KSK off-topic"Naked Pictures of Your Buddy's Girlfriend"

KSK off-topicBOVINE FENCE RAPE THEATRE

At what point does opting to take pictures rather than helping the cow constitute evil animal porn? Is there any chance this is just a role-play thing that these two do every Wednesday afternoon? Do cattle get freaky like that?

Li'l help? There was some clover over here and I was really hungry...

Punté says this is also a great way to score with chicas trying to sneak across the border from Juarez.

KILL! KILL! KILL!It's Good...To Be...A Florida Gator (most of the time)

Usually the Kill, Kill, Kill features are in video form. However, this picture was too freaking crazy not to post.

Every so often in Florida, a bleary meth-head, in the midst of a fleeting moment of clarity, will realize that his decision to make a pet of a Burmese python was a poor one-- and the snake is unceremoniously set loose into the Everglades. When the python crosses paths with some of the indigenous wildlife what ensues can best be described as illegal immigration: reptile style.

The Burmese python tried to swallow its fearsome rival whole but then exploded. The python's remains were found with the victim's tail protruding from its burst midsection.

The photo shows the gruesome aftermath. The alligator, in a testament old-fashioned American determination, refused to give up merely because he had been eaten alive-- spending his final moments making sure he took the Asian invader with him. The park ranger says that he is aware of four similar encounters-- all either won by the gator or like this one, a mortal draw. USA! USA! USA!

This is hardly the first time that a dismembered snake has been used to represent North American nationalism. Benjamin Franklin's well known political cartoon at the left advocated colonial solidarity. The sentiment draw upon the old myth that a chopped up snake, if left in a bag overnight, would magically reassemble. Kind of like the myth I currently subscribe to about chopped up hookers.

The Maj's One-Word Review of Nationals Park

(Click the picture for delicious detail)
Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn!

And yes Drew, the next time I go off-topic I'll be sure to include a butt wiping anecdote.

Holy Crap, Whadid I Miss? Maj's Off-Topicakke

You don't have to be a douchebag to be a good skier, but it certainly helps.

Good fucking God. I go on vacation for one random week in March and I miss all sorts of crazy shit. Since I missed so much recently I decided to cover all of the fun off-topic goodness in one sprawling post. It's win-win for you, the reader, because it's stuff you never cared about to begin with and it's longer than Drew's old-man balls. Huzzah!

-Number One Threat to America: Bear Stearns

Yeah that's right, America's fucking broke. That's why I store all of my money inside of Nick Denton's large head-vault. Fortunately for the rest of you the government is sending out some stimulus checks. They really want you to boost the economy by spending the money as opposed to saving it, which is why they're making all of the banks collapse just in time. Personally, I plan on using my stimulus moneys to purchase illicit substances...from foreigners! Take that, Capitalism!

Speaking of nonsensical financial blather...

-TBL Came Out!

Some have said that this announcement came on the heels of FJM's revelation, but all of this started when I appeared on Blog Show. The important question remains, how can US Weekly possibly survive without JRM's editorial oversight?

-The Brothers Karamazov > The Brothers Marquez

That's right Drew, I'm talking about boxing and you can't do shit about it! A couple of weeks back Israel Vasquez barely beat Rafael Marquez and then on Saturday night Pac-Man barely beat Juan Manuel Marquez. Everybody got really bloody and had a good time. Seriously, you could see JMM's brain through the cut on his eye.

-Uranus Still Hates Atlantans

First these southerners bitch about a little drought and now they get some rain and they can't handle the wind that comes with it? No wonder they couldn't win a fucking civil war.

-Some Basketball Something Or Other

IT'S MARCH MOTHERFUCKING MADNESS!

Some of you might be aware that I'm rather fond of the sport of basketball (and the race of man that tends to excel at said sport) and I have a particular appreciation for the amateur variety. As the self-appointed basketball genius of the gay I'm taking it upon myself to give you our initial breakdown of all things bracket. What follows is a list of rules you have to abide by if you're going to participate in the springtime festivities.

Brackets > Hair

Do: Know everything about college basketball.

Sure, we're the guys who lost a bracket challenge to the Womyn Ladies. But remember, I won the individual title because I'm a testosterone-fueled genius who actually watches PAC 10 games.

Don't: Attempt to fill in your pathetically average knowledge with research.

If you can't pick the tournament blind then you're already fucked. Two kinds of people win these things, People who care way too much about basketball and people who pick Drake to make an Elite 8 run because they "love the Drake."

