Rick Reilly Gargles Cocksnot

You probably saw Drew’s eloquent remarks on Deadspin yesterday regarding Rick Reilly’s uninspired commentary about the sports blogosphere, followed by Drew’s subsequent deconstruction of the viewpoint of that “privileged journalist.” Despite being a bit light on homoerotica, Drew’s piece was, as usual, very good.

Too good, really.

Too often we bloggers look at the criticisms of the mainstream press as opportunities, as chances to prove that we are somehow deserving of our audiences, of being in the conversation. Often, this results in an overextension of prose and an overuse of reason. I SHALL SMITE YOU WITH COHERENT, THOUGHTFUL ARGUMENTS! And so we're left with a well-bundled acknowledgment of their bitching and moaning that those types don’t really deserve.

Drew may as well have been reading poetry to a pig yesterday. Reilly is a third-tier fuckhead that’s not worthy of a rational counter-argument. You know what he’s worthy of? Getting handcuffed to a bike rack and shit on. Literally speaking, he deserves a response in kind. And so, I present a little something I'd like to call Rick Reilly Gargles Cocksnot.

Enjoy:

Rick Reilly thinks the Concorde is ruining the legacy of trans-Atlantic travel.

Rick Reilly thought Monty Python and the Holy Grail was “just okay.”

Rick Reilly speaks fluent Spanish, but finds it beneath him.

Despite having great access for the Masters, the excutive council at Augusta National insist on denying him entrance to any of the washrooms on the grounds, leaving him only a shallow latrine near the second fairway.

The council has also forbidden women from using this latrine. Mr. Reilly thinks this is bogus, but enjoys the amenities of the club too much to raise any sort of fuss.

Rick Reilly fucked Christine Penner. And loved it.

Rick Reilly is still unsure how those nets are keeping the moles out of Africa.

Rick Reilly thinks that, despite Tiger Woods’ Thai heritage, Phil Mickelson is tangier.

Rick Reilly’s nose is 0.017 inches (0.04318 cm) longer than his penis, so we’ve heard.

Rick Reilly wasn’t going to test Sammy Sosa's pee for steroids. He was just parched.

Rick Reilly owns two three-year-old chocolate Labrador Retrievers named “Blackie” and “Is Killing College Athletics.”

Rick Reilly once caddied for Michelle Wie without uttering “Me love you long time,” but later commented privately to friends about how well she added up her scorecard.

Rick Reilly credits his “humerous” style to former president Ulysses S. Grant.

Rick Reilly keeps 2 ounces of cocaine in his ass at all times, just in case Lawrence Taylor drops by.

And it’s not even in a bag. Gross!

How Punter Spent Earth Hour: A Running Diary

Most of you already realize that Earth Hour took place last Saturday at 8 pm. The newly-created event designed to raise awareness for energy conservation was not a big hit with KSK's Monday Morning Punter, and that contributor commemorates the event with a running diary of how he answered the World Wildlife Fund's call to help the environment.

7:59 - Turned on every light in house, including both TVs, which are both in the living room. The 32-inch and 19-inch sets are tuned to CBS and FOX, respectively. The PlayStation 2, despite not being used, is also turned on, but with no game in the system.

8:02 - Answered the door from disgruntled next-door neighbor complaining about "light pollution" and how I'm not "doing [my] part." Gives a confused look when I scold him for lack of butane conservation after he lights up a cigarette.

8:06 - Order two large pizzas from Papa John's, Pizza Hut, and Domino's. Tell each person taking my order that I will tip generously if the pizza arrives before 9, but insist that if the pies arrive right at 9 or later, I will not pay.

8:09 - Wife calls and tells me she's running late from work. I remember that I have a wife. I leave the cell phone on the table.

8:12 - Throw one sock in washing machine. Set wash cycle for a full load with hot water. Without soap.

8:17 - Pull out electric guitar and amp from closet and set up on front porch. Attempt to spraypaint PUNTER-PALOOZA in the front yard grass, but realize too late that I've made my letters too big.

8:19 - Ignore unattractive woman walking by that asks, "What's PUNTE?"

8:24 - Papa John's guy shows up during uninspiring solo performance of "Wild Thing." I tip half the bill. Before tax, of course. Neighbor shows up (holding a candle) to complain about something after dropping his newspapers in the green bin by his garage, and then storms back into his house when I don't offer him any pizza. He leaves in such a huff that he forgets his lighter.

8:31 - Go inside to take a shit. Realize I have no toilet paper, either on the roll or under the sink, but I do have a whole can of hairspray. I fumble through the wastebasket hoping to find a partially used tissue that I might have either bled on or blown my nose on, something that still has enough life that it could withstand one good wipe of the ass. I immediately abandon this plan when I realize that I would be, in fact, recycling.

8:36 - Cell phone rings, but I'm stuck on the shitter, so I can't answer it.

8:40 - Finally suck it up and wipe ass with a picture of Kate Bosworth ripped out of Marie Claire. I mutter something sexual and unclever during the act. Flush toilet several times to make sure paper doesn't clog the toilet.

8:42 - Fuck, the toilet did clog. Plunger time!

8:46 - Head back out to the front porch to start my second set when I hear a loud crash. I get outside and see that the Pizza Hut delivery driver has rear-ended the Domino's delivery driver. I realize they're both okay when I hear the Domino's driver ask, "What's PUNTE?"

