If you've ever pined to watch NFL stars going head-to-head with a couple of B-list celebs in a rousing game of Simon Says then today is like an early fucking Christmas. Savor this for all it's worth, and always remember that Jason Taylor's "game face" is no match for his "man-hug face."
That was K-Pax gay. It's a shame they couldn't get Pharoahe Monch to emcee...
...and instead of having crappy celebs compete with menacing football players might I suggest another change of pace?
Enjoy your weekend everyone, I'll be toiling away over at Deadspin so feel free to join in on the fun and send me some links (preferably the good kind).
It’s the last commenter draft of the year. Next week, this slot will be occupied by the return of the Maj’s gambling column. I’ve enjoyed these drafts a great deal, largely because you, the readers, do all the effort. Well, it’s only fair to reward you. Many of you have been asking for a porn star draft for a while (shocking), so here it is.
The rules? This is a star of the pornographic film industry you would like to perform a scene with. It can be any porn star from any time in history. No soft core actors or actresses please. They have to have, like, done it with someone on camera. For reals. Once you pick a porn star, wait 10 picks until you pick another. If you provide a link to said performer, do be sure to leave a NSFW warning if necessary.
While I usually take the first pick in all our drafts, I’m going to abstain from picking this time around. Because as a husband and father, I of course have never seen a pornographic film in my entire life. Couldn’t even begin to tell you the name of any actress involved in the industry. Nikki Tyler? Who’s that? No clue. A famous judge once said he knew pornography when he saw it. Well, I would not know pornography when I saw it, because I’ve never seen it. Sorry, judge. Wish I was hip to it all.
So enjoy this, the last draft of the year. Around the 100th comment, this should start to get pretty creepy.
-Tackle D’Brickashaw Ferguson is often forced to give piggyback rides to Chinese tourists who confuse his first name with an advertisement for personal transport. -Multi-purpose threat Brad Smith will be expected to perform many duties during the season: throwing passes, running the ball, catching the ball, returning kicks, and becoming as overrated as Antwaan Randle El. -You of course know that center Nick Mangold’s sister Holley is a 300-lb. high school player. What you don’t know is that Mangold has a second sister named Rotunda who just finished up a summer internship as a retaining wall. -Linebacker Jonathan Vilma is the lesbian lovechild of Velma Dinkley and Wilma Flintstone. -Andre Wadsworth’s comeback bid with the Jets will come to a tragic end when he accidentally manages to gouge out his right eye with a washcloth.
Ten Yards Of Awkwardness With: Kerry Rhodes!
During our 2007 NFL preview, I’ll be “chatting” with a player from each team. For the Jets, it’s strong safety, Louisville grad, and flubby wet dream subject Kerry Rhodes.
Big Daddy Drew: Kerry, thanks for sitting down with us. Kerry Rhodes: My pleasure.
Drew: You were ranked a stunning 29th on Peter King’s list of the 500 best NFL players, ahead of Steven Jackson, Larry Johnson, Bart Scott, and many others. What did you do for King for such favorable placement? Were anal beads involved? Rhodes: I didn’t do anything.
Drew: Nosetackle Dwayne Robertson was once called, “Baby Sapp”. Was this because he too could swallow a rotisserie chicken whole? Rhodes: No.
Drew: I don’t think of Robertson as a bust, so much as a gigantic, flaming dirigible explosion. Agreed? Rhodes: No.
Drew: Many QB’s have to wear red jerseys in practice. Since Kimo von Oelhoffen is on your team, are they required to wear red pants, socks, and shoes as well? Rhodes: No.
Drew: Jets fans are known for their creative, and often intricate chants. Do you think the chant, “J-E-T-S Jets! Jets! Jets!” is easily understood by the common man? Or is it too clever by half? Rhodes: I don’t know.
Drew: If Chad Pennington were to make whipped cream by hand, would his arm fall off completely, or would it just kinda hang there? Rhodes: I don’t know.
Drew: Did you know The Big Lead is gay for Thomas Jones? Rhodes: No.
Drew: I’d tell Thomas to keep away. Anyone who still watches “The Wonder Years” probably also owns a cat. Rhodes: Okay.
Drew: Laveranues Coles was abused by his stepfather at a young age. And I think he was pretty brave to come out and admit in public. Why do you think so many other athletes are unwilling to speak out the way Coles has? Rhodes: What?
Drew: Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I got my notes mixed up with Andrea Kremer’s for a moment. My apologies. Coach Eric Mangini is notoriously rough on players for disclosing injuries to the public. Do you think he made Coles run wind sprints after his admission? Rhodes: No. That would be horrible.
Drew: I heard Mangini is so discreet about injuries that he didn’t bury his own grandfather when he died, and that he currently keeps him in an armoire in his basement. True? Rhodes: No.
Drew: Marques Tuiasosopo: do you really need him? Rhodes: Yes.
Drew: Will you consider kissing me? Rhodes: No.
Drew: Come on, man! A Jet who doesn’t want to kiss people? That’s crap. Rhodes: Tough
Drew: Kerry, thanks again. Rhodes: You’re very welcome.
Why did I decide to make this list? Why would I rank the 500 best things things you don't want to hear from me that I'm going to tell you anyway? Well, you probably don't care, but I'm going to tell you anyway.
