell you:

The traditional story relates that Pheidippides, an Athenian herald, was sent to Sparta to request help when the Persians landed at Marathon. He ran the 34.5 km (21.4 miles) from the battlefield by the town of Marathon to Athens to announce the Greek victory over Persia and died on the spot.

That's right, the motherfucker gets there and immediately drops dead. Didn't see that in the race packet when I signed up. Didn't see that anywhere in Runner's World. Don't see that in the myriad Nike or New Balance commercials.

So, as I mentioned last week, I ran in the Marine Corps Marathon yesterday, during which two people had a heart attack and one of them died, so maybe they should put that advisory in there after all.

And yeah, I boasted that I'd do in under three hours, but that plan was scrapped somewhere around mile 16 when my legs went and, well, died. So I finished with a solid 3:49:35. For a first marathon, not bad.

Let's review my collapse:

Mile 5 - 33:26

Hey, look at Mr. Hot Shit with the 6:35 mile pace.

Mile 10 - 1:08:28

Okay, you're still at a 6:50 mile. Hang in there.

Halfway mark - 1:31:32

Slipping a little. A little over a 7-minute mile. But if you duplicate this in the second half then you're right at three hours. So far, so good.

Mile 15 - 1:47:16

Alright, I'm reading the tea leaves here and I'm not liking what I'm seeing. Creeping a little further over a 7-minute pace. You're just a little tired. It's still good, it's still good.

Mile 20 - 2:38:04

Aaaaand, you're Rumphed.

I have to say that I made a new enemy yesterday: runners who write their names on themselves before races. Fuck you and your energy gel utility belts, you attention whores. I suppose there's nothing wrong with it on its face, it's probably great motivation for the person (let's call this person Jeff) to hear people chanting their name throughout the hours of running. But what if you're the person running alongside Jeff for 8 miles? You hear nothing but encouraging words for Jeff and big fat squaddo for yourself, because I'm sure it's easier for someone watching the race to cheer a name rather than to yell, "go number 1247!" or "go guy in the red shorts and grey top!" But it wears on you in that exhausted state, to the point that eventually you want to kick Jeff in the back of his knee or step on his heel and rip his ACL. Seriously, fuck Jeff.

Ah, but there's more to this post than me gushing about my marathon performance. There's Steelers sulking to be done and, luckily for our readers, this is most likely the last Christmas Ape Steelers homer post of the year, because Pittsburgh's season is officially over.

After the race yesterday, my better judgment was telling me to fall into a sweaty heap in bed and wake up sometime Thursday, but my Steelers fandom demanded that I head to the bar, what with the game not being televised. And, as usual when the two square off, fandom wins hands down. Even though they were playing the Raiders and there was no urgency for me to watch the game.

I limped my way to my car and arrived at the bar just after kickoff. The regulars had a pretty uniform reaction. "Hey, that's great. Congrats. And you're still here? Wow. You're a true fan...and a fucking idiot. Seriously, dude, go lay down. Jackass."

Rather than further draw out an already long post with further description, allow me to summarize the few conclusions I can draw through the wall of rage: Ben won't throw to a receiver unless there are at least three opposing players around his target. Ben will never throw the ball away. Before every sack, Ben will hold the ball for three Bledsoes (a Bledsoe being defined as a unit of time equal to five seconds in the pocket). A backup quarterback with a 136.8 QB rating under no circumstances should ever warm up when the starter, coming off a concussion, has thrown four picks, two of which having been returned for touchdowns. Charlie Batch has probably slept with Cowher's wife and at least one of his daughters. Our defenders get flagged for coughing after the play. Russ Grimm, and hopefully not Ken Whisenhunt, will be coaching this team next year. (Living in D.C., it would be fun watching the 'Skins fans get all in a lather about one of the Hogs coaching the Steelers.) And our special teams needs lots and lots of help. Lots.

The cuts to the near catatonic looks on Al Davis' ghoulish visage peering from the owner's box as the Raiders neared victory were almost as unsettling as the outcome itself. He looks like my legs feel.

Uday Think Gonna Beat Them Bengals?

I watched yesterday's games with a handful of Bengals fans (including my friend Chris Knight of This Charming Fan), which means that there was a lot of shared empathy going around at 4 p.m. Thankfully, by seven o'clock, Roethlisberger had thrown four picks on the way to a Steelers loss against the Raiders, which buoyed our spirits nicely.

If I had to pick a silver lining to the cloud of shittiness that is Comcast's Sunday Ticket-less stranglehold on NYC, I'd say that it's watching the games in bars. Spending my Sundays sharing my grief or joy in a social environment -- as opposed to the cocoon of misery when I watch the Seahawks by myself -- is about the only worthwhile aspect to this shitty, shitty monopoly comprised of shitty shit shittiness.

Yesterday's venue was The Turkey's Nest, a humble but relatively clean dive across the street from McCarran Park, which straddles the hipster Mecca of Williamsburg and the quiet, Polish neighborhood of Greenpoint. One o'clock was a little bit early after last night's Halloween festivities----but we managed to get to the Nest having missed only half of the first quarter. Even though I was hung over and starving, I took advantage of the drink special: 32-ounce Coors Light (official beer of the NFL!), served in a styrofoam cup.

The crowd:

- The Turkey's Nest softball team. This was a bunch of guys who were all about five-eight, 210 pounds. They carried a lot of gristle on their frames, spoke at least 30 decibels louder than necessary, and addressed each other as "ya fahckin' BASTID." I kind of liked them.

- Hipster Eagles fans. Understand one thing: caring about anything, especially something as masculine as sports, is terrible for hipster cred, but I give these guys props. They were wearing not jerseys, but threadbare vintage Eagles T-shirts that were a solid 15-20 years old. When you can stay true to both your team AND your urban fashion sensibilities, I salute you.

- Assorted drunks/barflies. There were some old guys nursing glasses of whiskey at the bar. If they had seats at the bar, that means they arrived before 1 p.m. in order to drink hard liquor, straight up. Yikes. I may be a drunk, but those guys have a problem.

- One (1) Hasidic Jew. I'd joke that he was cheering for Sage Rosenfels, but c'mon: Sage Rosenfels doesn't cheer for Sage Rosenfels.

- Hipster Chiefs fans. These anorexic, unshaven excuses for men showed up halfway through the third quarter in their 28-inch-waist skinny jeans and would do this aspirate "Chiefs!" cheer that sounded like a sneeze. They were even too cowardly to taunt me after the Seahawks lost. Bitches.

