Lousy Smarch Weather

It was the 13th hour of the 13th day of the 13th boner. We went to the doctor to see about some faulty Cialis

Holy shit, tomorrow's December? Thanksgiving was last week? Where the hell did my NFL season go?

The Bengals didn't even flirt with .500 and a playoff run before shitting the bed. Nobody wrote about the Madden Curse coming to fruition 500 times. I feel cheated.

But there's a little bit of the season left to enjoy. The Patriots have that whole "Will they do it?" thing going on, a couple teams will put together late playoff runs, and a handful of games will be played in the snow, and snow automatically makes any game the best game on TV.

The one bad thing about cold weather games? The cheerleaders get all bundled up and stand on the sidelines in ear warmers and windbreakers. It's like getting a handjob. You put up with it for a few minutes, then you're like, "Goddammit, don't bother."

That's why I applaud the Jets Flight Crew for pulling off cold weather sexy. You don't have to show skin if you keep the clothing tighter than the little girl from the DLP commercials with the elephant and mirrors and crap.

Bonus points for the name insinuating "stewardess"

Although there's still something to be said for football in warmer locales...

KSK Solves Your Writing Strike Woes With A Bunch Of F—king Horrible Movie Ideas

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Brokeback Namath

Seriously, man. I am the biggest g0ddamn gossip hound you ever saw. I just love Hollywood news. I follow it religiously because I have to be in tune with the "industry." If some starlet with lots of money and no real frame of reference on life breaks up with some fuckhead lead singer for some edgy band that I've never heard of, then I want the fucking SCOOP! And if there was an ice cream flavor named Maggie Gyllenhaal, you can bet your sweet ass that I'd...I don't really have an ending for that. But if I coulda worked in a callback with "scoop," it probably woulda been pretty awesome. Whoa.

No, so anyway, Variety.com is reporting that Maggie's brother, Joey Gyllenhaal has been tapped to play the lead in a motion picture about Joe Namath's life. You might remember Jack from that gay cowboy movie that was up for a bunch of awards a couple years ago, but it lost the Best Picture Oscar to that one movie where Matt Damon fingers that one chick during that traffic stop. But then, like she saw some dog in the road and flipped her SUV and so he had to rescue her from that burning car, so everything was cool after that.

But seriously, Fred Gyllenhaal is an amazing actor, and I'm sure this movie is going to be the bee's elbow. I mean, it's Joe Namath! I just hope that he gets that part locked up, and that he doesn't end up on one of those horrible Hollywood magazine shows with a DUI or something. Man, I'm glad this kinda stuff doesn't happen in sports.

Gunslinger vs. Young Grinner. WHO YA GOT?

Tonight is the NFC's low-rent answer to the Patriots and Colts. How low-rent? Half the fucking country, including this writer, can't watch it because it's on the NFL Network. So, thanks again, Comcast for giving me an Ice Bowl-worthy Icy Mike and raising my rates. At the very least, I'll miss three hours of announcer fluffing for Brett Farve and Tony Romo. One foolproof way to keep up with the score for tonight's contest is to crack a window and listen for Peter King orgasmic cries. A clue: the ones for Favre are in a slightly lower register. Anyway, Who Ya Got?

Contestants

Brett Favre_________________Tony Romo

Current Story Arc

Better than EVAH?______________Smiles, though his heart his aching

Sesame Street character

Prarie Dawn_______________Guy Smiley

New BFF

Media that has clearly always disdained him_____Terrell Owens, Sophia Bush

Spends free time

Voting for Mr. Splashy Pants________perfecting Romo Mind Tricks

Finishing move

Only PK and Mr. Hat know for sure________________Chasing the dragon

The Kevin Everett Meast Is Now the Sean Taylor Meast -- Forever

We really enjoyed having the Meast named after a different person every year. Being the Steve Irwin Memorial Meast of the Week was a different honor entirely than being the Kevin Everett Meast of the Week, y'know?

That all ends today, though. This week's Meast is Sean Taylor, and with it he deservedly reclaims the name that was his all along. We salute you, original man-beast. Or moist yeast, or whatever the word's origins are.

So, to recap: from here on out it's the Sean Taylor Memorial Meast Award, though we'll leave the door open for secondary sponsorship: the Sean Taylor Memorial Meast punched to you by Chuck Norris; the Sean Taylor Memorial Meast survived by Bear Grylls; the Sean Taylor Memorial Meast built by the Home Depot. You get the idea.

Ask Michael Wilbon!

From time to time, KSK has reeled in big-name NFL players and analysts to answer questions from fans the world over. We had Mark Schlereth, Tony Dungy and, of course, Yukon Cornelius. Well today, we have a very special guest here with us. It's Washington Post columnist Michael Wilbon, co-host of PTI and full-time caddy for Charles Barkley! Onto your questions!

Bob T., Bethesda: Hi Mike, I’m a big fan. I just wanted to get your most recent thoughts on Sean Taylor’s death. Has your perspective changed at all in recent days?

Michael Wilbon: What a stupid question. I’m a journalist, okay? I stand by what I wrote. Is his death sad? Yes. Did it surprise me? Not in the least. Not any aspect of it at all. Not even the time it occurred, which was early morning. Now I knew Sean a little bit. Not a lot. Just a little bit. And I can tell you, that bad elements WERE a part of his life at some point. Maybe not anymore. But they were there. So don’t bring that junk about me having to change my perspective. Okay?

Mary J., Brooklyn: Hi, Mike! What’s your reaction to the Yankees’ resigning Alex Rodriguez?

Wilbon: What a stupid question. I don’t care about A-Rod. Do you care about A-Rod? Because I don’t. We already talked about A-Rod on PTI today, okay? We’ve talked about it on PTI for two weeks, specifically because I don’t care about it. So don’t bring that junk in here. Am I in awe of his new contract? Yes. Am I surprised the Yankees would be dumb enough to give it to him? Not in the least. Now, I know Alex a little bit. Not a lot. But we’ve spent SOME time together. And this is not out of the ordinary. Why aren’t we talking about Marion Jones? Now THAT is a story!

Roy K., Boston: Michael, what is your opinion on the Patriots? Do you think they can go undefeated?