You see, I woke up in the middle of the night wondering, "What do people want to know less about me? The details of my bowel movements, or the sexual positions I use to help my wife conceive?" Ever since that happened, I've been unable to think about anything else. So I told coaches and GM's around the league the list wanted to make, and they all thought it was stupid and senseless. So did my editors. And my friends. In fact, it was readily apparent that this would negatively affect both my professional credibility and my relationships with professional contacts. That's when I knew I had to do it.
What were my criteria? Did I take a scientific approach and use stats to make my case? Did I base it on each topic's past accomplishments, or its potential for the future? Did I poll other people and use their votes? Kind of! In fact, I took every step to make it as arbitrary as possible, because that way everyone enters into hopelessly boring and pointless conversations about it.
Without further ado, here are the 500 best things you don't want to hear from me that I'm going to tell you anyway.
1. Last week I let my wife defecate on my chest. It was a pretty intimate moment. 2. I'll occasionally get coffee from other cafes besides Starbucks, but familiar name brands make me feel safer. 3. I like the Red Sox! 4. During air travel, I break wind as our plane taxis onto the runway. Instant conversation starter. 5. On Monday night I took in a Madonna concert. She may be a controversial performer, but she's definitely still got it. 6.Tony Romo's cock is beautifully curved. Really, it has the size and shape of a jumbo summer sausage. 7. I have this old Underwood typewriter that I keep in the attic. It types in cursive, and the lowercase Q looks enough like a weathered clitoris to give me an erection. 8.Andy Rooney is the sharpest journalist in the country, hands-down. 9. The worst thing about maintaining a healthy diet so I can be less obese? No more deep-fried butter sticks. Heavenly when dipped in mayonnaise. 10. Finally got around to watching Beverly Hills Cop. I can't say I liked that Axel Foley's attitude one bit.
11. I had a layover in Omaha on my way out to the Raiders' training camp. That was where I saw a teenage boy, maybe 14 or 15, wearing an earring! Can you believe it? Where were his parents? 12. Middle-school girls' softball games can get awfully competitive. 13. I love being a part of the Sunday Night Football crew, but I wish I could get a suit with an elastic waistband. 14. Dippin' Dots, the ice cream of the future? You better believe it. 15. If you ask me, Lady is the tramp. 16. Kids these days! 17. I didn't want to ever have to say this, but I think President Bush could have done a better job with the war in Iraq. 18. Sometimes when I'm bored, I like to slap my scrotum repeatedly with a wooden salad spoon. One time, it sounded just like the drum solo from Wipe Out. I wish had that on my iPod. 19. Everyone knows saliva makes a passable personal lubricant, but it's more effective if you can get some nasal mucus in there. 20. Have you heard about HBO's show "Real Sex"? It's wild!
21. Keep an eye on NBC's documentary series "The Office." Michael Scott's managerial skills tell me he's going places. 22. Did you know that the Newark Star-Ledger has baseball box scores from West Coast games in its late morning edition? Let's see the Internet do that. 23. At a recent Josh Groban concert, I saw someone smoking what I believe was a marihuana cigarette. I sent a letter to the Department of Homeland Security. They'll know what to do. 24. My pick for key fantasy star this week? LaDainian Tomlinson. 25. If I had to choose between eating a pound of your standard brown defecation or a teaspoon of that weird green stuff I get the morning after Indian food and six Sam Adams Winter Ales, I'd have a tough decision on my hands. 26. I think this might really be Brett Favre's last year, but you never know. When I talked to him last week, I could see in his soft brown eyes that he just loves playing the game of football. 27. It's never too early in life to check yourself for testicular cancer. 28. If Barry Bonds actually took steroids, I don't think his record should count. 29. Who's got the best condiment bar in the league? I'll take Heinz Field every time. 30. Am I really the only guy who wishes he could lactate?
31. I wish onions had a juice. 32. I don't understand why they're always putting out new editions of the encyclopedia. My 1986 World Book collection stands the test of time. 33. When it comes to linebackers, the best out there are Brian Urlacher, Paul Posluszny, and Chad Greenway. There's just something about them. 34.Jack Parr could write a joke about zone blocking that would really make you think. 35. I just can't believe how good U2 is. Every album is better than the last. 36. If you ask me, nothing beats a good wipe with Charmin White Ultra Aloe -- the double rolls are a must. 37. I'm not one to speak ill of others, but The Coffee Beanery funds terrorist training camps. 38. Each football season, I make it a personal goal never to defecate during the Giants' bye week. 39. You have to admire the way the Red Sox have bounced back this season. Anyone else get the feeling that Curt Schilling has taught Josh Beckett something about winning? 40. Have you tried this Marshmellow Fluff? It's not only delicious, but for my money, it's a great home remedy for hemorrhoids.
41. The ficus is our greatest potted plant. 42. Sometimes I picture myself on those airline safety pamphlets chasing the other people around the plane with a Swiss Army Knife. 43. Professional wrestling just isn't believable these days. 44. Aggravating Travel Note of the Week: What's with all these lady drivers? 45. Thanks to John Derrick of Butte, Montana. You're right: the reuben at Beth's Roadside Diner totally gets rid of that semen aftertaste. 46. One of Mike Tyson's turds got sold for $31 on eBay. I may never have to work again. 47. Why do snack machines sell things for 85 cents? Who carries that kind of change? 48. New favorite iPod feature: shuffle. 49.Paula Cole, I'd like you to meet Tony Romo. 50. I did an interview with an Internet "weblog" called The Big Lead. That fella sure knows his movies!