- Three (3) women: a Bengals fan whose boyfriend looked like Fred Savage with a white trash-'stache, a hipster Eagles fan (old-school Eagles sweatshirt) with a femme-mullet, and a blonde Bears fan with hypnotic sandbags. She made me want to go bubbadibubbadibubbaduh.

In conclusion, I will give $5000 to the first person to go back in time and murder John Mellencamp before he can record that Chevy song. Also, Larry Johnson is a son of a bitch.

Sunday, October 29, 2006

Did He Just Do The Robot?

So the Raiders have, um, won two straight.

You think I'm fucking with you? I am not fucking with you.

Adding insult to closed-head injury...

Ben Roethlisberger has revealed that after he suffered a concussion in Atlanta Sunday, he was taunted by the Falcons as he lay on the field. When pressed for names and details, Roethlisberger demurred. Nonetheless, the crack staff at KSK Labs has been feverishly reviewing audio of the game and come up with their best guesses at what exactly the Falcons said to Big Ben.

"You just got knocked da fuck out, man!"

"That's for ruining Christmas Ape's fantasy football team!"

"Wha' happened???"

"Fuck Chunky! Dinty Moore, bitch!"

"Dorothy Mantooth is a saint!!!"

"Yeah bitch, now you need ANOTHER appendix transplant!"

"I whole-heartedly deride your gridiron handiwork."

"This is what happens when you fuck a stranger in the ass, Larry!"

"I'm Chauncey Davis and I approved this message!!!"

[What? You think you can do better? Give us your best guess in the comments.]

Update: Somone brought to our attention the increasing similarity between Big Ben and Donald "Ogre" Gibb (Revenge of the Nerds, Bloodsport, 1st & Ten). The two are headed toward an inevitable showdown on "Who's More Grizzled?"

Friday, October 27, 2006

Started with romantic, then got to frantic / Then things thats normally small become gigantic

Finally this damnable week has come to an end! For me this is the hardest week of the entire year, when the Redskins have a bye week everything else in life seems to take twice as long. I can't tell you how happy I will be to drive home from work tonight. There's a lot to get done over the next few days, tomorrow I'm actually going to have to buy all the elements of my Halloween costume. After much deliberation I've settled on the favorite costume of my favorite football player. Come Saturday night's annual Nightmare on M Street (a raucous DC bar crawl) you might just catch a glimpse of the return of Southeast Jerome (if anybody knows where I can find the proper wig should send me an email asap).

As you all know it's not the men's costumes that everybody fawns over (so there's no point in trying too hard); the best costumes always belong to the lovely ladies. If you go out this weekend (you fucking better!) you're sure to see a healthy dose of slutty cats, slutty nurses, and slutty sluts. Of course nothing can ever top the ultimate Halloween costume...the slutty cheerleader!!! Well for all the ladies out there (I'm looking at you Becky sandwich) we're proud to offer some sexy Halloween inspiration.

Her name is Adrienne and she's one of the sexiest pieces of ass on the sexiest damn cheerleading squad in the entire league. As much as I loathe everything that is Philadelphia (especially the Iggles) even I cannot question their superior shapeliness.

Although Adrienne is an old hag in cheerleading circles (six year veteran) she's still got the body of a rookie. She's also quite possibly the hottest woman to ever matriculate through the famed University of Delaware. As you all should know the blue hen is the sexiest fucking bird in the animal kingdom.

Have a great weekend, somebody will be hanging around to provide you with the occasional update so be sure to check in now and then. Seriously, we know where you live, so you better fucking show up!

Dallas assistant coach sues McDonald's after finding metaphor for Cowboys' season in salad

As we learned from the Simpsons years ago, you don't win friends with salad. Now it appears that McDonald's may have made an enemy with their salad-- in the form of Dallas assistant coach Todd Haley.

Haley and his family is suing McDonald's for $1.7 million dollars after his wife and au pair (bow chicka wow wow) found a dead rat in their salad back in June. Haley had a much publicized run-in with Terrell Owens earlier this season.

"The dead rodent, believed to be a juvenile roof rat, was about 6 inches long and was found on its back with its mouth opened..."
Authorities are investigating the situation and noted that it appears that the rat died of an overdose of painkillers.
No chance something like this happens to Bill Parcells--
that tubby bastard hasn't so much as looked at a salad in 25 years.

Your costumes, man! If you pimp, you BROKE pimp!

Welcome to the 8th edition of our weekly feature, Always Be Covering. The following is a small sampling of the games I'll be investing in when I'm hitting the ROOR after Saturday's Nightmare on M Street.

While I may appear startlingly brilliant (or possibly not) you must remember that this is a humor site. If you take me too seriously I will summon Biggie Smalls to shoot you in the face.

St. Louis +9.5 at San Diego
I think San Diego is a very good team. I think that the first person Shawne Merriman hits will spend the rest of his life with a colostomy bag. I still see no reason why they’re giving so many damn points. St. Louis has got some skills (it’s nice to see the SG get one right now and then) and they aren’t going to be cast aside by any defense that got thrashed by a Huard. This has all the makings of an intensely competitive game, 9.5 is just too much to resist. Besides, Marty's vagina tends to itch when he gets up by too many points.

Special I Need Money Parlay!

Pittsburgh -9 @ Oakland
I don’t give a shit who plays quarterback, Oakland is going to get hit so hard they’ll think the Earth is shaking (more than usual).

Carolina-6 vs. Dallas
In Vegas they give out point values to certain variables. If home field advantage is worth three points then an undrafted quarterback starting his first game alongside the craziest motherfucker in the league should be worth at least ten. TO might throw a punch, Bledsoe might throw a hissy fit, and Parcells might eat a clipboard.

New England -2.5
@ Minnesota
I recognize that I’m a stubborn degenerate of a gambler, that’s why I have no problem betting against the Vikings once again. Beating Seattle means very little to me right now. Of course they won, Seneca Wallace and MoMo were sharing the same shitty backfield. New England is good...let’s all just come to terms with that and let them anchor this relay. Just remember, if the Vikings manage the upset Drew might never stop talking about it.