8:51 - Shitbag neighbor comes back out during performance of "Louie Louie" and threatens to call the police, but gets shouted down by the Domino's and Pizza Hut drivers, who are enjoying the show while they're waiting for, ironically enough, the police to show up and take an accident report. But now the neighbor's not backing down, and the three of them are shouting toe-to-toe.

8:53 - I run back inside to the bathroom and grab the can of hairspray under the sink . I run back outside and pick up the lighter my neighbor left on my porch and run over to his recycling bin, which is full of newspapers. The lighter lights on the first try, and I hold the can of hairspray just behind the flame.

8:55 - BIG. FUCKING. NEWSPAPER FIRE! My little bitch neighbor is squealing with fear, and running for the garden hose. The Pizza Hut driver actually tries to approach the blaze. Until a piece of newspaper flies off and nearly hits him in the face. I hear the neighbor's squealing turn into homicidal screams of horror. I look over and see him tugging on the valve. Is he really too big a pussy to turn on the hose? Domino's guy shoves him out of the way and cranks the valve open. By now the plastic bin holding the papers is melting, and the stink of burning plastic is filling the air as the Domino's guy manages to put out the flame.

9:02 - Wife pulls up, with local police right behind. Neighbor is laying face-down in his own driveway, panting. The pizza guys storm the police cruiser as my wife stares at the lawn, and asks...

"Why'd you make the letters so big, dumbass?"

Matt Ryan Explained

Since Boston College never won a national championship during the quarterback's tenure, Matt Ryan jubilantly parades around the terricloth football trophy awarded to the winner of the Champs Sports Bowl. And that's something...

Coach Cowher Always Enjoys Some Goddamn Nachos Whenever He Plays Mini-Golf With His Wife

Some fucking date night this turned out to be. If I knew you weren't gonna show up today, if I KNEW YOU WEREN'T GONNA COMPETE TODAY, THEN WE COULD HAVE JUST STAYED HOME. Now I didn't come all the way out here to Frankie's Fun Park to get embarrassed like this. You're lucky we're playing two rounds today, because that course OWNED YOUR ASS in the first half, and YOU BETTER FIND A WAY TO GET IT TOGETHER before we go back out there.

Did you even READ THE SCOUTING REPORT this week? You tried to hit it under the hippo on 13 when I'VE TOLD YOU ALL FUCKING WEEK THAT HIS TUMMY REACHES THE TURF! Get your HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS. And three times you went in the water because you didn't take care of the ball. You need to take what the course gives you this second half, because this time you're pulling YOUR OWN FUCKING BALL out of the water. I don't care if your hand does get wet.

[Juts out chin. Chin pokes 9-year-old kid in the eye]

What the hell was that kid doing within 3 feet of my chin? Yeah, why don't you cry about it, you little shit. What kind of mental approach to life is that? Chins are going to come at you from all angles later in life, kid. It's best you learn to overcome adversity while you're young and develop a pattern for success. Show some composure. ACT LIKE YOU'VE BEEN POKED WITH A CHIN BEFORE!

Enough of this shit. If I don't get some goddamn nachos my fucking head is gonna blow off. I always get some goddamn nachos when I play mini golf. And I better get more jalapeños than they have on that sorry poster.

And after I store some of these delicious nachos in my chin, we're going back out there and you're going to redeem yourself for that sorry first half. TAKE CARE OF THE GOLF BALL! This is our game! And we call our game mini-golf, not Putt-Putt. That's a proprietary trademark, and we don't let proprietary trademarks into our house...or, vocabulary!

NOW GET YOUR ASS OUT THERE AND HAVE A GOOD SECOND HALF! I believe you have honors.

Yapcunt Regional: No. 1 TITAN vs. No. 8 SAINT - TO WHOM SHALL YOUR VOTE GO???

The conservative right is basking in this sort of religion-meets-religion matchup, as the Greeks take on the Italians, while the Germans and Irish sit around and drink beer. TO WHOM SHALL YOUR VOTE GO? Voting is closed. The Titan won with 74 percent of the vote.
	Contestants
Titan		Saint
	Home Field
Mount Othrys		Heaven
	Origins
Ancient Greek mythology		Greek Christian literature
	Hobbies
Destroying younger, sexier Olympian gods		Destroying younger, sexier altar boys
	Fundamental Weakness
Never really existed		Actually already dead
	Theoretical Weakness
Oily skin, terrible-tasting food		Over-dependence on FEMA
	Finishing Move
Slaying relatives in quest for power		Waiting for Kill Kill Kill NIT

Matt Ryan Explained

Matt Ryan, who played quarterback for the football team at Boston College, threw for scouts and coaches of professional football teams on Tuesday. He did this in hopes of being selected by one of the NFL's teams as a professional football player. Professional football players are paid to play football, which is a much better job than being an accountant or someone that mops up shit all day.

Interview With A Box Of Kleenex

I guess the first question has to be, "How long have you been a box of Kleenex?"

All of my existence, I suppose. Being a box of Kleenex is all I've ever known. While some people might shy away from the occasional burst of snot, tears, or semen, those things bring out the best in what we do. It's what we live for. I couldn't imagine doing anything else.

Sounds like you take a lot of pride in your work.

We understand that we're part of a rich tradition that dates back to the original cellucotton days of the 1920s. If one of us isn't soft enough or absorbant enough, or even doesn't come out of the box properly, it reflects poorly on all of us.

There are lots of tissue brands out there today. If I were to play a little devil's advocate with you, and ask, "What makes Kleenex so special?" What would you say?