(There's the first 50. Let's hear the other 450 in the comments.)
Color us hoodwinked and crestfallen today at KSK. Turns out the Facebook page from which we found so much to adore about Laurence Maroney is a big, fat phony.
You mean to tell me people can make fake profiles of other people? So that comment I have from Jayson Blair on my Wall may not actually be from him? Man, I was hoping that really cheesed off everyone at my newspaper job.
We were sure we were the witless victims of yet another garden-variety Intarwebs hoax.
That is, until we read this:
"'construda?' — 'I don't know what that is,' Maroney said"
Bull. Fucking. Shit.
Sorry, Koolaid. You slipped up on that one. Really had us going there. Some of the concessions we're willing to accept, but construda and begul shitting are just too genius for some lowly internet prankster to have pulled from the ether.
We can easily guess your motivations behind this shoddy denial to a crappy daily with a circ of about 28 birdcages in the Boston area: Chairman Belichick doesn't brook human emotions and, even more likely, some opponent probably gave you a hard time about the idiotic homosexual speculation that sprang forth from one photo.
We'd hate for you to become another unlikable Patriots player (read: any other Patriots player) so we're standing firm in our position that this dubious denial was brought under duress. Perhaps Bob Kraft was threatening to cut off your Kool-Aid supply. Whatever. We need this.
[NOTE: Dave Brown, a writer for The Standard-Times, which tipped us to their article, took exception to my description of the paper as a "crappy daily with a circ of about 28 birdcages in the Boston area." It's true: I'm a dickhole and that was a needless cheap shot at some people who were trying to help us. So I'm asking you, dear readers, to subscribe to The Standard-Times [actual circulation: more than 28!] before Dave Brown has someone from the Poynter Institute come and break my thumbs.]
Oh Tom, look! It’s a boy! We had a boy! Or, to be more accurate, I had a boy. You didn’t do jack shit. He’s mine. All mine. In fact, I just came up with his name. I think you’re gonna like it. It’s John Edward Thomas Moynahan.
That’s right. John Moynahan, you heartless bastard. No Brady for you. Oh, were you hoping to continue your name on through future generations? Well then, you better start riding Gisele bareback, if you aren't already, you negligent prick. You don’t even get the middle name to yourself! Ha! I’m making you share it. In fact, I put Edward first in the middle name pecking order, just to piss you off.
No man betrays the Bridge and gets away with it.
In fact, I’m gonna make sure he grows up to be nothing like you. He’ll be generous, and responsible. And you know what else he’ll be? Gay. That’s right. I’m gonna raise him to be super gay. Positively flaming. Know why he’s named John? It’s after Johnny Weir. I’m gonna dress him in girly clothes, make him watch hours of Bette Midler movies, and send him to performing arts school. He’ll be hitting London discotheques by age 11. Shit, he'll be gayer than Hugh Jackman. And there ain’t shit you can do it about, you lecherous fiend.
Oh, did you want him to play football? Sorry. No football in the Moynahan household. No, I think he’ll be playing lacrosse. Lots and lots of lacrosse. He won’t care about touchdowns and fly patterns, because he’ll be too busy prancing around a field twirling a basket on a stick. Suck on that.
It could have been different. I’m no slouch in the looks department, my man. But noooooo, you had to have it all. You had to go trotting around the globe with that little fucking Brazilian strumpet you call a girlfriend. Think you can just knock me up, avoid the altar, and then keep living the high life, do you? "Oh, let's do it without condoms, Bridge! You won't get pregnant if we do it standing up!" Liar. Time to pay the piper.
So say hello to John Edward Thomas MOYNAHAN. Hope you like seeing him in pink onesies, you fucker.
A regular feature toward the end of the last season, we're resurrecting the NFL PostSecret post as a weekly feature. Why? Because we can't bear to keep things from you, dear readers.
An arbitrary number of fast facts on the Philadelphia Eagles...
Donovan McNabb was super pissed when he opened the media guide and saw that Kevin Kolb's middle name is Kyle.
Not to be outdone, Andy Reid's kids have begun staging Persian cat fights in their drained jacuzzi.
Jevon Kearse and Correll Buckhalter share a single pair of knees.
Jeremiah Trotter says he's just 30 years-old but dendrochronologists insist that he's at least 52.
Sean Considine looks like he'd enjoy a ham sandwich on Wonder Bread slathered in Miracle Whip washed down with a tall glass of milk.
Chunky Soup is made out of the McNabb family's collective excreta.
Philly's backup tight ends form the city's nineteenth most popular barbershop quartet--George Harrison's ghost finds them derivative.
Chris Berman has spent several sleepless nights debating the pros and cons of various nicknames for Chris Gocong--each is more insufferable than the last.
Jean-Gilles tried to eat Uga VI on two non-consecutive occasions--poor guy's still scared to leave his house.
Dedrick Roper refuses to answer all questions relating to Three's Company.
And now--because I've run out of shit to talk about--here's a video of rather raucous tailgate featuring every Eagle fan you've ever met. It should keep hold your attention for precisely 64 seconds (much like the rest of this post!).