Wilbon: What a stupid question. I don’t know if they can go undefeated unless they GO undefeated, okay? Is their record impressive right now? Yes. Would I be surprised if they lost? Not in the least. Now I know Bill Belichick a little bit. Not a lot. Just a little. We’ve hung out at a few… gentlemen’s establishments. He knows how hard it is to go undefeated, okay? So don’t bring that undefeated talk in here. It’s just a bunch of junk. You don’t know. I don’t know. But would I be surprised if they went 19-0? Not in the least. Knucklehead.

Frank R., Indianapolis: Michael, I just heard Charles Barkley on the radio saying the Redskins are racist for memorializing Sean Taylor in a parking spot. Doesn’t he understand that was his defensive player of the month spot?

Wilbon: What a stupid question. Charles is crazy, okay? You can’t listen to anything he says. Charles is a good friend of mine, okay? He’s a good good good good friend. Am I surprised he said something like that? Not in the least. That’s what he does. So don't come in here bringing that junk about Charles being crazy. He’s supposed to be crazy!

Dave H., KC: Michael, how about that Kim Kardashian! Is she hot or what?! Badonka-DUNK!!!

Wilbon: Oooh, Kim! Yeah, I like that!

Shannon B., Arlington: Hey Michael, who do you think the Skins will look at in the draft?

Wilbon: What a stupid question. IT’S THE SEASON, OKAY? I hate the draft! Do you really expect me to talk to you about what you want to talk about? That’s not why I’m here, okay? I want to talk about the Wizards. Have you even seen the Wizards play yet? I bet you haven’t. I bet you were too busy watching your precious Redskins. See, that’s my problem with this town. They aren't focused on the things I would like them to focus on. And that bothers me. And I don’t want to say they have an aversion to prominent black athletes, but they may have an aversion to prominent black athletes. Now, I know Gilbert Arenas a little bit. Not a lot. Just a little. But I bet he comes back firing on all cylinders. Does that answer your question, jackass?

Dan Q., Las Vegas: Michael, I was wondering what you thought about the upcoming OJ Simpson…

Wilbon: What a stupid question. NEXT!

Jimmy D., Malibu: HOLY SHIT! A fucking spaceship just landed outside my window! It’s all over the news! My God, it extends to the fucking horizon! I’ve never seen anything like it! It’s First Contact! Can you fucking believe this?!!

Wilbon: What a stupid question. Of course I believe it. Have we ever encountered intelligent life from other systems? No. Am I surprised they would land today, right outside your kitchen window? Not in the least. Were you really arrogant enough to assume we were the only lifeform in the universe when life on Earth grows in so many diverse places, and often in hostile environments? Why would anyone be surprised? Now, I know the chief of the Naval Observatory a little bit. Not a lot. Just a little. Said it was a matter of time that something like this would happen. So don’t bring that junk in here about how all amazed you are. Knucklehead.

Gary S., Seattle: AHHHHH!!!!!! ALIENS HAVE ATTACKED MY HOUSE!!! MY WIFE WAS JUST COMPLETELY INCINERATED BY SOME SORT OF DEATH RAY!!! OMIGOD! THESE ALIENS MEAN FUCKING BUSINESS! GREAT FUCKING FLAMING TESTICLES! WHAT DO WE DO?!!!

Wilbon: What a stupid question. You have no clue as to the background of any of these aliens, yet you automatically categorize them as thugs. It’s not right, okay? It's only cute when I do it. Am I surprised that aliens possess a death ray that can eliminate all physical matter? Not in the least. But let’s not paint all invading aliens with the same brush, okay? This isn't a blog. Let's hold off on the speculation on this until all the information is in.

DAROJIX 97, THE LIGHTRON NEBULA: Greetings, Earthling. We have come to enslave you and make you build us a new intergalactic base for our fleet of FittuCrafts. If you do not accept our demands, we will destroy every last one of you. What say you to this request?

Wilbon: What a stupid question. I’m a BLACK man, okay? Don’t bring that slave junk in here. I’m not gonna tolerate that. Now, am I surprised aliens would try and enslave me via a web chat? Not in the least. Tiger Woods and I talked about that possibility just last week. Now I know Tiger a little bit. I consider him a friend. But I am no man’s slave. And I hate “Seinfeld”. I really, really, really fucking hate it.

Jane P., New York: Why did you agree to a chat if you're just gonna treat us all like we're drooling idiots?

Wilbon: What a stupid question. I am here to EDUCATE you, okay? NEXT!

Tom S., Chicago: Mike, how do you think the Cubbies will do this year? GO CUBS! WOO HOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

Wilbon: Now THAT is a good question.

Fred T., Dallas: Mike, who's more NOW: Tiger or Federer?

Wilbon: Another good question! There's hope for you people after all.

Classics Major Illustrates How Titans And Citizens Of Tennessee Are So Alike

All history should be taught like this. It's good learnin'. Big ups to Texasfanhouse for this video. It's most excellent. Ufford only wishes it included Miss Gossip somewhere so that he could masturbate to it.

In Football, It’s Very Important To Be Able To Masturbate The Ball Down The Feel

People have been asking me, “How do you beat these Patriots? They are an offensive astronaut.” Well, I think the problem is that teams are not syphilisly equipped to deal with New England’s team speed downfeel. That’s something that you cannot stimulate in practice. No matter how hard you might antipasto it. They are a very prophylactic offense.

No, the key to beating the Patriots is to be able to run the ball. You take a look at a guy like Willie Parker. He has the dexatrim to be able to get past that first level of the defensive line and masturbate the ball down the feel. That’s the key to beating the Patriots, and really any other team: YOU MUST BE ABLE TO MASTURBATE THE BALL DOWN THE FEEL.

If you can’t masturbate the ball down the feel, you’re going to find yourself in many 3rd and long saturations. You want to be able to POUND it. Be perspiration in running that ball, masturbate it up the hole, and keep that Pats’ offense off the feel. Otherwise, that offense will DI-RECT you. I mean, just direct you and pick you apart all day.

I talked to Bill Belichick and he said he spent a lot of time this offseason studying videotape of Urban Meyer’s offense when he was at Uterus. Now, the college game is obviately different from the NFL. In college, your back can run to the outside and circumcise the defensive ends. But that won’t work in the NFL. If a runner erects to go outside, the defender has enough terminal veracity to catch up with you and give you a percussion. Or worse, you could fumble and a scrotum for the ball could ensue. You don’t want that against these Patriots! They Florida off of turnovers.