The disposable hankerchief market has been saturated with imitators for some time, so that's something to which we've grown accustomed. Even the Oxford dictionary refers to "kleenex" as any sort of facial tissue, regardless of brand. But we're confident that people realize that the only place they can find a quality tissue is in a Kleenex brand box.

Take us through the life of a box of Kleenex.

Once we leave the plant in Canada, each of us realizes that there will be some downtime in the retail sector before we see any action. Comes with the territory, it's really inevitable. Then one by one, we leave the market and wind up on some office desk or family living room until--

Until you get all used up.

And then our cardboard remains get tossed to the curb.

That's pretty shitty, dude.

It's just the nature of our craft. That's why we receive such extensive training. I know it sounds like a disagreeable existance, Punter, but it's a natural cycle of life. Some of us live on as pencil holders, hamster toys, or some other bullshit craft project, but I don't consider them the lucky ones.

What do you mean? Wouldn't it be better to live on in some way?

I guess what I'm saying is that it wouldn't be living for me. Most people don't know how long they have. I know that I have exactly 150 strands of three-ply goodness to make a difference while I'm here. And if I can't do it by then, I want to go. Just go. I don't want to be an empty shell sitting on somebody's desk.

Last question. One of your colleagues recently had the chance to meet legendary quarterback Brett Favre. Are you upset that it wasn't you?

Nah, that guy's a little bitch.

Box of Kleenex, thanks for taking time out of your day to talk to us.

My pleasure. Have a nice day.

Information from Wikipedia was used in this...whatever this was.

Kurt n' Kitna: The Van

Brenda: Kurt? Are you coming to bed? It’s almost 8:30.

Kurt: Be right there. Aren’t you going to read your David Sedaris book for a while?

Brenda: I was about to, but get this. That book is about a gay man! A gay man! Can you believe it? I feel like I’ve been tricked.

Kurt: Well, that’s why I stick to biographies and self-help.

Brenda: So the Donaldsons want to know if we’re available for dinner tomorrow night.

Kurt: Yeah, well some of the guys and I had organized a late-night…uh…bowling thing for tomorrow.

Brenda: Kurt, we’ve been putting them off for weeks. They’re really making an effort to spend time with us.

Kurt: And I’m really trying to avoid them. Don’t you remember the last time we got together? We spent two hours on their couch while they made us watch that one show with Jim Belushi. I can’t think of the name of it….

[faint meow from outside]

Brenda: Kurt, Mindy’s been really having a rough time since her chemo treatments.

Kurt: …Fine, I suppose if it’s an early dinner...

Brenda: Thank you dear, will you turn out the light?

Kurt: Okay. [click]

[from outside] Meow.

Brenda: So, honey…how about a late night snack? Could I interest you in some blonde snapper?

[from outside] Meow.

Kurt: Hey…is that cat stuck in the tree outside? Oh, poor thing. I’d better get him some milk.

Brenda: Use water, Kurt. Milk could give him worms.

[Kurt goes downstairs, pours some water in a bowl, and walks out the front door out to the big tree]

Kurt: Here kitty. Come here, little guy. Hey, I don’t see a –

Kitna: BOO-YAH!



Kurt: OH SHIT!

Kitna: Oh, come on, dude, you totally knew that was me!

Kurt: Motherfucker! You almost made me shit myself. What are you doing here?

Kitna: Dude, check it out. I have whores.

Kurt: What?

Kitna: [points to white van in driveway] I picked up 4 girls from the Platinum Exchange and now we gotta find somewhere to go. Dude, come hang out with us!

Kurt: Are you insane?! They’re gonna know who we are!

Kitna: No, dude, check it out. None of them speak English! They’re all like Asian and Malaysian and shit. I waved around a $50 bill at the club and they just started following me. So guess what I nicknamed the van?

Kurt: I don’t know.

Kitna: Just guess.

Kurt: I don’t want to guess.

Kitna: Just guess, dude.

Kurt: Um, I don’t know…The Orient Express.

Kitna: [stunned] Whoa…that’s way better than my nickname.

[from behind] Pussy Patrol!

Kurt: Who the fuck?

Kitna: Oh, sorry Kurt. This is my protégé, Nicky Belvedere. He’s a Bears fan. Nicky, I told you to wait in the van with the engine running.

Kurt: You…you let him drive the van?!

Kitna: It’s the only thing that keeps him from talking dirty to the GPS. So c’mon, dude. Let’s go tear these girls up.

Kurt: I can’t go out in my pajamas, man.

Kitna: Dude, Nicky’s got us hooked up. He stole some rubbers from the BP while I was gassing up the van.

Nicky: and Fritos!

Kitna: Dude, I know a warehouse by the pier. It’ll be totally cool.

Kurt: [confused] What fucking pier?!

Brenda: What’s going on?

[They all turn to see Brenda standing at the front door]

Kurt: [to himself] Oh shit.

Kitna: [to himself] Oh shit.

Nicky: Jesus face!

Brenda: Hello, Jon.

Kitna: Hi, Brenda. I was…just bringing over a friend of mine…to get Kurt’s autograph.

Brenda: Really?

Kurt: Well, that’s what they said to me…before you came down.

Kitna: Well, yes…but…we…we realized that…we didn’t…have a pen…or…anything to sign.

Brenda: Is there someone in that van?

Kitna: [to himself] Oh fuck.

Kurt: [to himself] Oh fuck.