-Head coach Dick Jauron is still recovering from half of his face melting after opening the Ark of the Covenant. -Rookie running back Marshawn Lynch is attempting to fill the shoes of recent Bills RBs Willis McGahee and Travis Henry by impregnating eight women, two does, and a baby sea cow. -Team President Marv Levy has a lifelong endorsement contract with D. Lucky Lindy’s All-Purpose Hair Gel. “You’ll never fly solo again!” -Tight end Robert Royal couldn’t catch a fucking O Ball. -We reiterate that running back Shaud Williams is not a fan of Bruno:
Ten Yards Of Awkwardness With: Kyle Williams!
During our 2007 NFL Preview, I’ll be sitting down and “chatting” with a player from each team. For the Bills, it’s defensive tackle and jolly looking fellow Kyle Williams.
Big Daddy Drew: Kyle, thanks for sitting down with us. Kyle Williams: Sure. No problem.
Drew: You sort of look like Tobey Maguire on the days he takes his depression meds. You ever get that? Williams: No.
Drew: You went to LSU. Earlier this year, LSU women’s basketball coach Pokey Chatman was fired for having affairs with her players. I saw the movie “Chasing Amy” once, and the annoying bitch who always cried in that flick said lesbians make love by fisting one another. My question is, when you bounce an LSU practice ball, does it stick to the court? Williams: I have no idea.
Drew: Buffalo fans are famed for attending games shirtless. Is it fun to know that, when you take the field, you’re gonna see lots of tits, both male and female? Williams: I don’t look into the stands.
Drew: The Bills have one of the more tortured fanbases in the league. Did Marv Levy hire Dick Jauron just to twist the knife a little bit more? Williams: Coach Jauron is a good coach.
Drew: I heard Paul Posluszny is so dumb that if you staple a tail to his pants he chases it. True? Williams: No.
Drew: The Bills traded Willis McGahee in the offseason. How has McGahee’s departure affected the area’s Planned Parenthood clinics? I heard many of them had to be shuttered. Williams: I don’t know.
Drew: Does Roscoe Parrish own a last basset hound named Flash? Williams: No.
Drew: Linebacker Coy Wire has a bitchin’ name. If I were him, after every tackle, I’d jump up and shout, “’CAUSE I’M ALIVE!!!!! A LIVE WI-AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” Wouldn’t you? Williams: No.
Drew: Larry Triplett: fat lineman, or fattest lineman? Williams: Fat lineman.
Drew: Quarterback JP Losman has a reputation for being somewhat cocky. But isn’t that somewhat earned on his part? I think he’s fucking dreamy. And so does most of the gay population in Buffalo. I think they like his unkempt hair and free-loving spirit. Don’t you? Williams: I have no idea.
Drew: Shouldn’t Peerless Price really be named Peer Price? Williams: Peerless is damn good.
Drew: Offensive line coach Jim McNally terrifies me. Look at this picture.
Does McNally ever wear a hooded cloak and start saying shit like, “It was I who allowed the Alliance to know the location of the shield generator. It is quite safe from your pitiful little band. An entire legion of my best troops awaits them. Oh, I'm afraid the deflector shield will be quite operational when your friends arrive. HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!”? Williams: No.
Drew: Kyle, thanks for your time. Williams: You’re welcome.
BONUS: 289 provides this stunning video of Marshawn Lynch's philosophical viewpoints. Kudos to you, 289. You are solid. And it don't get no better than solid.
I am sorry that you wrecked your $350,000 car the other day, Lance. I was hanging in the dorms last night smoking toenails with Adewale and he told me about your car. Well, specifically, he told me about how you wrapped it around some light fixture in the street. A good lighting scheme can make all the difference, so I can see your intention there. Are you alright? I am surprised you could even fit in such a small car. I understand that Italian men are just scale replicas of normal-sized people, and that their cars are shrunken down accordingly.
Maybe that was your plan all along, Lance Briggs. You were just trying to stretch the car out so both of us could fit in there at the same time. You always were a thoughtful fellow, The cannonball home from Lake Forest would have been sweet, just like Miami Vice. I could have been Don Johnson to your Phillip Michael Estrada, but I guess we can forget about that for now.
This just hasn't been your year, Lance Briggs. I mean, you got stuck with the franchise tag over the winter and all that. Now you're only gonna make seven million dollars this year, not that either of us could count that high, even if we had like, 94 days or something. It's a good thing we have direct deposit, it's just one less thing. Hey, what did you do with that franchise tag? I never see you wear it...
But now you have no car, Lance Briggs, and that sucks. This one time in college I needed a new water pump in my Neon and I had to drop it off overnight, so I know exactly what you're going through. When your game check comes in a couple weeks, we can go get you another car, and maybe invest some money into some better tires. I know this homeless guy over in Gary, Indiana, so we can register it in his name if you don't want to deal with the cops next time you plow into an embankment. Think about it, the offer is on the table.
It was just last week that we were first able to gaze upon GQ's latest photo stylings of some of the NFL's hot young quarterbacks. This week, as is the natural progression of Internet Things, come the Photoshopped images (all courtesy of our good friend 289).
The Ironic Hall of Mirrors shattered when Ben hit a motorcycle-driving Steely McBeam.
Hey, someone's gotta fill the void left in the dogfighting world.
Ugh. I'd rather be Travis Henry.
"Where you been, Romo? The whole steel industry's gay."