Shy-lock of the Week (3-1)
(2 teams, 6 point tease)Another gentile in disguise

Chicago -10* vs. San Francisco
It’s the number one threat to America (Bears) taking on the number two threat to America (Gay Culture); this is going to be a viscous mauling.
Houston +9* at Tennessee
That’s right, I’m going right back into the deep end. I like this Houston team, and it’s not just because I love to say Wali Lundy (doesn’t hurt). His running will open up the field for Carr, the deceptive non-bust, to hit his fast and physical receivers. Tennessee licks donkey balls.

*both lines have been teased six points

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Your Jewish Homeslice Mike Silver Dishes On Peter King

Fellow studs The Big Lead have a telling interview up with Mike Silver of SI today. Silver talks about players who'd like to beat him up, but he also tells this story about Peter King at an SI pre-Super bowl lunch:

Peter is fretting over his Inside the NFL column and blurts out, "You know who I'd love to talk to? Ted Cottrell," who was then the Bills' defensive coordinator and the hot minority candidate for head coaching jobs. So we order and start talking about who's doing what, and Peter's phone rings right as the food comes, which kills him, but then he gets this big smile on his face and says, "Ted? How are ya?" Now, as we sit there gawking, Peter loudly launches into a discussion about the dearth of minority hires and is taking notes and clearly getting great stuff. It was a sight to behold. At one point, in mid-sentence, without even looking over at (David) Fleming, Peter seizes this large, personal pizza from Flem's plate and takes a Fred Flinstone/brontosaurus burger bite. The tomato sauce is running down his chin and Peter, with his mouth full, is saying, "Ted, that is exactly why the system is so flawed!" Josh Elliott, who at the time was our young reporter at his first Super Bowl, was sitting there with his mouth wide open; the curtain had been pulled back on the Wizard of Oz. And then Peter does the most amazing thing. He asks a question that will surely produce a long answer, “Ted, give me the seven most overlooked minority-coaching candidates in football,” or something like that, and picks up Flem’s pizza again and starts devouring it.

Here's what amuses me about this:

1) Silver seems to think this makes King look charming.

2) It makes King look like an even bigger douche than before.

Thanks to The Big Lead again. If you order Domino's tonight, make sure Captain Fuckstick isn't hiding in the bushes. Your suggestions for other things King might find appetizing welcome in the comments.

Beltway blues...

As is well documented in these pages, the Redskins went down like Chloe Sevingy in The Brown Bunny in Indy this past Sunday and our own Unsilent Majority was there to give us a 'blow by blow' report. In the aftermath, this much is clear: The Redskins suck. Big time.

The 'Skins have clearly established themselves as the worst team in a crappy division. Their defense is woeful and their passing game is anemic. After getting housed by even the lowly Titans, it is painfully obvious to all but the most deluded of fans that the Redskins are done. This season, for all intents and purposes, is over, and it has been an abject failure. Blame can be spread far and wide. All involved should be summarily shot and buried in shallow, unmarked graves.

Some snarky wags would have you believe that this is some sort of instant karma for a dickhead owner who whoops it up with a Xenu-loving midget and his Stepford wife while making one of the loyalest fanbases walk a mile and a half because they would rather not pay $25 to park in the official Redskins parking lot. However, we at KSK prefer to save owner character-assassinations until after Thanksgiving-- besides there is so much blame to throw around.

Much is made of offensive coodinator Al Saunders' mythological five-volume 2,619 page playbook. Originally drafted by Hammurabi in 1720 B.C., the Redskins playbook is the cornerstone for all of Western jurisprudence. Hey Al, here's a new one for your add-- Brandon Lloyd runs down the field as fast as he can while the quarterback throws a pass of greater than 15 yards. Lloyd is the most pointless acquisition since Courtney Love bought her big fake tits.

Meanwhile, the Ghost of Joe Gibbs' best suggestion to improve the underachieving offense has been to put on new driver's side tires, lower the trackbar and taking a half-turn of wedge out of the right rear.

Much of the blame for the Redskins sad-sack performance can be placed on Mark Brunell. Brunell is the football equivalent of a Quaalude. Brunell apologists, bible-thumpers mostly, are quick to point out Brunell's sterling completion percentage. Listen godwads, three-yard screens to Chris Cooley aren't going to get you past the crappy Cowboys, let alone into the playoffs. If Brunell keeps this up, he may find himself getting forcibly sodomized by a Hogette. And by Hogette I mean Helen Thomas.

Not surprisingly, there is a growing clamor for Gibbs to give Jason Campbell a shot at QB. The 'Skins have nothing to lose at this point. We aren't sold on the proposition that Campbell is the answer to Washington's QB problems. Campbell looked solid at Auburn. Of course when you have Cadillac Williams and Ronnie Brown in the backfield you probably could have Jason Street playing quarterback and no one would notice the difference. But Campbell, unlike Brunell, might actually get the ball downfield and utilize some of the wide receivers to whom Danny-Boy Snyder is paying a shit-ton of money.

Look at the bright side Mark, lots of desperate losers are getting run out of DC this fall. Maybe you can get some of them to help you move.

Yet not everything in DC is terrible. Is it Friday yet???

The Redskins have a lot of work to do, but that can wait. It's time for some bye week fun over at the Redskins Fanhouse!

Baseball: Still Gay

"Hey man."

"Hey, buddy. What's up."

"Nuthin much, bro. Hey, do you wanna go play some BASEBALL?"

"Sure, man."


"Cool. Hey wait."

"What's the matter?"

"Look up there. That.."

"Oh, no. That looks like RAIN."

"Dear me."

"We can't play baseball in THE RAIN."

"No way, man. We'd get WET."



"What's up?"


"Yeah. We should WAIT."




"Hey man."

"Hey, buddy. What's up."

"Nuthin much, bro. Is it still raining?"

"Well, considering my shit is sopping wet, I believe it is."

"No good, man. Hey, I'm rather drenched myself."

"Yeah, we should have waited for the rain to stop INSIDE."

"Or at least under a medium-sized awning."

"I guess there will be no BASEBALL today."

"What do we do now?"

"Let's take off our wet clothes and play Madden."

"Yeah. We should play Madden."



Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Quien Es Mas Macho? - Bledsoe O Romo?

In case you thought Terrell Owens was the most selfish douchebag on the Dallas Cowboys roster, I give you an absolutely hilarious quote from an AP story this week:

Drew Bledsoe doesn't carry a clipboard, and he's not into playing big brother. He's either a starter or one unhappy veteran.