Nicky: Pussy Patrol!

Brenda: I'm gonna find out who's in that van.

Kitna: There's nobody in the van, Brenda.

Kurt: Brenda, stop!

Brenda: Don't "Brenda stop" me, Kurt. I know something's going on. I know Jon didn't just show up so you could autograph something for his little friend here. I want to see what's in that van and I'm going over there, so don't you try and stop--

 

 

 

 

 

 

[van explodes]

Kurt: Whoa…Holy…is everybody okay? Honey?

Brenda: I’m…I think I’m alright.

Kitna: Aw, man. I left my iPod in there!

Kurt: Hey, Nicky, don’t run toward the fire! [tackles Nicky on the lawn]

Brenda: Oh wow. Looks like we're okay. Thank God there was nobody in that van.

Kurt: …Yeah

Kitna: …Yeah

Nicky: Pussy go boom!

Brenda: We should call the fire department. Why don’t you guys come inside while we wait? There’s some leftovers in the fridge.

Kitna: We’ll be right there. Go ahead and give Nicky some juice.

[Brenda takes Nicky inside]

Kurt: Dude, what the fuck are you gonna do? As soon as they find human bones and acrylic nails in that van, you’re fucked.

Kitna: Actually, there was nobody in the van. Nicky and I went to an animal shelter earlier and picked up some cats for him and his mother. There were cats in the van.

Kurt: Well that explains why Nicky was covered with cat hair.

Kitna: And the distinct smell of animal piss.

Kurt: Why go through all of that? Why didn’t you just call me?

Kitna: I don’t know, you just always seem to be too busy lately. I just wanted you to come and hang out for a while. I was just gonna throw you in the van when you got close enough and have Nicky peel out. It seems like we never hang out anymore. Remember when we used to just chill in the offseason and watch According To Jim?

Kurt: …That’s what it was called?

Kitna: We need to hang out more, man, you know? Things’ll be different once we’re out of the league. We only have so much time before that happens, and we need to make the most of it. Before we get all fat.

Kurt: You’re right. I’ll make more of an effort.

Kitna: [looks at the wreckage, which is still ablaze] You think we should just let that burn?

Kurt: Yeah, it’s on cobblestone. It should be fine. Plus it’ll piss off the neighbors.

Kitna: Sweet. So you have anything good in the fridge?

Kurt: Might be some blonde snapper in there. You’re welcome to it.

Kitna: Some what?

Kurt: Eh, never mind.

Brady Quinn Expects To Compete For Browns' Starting Job, Affection Of Other Men

When Quinn walked into the green room for the NFL Draft last April, he probably thought he was going to be a top ten pick, maybe even go number one. But he didn't, as you'll recall. He went 22nd.

When Charlie Frye shit the bed in Week One, Quinn thought he was probably going to get a huge bump in playing time, maybe even start a few games in his rookie season. But he didn't. Derek Anderson jumped in and set the NFL ablaze, jump-starting the Browns to a 10-win season, and probably saving Battletoad Crennel's job in the process.

And when Horse Balls finally got paid in free agency, with guaranteed money nearly double what Quinn is slated to earn, one would suspect that the Columbus, Ohio native had finally learned his place in the League.

Yeah, not so much. He's expecting an open competition in training camp.

“My whole goal is preparing myself and getting ready to try to take over the starting job and lead this team,” Quinn said Saturday during [sexual intercourse with two other men, three underage boys, and a dalmatian for] an appearance at an auto show.

Browns GM Phil Savage, who's like Ozzie Newsome, except he's white and never played in the league, and a lot younger, has Anderson locked in as the starter:

"When you sign a contract like we did with Derek, I don't think there's going to be an 'open [rest stop exit for homosexual athletes to engage in any sort of] competition'," Browns general manager Phil Savage said. "We go in with Derek as the lead horse. You don't sign a contract like that and say, 'hey, it's an open competition'."

However, Coach Crennel is insinuating that Brady Lite will get a look:

"You have to [have the occasional sphincter stretching if you expect to get better as a football team or they're gonna bring in some damn white boy to] compete for your job. That's the same at the quarterback spot [where we have a nice dichotomy between super-masculine and downright Nancified, and then a third guy who I don't know much about]. Both of those guys [and that one girl from Notre Dame] are going to compete and then we'll see who gives us the best chance. We've always done it that way and that's what we're going to do [right after I polish off this rack of ribs, some baked beans, slaw, brisket, pork tenderloin and extra-large Barqs root beer. Holy shit, I love root beer]."

I'll never understand coachspeak.

It's About Damn Time These Baristas Got Their Ducks In A Row.

And not a moment too soon. I was growing weary of my tasty beverage alternative. Have you ever tried slurping whipped cream out of Keith Olbermann's asshole?

Some Of The Proposed NFL Rules Changes Not Getting A Lot Of Press

With the NFL's scouting combine in Indianapolis (which we've already established is an awesome city), there's only so much coverage one can digest of the league's competition committee meetings, which are transpiring at the same time. The big proposal getting the attention is one that would allow defensive players to be wired for sound, much like the quarterbacks were allowed to be this past season.

However, this is only one of the rules revisions that have been suggested for the 2008 season. There are a slew of other rules packages being considered for implementation. Some of the other suggested changes brought to the committee include:

- Changing the name of the 2-minute warning to "The Joe Gibbs Memorial Game Mismanagement Zone."

- A ball carrier's forward progress would be considered stopped if the defender in contact with him has had a felony arrest since 2004.