When I look at the teams that can give the Patriots trouble, I look at the Cowboys. They have DeMarcus Ware, who is a real burglaring star at defensive end. I mean, this boy knows how to Detroit holes in the offense! That’s the key. You have to match their speed with your speed. But that’s a difficult preposition for any team. And even if you have the speed, you still need the power to beat them up front. That’s the thing about the Patriots. They are a finesse team, yet they are also a power team. You could almost call them a chickenpox.

Now, I’m not gonna speculum that any one team is complement enough on offense and defense to beat the Patriots. Maybe the Packers. Brett Favre is a masochist at beating a defense. I mean, he can put on a clinic. He has cervical precision! But he’s so old, his methods almost seem antidisestablishmentarianism at this point. He’s an anominee. And what if he makes mistakes? On offense, you have to ejaculate turnovers. HAVE TO! Otherwise, these Pats will bury you! Right in the ground! They’d need a gynecologist to dig you up!

So, to you teams hoping for a magic salutation to beating this New England team, all I can say is keep masturbating that ball up the feel. That’s all I can tell you! I wish I knew more, but I’m just an anal cyst. Sorry.

NFL PostSecret Week 13: Secrets and Lies Not Just For Mike Leigh

It's an unfortunate world we live in when someone feels so hemmed in by the pressures of society that the only way they feel they can confide in someone is to mail an artfully constructed postcard to some dude in Germantown, MD who packages them together and sells them in bounded collections. Well, the NFL is even more harsh and doubly forbidding of confession, but those struggling with it can always turn to NFL PostSecret. At least we aren't making money off their pain. That's only for the league to do.

NFL PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where players and coaches or whoever I feel like making fun of mails in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard. It's also a satire of this.


-----Email Message-----
Sent: Monday, November 26, 2007 11:01 AM

Karaoke Hero.


-----Email Message-----
Sent: Tuesday, November 27, 2007 7:18 PM

Told ya so.

--S. Miller

Requiem for a bad ass motherfucker

Not knowing Sean Taylor personally, let's forgo the needless examination of his personal life that is part and parcel of the stream of obits we are seeing today. For now, let's remember Taylor for what he was between the lines: namely a fearsome, ball-hawking hit machine that left a swath of crumpled receivers in his wake.

Mahalo, baller.


Image via Bucktown Skins Fan.

KSK Exklusive: Andy Reid's Blueprint for Beating the New England Patriots

A lot of commotion is being made about Andy Reid possibly having creating a "blueprint" with which teams can defeat the Patriots. What sounds like an already tired media construct turned out to be true and KSK has secured a copy. Messrs. Billick, Tomlin, Mangini, Cameron and Coughlin, start your cribbing.

Fig. 1: Throw a bunch of inside routes. A football field has a width of 160 feet and you can use all of it. After all these years, the game still holds surprises. Also, Junior Seau's bones defy carbon dating.

Fig. 2: Two words: familial strife. There's a reason Tony Dungy and I have almost closed the deal. Good dad? Fuck you, go home and play with your kids. I have games to get tantalizingly close to winning but tanking in the end. And if I like skimming off of Garrett's stash, all the better.

Fig. 3: Find scrubby QB who once beat Brady with an AFC East team. I got Mr. McFeeley. Find your own. Maybe trade for Sage Rosenfels, whatever. Drew Bledsoe isn't going anywhere. Really, he's been hanging out at the same Sbarro since May, nursing the same half-Barq's, half-pink lemonade. Fucker is sick.

Fig. 4: Sign Devin Hester. Convince Pats to hire Mike Shanahan.

Fig. 5: Tell Wes Welker that to truly be scrappy, he must eat more scrapple. Titter heartily as his lightweight heart explodes after two servings.

Fig. 6: Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun.

Fig. 7: Let your coordinators be your guide. Keep up the creative blitzing, Jim Johnson. Hey, Brady got sacked! How brilliant of me to let you dial that one up.

Fig. 8: Dress more slovenly than Belichick. It fucks with his mind more than sleeping with unmarried women.

Fig. 9: Order a bunch of pizzas for the Patriots that they don't want. Eat pizzas anyway.

Fig. 10: Remember how quiet Gillette Stadium was? Not a coincidence. Sure, it just seems like it's filled with a bunch of spoiled, thin-skinned bandwagon fans who were aghast about not being up by 31 points in the second quarter. Really, my flatus can change history.

Fig. 11: You know, I didn't actually defeat New England. Why is everyone so interested in this thing?

Fig. 12: Threaten to raise Asante Samuel's kids for him.

Rain Delay Theatre: Rabbit-Ears Rivers wants Charger fans to STFU

While Dolphins fans are near orgasmic at the thought of a forfeit victory, the rest of us are bored shitless by the delay in starting the game tonight. Here's something to idle away the hours while waiting for these clowns to fix Heinz Field's latest drainage fiasco: Philip Rivers telling home fans to shut up during an early rough patch in the Charges 32-14 over the Ravens. We hear those hardboiled, cynical San Diegans can be downright brutal on a shrinking violet like Philip.



Man. Up. Nancy.

Stuff To Distract From The Report That Sean Taylor Is In A Coma

Reports have surfaced that Sean Taylor is now in a coma following surgery from a potentially fatal gunshot wound. This is a decidedly unfunny situation, and we are now faced with a rather morbid watch over Taylor’s health.

But I’ve learned throughout life that humor often serves as a useful distraction in moments such as these. That and sling bikinis. So here now is some random funny shit to help keep us all occupied:

-Hippo rape.

-I was taking a shit one time and had to go wipe my ass. Only, when I wiped, some of the toilet paper remained firmly lodged in my butt. I did not realize this at the time, so I went to go flush. When I flushed, the water gently tugged the paper out of my ass. And I have to tell you, it was kind of thrilling.

-One time I was sitting in a beach chair at a house party and threw up into my lap.

-KSK VP of Research flubby has unearthed this incredible collection of the 16 ugliest men in rock. I’m pretty sure Joey Ramone was born without a jaw.

-Sometimes, when I get an erection, I like to push it down, and then release it while yelling out, “BOING!!!!!!!!!” Sometimes, I imagine a small Chinese diver jumping off of it.

-When I was at boarding school there was a fat kid (one apart from me) who we called Big Fun, after the fat girl in “Heathers” who wears a t-shirt that says those exact words. We used to scream out “BIG FUN!” when he walked in the room. And whenever someone ordered pizza, they’d do it under the name “Big Fun”. So the delivery guy would walk in and say, “Is there a Big Fun here?” Try it with a fat friend of yours. It’s lots of fun.