As you know, Michael Vick will be sentenced to jail today. Whether he understands this or not is still up for debate, as sources tell us Vick has said to close friends on many occasions that, “Monday Night Football is taking it too fucking far with this ‘You’ve Been Sacked!’ halftime shit!” Regardless of his ability to accept the basic tenets of reality, Vick is still going to go away for a good amount of time, based on the plea agreement he negotiated with Federal prosecutors. It’s a damning document, laying bare the fact that Vick was the financier of an entire dogfighting gambling ring, and that he participated in the execution of dogs.
But what you folks out there might not know is just how long it took Vick’s lawyers to craft that document. The Statement of Facts you see there is quite a bit different from its original version, a version that was written almost exclusively by Vick himself. I had the good fortune of stumbling upon it. Here now are its unedited contents.
IN THE UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT
FOR THE EASTERN DISTRICT OF VIRGINIA
Richmond Division
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA v. MICHAEL VICK a/k/a “Ookie”, a/k/a "Tony Masters", a/k/a "Mickey Relleno", a/k/a "Simba", a/k/a "Dexter St. Jacques", a/k/a "Lord Baron Von Turlington VIII", a/k/a "Fly Johnson", Defendant
CRIMINAL NO. 3:07CR274
SUMMARY OF THE FACTS
If this matter were to proceed to trial, the Government would prove the following facts beyond a reasonable doubt:
1. Beginning in or about early 2001, and continuing through in or about April 2007, in the Eastern District of Virginia and elsewhere, defendant MICHAEL VICK, also known as “Ookie,” got hold of some serious, unreal, fucking make-everything-look-like-a-photo-negative cohiba that rocked his party world like a motherfucking motherfucker. VICK also agrees that:
2. The best Mrs. Fields cookie is the semi-sweet with nuts. If you get that shit without nuts, it ain’t got no motherfuckin’ texture. VICK agrees that he likes textures.
3. VICK knowingly hopes that Kerry Washington noticed the suit he wore to the courthouse the other day. Because that shit was tight.
4. If you inhale and exhale real quick for, like, five minutes, then have a buddy press your hands into your chest, you totally pass out and have all these crazy dreams and shit. It’s a good thing to do if you are out of weed and/or waiting for Carlos to deliver.
5. If you press your hands against a doorway for, like two minutes, then stop, your arms will go up on their own! That’s fucked up.
6. VICK knowingly purchased Beggin’ Strips when he was stoned to the bejeezus one night. And you know what? They were fucking great! They really do taste like bacon.
7. VICK knowingly failed to curb his dogs.
8. But he did not fail to curb-stomp his dogs.
9. Sometimes, if you get stoned and accidentally throw a doodoo pie at your own wall, you can cover that shit up with a really nice tapestry and, like, some Febreze. Febreze is fucking magical.
10. Big Boy can tear a bitch in half.
11. VICK agrees that many of the ideas in his secret journal sounded much better when he was lit up like Mann’s Chinese Theater. These include: the kitebot, the motorized toenail clippers, selling chili in a juice box, the syrup sprinkler, the jawbreaker made of colored stainless steel, the tongue-shaped vibrator, and the pineapple/apple hybrid fruit or “pineappleapple”
12. Matter of fact, why the fuck do they call it pineapple to begin with? Ain’t no apples in that shit! And it doesn’t come from a pine tree! The fuck?
13. Dude, the “The Simpsons” totally stole VICK’s fucking idea for a dog fur texedo.
14. VICK agrees that Mr. Home Depot Man should, like, pay his legal bills and shit.
15. VICK knowingly and unlawfully snuck into his neighbor’s house when he was a kid and poured an entire jar of mayonnaise into the radiator, just to fuck with him.
16. VICK did not kill any dogs.
17. Okay, maybe, like one. But that bitch had grown so ugly, it was really like doin’ her a favor.
18. Okay, maybe VICK gave another pooch or two the Atomic Drop. But you know what, Mr. Prosecutor Man? I don’t see you raising much of a fuss when you have, like, steak for dinner and shit. VICK saw “Faces of Death”, man. Those cows get their throats fuckin’ slit, man. And they don’t even get to have fun while they’re alive! VICK gave those dogs a taste of athletic glory, bitch! Those dogs were gladiators. Legends. I got a plaque of Priscilla on my wall and everything! She didn’t die! She lives forever! She was a champion! Until she started losing. Then VICK held her down and sawed her head off with a penknife. But what choice did VICK have? You ever try and tell a dog to retire?! They don't fucking listen, man! And it ain't like that bitch didn't LIKE to fight. She wanted to do it! VICK didn't "fight" dogs, per se. He simply released them to go and fight. They was just doin' what they do! That's, like, natural selection and shit! Fuck.
19. Remember in “Faces of Death” where they behead that Arab guy? That was awesome. They say that shit was staged, but VICK knows real blood when he sees it.
20. VICK is still stoned. And he smoked up, like, fourteen hours ago. This is like enduroshit. It’s chronic chronic! It’s the everlasting gobstopper, bitches! Go ahead and take my ass to jail, Mr. Prosecutor man. ‘Cause this shit’ll last my whole term. No bars can hold my high down! MV7, HIGH FOR LIFE YOU WHORES
Photo courtesy of The Onion
CORRECTION: Vick will NOT be sentenced today. He will be sentenced on December 10. Wait a second, December fucking 10th?! Christ, that's eons away. Rocket docket, my ass. Show a little hustle, District Court. I want my celebrity justice NOW!