- Defensive face masks would be legal if the offending player can be heard screaming, "Fuck yo mama," or any interpretable derivative therein.

- Quarterbacks would be allowed to ground the ball inside the tackle box if it can be determined that his uniform has a distinct stain of urine.

- Wide receivers' pushing off to be called more scrupulously, unless said wide receiver's first name rhymes with "Craphonzo."

- Offensive players would be forbidden to rape within 72 hours of kickoff. For defensive players, however, it would be 36 hours.

- Referee's signal for "Delay of game" to be changed to vigorous underhanded motion at belt-buckle level.

These are just the ones we've heard about. If you know of any others, please pass them along in the comments.

Joe Buck And Jim Nantz Discuss The Merits Of The Three-Person Booth While Walking Through An Airport

JOE BUCK: Jim, what are you pointing at?

JIM NANTZ: Uh, I forgot.

JOE BUCK: So, that’s it. Another season in the books.

JIM NANTZ: It went by so quickly.

JOE BUCK: Good season, Jim.

JIM NANTZ: Good season, Joe.

JOE BUCK: I think we’ve earned a little R&R, don’t you agree?

JIM NANTZ: We did some gosh-darned good work this season.

JOE BUCK: So much bullcrap that we put up with, what with the travel, all the a-holes to deal with. It’s a great job, make no mistake, but people question my fortitude, call me the P-word and what not. It really…it stinks. It just stinks.

JIM NANTZ: Stinks like fresh bull mess.

JOE BUCK: But I’m done with that for a few months. Sometimes it takes me a few weeks to snap out of my broadcaster voice, you know what I mean? I have some baseball dates coming up, but those are way down the calendar.

JIM NANTZ: You’re lucky. I still have the CBS golf schedule, including the Masters. On such hallow ground, one’s language must be as pristine and as pure as his pigmentation.

JOE BUCK: Better keep that mouth of yours in game shape then.

JIM NANTZ: Indeed. But I will get a short break here. For three days, I’m not going to do…

[Trails off]

JOE BUCK: …Jim?

Oh. It's finally happened. The Pussy Apocalypse is upon us. An army of whores have come to enslave us all.

JIM NANTZ: Oh, no.

JOE BUCK: Look at that one in the front. That little bitch is begging for it.

JIM NANTZ: Oh, heavens, no.

JOE BUCK: That little piece of Tokyo ‘tang might be on your flight, Jimbo. You might even be sitting next to her on the way back to New York. You could give her a little Seoul Finger. But, you know, like South Korea Seoul. Get it?

JIM NANTZ: [Squirming uncomfortably] I follow you, Joe.

JOE BUCK: Oh, sorry man. I didn’t mean to articulate that. That is a disgusting act. And I apologize that…that I won’t be flicking that bean myself. You know what I hear about Japanese women? That their gashes are flat. Like their economy.

JIM NANTZ: You’re not really helping.

JOE BUCK: What’s the big deal? Just say that you want to fuck her and I’ll shut up. I swear. Just say it, Jimbo. Me love you long time. But say it in a Bryant Gumbel voice.

JIM NANTZ: No.

JOE BUCK: Fine, say it in your own voice.

JIM NANTZ: I’m not going to say it.

JOE BUCK: She might have checked her bags at the terminal, but I’ll be checking her oil in the handicapped stall before boarding. And I will continue to hit that ass until the No Pounding sign has been illuminated. By the time I’m done fucking her, not only will her eyes be round, but she’ll have gained 15 pounds and have issues with her father.

JIM NANTZ: Please stop.

JOE BUCK: Come on, Jimbo, let’s get over there and gang-bang her. You can give her a Pacific Rimjob, and I’ll make her pie-hole part of the Wang Dynasty. Then you can take a break while I pummel that Pai-Gow pussy with my Kim Jong eel while I’ve got her ankles on my shoulders.

JIM NANTZ: [mumbling] It’s a position…

JOE BUCK: Say it, Jimbo. Come on, say it!

JIM NANTZ: It’s a position unlike any other.

JOE BUCK: Yes! Alright, Jimbo!

JIM NANTZ: Ladies and gentlemen, this is Flight 669 with nonstop service to Pleasuretown. We’d like to invite our Pacific club members to begin seating…on my face.

JOE BUCK: Let’s get over there. I’ve got an invitation to the House of Dong with her name on it.
[They stand up]

JIM NANTZ: I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: nothing beats Saigon beaver.

JOE BUCK: True dat, Jimbo. True. Dat.

O/T: Your Requisite KSK Daytona 500 Update

Yee-Haw! Good golly jee-willickers! Holy Moly! Dad gummit! D'yoo see that, maw! I gots me a new trofee for da shed out back! Man, I was going so gotdang fast, I was hotter than a pidgeon covered in molasses on a Tuesday morning! Whoo-wee!

I gonna git me some money now, buy Jim Bob Junior that second pair of blue jeans he's always wanted. An' me and my girl ken finally get hitched. We won't even be cousins anymore! This is so dang great! I'm the grand champeen of racin'!

What yew say? This only the firrst race o' the year? Sheeit.

Coach Cowher Better Have Some Goddamn Hot Water While His Girls Are Home For Break

Alright ladies, let's bring it in. Bring it in tight. I'm only gonna say this one time. We'd better have a good family break this week, so be prepared. This ain't no picnic. Well, Saturday at the park actually is a picnic, but the rest of it is not! I want clean rooms, clean children, and no burnt suppers. I can get any rookie in her to burn supper for one-tenth of what we're paying you.