-The singer for Quiet Riot died. Hilarious! Talk about “Condition Critical”!

-Need a quick shot of fun? Take out your scrotum and walk up to a lady and tell her, “Ew! Look! I sat in some gum! And there’s hair on it!”

-Raiders defensive coordinator Rob Ryan is the Joe Eszterhas of the NFL. He looks like a roadie for Bad Company. I swear, when the Raiders played the Vikings, he was wearing a windbreaker with no shirt underneath. If he isn’t banging 16-year-olds by bribing them with free acid, I’ll be upset.

-Poker Monkey!


-After Thanksgiving Day dinner, I embarked on a farting odyssey that caused my wife to re-evaluate everything about our relationship. It feels good to fart. It really does. It feels like I’m breathing a sigh of relief. I also enjoy making other people recoil with horror at my own stench. It’s a mark-your-territory kind of move. It makes me feel like I have the upper hand. I’m weird.

UPDATE: Taylor is unresponsive and doctors are currently worried about brain damage.

Sean Taylor Done Got Shot

Redskins safety Sean Taylor was shot in his Miami home late last night. PFT is reporting that Taylor "is fighting for his life," which means that Taylor is either fighting for his life or that the bullet harmlessly grazed him.

We remind our readers on this dark day that Taylor is the original Meast, and we here pray that his man-beasty constitution and Miami's finest doctors are enough to survive whatever damage is done. We don't want to have to name the weekly Meast award in memoriam after the actual Meast. That would be kind of depressing.

UPDATE: Taylor is listed in critical condition.

UPDATE #2: Taylor is reportedly in a coma following surgery. Yikes.

(untitled)

INT SET 0F P0RN0 M0VIE DAY

ON SET with Adult film star Admiral Pavel Becker, the Naval Pecker, with additional cast and crew, for the filming of the last scene in his Christmas special, Chestnuts Roasting On Your Open Mouth, Part 6.

------------

Fred: Thank God, we're finally gonna shoot the last scene of this movie and then we can wrap this bitch.

Andy: You know, Fred, I was thinking. "Pavel" and "Naval" don't even rhyme. That sort of kills the whole thing for me.

Fred: Fuck you, smart guy. It looks great on the box, especially with the anchors and that Donald Duck uniform. That's all we give a shit about in this business; it's all about presentation. You can take your lacy frills and Mother Goose bullshit down the block.

Andy: Hey, Freddy, don't mind me. I'm just impressed you got Gina Gershon in this movie.

Jeanie: (walks in) Uh, sweetie, it's Jeanie Gershonn. With two Ns (puffs on a cigarette and blows the smoke in Andy's face)

Director: Bitch, who said you could smoke on my set? (walks up behind Jeannie) Is Dick Van Dyke gonna chimney sweep the fucking tar out of my lungs? Get your ass on that sleigh, you rusty old cunt. (to the crew) Alright everybody! Chop chop, you little fucksticks! Okay, Jeanie. It's time to save Christmas. And by "Save Christmas," I mean "videotape you getting fucked raw." (puts on headphones)

Jeanie: (licks palm of her hand and extinguishes the cigarette in it) Sure thing, sweetie. (gets on the sleigh with Becker, who is wearing nothing but a fake white beard and boots)

Director: Now, Becker, just go through your lines like we did in rehearsal, okay?

Becker: Ready!

Director: Okay, places, everyone! Quiet on the set motherfuckers! I am more important than all of you! Lights are good!...Camera rolling!...Cue the snow!...Aaaand cue the reindeer!...And ACTION!

Jeanie: So, can you tell me, are you...are you really Santa Claus?

Becker: Yes, Virginia...I am...Santa Claus.

Jeanine: Well, then...maybe I could meet...Santa's Little Helper?

Becker: Cut!

(bell rings)

Director: (takes off headphones) Goddamn it Bruno, I'M the one that says cut! I'm the goddamn director!

Becker: Sorry, boss, but...it's....it's....

Director: Just spit it out, princess--

Becker: We don't have my, uh, full attention.

Director: Jesus Fucking Christ, Becker, you and your rubber torpedo are gonna be the death of me.

Becker: That's RUGGED Torpedo!

Director: Whatever, lady. (turns around) Fred, can you get Michelle out here? Time to fluff up another flat pecker.

Fred: Sorry, boss. Michelle's taking an early lunch at Panera, but the agency can send someone over right away.

Director: Agency? Since when did we hire a fucking agency?

(from the back) Not a fucking agency, sir! A fluffing agency!

Director: (looking around) Who the fuck was that?

Maurice: (enthusiastically) It's me! (hands resume to director)

Director: Wha--what the fuck is this? Most fluffers don't hand in resumes...(looks at resume)...uh, Morris?

Maurice: That's Maurice! Not Morris.

Director: Well, okay, Maurice not Morris (hands resume to Fred), get over there and get your hands dirty.

Maurice: Hands?! Well, what if I just take this and give a good (baritoned gagging sound)

Becker: Holy--wha...woowwwwww.

Andy: Wait, did he just--

Fred: Excuse me, is this a valid address? 800 Occidental Ave South, Seattle? Box 20?

Director: You're a goddamn professional, Becks, just go with it. Carl, are you getting this?

Carl: (operating camera) Oh, I'm getting it. This is like taping Rodney King, but reversed. And gay.

Director: Yeah, that boom cam's looking like a pretty good investment now, isn't it?

Fred: (watches while slowly shaking his head) Wow, he's really getting after it.

Director: I always enjoy watching someone so masterful at his craft. Just amazing.

Sean Astin: He's telling his own story; you can truly feel the pathos.

Carl: Somebody needs to feed that guy. He's like a starving orphan over there.

Andy: Where have I heard that expression before?

Director: Hang on, I think he's finally coming up for air...

Maurice: (out of breath) Let's...try something else...I call this (drops to his knees)...the "Trey Wingo."

Director: Why's he standing behind him?

Carl: And why's he holding up those three fingers and coating them with Astroglide?

Fred: You know, I think he's gonna jam them right up his--

EVERYONE: AWWWWWWWWWWW!!!

Fred: Jesus Shit! I think he got some elbow on that!

Andy: That's an uppercut for the ages.

Director: I hope Maurice not Morris remembered to take off his watch.

Carl: Don't you need a guardian present to jump into the deep end like that?

Maurice: (pumping feverishly) This will give that grumpy little prostate something to think about!