And good for him. When you throw back-breaking interceptions in multiple games and have all the mobility of an armoire, you clearly deserve to tear a team apart once you've been benched. Drew Bledsoe isn't some dipshit Christian like Kurt Warner. Once you've benched him, you are fucking DEAD to him, Cowboys. You hear me? That man is a starter. A fucking starter.

Sure, he takes 45 seconds to throw a quick-hitch pass, but you Cowboy coaches don't get it. Bledsoe is clearly scanning the field and probing the Giants defense to determine skeletal girth and muscle tone. It's a new technique!

We mock what we don't understand.

Anyway, Cowboy fans, Bill Parcells is reportedly giving the nod to Tony Romo to start for the Cowboys in Week 8. But, given Romo's inconsistent performance in the second half Monday night, it may be fair to ask just which QB of yours is the lesser of two dipshits. And so, we break out the pro and con lists to determine once and for all...

Quien Es Mas Macho? Bledsoe O Romo?

Senor Bledsoe

-Muy macho
-Muy fuerte
-Experienced veteran presence helps keep team calm in the face of multiple 4th quarter collapses
-Allegedly "spent the second half seething", which means he really wants to play!
-Stopped playing good football over five years ago and now plays with nothing to lose
-Always healthy enough to play badly
-Utter lack of mobility means receivers know exactly where errant passes will be coming from
-Experienced enough to know when to take the sack. Repeatedly. Even on 4th down
-Strong relationship with Bill Parcells means he has a strong relationship with Bill Parcells
-Only QB who can make Terry Glenn seem useful.

-May be dead
-Chingada tu madre
-Learned pouting skills at Washington State
-Isn't Texan. Can't be trusted.
-Plays for team that does not have Bill Belichick coordinating defense
-No le gusta audibles to running plays. No le gusta at all.

Senor Romo

-Muy macho
-Muy joven
-Throws different kinds of interceptions
-Isn't Drew Bledsoe
-Peter King has great, Danny Weurffelesque feeling about him
-Benching Bledsoe means one less former Patriot for Bill Simmons to use to somehow mention Patriots
-Praised for possessing mobility. Not possessing great mobility, but simply possessing it.
-Don Banks said Romo gives Cowboys the hope of the unknown. Which means that yes, he could be shitty. But the Cowboys already know Bledsoe is shitty. So Romo presents better odds of not being shitty

-Possibly shitty
-Muy blanco
-Name reminds one of Ricky Roma, Tony Roma and Bill Romanowski simultaneously
-Didn't take extensive Texas History course required in state's retarded public school system
-Isn't Texan. Can't be trusted
-Once bought salsa that was made in NEW YORK CITY?!
-Isn't married. May be queer like Aikman

Tough choices. But we at KSK don't pussy out on the hard stuff. The clear winner of this battle is...

The Carolina Panthers.

Injuries, Unlike KSK Writers, Don't Discriminate by Location or Race.

I'm running the Marine Corps Marathon on Sunday (and yet still catching the late game with the Steelers because drinking after about three hours of running equals rapid drunkenness). After running two half marathons in '05, I've been basically preparing a full year for this. And despite what this smarmy bastard thinks, I'm not planning on walking the thing. Rather, I'm aiming for the fairly-lofty-for-a-first-time-marathoner time of sub-3 hrs. So, naturally, two weeks ago, when doing a 22-mile sort of dress rehearsal run, my left calf muscle seizes the fuck up about 12 miles in and I have to stop. It wasn't a major injury - I've been running since. It seems okay for the most part, but it gives me something to worry about. Did I also mention that it's cold as shit in D.C. right now?

What am I trying to say here? Well, this is my self-indulgent way of illustrating that injuries can fuck up your shit in a manner most expeditious. Here are a few notable NFL players that were Rumphed by the injury bug this week.

LaVar Arrington --

I suppose Michael Strahan can sleep easy knowing his sack record is safe and secure. LaVar was nipping hard at his heels with his one sack in six games. Before Unsilent Majority gets too happy about this development, here's a sentimental Redskins send-off video made by some fan for LaVar and Patrick Ramsey set to a Michelle Branch song. There's really no excuse for that, 'Skins fans, not even the tons and tons of meth (read: not meth) that flows through the city like lead through the Potomac. Like, the league should consider punitive action or something.

Mike Doss --

Doss, seen here with what counts as a black person in Indianapolis, will miss the remainder of the year with a torn ACL. He lost his starting duties to the hard-hitting but lackadaisical covering skills of Bob Sanders. Sadly, this spells the end of the C:\DOS\RUN jokes from the local wags this season.

I'll take the ball and score for $800, Alex.

Matt Hasselbeck --

Where's your power of prayer now, Shaun? Seriously though, as a Steelers fan, people would expect I would have some schadenfreude-induced glee from seeing Hasselbeck go down, even if only for a few games. Really, I don't care. I don't harbor much enmity towards the Seahawks. I've been alternatively bemused and amused by some of their fans' conspiracy theories in the offseason. Honestly, why would the NFL want the Steelers to win the Super Bowl? Seattle fans contend that the league and the media spent the whole time hyping the Steelers and Jerome Bettis, so, of course, they want them to win. My question is, since when did the league give a shit how a storyline plays out? They already got millions of poor suckers to watch the fucking game and the corporations to pay for ad time, what does it matter to them if it reaches a satisfying result or not for the majority of the viewers? If anything, the league has more to gain from Seattle winning. The Steelers are already one of the league's most popular teams and winning or losing Super Bowl XL wasn't going to change that. If Seattle wins, the league had the opportunity to convert a city with a tepid following of its team into a more dedicated one. That means more revenue. And what the fuck do you think the NFL cares more about, a storyline or revenue? Okay, now let us never discuss this subject again. Or again, tomorrow? Sure, whatever.

Ben Roethlisberger --

I...uh, oh geez. Can I just cut and paste my comment from the the last time he got hurt? Is there some boilerplate I can format for just such an occasion? Like, for when this happens another five times this year, even once or twice after he's put on IR? Setting aside the motorcycle accident, this concussion would have represented his fulfillment of the annual midseason injury. And the Steelers haven't even played Baltimore yet. Guuuuuhhhhh.

Matt Lepsis --

The Broncos tackle is gone for the season, thus significantly harming the Denver Running Back Industrial Complex. "Anytime you lose one of your top players for the season, it's always a pretty good [cock]punch," said coach Mike Shanahan, through an interpreter who speaks douche.