My beagle Snoop was showing his doggy ass this afternoon, so I made him watch the latest video from Will Ferrell's Funny or Die. He has humped nary a leg since then. Thanks Mike, and watch out for yer cornhole, bud.
A tip of the chewed-up Raiders' Starter hat to the cagey roughnecks at Sons of Sam Malone.
These photos are not to be underestimated. GQ is the magazine that gave us Tom Brady hugging an adorable baby goat, which we bloggers appreciate, as years of goat-fucking jokes have helped us cope with Dreamboat's three Super Bowl rings and model-banging ways.
So, with Dreamgoat as our benchmark, let's take a look at the photos and see which ones will stand the comedic test of time.
Oh, Brady Quinn. It's not his fault he's this good-looking, you know. Here he evokes the classic brooding handsomeness of James Dean. Sadly, despite Cleveland's offensive line, football protective equipment is too effective for us to realistically expect a tragically premature death.
Am I the only one not sold on JaMarcus Russell? Here he is walking away from the jet he couldn't buy because he hasn't signed a contract yet. This picture won't be truly funny unless Russell is a colossal bust and ends up a pauper. And given the state of the Raiders, I like those odds.
Who invited Nick Lachey to the photo shoot?
Cowboy Tony Romo as a cowboy. This photo actually wasn't set up by GQ; Romo is a ranch hand in the offseason in order to maintain credibility with girlfriend/country star Carrie Whoever. It's also the best job a degree from Eastern Illinois can get you, unless you actually want to be a high school music teacher in Nauvoo.
Matt Leinart lounging at the pool with a hot chick? It's a little hard to believe, but I guess I can go along with it. Here's part of Leinart's interview with the magazine:
GQ: Okay, what’s the biggest perk of your job? And don’t be like, “I get to play in the NFL.” Leinart: Well, you get a lot of free stuff. You get free clothes, and you get people who want to give you free suits.
GQ: Okay, but your suits are too big on you. Leinart: You’re crazy.
GQ: I’m crazy? I work at GQ. Leinart: No, you’re right. I’ll take your advice on that.
I love the way Leinart comes off as an easily swayed simpleton. It's part of his charm, I'm sure.
Ben.
Ben, Ben, Ben.
Somehow I'm not buying into the smooth film noir private investigator image. Is it the drunk photos all over the Internet? Is it the Miami of Ohio background? The helmetless motorcycle crash? The too-carefully-groomed goatee? The organ failure? Yes. All of that. Plus I think this (surprisingly) not Photoshopped picture more accurately portrays the man who steers the Black and Gold:
I choose to disagree with your shirt, sir.
(Thanks for putting up with all the gayness in the post. Here's a cheerleader for your patience. Her name is Keela Harris, and it's best if you not try to figure out if her head has been superimposed on the picture.)
Bob Glauber (not as mellifluous as Bob Dobalina, but close) is reporting that Michael Strahan has folded like a cheap pup tent and will slink into Giants' camp within the next day or two-- without the renegotiated contract he so desperately sought. I'm no Archimedes, but I know a little something about leverage. And rapidly aging defensive ends with ridiculously large alimony payments have no leverage.
Elsewhere in Giantdom, the Eli Manning-Tiki Barber catfight is reminiscent of the recent beef between Donald Trump and Rosie O'Donnell in that we really don't give a rat's ass about either side and would be perfectly content to see all parties hop into a roaring fire. Tiki needs something to ramp up his transition from lousy teammate to lousy broadcaster.
On the other hand, before the 2004 draft-- for what seems to be the first and last time in his life-- Manning decided to play hardass. He forced the Chargers to grant his wish and trade him to the most intense media crucible in all of sports. Now, according to Tony K. on PTI Wednesday, we should feel sorry for Eli because Tiki is picking on him. Fuck. That. Noise.
Remember Eli, there's much less scrutiny on the squash court.
The many faces of Manning: running the gamut from mild confusion to utter bewilderment. From the Sports Hernia.
The Boston Herald is claiming that Bridget Moynahan and Tom Brady have brushed aside all the kickass names suggested by KSK readers and named their little golden boy... Jonathan Brady. Color us underwhelmed. Such a mundane, white-bread name is hardly befitting such an auspicious arrival.
Even if the proud parents have failed to capture the glory and majesty of the moment, KSK reader Bryan J. is more than up to the occasion-- delivering us this epic photoshop. Judging by the picture, Dad is so caught up in the excitement of new fatherhood that he doesn't notice that new teammate Randy Moss is sneaking off with Brady's one true love. Once again, congrats to Bridget and Tom for having working sex organs.
While we know quite a bit about Tom Brady and Bridget Moynahan, details about the kid are still sparse. We know it's a boy and...well, that's about it. Tom Brady, we must imagine, is surely overwhelmed with the realization that his life is now over. Yeah, being a dad is great and whatever (that's what I read, anyway), but as he watches a promising career of pure bachelorhood evaporate before his eyes, his latest acquisition now toils in this mortal neo-natal world of ours, nameless.