Fred: Uppercut! Uppercut!

Director: Now, does he call it the "Trey Wingo" because he's using three fingers? Like Trey as in Three?

Carl: Or because when you set your hand like that, it looks like a W? You know, W for Wingo.

Andy: Or is it because this whole ordeal is associated with sports somehow?

Maurice: (retrieving his arm)...There. I just went two yards right up the middle. That ought to do it.

Becker: (looks down with delight) All right! All hands, attention on deck!

Director: God bless you, Maurice.

Fred: And God bless these fifty United States.

Director: Alright, places everyone! Let's get set here! (puts on headphones) Cue the snow!...aaaand Go for reindeer! Aaaand ACTION!

Jeanie: So, can you tell me, are you...are you really Santa Claus?

Becker: Yes, Virginia...I am...sorry, sorry, guys. I just...

Director: CUT! (Bell rings) Goddamn it, now what?

Becker: Just remind me...what's my motivation?

Director: (throws headphones to the ground) Fuck this shit, I quit.

The Patriots Are The Best Team Ever (To Win Narrowly at Home Against a .500 Team)

The Colts had them. Now the fucking Eagles had them. This team is mortal and afraid to run the ball.

The Sex Cannon Introduces The Bullet

Rex: Was it good for you, baby?

All I know is that it was good for me, and that's all I really give a shit about. Have a cigarette. I like to bring it right to the precipice before unloading deep in your territory. Rexy likes his erotic asphyxiation.

Don't act like you don't like it. Right, Devin?


Devin: Shit, yeah. You goddamn right. I like that shit. I run LONG for that pussy.

I go STRONG to the pussy.

I get ALONG with the pussy.

I sing a SONG about the pussy.

I do things WRONG to the pussy.

I eat dim sum in HONG KONG with the pussy.

I hit that pussy so fast it turn to glass. You ladies look out. The Bullet's comin' fast and hard at that ass.

Late Games, Tame Dames

I had remembered the 4 o'clock games being better than the Ravens/Chargers and a few duels of the damned. I'll provide a little commentary until I arbitrarily decide to leave work and go home, which might be any minute now.

Hey, hey, the 49ers offense has found the endzone. Might as well set up camp while you're there.

Antonio Cromartie makes a nice interception of Kyle Boller that gets nullified on penalty. Phil Simms jokingly suggests Cromartie should be converted to offense and Philip Rivers snaps, "No, I got the picks thing covered, thanks."

The Niners take over at the Arizona 19 following a Kurt Warner pick and settle for a field goal. That endzone thing is played out, anyway.

Looks like Sideshow Bob will be making an appearance on this evening's Simpsons. He and Norv Turner must share an agent.

Ack, the San Francisco offensive bukkake continues! 17 points? In the first half? Who the fuck exhumed Bill Walsh?

Quite a paucity of throwgasms in Soldier Field, as the Sex Cannon is 3 of 7 with an interception and no conceptions. Denver leads 10-3.

Back to Family-Free Football Game Post

Leftovers are even less exciting at work.

Welp, hangover be damned, I'm back to work on Sunday, the first of a six-day workweek coming out of the holiday.

"What, sure, I can take the Sunday shift. The Steelers don't play until Monday night. I'll be rested up from three days of solid drinking and gluttony. If anything, I can use the extra headache."

Goddamn, I'm stupid.

Sure, familytime is a pain but mine is resigned to the fact that we don't really enjoy each others' company, and depart not long after dinner and dessert are topped off. Therefore, the rest of the weekend is spent catching drinks with old friends who now live out of town that you see twice a year. Those two times are usually Thanksgiving and Christmas, so the Thanksgiving meeting lacks any sense of urgency because you know you're likely seeing the asshole again in a month. That still doesn't save you from 15 of these bar conversations:

"Fuck, it's been awhile. What, seven months? Let's see: last time was...what, Easter?...so...yeah, seven. Yeah, I did hear Charlene is getting married. No, I haven't heard from Jason in a long time. I don't know what's up with him. Who? No, never met him. Oh yeah, that LSU-Arkansas game was fucking amazing. Family's good. Job's a job. What? Oh yeah, been meaning to see that. No, I wasn't at that party, remember? That was that weekend I got stuck helping Ralston move. Ooooh, shit, The Great Muppet Caper. Yeah, we must've got high and watched that like 15 times in three days. Gonzo's such a crackhead in that movie. Remember when he talks about sleeping in bus terminals and that he's doing a photographic essay on kneecaps? Hahahaha...eeeeeeehhhhhh. Anyway, good seeing you, man. I'm gonna go grab another drink."

The one o'clock slate blows, and the 35-year-old 13-inch Sorny above my desk will be unfortunately tuned to the Redskins-Buccaneers game. I eagerly aniticipate the 17-14 goodness and cursing myself for ever starting Santana Moss on my fantasy team. Last week was a tease, I know it.

Feel free to relate any other early game excitement you may observe. That Saints-Panthers game should allow you to evacuate your bowels sufficiently to prepare you for the coming week.

Four minutes into the game and Santana Moss has already managed to lose a fumble on his first catch. Oh, how I hate the Redskins.

Forgot to mention that, through sheer retardery, I also have Clinton Portis on said team. Yep, he's fumbled too. The two Redskins in my lineup have produced -4 points through the first quarter. Somebody needs to bomb Raljon.

The commenters mentioned Redskins defensive end Andre Carter just had a kid named Quincy. Hilarity does not ensue. So many jokes not seized upon.

Jeff Garcia is hampered with a pulled clitoris. Can Dr. James Andrews recommend a good OB-GYN?

Hey, Jason Campbell just fumbled. At least Redskins not on my fantasy team are getting in on the act.

Isaac Bruce, whom I started Moss in favor of, has just scored to put the Rams up 16-7 on the C-Hox. And, what's that? Portis just fumbled again? It's Black Sunday. All footballs must go!

Pittsburgh native Bruce Gradkowski has entered the game for the Bucs. Probably not destined to make the pantheon of great quarterbacks from western Pennsylvania, but he'd have made an interesting choice as another Bob Dylan in I'm Not There. Anything to keep Richard Gere out of that movie.

The Redskins have been perhaps the worst second half team in the league this season and they now go into intermission trailing 19-3 on the road. I'm guessing this one is pretty much over. But I'm a captive, time-wasting audience, so I must slog on.