Also, for the record, can we all admit that the Broncos' defense is not as good as the Bears'? I don't care how many points they haven't given up to the Raiders, Browns, Ravens and Chiefs without Trent Green, let's all agree to nip this argument in the bud right here. Along with the Seahawks thing, it seems, I'm really just searching for some closure in this post, you see.

Packers' receiver Robert Ferguson is also out for the year (yet again), Browns' DB Gary Baxter was tossed off a bridge by a biker and John Abraham is getting his stomach stapled so Nelson won't pull down his pants and the school girls won't call him Fatty Fat Fat Fat.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

A Public Service Announcement

This has nothing to do with football. It's the first four minutes of the new "Borat" movie. I'll go out on a limb and declare that this will be the greatest movie in the history of everything ever ever ever.

I like!

Steve Irwin Memorial Meast of the Week - Week 7

I have a friend Jeremy (not his real name) that went to college with a girl whom he professed to loving very much. But she rebuffed his advances, and they remained only good friends. To this day, Jeremy thanks God (or whoever Jewish people worship... some sort of banker/doctor hybrid?) for that, because the girl turned out to be batshit insane. As she screwed over boyfriend after boyfriend, she'd reveal to Jeremy her innermost thoughts about each relationship, with Jeremy thinking to himself the whole time, "Man this bitch is fucking nuts." I think there were one or two girls who dated Ted Bundy and lived to tell about it. That's how Jeremy feels now.

But they remain friends even to this day, I assume because Jeremy is both morbidly curious at her exploits and grateful for the constant reminder that he is NOT dating a raving lunatic (or, at least, that particular one). That friendship paid off big storytelling dividends just a few weeks ago.

I was in NYC recently for the expressed purpose of getting loaded. Jeremy joined me, along with Mssrs. Ufford and Leitch for an evening of merrymaking. A few beers in, Jeremy tells us his friend's latest confession. Are you ready? It's unexpected.

She fucked Jimmy Buffett.


"She fucked Jimmy Buffett."


"Well, they had been hanging out..."

Who just starts randomly hanging out with Jimmy Buffett?

"I don't know."

Man, that's fucked up. What's he, three decades older than her?


There are rock stars whom I would prefer to not envision as rock stars, and Jimmy Buffett is one of them. Yes, he's sold millions of records and plays to sold out audiences in tourist traps the world over, but in reality he's just some old bastard. I don't want to know about him snorting coke and banging groupies.

You ever watch a porn scene where the guy banging the girl is too old to be in a porno? It's always disturbing, isn't it? It could be the hottest girl in the world, and you'd still be thrown off by that guy's wrinkled old ass. That, of course, was the instant mental image I got from Jeremy's scoop, and I quickly needed more beer to help alleviate the resulting anguish.

So, if you know any crazy gals out there, look out. Jimmy Buffett may have recently stuck his old ass cheeseburger right in her paradise. And you'd be none the wiser, unless someone were there to tip you off.

Seriously. She nailed Jimmy Buffett.


Oh hey, it's the Meast of the Week! We've had an awful lot of homerism on the old website recently. Let's keep the streak alive! This week's Meast is Steve Hutchinson of the Seahawks Vikings.

Hutchinson returned to Seattle to help the Vikings destroy the Seahawks and spring Chester Taylor for a 95-yard TD run, the longest offensive play in Vikings' history. To make Ufford even more annoyed, let's watch the video!

I like the part where the score gets bigger.

Oh, they all laughed when the Vikings paid $16 million to a guard! Well, who's laughing now, bitch?! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Shit. Still got naked Jimmy Buffett in my head.

KSK Visits Indianapolis, Neither Will Ever Be the Same...Part 2

Welcome to Part 2 of my field trip to Indianapolis. For Part 1 simply scroll down...dumbass.

The RCA Dome...tick tick tick
  • This was the first time I’ve ever watched the Redskins play in an opponent's stadium, it felt like a college game. The Dome is tiny and the seats are as close to Fenway’s as my ass has seen, except for the upper deck (only two levels?) which is done in a bleacher motif.
  • They showed designs for their new stadium that our drunken fratboy neighbor assured us would look just like the Roman Coliseum despite the fact that it’s a rectangle made of steel with a clay colored facade.
  • The in-stadium entertainment made me want to put out a Monte Cristo in each of my eyes while simultaneously jamming lit firecrackers into my ear canals.
  • First they had an act that would have been pretty funny had it not been so blatantly staged. A few cheerleaders and the disturbing mascot (it had a hot pink mane and tail and it rode a Segway) began dancing around a stadium cop (who happened to not be wearing a gun belt). He quickly joined in with some seriously white-bread break dancing to the delight of more than I would have expected.
  • The singing was was pretty terrifying. The National Anthem was performed by four members of the Future Farmers of America. I can’t remember much of their singing, I was much more engrossed by their resemblance to the Children of the Corn.
  • Whoever runs the DJ booth at the Dome is probably a member of the AARP (or maybe Indy is like Bulgaria where they get American music on a 15 year delay). The only thing worse than the early 90’s dance music was the incessant wave of country that had one of our neighbors head-banging her feathered hair away.

The Unwashed Masses

  • I’ve never been surrounded by fans who were overtly passionate about their team yet completely ignorant to every other aspect of the game (i.e. the rule book and other teams).
  • A middle aged man behind me was infuriated when Indy got flagged for roughing after swiping Brunell across the facemask. When he screamed that it should have been a five yard facemask penalty I couldn’t help myself. I tried to inform him that any contact to qb’s helmet resulted in a personal foul, he claimed the facemask wasn’t part of the helmet. Then I rubbed my temples for a few minutes.
  • When Philip Daniels turned Peyton a human slingshot one of the louder Colts supporters looked like he was going to have a brain hemorrhage. Then for one fleeting minute their blood-curdling screams of outrage had me convinced that they were going to storm the field and beat Daniels to death. For a brief moment I questioned whether or not to cheer the legal hit...when I did it felt gooood.
  • I began to feel ill around the time the fans did their C-O-L-T-S chant. This was immediately followed by a fellow Redskins fan doing the Jets version while i performed the Eagles version for the first time in my life. Then a trio straight out of the trailer park tried to get our section to do the wave. Their originality is beyond reproach.
  • There were a couple of fans who stuck out more than any other in my section. One was a guy I'm guessing was around 20 or so, he was wearing a powder blue Chargers jersey. When I jokingly told him how pretty it was he took it as a compliment; then again he was also wearing matching diamond earrings. When the crowd reacted to a big play by former Colt Marcus Washington he asked, "Who is he?" Upon further investigation I was able to discover that he's from Indy but is a fan of the Chargers and mostly the Bears. When I informed him that my Skins had Super Bowls than all three of his teams combined he also claimed allegiance to the Bulls (I'm still not sure why). He later declared himself to just be lucky to be born in Indianapolis; I'm pretty sure that's the first time anybody has ever uttered that sentiment.
  • Although ignorance seemed to be the most prevalent trait amongst my section of fans, it was not the funniest. Sitting next to my buddy Hench Gus Alex was the drunk I mentioned in the earlier post. At least I think he was drunk, he may have been drinking novocaine based on his speaking ability. He spent 90% of the entire game on his cellphone relaying the play by play and a ton of shit talk to his buddies back at the frat house. It was one of the strangest and most annoying things I've ever seen a fan do at a football game (but I was still laughing my ass off). I'm sure he woke up in a gutter with a bad hangover and a crippling phone bill. On the plus side he had a neckbeard that would make Kyle Orton weep in appreciation.
That about does it for my thoughts on Indianapolis, I would have liked to talk to some of the fans after the game but they began flooding out at the two minute warning. Apparently all that meth wasn't just gonna cook itself.