I want a clean family this week. If you think we're gonna have a repeat of Christmas this week, the fucking lot of you are in for a rude goddamn awakening. Meagan, if you bring home any more baseball players, I'll sit you this entire week out in the guest room without a second thought. Clean family means soap, you fuckers. Better scrub that shit down good, you get 10 minutes and that's it. I'd better have some goddamn hot water this week or all of you will suffer. And I want PRODUCTIVE showers, too, not a Jerome Bettis shower where you dance in the water and shake hands with the soap. Get it done in there. I want hair, pits, arms, titties, legs, and don't forget the red zone downstairs, which had still better be dick-free. I'm looking at you, Meagan.

[Juts out chin]

We have a short week together, so you better have a system for what you're doing out there. Your mother has been working hard with the staff while you've been gone to get everything ready for this week, so get your craniums out of your anuses and pay attention! We have a lot to accomplish this week: the zoo, dinner at P. F. Changs with Hines, and then the big one with the Youngs on Saturday night. No fucking around this week, we have to get out there and execute!

[Cell phone rings]

This is Bill...Hello Mr. Snyder, good to hear from you again...Well, unless every news report in America is wrong, don't you already have a coach?...Sure, but shouldn't he at least coach one game before you buy his contract out?...Right, right. If I may, I'll be a bit more frank than I was three weeks ago: Suck my asshair through a straw, the answer's still no.

[Hangs up, punches hole through drywall]

That's right, I'm not neglecting my family again until I'm goddamn good and ready. Now get out there and let's have a good break this week. You're dismissed.

Kurt n' Kitna: On The Links

Kitna: Alright, listen up, faggot. It's the 17th hole. We got 110 yards into some wind, elevated green, bunkers on the front and right. It’s a back pin on a flat green. Hundred bucks, closest to the pin?

Kurt: Sure, you’re on.

Kitna: So let's do a hundred bucks closes to the pin, and another hundred for a par or better on the hole.

Kurt: You know, I think I have a better idea.

Kitna: Oh, look out! Mary Queen of Cocks has a better idea! Let’s hear it.

Kurt: If I win this hole, I get to fuck your wife.

Kitna: [stunned silence]

Kurt: If I win I get to take your wife on a date. No, your wife has to fly out here to Arizona. I’ll pick her up at the airport terminal with a bouquet of roses and a rag soaked in ether. I’ll drag her lifeless body to a remote motel where even the roaches are too fucking scared to crawl around. Then I’ll duct-tape her to the bed and just let the ambiance of the moment take over.

Kitna: What’s ether?

Kurt: Remember what we did to the doorman at the Ritz-Carlton?

Kitna: Yeah…

Kurt: That’s ether.

Kitna: Oh, sweet. Hey, wait a second. What do I get if I win?

Kurt: You get to fuck my wife.

Kitna: Yeah, that’s great. Will she play “Come To My Window” on her acoustic guitar before she takes off her boots?

Kurt: Well, what do you-- [looks over, panics] Shit, it’s Coach Wiz!

Kitna: Goddammit. Put your Jesus Face on.

Kurt: Jesus Face, got it.

Coach Whisenhunt: Hi, Kurt. Hello Jon. Nice day, isn’t it?

Kitna: Yes, the Lord has truly blessed us with delightful weather today.

Kurt: Truly blessed us, indeed.

Coach Whisenhunt: So Kurt, sorry to bother like this, but Mr. Bidwell said he’s missing some of his pens from the facility—

Kurt: No, but…I don’t know anything—

Coach Whisenhunt: --and he asked me to ask you to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity. You’re still one of the leaders on this team, Kurt, no matter how shitty a player you are today.

Kurt: Yessir. That's what being a good Christian is all about.

Kitna: About being a leader. Not necessarily being a mediocre quarterback. That's really more coincidental than anything.

Coach Whisenhunt:I knew we could count on you, Kurt. Good to see you again, Jon. [Coach leaves]

Kitna: Go with Christ, sir!

Kurt: Go with Christ, Coach!

Kitna: [out of earshot] Oh, fuck, that was close. So he came up here to bother you about fucking pens?!?!

Kurt: Mr. Bidwell’s very attentive to his overhead.

Kitna: He’s very attentive to keeping the diameter of his anus as narrow as possible. Fucking tightass. How can you play for such a cheap piece of shit owner?

Kurt: [sad face]

Kitna: Don’t answer that, Tinkerbell.

Kurt: Okay.

Kitna: What the fuck were we talking about?

Kurt: What do you want if you--

Kitna: Oh, right. If I win, I want all the secret porn on your laptop. The good shit you keep in that GAMEPLAN VS 49ERS desktop folder, because there sure as fuck ain't no gameplan in there. So my wife for your quality porn. Sounds fair to me.

Kurt: [thinks about it] Deal. [they shake hands]

Kitna: Shit, that reminds me, I have to speak at that all-girls high school on Thursday.

[Kitna tees it up, swings, ball hits the flagstick and lands six feet from the hole]

Kitna: How do ya like me now, Homocop?

Kurt: Nice.

Kitna: That is nice. I can feel my eyes getting monitor burn already.

[Kurt tees the ball up, swings, hits a ground ball that rolls all the way up to the green and stops exactly opposite from Kitna’s ball]

Kurt: That’s gonna be close!