If Jacksonville hangs on to beat Buffalo, the Patriots officially clinch the AFC East crown. If the Pats win tonight, I think they clinch the division for next year as well.

I know I've been doing a lot of bitching about my fantasy team, but in one of the two leagues I'm in, I started 7-2 and now I'm poised to lose my third straight. I'm the Detroit Lions of fantasy football.

A reader e-mailed us to say that, coming back from a commercial break, a CBS announcer Steve Beuerlein referred to Titans running back Lendale White as a "USC Thug." I'm pretty sure he meant MSG Thug. Lendale likes his egg rolls.

Just when the Redskins look like they might make a game of it, fantasy hero Clinton Portis gets stuffed on 4th and 1 inside the Tampa Bay 5. I need lots of rum.

Elisha Manning is presently 11-35 for 178 yards, no TDs and three picks, one for a TD, against the Vikings abysmal secondary. But Jeff Garcia is spotted warming up on the sidelines, so the gay quarterbacks might just ride again.

Scratch that, four picks for Elisha. HE'S GOING FOR THE MANNING FAMILY RECORD!

Seriously, two pick-six throws in 42 seconds of football? Eli's squash partner is never gonna let him hear the end of this.

At work, I'm trying to knock out a brief about a Green Bay meat company recalling 95,000 lbs. of E. coli-tainted ground beef. So, while I'm stuck miserable at work, at least I can count on all the assholes with the day off eating greasy E.coliburgers.

Just as the Redskins are driving to take the lead, Jason Campbell adds to the Redskins turnover tizzy with a terrible out pattern toss that's jumped by Ronde Barber in front of, guess who, Santana Moss. At least Unsilent is more depressed than I am.

And Tampa Bay responds with a three and out with three minutes left. Perhaps some third party would like to come in and win this game, as neither of these teams seem very interested in doing so.

Aaaaaannnnndddd Jason Campbell throws another pick in the endzone in front of Santana Moss. Satan toasts Hitler in Hell and pinches his ass.

Huzzah! Bonus coverage of the Rams-Seahawks game. I got to see Joe Gibbs execute poor clock management. Your move, Holmgren.

Oop. The C-Hox hang courtesy to some good old St. Louis red zone ineptitude. Shine on, Scott Linehan.

When She Says B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E, She F--king Means It

This is former Bucs cheerleeader Mary Delgado. Mary was arrested yesterday for punching her boyfriend in the mouth. Presumably while performing the dreaded "Reverse Bismarck".

She was also the "winner" of the 2004 season of "The Bachelor", nabbing a proposal from a professional bass fisherman. Really? A fucking fisherman is your prize? Jesus.

Since we had no cheerleader post yesterday, here's a proper Bucs gal.


Don't hurt me, baby. I bruise like a ripe avocado.

Smug Face vs. Fug Face. WHO YA GOT?

The top two seeds in the AFC last season are barely hanging onto faint playoff hopes with only a few weeks remaining in the regular season. When heads eventually roll, they'll probably bear the visages of these two clowns. Likely, incompetence will emerge Hydra-like from the stumps. In the meantime, we can find out who'll be king of the unemployment line in the offseason. WHO YA GOT?

Contestants

Brian Billick_______Norv Turner


Springboard to head coaching job

1998 Vikings_________'91-'93 Cowboys


Favorite stench

Own farts_________Failure


Thanksgiving experience

Changing recipes, chiding family for disliking the results___burning cereal


Hero

Ronald Reagan_____________Ronald Raygun


Excuse for losing

Gameplan perhaps too brilliant____________Marmalard


All they want for Christmas

BOOT! BOOT! BOOOOOOOT!_______________Journey album


Finishing move

Condescension toward doubters______Getting hired by another team

Doug & Doug's Fantasy Report - Week 11

And, here's your Doug and Doug post to wrap up the week. We'll be off tomorrow, spending time with our families until we grow sick of them and become tempted to post again. Back on Friday with Who Ya Got? and the cheerleader post.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Are you gonna eat your fat? 'Cause I'll have it if you don't want it.

One Gigantic Cornucopia of Awesomeness

Welcome to a special Thanksgiving edition of Always Be Covering! Simply put, Thanksgiving is the greatest thing to ever happen. Sure, giving thanks is totally gay and nobody in their right mind would want to sit around a stuffy table occupied by all the people you hate most in the world (family). That's why the wise Indian spirit handed football to the white man, who then lateralled it back slathered in smallpox. Now we're left with the modern incarnation of Thanksgiving, a buffet style meal in front of the television. It's light on the thanks and heavy on the action.

For the second straight year the NFL is treating us with a full day of games starting with a post-Turkey Bowl 12:30 kickoff and culminating long after the tryptophan and Franzia has knocked you out cold like that first girl you ever fucked (maybe if she wasn't so protective of her "toy collection" you wouldn't have had to drug her). Of course the three games are partly awful with an 80% chance of total awfulness, regardless, point spreads (and point totals) are the universal equalizer. If you think it's boring to watch Indy leading Atlanta 35-6 in the fourth quarter than you probably don't have your mortgage payment on the over. Don't make this mistake people I urge you to wager with reckless abandon, it's what Pocahantes would have wanted (that and British cock in her mouth).

Before we get on to the picks, here's the commercial that inspired the headline.



That guy is going places!


Hey, I actually won my bets last week! I'm on fire like Wayman Tisdale in NBA Jam (speaking of which, if you want to reminisce over the halcyon days of the NBA in the early 90's you should check out the original NBA Jam rosters). So we've got three games to pick for tomorrow and I'm sticking with last week's format. For the purposes of the post I've placed $25 on each of the games; I'll wear assless chaps in Dupont Circle before I lay another teaser.*


*not true

Detroit +3.5 vs. Green Bay

Betting on Detroit on Thanksgiving: 10% of the time it works every time. But hey, if I root for the Packers all day I'll be puking long before I have the opportunity to cram my patented dinner of mashed potatoes, stuffing, sweet potatoes, turkey, salmon, pumpkin pie, and scotch into my gullet. The over/under on the number of minutes I spend in the shitter is significantly higher than the over/under on total running plays.

Full disclosure: Calvin Johnson and Roy Williams make me question my very manhood.

Dallas -14.5 vs. New York Jets

Every fucking year I have to watch those Dallas bitches play during my meal, so I might as well get something out of it. By this point I'll be so blitzed on zinfandel I won't even be surprised when Wade and Mangina reach through the television and begin eating off of my plate.