Perhaps it needs to be explicitly stated that this is a humor site and a lot of what is written here is satirical in nature. Most of my experiences in Indianapolis were great, I met some very friendly and knowledgeable fans and residents. I'm merely playing up some of the cities oddities and faults that you could find almost anywhere. By no means to I purport DC to be some sort of utopia, far from it. So try to not take this as some sort of personal vendetta against your city...and yes of course I'm a bitter Washington fan (I thought at least that much was obvious).

KSK Visits Indianapolis, Neither Will Ever Be the Same Part 1

KSK is blowing up so fucking huge that we're getting invited to road games. Alright, that might be an exaggeration, you could say I was just tagging along with some friends with an extra ticket. Regardless, it was a great experience that I will not soon forget. I’ll mostly remember the silent rage bubbling throughout my body like that weird ass slime from Ghostbusters II.

After resigning to the concept of defeat (down 2 touchdowns with 12 seconds left, indy ball) I started thinking about those magical passes in our pockets (obviously not press passes). I was slightly consoled by the experience of watching the Redskins file out of the locker room and walking towards the exit between Shawn Springs and Marcus Washington (I love a man in braces).

The hotel provided a perfect view of the city.
I was at the Marriot adjacent to the stadium. The same view
could be enjoyed by the Colts who also stayed there...and yes,
the camera wasn't so hot and I'm no photojournalist.

Obviously Indianapolis is the crappiest little city on Earth (apologies to Reno and the Forbidden City) and I made sure to make a mental list of all the things that either: a. pissed me off, b. made me sad to be there, c. made me laugh, or made me question how I was living on the same planet as these people. That’s right Indy fans, if you’re out there (doubt it) then I’ll welcome your hatemail...it gets me off. Below I’ll offer my incites insights on the city, the stadium, and the inhabitants.

Indianapolis, Indiana...Why?
  • I have no idea why people would willingly live in Indy. If you have to live there out of necessity then I pity you; if you choose to stay (or move) there then I question your chemical balance.
  • First Reaction: It’s like Baltimore sans the whimsy. As you can plainly see the views are a sight to behold, truly breathtaking. Through extensive research we found a very nice small restaurant with a legit wine list. Besides that the city was like a wasteland, I kept wondering where everything was. Then I realized I there were no surprises around the next, or any, corner.
  • Cold + Windy = Gay
  • I’ve never seen so many white people in my entire life. The inside of the Dome looked like an Abercrombie ad with ugly people. Washington may not have the most polished crowd (which is good and bad) but we've got nothing on Indy. They must lease a lot of short busses.
Check out Part 2 right here.

Monday, October 23, 2006

Prayer To Jesus Concerning The Early Death Of Brandon Jacobs

Dear Jesus,

I know I don't talk to you very often. In fact, I never really talk to you at all. Since I'm pretty much agnostic, I don't even believe you were the son of God. Ever since Willem Dafoe played you in that flick where you nailed the shit out of Barbara Hershey, you kind of creep me out (you can blame Dafoe for that, he's an odd guy). You just strike me as one of those really intense dudes that scares off appallingly shallow, non-introspective people such as myself.

But since this is pro football, and since the prayers of most strictly Evangelical, secretly gay pro football players are directed at you, I thought I'd give it a shot. I think I'm worthy of your attention. I'm a fairly good person. Loving and faithful husband. Devoted father. Loyal friend. Sure, I have my faults. I masturbate with enough energy to maintain the entire Northeast power grid. The only thing I charitably donate to is my own advanced form of alcoholism. I killed four mice last week without remorse or pity. And I may or may not have ejaculated on a teacher's doorknob in prep school once.

But, other than that, I'm solid.

So hear me out on this one, Jesus. This is Brandon Jacobs, backup running back for the New York Giants and official "change of pace" back for soon-to-be-retired starter and future Crest Whitestrips spokesman Tiki Barber. Barber happens to be my #1 running back in not one, but TWO fantasy leagues. Got a fantasy league, Jesus? It's fun. Lots of people on TV, like Phil Simms, say fantasy football is lame, but those people can eat a dick and then go to Hell for it.

Anyway, Barber is a pretty reliable fantasy back. He came into this week leading the league in rushing and is an excellent receiver out of the backfield. But Barber has yet to score a touchdown this year, and this fuckface asscunt Jacobs is the reason why. Jacobs has been installed as the goal line back for the Giants. Which means that, whenever the Giants get near the goal line, my boy Tiki goes out and this assrammer heads in to take the TD's that Tiki has rightfully fucking earned.

Jacobs is what is known in fantasy circles as a "vulture". You heard me. A fucking vulture. Now, given your personal history, I'm betting you aren't too fond of vultures. Am I right? Bet vultures cost you an eyeball or two. Well, this one is costing me money big time. So here's your chance to get a little bit of revenge, Bible-style. I'm sure Jacobs is a perfectly nice guy, but fuck that. I'm down 4 in one league and 7 in another going into tonight, and I don't want there to be any doubt. I want you to fuck him up.