[They get in the cart and ride toward the green]

Kitna: So what are we gonna do with all those pens?

Kurt: Beats the shit outta me. What are we gonna do with that doorman?

Matt Cassell's Big Bash

Ernest Borgnine: I have to tell you, this is pretty disappointing. I mean, here we are, Super Bowl week, All we've done is sit in our hotel room for three days and watch DVDs.

Punter: Will you just settle down? None of the good parties have happened yet. We're here on radio row now, surrounded by celebrities, players, and media. Somebody is going to invite us to a party tonight. I just know it.

Ernest Borgnine: You better be right about this.

Punter: I am right. And we've been watching good movies, for the record.

Ernest Borgnine: Sure, sure...So does he really have a twin brother?

Punter: Who are you talking about?

Ernest Borgnine: That Charlie fellow. From the last movie we watched.

Punter: No, I'm pretty sure he just made that guy up.

Ernest Borgnine: But his name was in the credits.

Punter: Really? I didn't see that.

Ernest Borgnine: Yeah, both Charlie and Donald were there.

Punter: Yeah, I don't know about that. I did think Charlie was pretty clever, writing himself into the screenplay like that.

Ernest Borgnine: I thought it was pretty arrogant, and pretty lazy. I mean, why does he have to be him? Why can't he just make up another character? It's not like he doesn't have any to choose from. I mean, look around here, for example. This place is filled with characters. Marshawn Lynch is over there. And over there is Terry Bradshaw. There's Adam Brody, There's--

Punter: Holy shit...Adam!

Ernest Borgnine: You know Adam Brody?

Punter: Sort of. We've never actually met, but we've exchanged emails.

Ernest Borgnine: Well then how is he going to recogni--

Adam Brody: Punterrrrr, sup bro? This is, uh, this is just like that one scene in that obscure movie whose name even I can't remember. Dude, you're not gonna believe this, but check it out, this guy Matt Cassel, you know, I think he's a kicker or something, but he--

Punter: Goddamn it, Adam, he's New England's backup quarterback.

Adam Brody: Whatever, man, you know I don't follow the defensive players, but anyway, he, uh, he's co-hosting this rad party with Motorola out in the burbs, and I'm going, you know, and you and your dad should try and go, too.

Ernest Borgnine: What do we have to do?

Adam Brody: Just find Matt, who's perusing the grounds as we speak. He will accommodate.

Punter: Good deal, man. I can't believe you're gonna be the Flash. That kicks ass.

Adam Brody: Yeah, as long as Wonder Woman is--MATT!

Matt Cassell: [walks over] Off the fucking nozzle, bros. Off the fucking nozzle. [Hands each person a VIP lanyard, wanders off]

Ernest Borgnine: What a disturbed young man.

Punter: Hey, that guy's alright.

Adam Brody: No, bro, he's kinda messed up. You're not gonna believe this.

Ernest Borgnine: Try us.

Punter: Yeah, man, try us.

Adam Brody: Okay, so I guess he had a big meeting with the coach last night...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Matt: You wanted to see me, Coach?

Coach: Yeah, Matt, come on in. Have a seat over here on the bed.

Matt: Um, okay.

Coach: Look, Matt, it looks like Tom is pretty injured with this ankle sprain. And you know I'm sick of hiding him from the press. And, well, I think it would be only fair if I gave you a chance to earn the starting job.

Matt: Aw, thanks coach, I really appreciate this. So, I'll be getting more reps in the 7-on-7s this week?

Coach: Well, not exactly.

Matt: Oh. Well...will he and I be doing competitive drills in walkthroughs this week?

Coach: No, not exactly.

Matt: (confused) Um, then how exactly am I competing for the job?

Coach: You see that red sweatshirt on the bed, Matt? That's my Little Red Riding sweatshirt. You see, Matt, I've been waiting for this moment since you were at Southern Cal. I'm gonna put on that red sweatshirt and curl up on this bed with you. And then you and I are gonna fuck like wild seals in the Arctic night. Like a couple hamsters trying to eat each other. And if you can take the pounding that you know I can provide, right here, right now, you’ll be our starter.

Matt: Oh no.

Coach: Think about it, Matt. I'm gonna make you howl like the three-legged coyote in heat that you are. And then I'm gonna snap my offensive genius off in your ass. You’re gonna wish you were in prison, but it’s a small price to pay for worldwide glory.

Matt: Pl-please stop it, Coach.

Coach: Oh, Coach, what big eyes you have! Say it, you pissant!

Matt: This isn't right--

Coach: CALL ME GRANDMA YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!

Matt: (jumps off the bed) Whoa, whoa, uh, sorry...I'm sorry, coach. I - I can't do this.

Coach: (stands up) You do it, Matt. You fucking do it or you're gonna get kicked around this league like a frozen dog turd on an Alaskan oilfield.

Matt: I'm sorry. (walks out)

Coach: Very well. (yells) Tommy! You're starting on Sunday!

Tom Brady: (from under the bed) Thanks, Mister! Can I go back to my room now?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adam Brody: You believe that shit, bro? Have you ever heard anything so disgusting?

Ernest Borgnine: It’s truly awful.

Punter: Shoulda fucked him. But hey, we’ve got a party to get ready for. Where’s my hovercraft?

Ernest Borgnine: Hovercraft?

Punter: Yeah, I have a hovercraft. It’s my post.

Adam Brody: Nice. Is is black?

Punter: It is now!