Don't: Read a stupid list of rules for filling out your bracket.

You're already failing at a second-grade level!

Do: Bitch about the diabolical snubbery of the selection committee.

"Waaaah! VCU, VT, and UVA* didn't get in, why does the NCAA hate the Commonwealth of Virginia?" Sound familiar? If so it's because you can't react to Selection Sunday without a bit of indignation.

Oh, and to answer your question, Virginia is the AIDS of states.

*Never actually had a chance

Yeah, I'm never leaving town again.

KSK Off Topic: The Bleu Cheese Story

A couple weeks ago, I noted in a Jamboroo that I didn’t abide by bleu cheese dressing with buffalo wings. I was then sternly taken to task by members of the pro-bleu cheese community, which, like the cheese itself, is surprisingly robust. But I didn’t take the time to explain WHY I was so strongly against bleu cheese. Some people obviously like it, and some do not. But I am different. I have a history with bleu cheese.

You see, when I was a child, I adored bleu cheese. Loved it. Stilton, gorgonzola, saga bleu, you name it, I happily devoured it. Some girl said to me once, “You know it’s blue because it’s moldy, right?” And I said, “Really? That’s fucking cool!” I enjoy bleu cheese in all its delicious forms: on a cracker, on a steak, on a salad, on a GoBot. No matter the occasion, it was all good to me.

Until one day in college.

Upon returning home for Christmas vacation one year, my brother, his girlfriend, my sister and I all hit the mall one day to do some Christmas shopping. In the middle of the day, we went to go get lunch. We chose Pizzeria Uno.

Let me state this plainly: NEVER EAT AT FUCKING PIZZERIA UNO.

We ordered two pizzas. One was a veggie deep dish. The other was a sausage deep dish. Guess which one I ate. My brother and I split the sausage pie and then went about our business.

Then we got home. And that’s when the trouble started. Later in the afternoon, I noticed a distinct rumble in my stomach. As I do when trying to solve any problem, I laid down to see if it would simply go away. It did not. Soon it felt as if my stomach were being used as a set of bagpipes. My brother looked at me.

“Drew, you don’t look so hot.”

“Uh, maybe I should have something to eat.”

It was Christmas. I really didn’t want to be sick and miss out on all the food. So I tried eating. Bad move. By dusk, the retching began. As you know, I am a hugely talented projectile vomiter. It’s not unlike a dam breaking. My jaw unhinges and the maximum volume of vomit physically possible exits my body at an astonishing speed. My brother came into the bathroom to check on me. Oops. Suddenly, he wasn’t feeling so hot. We began taking turns having a Roman Holiday in the toilet.

All my life, vomiting always tended to make things better. But this was hardcore food poisoning, and it didn’t stop. Through the night, my brother and I traded dry heaves until my mother decided she could take no more and took us to an ER.

The ER made everything worse. I had to lay on the floor just to keep from doubling over, but the fluorescent light made me dizzy as shit. Next to us was a very old woman who also could not stop vomiting. Only when she did it, my brother and I found it HILARIOUS. It sounded like she was on a carnival ride she didn’t enjoy.

“OOOOO WAHHHHHH!!!! WOOOOO!!!! HO HO WHOOOOOOOAAAAA!!!!”

They shot us with some sort of anti-nausea medicine. It failed. Finally, doctors brought out suppositories.

“You two can’t keep anything down. We’ll have to go the other way.”

It was shaped like a little chalky missile. Fun! Not caring, I quickly jammed it up my ass. They gave us two more to take through the night. My mom drove us home. We both felt a little better. We thought we had turned a corner.

We were dead wrong.

For Christmas, my mother had bought a very large wheel of bleu cheese that she kept cool by covering with a cheesecloth and putting out on the breezeway between the garage and the main part of the house. You couldn’t get in the house without going through it. My brother and I had completely forgotten about this. And when we hit the door exiting from the garage…

Have you ever been truly sick and miserable, and so tired you’re practically near whimpering, only to be kicked while you‘re down? Imagine going to a doctor, only instead of treating you, the doctor wipes your face with a pair of used running socks.

It was like that.

We all have our food traumas in life that put us off something for good. This was mine. I’ll never eat bleu cheese again unless it’s by accident. In fact, whenever I see it, I now think:

“OOOOO WAHHHHHH!!!! WOOOOO!!!! HO HO WHOOOOOOOAAAAA!!!!”

And whenever I see a Pizzeria Uno, I think of jamming a chalky missile up my ass. Life’s a bitch sometimes.