Sadly, our newly-papoosed prodigal passer might be mere hours from being slapped with some ridiculous Hollywood-inspired child's name like "Coco" or "Apple." Or worse, he could spend his life shouldering even something more uninspired, like "4real" or "@." Hey, @, how are you today? What's that, @? Could you repeat that, @? What's your email address, again?
We cannot let this happen. This is, after all, A Baby Of Destiny. We must rise to this occasion as voices of reason, and hope that, for all our collective efforts, one name stands above all. For this draft, you are naming this baby. You know the rules. I will go first.
Anakin Bootylicious Brady.
Pick a name. Wait ten picks. Pick another name. If you have time, mock and ridicule the ones that fuck this up. Time is a factor here. The fate of the future lies in your hands.
WHOA HOLY SHIT! Where the fuck am I? Last thing I remember, I was sliding down the inside of my mom and now some asshole in a mask and green pajamas is trying to nostril-fuck me! Get that fucking thing out of my nose! If you're so eager to help, you can grab a rag there and wipe some of this pussy shrapnel off my face! And turn some of these fucking lights down! You're not delivering a king-sized order of onion rings, faggots!
Seriously, where the fuck am I? WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE? What is this place? This kinda looks like a small cafeteria to me, but where are all the stacks of trays? Wait a sec, am I in NFL Europe? That would explain why it's so cold, out here in Nonpussyville. I don't think I can survive outside of the snatch for, oh, more than a couple of hours. Guys, for real, I can feel my lips starting to chap. You mind if I run back into my mom for a second? I have some gloves in there. I'll be right back, seriously. I swear.
And not that I'm complaining about this, but do I have two dicks? I have this long ropecock that leads back into my mom, and then another friend down there. Is that crazy? I mean, I have two of everything else, right? When I get older, I'll have two Christmases, too. Wicked. Yeah, that other one a little farther down is nice, too. We'll call that my backup dick.
Yeah, go ahead, you green freaks, clamp that dick down and measure it. Just tell me how long it is in inches, and then tell me what an inch is. You could just draw an inch for me on that legal pad on that desk over there. I'm a visual learner, see.
Helloooo? Will somebody just tell me where I am? Hey, are those scissors? Be careful with those, you might...hey! HEY WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING! THAT'S MY ROPECOCK! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME I JUST GOT AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
...Damn you sons of bitches, you just slashed my ropecock. I hate all of you fucking people. I just know I'm gonna hate it in this...this cafeteria. At least I have two great parents that love each other. And a spare pecker. Fuck this place, I'm taking a nap...
Christ, this day is going slow. We ain’t even had our second practice yet. Then I gotta go watch film of both practices, download the rest of the staff, and then map out tomorrow’s schedule. I’m not gettin’ outta here until midnight. I know it. Dag gummit.
God, I can’t wait to get home and masturbate.
I really wish that one girl in those tight black pants hadn’t walked by earlier. All I’ve wanted to do since then is tear off my pants and just hammer myself raw. Get myself a piece of ol’ Wade Jr, if you know what I mean. But nooooo, I gotta stay here and do some daggone work. In a glass office, no less.
Shee-ut.
I got no privacy in this complex. Some asshole’s always reading the paper in the shitter. Maybe I can get home for a quick snack or something. No wait, can’t do that. Patty’s home right now with her Garden Club. God dammit. I really need to masturbate. I’m tellin’ ya, I got a hankerin’ for some spankerin’!
I know what I’m gonna do. When I finally finish up all this shit, I’mma hop in my car and speed on home, gently workin’ my knob through my pleated khakis. That way, I'll be prepared for rubbin' when I get home. Everyone should be asleep by then. Then, I’ll sneak into the house real quiet and fire up the ol’ Dell. Patty don’t know about “Private Browsing” on Safari yet. So I’mma grab some tissues and download me some hardcore shit. I like the amateur stuff. It feels more real to me. I don’t like all that staged porn. Maybe I’ll grab some lotion too. That makes my hand feel more like a cooter.
The question is: do I masturbate just once? It’s so hard to hold out for that one Texas-sized spurt. I could conceivably get off one quick jerk in the driveway, then have a longer, more-drawn out jerk when I get through the door. That way, I’m not creaming the keyboard within ten seconds. But then I’ll be tired. And hungry.
God, I need to release the fuckin’ floodgates.
If I could just find somewhere private. There’s no way I can get all this cotton pickin’ work done when I need to go masturbate so badly. If could just jerk off, I could finally get on with my day. Maybe I’ll hit a Starbucks or something. They have bathrooms that lock. I could maybe try and massage it under the table during our film sessions. I could think about that cheerleader girl from that one show. She is one dandy piece of trim. Or I could think about the black pants girl. That Angelina Jolie makes a great imaginary lay, but I haven't seen her lately. I saw a player's wife walk in here the other day that had her big, juicy rack just sticking right out. Christ, I'd like to get hold of her ass and then just ride off into the sunset...
God, I have to get this done. The film room. Gotta do it there.
But what if someone notices? Frankly, I got so much Wadebutter built up, it would make a stain on my pants the size of a longhorn. Can’t do it.
C’mon, clock. Move! I gotta get this done! If I can’t masturbate, I can’t think of nothin’ else!
Jones: Yeehaw!!!!!!
Oh, fuck! I’m never gettin’ outta here!