Indianapolis -12.5 vs. Atlanta

I don't care if Marvin plays. I don't even care if Peyton plays. There is no way Indianapolis doesn't win by two touchdowns. I'd almost go so far as to say I'd forgo masturbation for am month if they failed to do so...but that would be silly.


Have a happy Thanksgiving and be sure to give your family a bit "Fuck you" from the Gay Mafia.


p.s. I'd be remiss if I didn't let you readers know that after a week and a half without masturbation I'm still going strong (sex helps...a lot). Still, any time I see a hot piece of ass my hand practically begs me to let it go down Mexico way. So aside from the visual and auditory hallucinations I'm fit as a fucking fiddle.

Kevin Everett Meast of the Week - Week 11

The Meast of the Week column, as much as the members of the Gay Mafia try to shrug it off onto someone else, is actually one of the least restrictive features we have on this site. This is saying a lot, because as far as I know we don’t really have any rules or regulations other than incorporating the word "fag" into a post whenever traffic lags.

But the Meast is fun: just rant about something non-NFL related for a couple paragraphs, then write "This week’s meast is..." and you're done.

I volunteered for the Meast this week because I’ve got the week off from both The Prelude because of Thanksgiving and from my social life because I’m in Southern Maryland. Problem is, nothing really struck me as worthwhile to write about. This ugly streak of moderate career satisfaction means that I’m just not angry enough to rant about things that piss me off. So instead of a rage-fueled rant, here follows a cornucopia -- nay, a horn o' plenty! -- of Measty topics that I passed over because they were too petty, entirely indefensible, or just made me sound like more of a douche than I already am.

- Reasons why full-time paid blogging isn’t as fun as sneaking it in at work as an anonymous office drone

- Thanksgiving football games always suck

- Why do we perform scientific experiments on rats and rabbits when we have perfectly useless humans?

- Fuck Panera Bread. Who blocks YouTube and Blogger?

- Things that are more boring than college basketball

- Okay, ladies. You wanna prove you like the NFL? Make out with that chick.

- Big Daddy Drew’s formula for disliking something (Step 1: Find something similar yet less heralded. Step 2: Declare less heralded thing better. Step 3: Add profanity. Step 4: Disagree? Douchebag!)

- Listen, Grandma, I’m not gonna write thank you notes any more

- I try to be open-minded, but I just don’t like a finger in my asshole

- Even IF Maurice Morris got a blowjob from a random guy in Manhattan and ate that guy’s ass, that wouldn’t make me cheer for him any less

- Ya know who’s attractive enough for me to screw? Pretty much anyone famous with a vagina.

- Corner Creek: the most amazing bourbon you’ve never heard of

- A complete exposure of The Big Lead: his name and previous writing jobs, his challenging career as a news editor at People Magazine, and a link to his New York Times wedding announcement. He and his husband look so happy.

- Blowjobs are overrated. Really great, but overrated.

- Being in Hawaii: not a legitimate reason to wear a Hawaiian shirt

This week’s meast is the Cardinals’ Antrel Rolle. Like Antonio Cromartie last week, he had three interceptions. Unlike that pussy Cromartie, he took each one of them back to the house – only an unnecessary illegal block kept the last one from counting in the record books.

But you know what’s more real than the record books? A weekly blog award named after a made-up word. That is fucking edgy.

NFL PostSecret Week 12, Thanksfibbing

Thanksgiving is one of the worst times of the year for dishonesty. Usually family only breeds that sort of thing, but the mixture of special occasions, alcohol and tryptophan brings out the candor in everybody. Assorted NFL personnel have tried to head off that uncomfortable eventuality by entrusting their deepest secrets to the trustworthy, bad MS Painty care of NFL PostSecret.
NFL PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where players and coaches or whoever I feel like making fun of mails in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard. It's also a satire of this.

-----Email Message-----
Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2007 1:11 PM

Rumors >>> Secrets


-----Email Message-----
Sent: Monday, November 19, 2007 7:53 PM

He's no teenage stock boy at the Whole Foods.

I Want You, Tom. I Want You NOW

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Wade and Jerry Starring In “Pig-malion”, Part II

Wade: Well, I do declare, that was one satisfyin’ win. But my goodness, this is one devil of a short week! I gotta get all this stuff done before those scrappy Jits come on in here tomorrow!

Hmm. You know... I reckon if I can get some of this game plan done NOW, I can leave work early tomorrow! Hoo wee, that’d be the bee’s knees! Hop in the car around 2, beat all the traffic, and be home to help the Mrs. Cook her famous sweet potata pie. Mmmmm, I can smell it comin’ out of the oven now. My, my, my.

Well, no time to waste then! Better get these papers in order…

Hmmm, suddenly I don’t smell sweet potata pie no more. I smell gun powder. And Cool Water! Oh, no…

(door flies open)


Jerry: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAW!!!!! YUMPIN’ YIMMINY YABBITY YOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Wade: Shit.

Jerry: Holy shitballs, Tubby! Did you see what my boy ROMO did to those dirty Redskins from DC! Scalped ‘em like a pilgrim’s child! Woo hoo!!!! Ooooh, I bet that little Danny Boy is still smartin’ over that!

Wade: Sir, I was just in the middle of…

Jerry: …An apple fritter? Shut up and listen, Jurassic Pork. You know what I bet that tiny little sack of shit if we won on Sunday? Do ya?!!

Wade: No.

Jerry: I bet him a weekend house! Ha ha ha! Can you believe that deluded little shit went for that bet? My flabby friend, I am now the proud owner of 300 pristine acres in the Wyoming valley! I got the deed right here! SIGNED, SEALED AND DELIVERED TO THE DOUBLE-J! Yeeeeehaw!!!!


Wade: Wonderful, sir.

Jerry: You know what I’m gonna do with all that land, Shirley? I’m gonna BURN it! Picture it, Jemima: A raging wildfire as far as the eye can see! And poor Danny Boy can’t do shit about it! Then I’m gonna make all our players wear a patch on their uniforms that says, “Hey Danny Boy, your daddy is still dead!” How you like that shit?

Wade: Very exciting, sir. Listen, if you don’t mind. I have to finish up our game plan for the Je…

Jerry: You aren’t finishing up jack shit, Crisco Kid! Hey, I like that! The Crisco Kid! It’s funny because you’re fat and sad! I wanna know why you aren’t taking your etiquette classes with Princeton Boy!