I'm praying to you for Jacobs to suffer some serious agony. Maybe you could spontaneous rupture one of his nuts with your Super Jesus telepathy powers. Or maybe you could summon a lightning strike on his house. Can you do that? Halle Berry did it in the X-Men flicks, and that big-tittied bitch can't even act. I gotta think you got some weather control up there to fuck people up. I know how you feel about Indonesians. Don't try and hide it.

No, wait! Dude! Are you a firestarter, like Drew Barrymore? You could totally burn Jacobs' condo down. You could even make sure one of his loved ones is trapped inside. No way he plays with that kind of grief. That would be sick, and by sick I mean awesome.

Or you could give him sickle cell anemia. Lots of black people get sickle cell anemia, so it wouldn't look suspicious at all. Or was it diabetes that black people get a lot? I think you can play with diabetes though, so that's no good. Let's just give the fucker some leprosy and let him deal with it.

The point is, working together, you and I can devise a plan that specifically satisfies my needs alone, with no regard to the greater good of other people on Earth. It's basically what Pat Robertson does with you every Sunday. And I want in. So think about it, Jesus. I'll even give you $10 out of my winnings if you help a brutha out. And we all know Heaven operates on a free-market-based economy using American currency, so let's make something praise-worthy happen. You're the tits.

Big Disciple Drew

Donovan McNabb Barfed

Enrico of The 700 Level, writing for the Fanhouse, brings to our attention this fun little video. With the Eagles trailing the Bucs 17-7, Andy Reid decides to play a prank on Donovan McNabb by telling him over the radio that the Broadway run of RENT is coming to an end. McNabb's response is understandably visceral.

Donovan, my friend, you've been punk'd.

(Enrico also linked to Westbrook's sweet touchdown catch, but I figured that as far as Kissing Suzy Kolber was concerned, the vomit was more important.)

KSK Gamebook: Week 7

Captain Caveman gives us this week's Gamebook, from his experiences yesterday at 200 Fifth in Brooklyn's Park Slope neighborhood. He arrived near the end of the 1:00 games in order to minimize Sunday drunkenness, and left seconds after Seneca Wallace's fumble for a Vikings TD sealed a Seahawks loss.

- 200 Fifth is where I catch most Seahawks games that aren't nationally televised. By regular standards, it's a terrible place to watch football: always overcrowded, and the number of Steelers and Jets fans is IQ-lowering. But it's the only real sports bar in a neighborhood best known for lesbians and hipster/yuppie couples with pretentiously named children, so I guess I should move to a neighborhood that sucks less instead of bitching about my only option.

- Brian Westbrook scores on a ridiculous 52-yard catch-and-run that Berman is going to use to get his WHOOP! on, and the Eagles fans go batshit. They do the E-A-G-L-E-S EAGLES! cheer that's similar to the Jets' famous cheer, but only one-third as annoying.

- Bruce Gradkowski has 27 seconds and one timeout to lead the Bucs to a field goal. The game is over, right? Matt Bryant, obviously motivated by the newfound possibility of a kicker becoming Meast of the Week, kicks the second-longest field goal in NFL history for the win. While the Bucs fans taunt the Eagles fans (rather cruelly, I thought), the shot of Donovan McNabb on the sideline is classic: he's smiling in a 4th-and-26, "You're a worthy adversary" kind of way.

- Legions of jersey-clad Yinzers own the back of the bar, but I'm standing next to a Falcons fan. Thank God. The emotional back-and-forth at the end of regulation: Michael Koenen makes a 56-yarder (we rejoice!), the realization that a timeout was called (cheering, furniture overturned in the back), Koenen misses the 56-yarder (whooping, sounds of fire being discovered), a penalty flag (high-five!), and Morten Andersen's missed 52-yarder (more pandemonium). Usually when I get jerked around like this, a woman is involved.

- I point at a TV in the corner. "Wow," I say, "KC's about to kick a game-winner against San Diego." Exactly no one looks at the TV.

- After Morten Andersen kicks the game-winner in OT, the entire bar turns on the Steelers fans. To the dulcet tones of "Nah-nah-nah-nah, hey hey hey, goodbye," the Yinzers respond with a raucous "Here we go Steelers, here we go!" chant. Uh... They know the game's over, right? Are they cheering their team into the showers? Onto the plane home? I suppose a "Five-time champions!" chant would have been a little too creative.

- My Falcons buddy stands on the rungs of his bar stool to cheer when the game-winner went through, which prompts the Redskins fan behind us to say, "Hey, sit down!" Terrible sports bar etiquette on the DC homer. Any game-changing or game-winning play mandates view-blocking celebrations. Fucking Man Law.

- With only three afternoon games televised, the crowd thins out a little. I'm one of seven or eight Seahawks fans in the bar; the Vikings have two or three representatives. Aggregate total of Seahawks-related clothing items we're wearing: zero. Perhaps this is why Seahawks fans have a reputation for not existing outside the Northwest: we don't wear team merchandise publicly. I've always thought that I just don't like the idea of being a grown man wearing another man's jersey, but since I'm cheering for the 'Hawks, I'm willing to admit there may be some shame involved, as well.

- Matt Hasselbeck gets Kimo'd. Seneca Wallace warms up. I've seen a lot of Seahawks fans defend Seneca over the last couple years, but I'm not fooled. Watching Seneca Wallace warm up is like watching Tommy Maddox warm up. It's tied 10-10 in the third quarter at Qwest Field, where the Seahawks haven't lost in 22 months. Nevertheless, this game is over.

Get well soon, Hass

- Things start to unravel. My vision gets all blurry and red during Chester Taylor's 95-yarder, but Seneca bounces back from an INT to lead Seattle to a rousing FG drive. 24-13, Vikings. The long-haired hippie next to me shares my pain. "I wanted that touchdown," he says after Darrell Jackson drops a would-be touchdown on third-and-goal. "I bet the over."

- I come back to the bathroom to find a guy in a Vikings hat eyeing my bar stool and the one next to it for his girlfriend. "'Scuse me," I say as I slide past him and reclaim my seat, and -- WHAT THE FUCK? There's a book by Noam Chomsky on the bar. Fabulist conspiracy theorist and known cocksucker Noam Chomsky. AT A SPORTS BAR. Me: "Take your Chomsky and get outta here, you goddam communist!" Christ.

- Seneca Wallace gets sacked at the two and fumbles. Touchdown, Vikings. I put my jacket on. Hippie: "Well, I got the over." Me: "I don't care about your fucking over. I care about the Seahawks." Eat shit and die.