Jones: Hey there, tubby! You like Romo’s doin’? Hoo boy, I like that Romo! But you know what he needs? More options! More routes! More formations! I want you to stay in tonight and help design a new trips package for my boy Romo!
I got family stuff to do tonight, Mr. Jones.
Jones: The fuck you do! I didn’t hire you to love your family! I hired you to work! Now work, fatty! Work work work like the little fattykins you are!
Well, I do have to get home and grab some paperwork real quick.
Jones: I’ll have a courier get it for you! By the way, I’m trying out new cheerleaders on the adjourning practice field this afternoon. Make sure you have my boys focused on football, and not all that sweet river Texas pussy next door. Comprende, mi fucking amigo? WOO HOO! I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!!
Shit. Now I’ll never get to jerk off. I wish I were castrated.
Keenan McCardell returned home to Houston for his 16th NFL season to back up Andre Johnson and Jacoby Jones (who is not, as his name implies, a haberdasher). McCardell has over 10,000 career receiving yards and 62 touchdowns. Accordingly, we expect members of the Art Monk Yakuza to support McCardell’s Hall of Fame candidacy once he retires.
Will Amobi Okoye continue to tea-bag running backs as he moves up to the next level? Hells yes, son.
The Texans devoted much of their offseason to strengthening their shitty, shitty pass defense. With a little luck and a lot of hard work, they hope to improve to merely 'shitty' this season.
The backfield committee of Ahman Green, Samkon Gado and Wali Lundy will insure continued brisk sales of Earl Campbell throwback jerseys.
Gary Kubiak has come a long way since his days of terrorizing Parker Lewis and the rest of Santo Domingo High. [Update: I may have him confused Larry "Kube" Kubiac, sorry.]
Seriously, what’s more fun: carrying a clip board for John Elway, or whalin’ on some nerds?
The Texans have been the punchline to the league’s non-Browns related jokes about futility for years now. But with Schaub in control of the offense, we think this is the season they begin their transformation from laughingstock to respecting stock. Even if they don’t, Texan fans can at least celebrate finally being rid of David Carr…
Are you ever too old to shotgun a beer? This guy doesn’t think so.
For the most part, we love pouring our every fiber into this blog. However, ever and anon, you commenters drive us up the fucking wall, be you taking the same pick in a draft eight times, missing the point of jokes, turning Deadspin into a banal chat room or just engaging into general dipshittery.
Surely our pain is one felt by forum boards the internet round, as a filmmaker over at College Humor has captured all these maddening commenter proclivities in one amazing skit.
Projected Record: 8-8 Actual Record: 8-8 Herm's Favorite Time to Run Larry Johnson: Third and 8
An Arbitrary Number of Fast Facts on the Chiefs
-There are two Kansas City's--I think the Chiefs play in the crappy one. -Brodie Croyle was a cool name in fifth grade. -Herm Edwards doesn't like being called Herman. On a more interesting note, the nation's first television advertisement for condoms aired during an episode of Herman's Head. That night the show received thousands of complaints--non of which had anything to do with condoms. -Priest Holmes just criticized his spinal column for holding out. -Claude Maurice McGee goes by the nickname "Turk" because all of his real names are kinda fey. -Kyle Turley is half C.H.U.D. and half Morlock. -Jason Dunn is really two and half midgets. -Even though he's 6'3" Napoleon Harris has been known to wear lifts. -Jay Z is worried that Larry Johnson is trying to fuck Beyonce. -Beyonce is terrified that Larry Johnson is already fucking Jay Z.
If you know one thing about these Kansas City Chiefs it's that Gunther Cunningham doesn't take lip, he gives lip!
If you've been watching their training camp unfold on HBO's Hard Knocks (not me!) you know that Gunther isn't just a crotchety old man, he's nuttier than Chloë Sevigny's mouth.
Three Quick Thoughts: -I'm not footballologist but I'm pretty sure those guys need their hands. -I'd pay good money to watch Gunther try to wrap his feeble old-guy hands around DeMarcus Tyler's ginormous head stalk -It should come as no surprise that Gunther was born in Munich shortly after the fall of the Third Reich.
If you are a fan of the Chiefs I offer my humble apologies for the things you've read here and all of the misery you're bound to endure this season.
I went to the Steelers/Redskins game Saturday with the D.C. contingent of that disparate collective that is Steelers fandom at the fetid and unwieldly hovel that is FedEx Field. Despite having our group mooned by a 'Skins fan in a Randle El jersey, being feet away from two 'Skins fans getting into a fist fight and still not getting ejected (said another of the Raljon, Md. faithful: "We just like to scrap.") we lucked out that we didn't have to deal with the Dead Tree Crew and, even more fortuitously, we didn't see Steely motherfucking McBeam.
We would have torn him to yellow, simpering ribbons.
KSK Photoshoppeur Dan V. apparently finds amusement rather than thoughts of malevolence in the five o'clock shadowy, swishy figure that is Steely. In a series of pics that's bound to ruin my season unless the Steelers win the Super Bowl, he draws back the sallow, lacy curtain on the seedy doings of Mr. McBeam.
This offseason was much more pleasant when its gayest subplot was Brady Quinn being pictured in the most compromising ways imaginable. It seems these actions only served to sow the seeds of Steely. You've inspired a monster, Brady.
It's a contagion that's sweeping the AFC North entire, even causing sworn enemies to act out in bizarre, unsettling ways.