KSK Mailbag: Joe Damato Is a Moronic A--Hole

Some first-class asshole named Joe Damato wrote into us regarding a satirical post in which we had a fictional David Garrard act as a pimp. Well, Joe noticed an inaccuracy in the post. He writes:

Here's your quote:

"No? Good. Did you know officers, by law, have to answer that last question honestly? Isn't that interesting? Now, if you don't mind, I need to have Tiny here pat you down. TINY!"

Officers don't. If they did, there would be no such thing as an "undercover" officer because numb nut criminals would say..."are you a cop?" and the cop would say "aw shucks.....ya' got me!" There goes the whole idea of "undercover."

Either go to law school or do some research....get your fat asses off of the couch and stop being ignorant.

Just a friendly reminder for whichever one of you douche bags tries to buy some blow or grass from a guy on the street. "Are you a cop?," doesn't work. Morons.

We suggested to Joe that if he can't recognize satire, he should probably go ahead and hang himself. He replied:

If you can't recognize accuracy, then you should keep doing whatever it is you are doing. Fucking morons.
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T

...

Wait. So...

...

What are we supposed to do again? Is it go to law school, do some research, or keep doing what we're doing?

Hey Joe, guess who's both the dumbest and the most righteous jackass to ever send us an angry email?

You are, asshole. I hope this is the first thing that pops up when someone Googles you. Merry Christmas, cocksucker.

No Shock To The System Needed

The Friday Cheerleader Post


When Slick Bomb sent this blurb about how 13 juniors from Ohio State made arrangements with the NFL to assess if and where they may be selected in that League's upcoming draft, I wasn't alarmed as he was.

"That's basically the entire team," he said.

Slick's math notwithstanding, I explained that Ohio State will usually go out of its way to help one of its athletes make an informed decision about whether to declare for a draft, be it for the NFL or the NBA. The piece explains that the players even did so with Tressel's blessing, the head coach being fully aware that high school football's elite come to Columbus for two reasons:

1) To fuck lots of girls, and

2) To get ready for the NFL (I realize that's somewhat redundant)

Furthermore, it's certainly a help to one's coaching efforts when one's players gain feedback regarding what holes in their game could potentially be costing them millions of dollars. The majority of these players, I believe, will take the information that the League gives them and prepare for their respective senior seasons accordingly. I would guess four or five will take the leap and declare. The rest will wait and take a shot at bigger money down the road.

Speaking of, I suppose some of you are pissed off about the Ohio State-LSU matchup, and to be totally truthful, those of you can suck down a used catheter bag like a cherry-flavored Capri Sun. Just because you assholes want to fill out some brackets before Christmas is no reason to drastically alter the landscape of college football.

Besides, what we have now IS a playoff. It's a two-team playoff. Just because we're fucking over the third-best team instead of the ninth-best team or the 17th-best team doesn't change the structure of that. And why should a potential 1-seed, that (typically) goes the whole season taking care of their business be rewarded with the chance to blow out Clemson, right back on the same starting line with 15 other teams that (most of which) couldn't get it done in the regular season. Fuck those teams and fuck you. Better luck next year.

I don't understand how this matchup supports anyone's argument for a playoff. If we had a playoff, this is exactly the game that we would have: two teams with pretty good reasons to be there, methodically picked from a handful of other teams with pretty good reasons to be there.

"Oh, but Punter," you'd say, as I'd reluctantly turn to listen. "At least with a playoff, everything would be settled ON THE FIELD." What about those first 12 games? Were they not played on the field as well? All you do with a playoff is reward a team that got hot at the end of the year, one that, more often than not, doesn't have proper claim to such a mulligan.

And I hear the argument about strength of schedule. But I don't understand how a conference that's "been beating each other up the whole season" could have TEN FUCKING BOWL-ELIGIBLE TEAMS! How tough are those alleged beatings if no one is out of bowl contention? I've heard people say Ohio State would be lucky to go .500 in the SEC. What bullshit. Mississippi State went 4-4. You telling me we couldn't beat Mississippi Goddamn State?

(And how is it the fault of the Big Ten that they weren't stupid enough to put together another opportunity for their team to get knocked down in the polls in a conference championship game? We're "pussified" because you decided to play on Thanksgiving Week and we didn't? Isn't it a bit pussified that LSU is playing a home game for the BCS title?)

And all this fucking money that a playoff would supposedly generate? Where do you think that's gonna come from, Abner? Maybe Bernanke could drop interest rates another point and you and your asshole friends could finally have that gay orgy in a kiddie pool filled with 20-dollar bills that you always talked about in college.