God, I hate football. Wait, football, come back! Baby, I love you. You know I didn't mean that.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

That's Defecation, Holmes

Okay, I don't usually cop to missing departed Steelers free agents. Pittsburgh loses so many of them every year, it's hard to notice half of them. And more often than not, the defecting player sucks with their new team anyway. But Jesus Hang gliding Christ, I miss Randle El, at least for punt coverage duties.

As I write this, it's still the first quarter of the Steelers-Falcons game. Already, Santonio Holmes has fumbled a punt, leading to a Falcons score. Then on the ensuing kickoff, he sees daylight, only to get tripped up by Atlanta's fucking kicker. Can we get a mulligan on our first round pick?

The other week, a Steeler fan at the bar posited a modest proposal: committing 11 players to blocking punts and if the opposing team gets it off, just letting the damn thing roll to a stop. Beats a turnover every time.

Friday, October 20, 2006

The Beauty Of Democracy When Not Dependent Upon Obese, Middle-Aged Caucasians: Results From The Preseason Cheerleader Poll

As you may recall, we did a little cheerleader poll a while back. Many of you grabbed the chance to rock the vote, and I'm sure a lot of you grabbed something else (not that we're judging over here; we're very fond of saying, "Let he who is without sin grab the fresh Kleenex"). We received almost a hundred votes, and while there may have been a hanging chad in there or two, we are finally ready to share the results with you.

We awarded 5 points for each first-place vote, 3 for a second-place vote, and third place votes were good for one point. A contestant could not receive more than one vote per ballot. It takes a while to add this shit up on an abacus, which is why I didn't use one.

Your results:

Most First-Place Votes: # 9. This would be a good time to point out that we have no idea as to the names of these broads. In fact, life would probably be much easier if we could refer to women exclusively as single-digit numbers, at least until more of them learn how to drive. Michigan Becky said that #9 "easily had the prettiest face to me," and New York Becky pointed out, "why they gave us a better shot of #1's ass than this girl's is beyond me." Finding out we had two Beckys was almost as surprising as discovering that we had two women that actually read our site.

Most Second-Place Votes: # 8. Ocho was probably the blondest of the group, so I guess I'm not surprised that she made it this high. NFL coaches might say she is "deceptively attractive," not that Deuces O'dare complained, mentioning,"Her relative thickness is a plus. she has what we call a take-home package."

Most Third-Place Votes: #9 again. You can probably guess where this is heading...

Winner (Women's Votes): #7, also my favorite. But probably because she's grabbing # 9's ass. You know, because that girl-on-girl thing, yeah, we kinda like that.

De Facto Homely Chick (fewest points): # 5 appeared on only four ballots, and was the only contestant without a first-place vote. Ouch.

Most Depressing Breasts: # 4. TheBigO said, "I was looking at #4 until I noticed that shes got the titties of an old male orangutan." There's a joke in there someplace...

Grand Champion/Object Of Underhanded Zest: #9. A close call (we counted twice), but Niner edged out Ocho, 194-180. Okierover overshares, "I'm thinking really bad thoughts." And chornbe chimes in, "There is no second or third place. There is only #9." And Cheech Marino sends it all home with his sparkling analysis, "With an ass like that I'd eat the corn out of her shit."

So much for the Kleenex.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Foosball Isn't the Devil, H.R. 4411 Is the Devil!

Welcome to the 7th edition of our weekly feature Always Be Covering. The following is a small sampling of the games I'll be investing in when I wake up hungover in an Indianapolis hotel room.

While I may appear startlingly brilliant (or possibly not) you must remember that this is a humor site. If you take me too seriously you should spend a few weeks in a padded room.

These are tough times for us degenerate gamblers. G Dub's got a raging clue for all of us who enjoy laying some cash on a few football games. All the proponents of this ridiculous law that creates another victimless crime deserve to be rumphed by Bryant McKinnie on three non-consecutive occasions. All this means is that people will start going back to the old standby of gambling with bookies...I'm sure that will make the country a safer place President Fucktard. It's not as if he's ever done anything vaguely illegal. Without further delay, let's move on to this week's sure things.

San Diego -6 at Kansas City
Oh come on Vegas, why do you always give the Chiefs so much credit for playing at home. They're a lousy team going up against the most intimidating squad in the AFC. Larry Johnson might need to put that diaper back on at halftime, I figure PEPCO and Jamal Williams should have him shitting his pants by them.
credit www.dallaslive.de

Houston +10 vs. Jacksonville
The Jags haven't shown the consistency necessary to warrant giving ten points on the road against anybody...even the Texans. After losing their best player (Mike Peterson) the Jags could be ready to collapse. Remember, they gave up 37 "Chucker" Brunell. There aren't many things on Earth that can thrill me more than winning a bet on the Texans...and those things usually cost extra.

Denver -5 at Cleveland
The league's best scoring defense is playing against an offense that runs with all the efficiency of a Datsun. As little as I may think of Shanny and his Roto Rooter quarterback even they can muster the nine points needed to cover. If Cleveland comes within a touchdown of the Broncos Shanny should be executed at midfield.

Shy-lock of the Week (3-0 so far...can't stop, won't stop)
(2 teams, 6 point tease)Another gentile in disguise

Arizona +3 at Oakland (MNF)
Philly Even at Tampa
Don't worry everybody, it's Oakland. Not even Denny fucking Green could botch this game. Leinart could hit Boldin for touchdown blindfolded against that piece of shit defense. It's starting to look like Philly is fo'real like Pharrell...and it hurts me to admit that. Once again I will show my complete lack of faith in Jon Gruden and Bruce Gradkowski. If they really thought their team was worth a damn they probably wouldn't have traded Booger for a future draft pick (unless they're targeting that Dingleberry kid I've heard so much about).

Now we want to hear from you the reader. Any obscene parlay you're throwing down this weekend? Let us know so we can mock your failure.

At This Point, Who Hasn't Been With Leather?

Going off this Deadspin tip, we at KSK have just learned about a great new sports blog called With Leather. It's apparently written by someone extremely handsome and witty, although that's just something Scarlett Johansson told me, and what does she know?

Word on the street -- and by "street" I mean "my email inbox" -- is that Deadspin commenter twoeightnine (he of Marcus Vick, Mo Clarett, and Leitch-as-Che fame) will be producing Photoshop genius for With Leather soon, so keep checking back in.

No, seriously. Keep checking. Like, all the time. And click on the ad banners, too.