Wade: Sir, we have a very short week. I don’t have time to waste with these silly…

(door opens)


Garrett: Yes, I would imagine such things would seem rather silly to you. Why, I’m surprised you don’t have a napkin tucked into your collar this very moment. Surprised, indeed.

Jerry: Jason, my boy! How are you? I hope you’re ready for Thanksgiving at the ol’ Double-J ranch!

Garrett: Oh, quite. Muffy has prepared a wonderful mince pie for the occasion! And I brought a special Sauterne I thought you and I might share!

Wade: Wait a second. You invited HIM to Thanksgiving and not me?

Jerry: Well of course I did, you big fat shit! I can’t invite you when I have OTHER people there who also need to eat! I’m not lettin’ you turn my house into your own personal Golden Corral!

Garrett: A wise decision, sir.

Wade: It’s not fair!

Jerry: Well, maybe if you took Jason’s etiquette course seriously, you’d have found yourself on the invite list, Queso Dip!

Garrett: Indeed. You could use the training, my good man. Why, just look at my star pupil!

(door opens)


TO: Hello, Mr. Garrett. Hello, Mr. Jones.

Jerry: My God! You are like the goddamn dog whisperer, Garrett!

TO: (holds up croquet mallet) Would you gentlemen care to join me on the lawn for a set?

Wade: He’s faking it! He lit Terence Newman’s shoes on fire just yesterday!

TO: Why, Wade! Whatever dost thou mean, old chap?

Jerry: Looks like you could use some tips from ol’ TO here, Fathead. Since my boy GARRETT has worked with him, he hasn’t caused any trouble. Or sucked any cocks!

TO: (nervous) Yes, yes! No cocks of any sort!

Wade: Fine. I’ll take the goddamn course.

(four hours later)

Garrett: And the salad fork goes on the…?

Wade: On the far left. The dessert fork goes on top.

Garrett: Very nice, Wade!

Jerry: I’ll be damned! It’s like seeing a hog dress up in black tie! You done good, Sergeant Stretch Marks. That’s why I’m going to give you a reward.

Wade: What?

Jerry: You get… A TICKLIN’!!!!

(tickles him)

Wade: (laughing) No! Sir! Hahaha! Please stop!

Jerry: WHAT’S THE PASSWORD, FATTY?

Wade: Iced tea!

Jerry: LOUDER, PIGGY BOY!

Wade: ICED TEA!

Jerry: I CAN'T HEAR YOU!

Wade: ICED TEA!!!!!

Jerry: YEEHAW!!! WHOOPADEEDOO!!!!!! I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!

Pac Man Jones - Albert Haynesworth throwdown this past weekend

Details are scarce in the alleged scrap between sidelined Titans teammates Albert Haynesworth and Pac Man Jones. We all know Haynesworth will stomp your dome in a fit of roid-fueled pique. But Jones' tormentors often find themselves dodging bullets.

Police accident reconstructionists say the melee probably looked exactly like this:

KSK Gamebook: Broncos/Titans

NOTE: This post was written by Captain Caveman, who is currently stuck at Panera Bread and must abide by their draconian firewalls, which do not allow him to post on Blogger. Nevertheless, our man Ufford is willing to make great sacrifices for a good slice of Asiago ciabatta.

I’m spending the week with my sister and her husband in southern Maryland. It’s nice here: lots of trees, and I get to spend a lot of time with my niece. Other than that, it’s hard to find nice things to say about the area. We’re at least an hour and a half from the nearest train station/airport/urban center, and getting a wireless signal is goddamn next to impossible. And my sister has two cats. I’m allergic to cats. Every time I visit it’s a non-stop search for the right cocktail of antihistamines that allow me to breathe without feeling like someone’s sitting on my chest. Fucking sweet. Anyway, I watched most of the game last night.

- I tune in at 9:00 p.m., just after the Stokley catch-and-run TD. The Broncos’ Glenn Martinez gets sprung by a monster block by the Jamie Winborn that actually takes out two Titans. It’s great to see Hispanics making it in the NFL. All those Spanish telecasts are really paying off.

- An all-new Grey’s Anatomy event! Thursday on ABC! There’s an ambulance crash, or something! Not shown: estrogen-fueled blubbering.

- “Sam Adams the player, not the beer I should point out.” – Tony Kornheiser. Nice one, TK. I made that joke in 1994 when the Seahawks drafted him. I was in high school.

- Bo Scaife: definitely the name of an American Idol contestant.

- I stop by the living room where my sister and brother-in-law are watching television. “Is this Two and a Half Men?” I ask, incredulous. “Dancing with the Stars went to commercial,” they reply. Oh, well now it makes sense.

- End of first half – Shanny attempts the infamous clock block timeout. Bironas misses the first attempt, then makes the second. Fuck you, Shanahan.

- Halftime has the “Fastest 3 Minutes in Football.” What’s the fucking rush? How about a nice, leisurely ten minutes of highlights? This goes for you, too, Sunday Night Football. If I wanted to watch people flap their cockholsters I would have gone to law school. So just shut your fucking mouths and play the highlights.

- A lot of people really don’t like Kornheiser in the MNF booth. I’ll admit he’s not perfect, but Jesus Christ: remember Joe Theismann? Remember Theismann with Mike Patrick? Mike Patrick makes Tony Siragusa look like William Safire. I refuse to file an official complaint about Jaws and Tirico with TK.

- A VY pass deep down the seam goes straight through Bo Scaife’s hands and hits him in the face before falling incomplete, at least the third crucial drop of the night. It’s like Seahawks-era Joey Galloway, Koren Robinson, and Jerramy Stevens have reunited in Titans jerseys tonight.

- Martinez fumbled punt + short field + VY TD after review = 27-17 Broncs. I leave to walk my dog.

- End of the 3rd quarter. Despite an early evening Claritin, I’m still laboring to breathe like Big Daddy Drew on an elliptical machine, so I take a mild “Anna Nicole Kennedy”: NyQuil flu gel-caps chased by whiskey. I don’t have much interest in seeing how the game ends anyway.

- Who is Andre Hall, and why did he just run for a 62-yard touchdown? If there were Wi-Fi in this godforsaken house, I could pick him up for my fantasy team, where he could do nothing at all in the coming weeks. Damn you, Shanahan!

- The Broncos have the ball at midfield with a two-touchdown lead at home with ten minutes remaining. The Titans could come back… but they won’t. I’m going to bed.