No, dickhead, that money will get yanked out of your so-called league championships and all the other, lesser bowls. And with the same teams playing in more games, you're actually preventing fan dollars from all of these other bowl-eligible teams from getting into the picture. Do you think the TV money from those first-round games is going to be so much better than Shitty Bowl TV Money? More than enough to facilitate a change?

Your cheerleader this week was found from a post titled "Sexy Carwash." Buff away, gentlemen. And lesbians.

The Runner Who the Race Outran

I mentioned last week that I would be running the Chicago Marathon this past Sunday, but I never said I would do it well. In fact, I was one of the more than 10,000 runners not to finish before they stopped the race, but not for such inglorious reasons as heat exhaustion or death.


Does this look like someone who would succumb to the heat? What with the tough looking wrapped leg, administered to treat the pulled hammy that made me drop out after 14 miles. It nicely capped an injury-plagued year of training, in which I had plantar fasciitis in my right foot for three months (just like Terrence Newman!).

Totally pussying out didn't ruin my entire trip. Yes, it was hot as dogcrotch, but there was always the pre-race expo! A font of organizations tangentially linked to running hawking their overpriced wares. What I loved most was the Volkswagons on the showroom floor (what better message to send to runners than that they need to fucking drive more?) and the Inspiration Zone, replete with a basketball hoop, Madden on the Wii, and a guy to clock the speed of your fastball (again, runners, get a new goddamn hobby).

Here was some giant lung - at first, I thought it was a liver - to support, I don't know, rights for disembodied giant plush organs with arms and legs. As with most things, in the Maj version, it would be small and black.

Finish Line Wine is for finishers, Ape. You may not sup of the plonky, paint thinnery goodness!

You may say that the injury was a mixed blessing because dropping out after an hour and a half enabled me to make it to the bar in time for the kickoff of the Steelers and Seahawks game. I say it's totally worth it. Reader Pat D. and friends welcomed me to Durkin's, one of the Steelers bars in town.

Pat is an alum of Miami of Ohio and he let me know that everyone at the school thinks Roethlisberger is a complete hump. In fact, he said when Roethlisberger returned to campus after winning the Super Bowl, one of his friends spotted him at a bar. The friend was wearing a "Drink Like a Roethlisberger Today" shirt, to which Ben was hardly amused, having some heavy get in his face and tell him something to the effect of, "That's not good for Ben's image!"

Dick move. Absolutely. But after going 18 of 22 this week without both starting receivers: (jams fingers in ears) lalalalalalalalalala.

Anyway, I also sat out on Waveland Avenue outside Wrigley during the final chapter of the Cubs sweptitude Saturday night.

Of course, I did it up in style, watching the game on a 20-inch TV pointing out from some guy's apartment with hundreds of other cheap, drunk people. Meanwhile, I couldn't drink at all because I had an important race not to finish the following morning.

Midway through the game, a young Tribune reporter was milling through the crowd trying to get some color for a feed into a scene story. Having done my share of these, I felt for her. A note to fans: when a reporter asks for feedback on a game, a helpful answer would be "This is so depressing. The Cubs would have a shot if only they didn't leave 600 men on base" and not, "I ALSO LIKE NOTRE DAME! CAN YOU PUT THAT IN THE ARTICLE?!"

Just a tip.

Caveman's 13th Circle of Hell

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.

Let me save you the effort: FIRST!!!!

Gary Busey Rumored to play Lee Carvallo

Nope, we've go absolutely nothin' we're not the least bit ashamed to admit it. That's why this morning instead of bringing you a creative and original material (not bloody likely) or some more prekkake we thought we'd mix it up a bit.

If you're anything like us you probably lay awake at night imagining your favorite video games as epic feature films (next summer, Tobey Maguire is Paperboy!). Well the Hollywood brain trust has woken up to the fact that our classic video games offer an untapped resource from which to steal their ideas. Forget about Super Mario, Lara Croft, that Milla Jovovich bitch. We want to see the real classics! I want Rose McGowan to play the titular role in Frogger: Hopping Mad and I want Shia Labeouf to actually contract dysentery while filming Oregon Trail.

Well now we've finally gotten that breakthrough we've all craved for so long. Enjoy the brilliance that is, Minesweeper: The Movie. Hey, it worked for Schindler's List (née Wolfenstein 3-D).



And if BDD asks, just tell him we talked about football and sodomy all week.

via College Humor