Adam Brody: DAMN! I’m dizzown like a wedding gown!

Ernest Borgnine: Okay, but go easy on the turns. These hovercrafts historically don't corner well. And one more thing.

Punter: What is it?

Ernest Borgnine: Well, if this is your post, can I do something? It will just take a second.

Punter: Sure.

Ernest Borgnine: [yells] YEEEEE-HHAAAAAWW! WHOOPDY-DOO!!! I AM FLIPPING CRAZY!!

Punter: [confused] Yeah, that was a bad call.

Adam Brody: It was almost there, but not really.

Ernest Borgnine: Oh well, I tried.

The Rogg Remembers

I am the head man of the most powerful sports league in the world. Millionaires seek me out in a crowd to shake my hand. Lavish gifts come pouring into my office just for the consideration of being spit on by me. I've met presidents, monarchs, and emporers, and rest assured that The Rogg has been king in every court.

And don't forget that the Rogg is one perceptive son of a gun. I know what you came hear to discover. I can almost hear the question rolling around in your head. Have I ever banged a black chick?

The answer is yes. Yes, I have.

She was an education major during my last year at Wash and Jeff. I like to call it "Wash and Jeff," because people always ask, "Who's Jeff?" I don't think it's very funny, but I enjoy making others look stupid. It's a gift, really. Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Her name was Chrissy, and she was amazing. Big boobs, big ass, and yet somehow still skinny as a rail. She defied proportion just as she defied society's expectations of a black woman in 1980. She always wore these button-down shirts, pleated skirt, and argyle socks. I always hoped that one day I might see one of those massive jugs bust out of that shirt. Jesus, if I had a dime for every time I had jerked off to that thought. Big titties know no season.

She had this cute little afro, usually with a headband, and if you saw her walking your way you'd swear your cock was going to detonate in your pants. She had that "it" thing, and every time I saw her I had to run off and put "it" out of "its" misery.

We had an economics class together in the spring, and I remember one day she came into class crying. I remember going up to her and gently, just gently putting my hand on her back. She turned around and, with tears still streaming down her face, she smiled at me. I thought I was going to fall over. Somehow, I managed to ask her out to dinner that night. She smiled again.

Dinner was a blur. I remember inviting her up to listen to some Earth, Wind & Fire. She came up, and before I could close the door, she was already naked. Then she jammed her hand down my pants, and I started to play with her, too. I think she could tell I was a little nervous. "You doin' alright, baby?" I nodded; I was nervous. We laid down on the floor.

I didn't last more than a couple of minutes, but it was great. So great. We kissed, and then I went into the bathroom to wash up. When I came out, she was gone. We had class a couple days later. I couldn't wait to see her, but she never showed up. I found out that she had dropped the class.

You doin' alright, baby?

A couple weeks later I found out that she'd had a big fight with her boyfriend the day she was crying. That's why she was crying when I saw her. I fight the urge to second-guess everything that happened on that night. Our night. What was real, and what was revenge, I just don't want to tear that apart.

You know, I could close a billion-dollar deal every day for the rest of my life, and I'd still never get the feeling I did when Chrissy came up to my apartment that night. "You doin' alright, baby?" Sometimes I can still hear those words. Some things just stay with you, I guess. My dick still has a scar from our endeavor that evening. You wanna see it?

KSK Celebrity Pickkake: Jennifer Love Hewitt

The celebrity Super Bowl pick is a time-honored tradition, one we at KSK are super fucking excited to be a part of, as we have in the past. For the next two weeks, stars from the world of entertainment, politics, and more will drop by to make their picks for the big game in the Pink Taco! Up next, it's Jennifer Love Hewitt!

Can I just say something? I'd like to say something about all the comments that have been made about my body? I don't care if you said it or not. I know you were thinking it. Oh, trust me, I know.

You know, it's not like all of YOU are perfect, okay? I mean, New England is almost perfect, but that doesn't make them RIGHT! There are a lot of teams right now struggling with their identity, okay? And just because you FREEKS are masturbating to people besides me is no reason for you to...I just (sobs)...you guys are just so mean...I just...I know it's big down there...I've tried pilates...I've tried Jenny Craig...it's just really (sobs)...it's hard for me...Valerie Bertinelli makes it look so easy...(sobs) Can I get a tissue please? ...Can someone...will someone bring me a goddamn tissue? ...I just don't...HEY WILL ONE OF YOU GET ME A FUCKING TISSUE?!?!

Valerie, if you so much as pass me on the street I will fucking kill you. You perky little bitch. "Oooh, look at me! I lost all this weight! It's so easy!" Go fall down a goddamn well, you Paisan whore! Kirstie Alley and I are going to eat you like a pack of wild boars! Nobody crosses J-LOVE! NEVE CAMPBELL TRIED THAT SHIT AND HAVE YOU HEARD FROM HER LATELY? NO I GUESS NOT SO SHUT IT! YOU MAKE ME TOUCH YOUR HANDS FOR STUPID REASONS! BITCH!

So, next time guys? Just be cool, okay? Hee-hee. That was a real laugh, I swear.

Pole Position with Ronnie Jaws

Once again, the smoke has cleared, and two teams are set to square off in the culmination of a hard-fought season. And you know what that means: we're only days away from another exciting year of Arena Football.

Why my network refuses to give this league year-round coverage will remain one of life's great mysteries, along with creationism and why Japanese girls on subways never fight back.

By now you've noticed that Tom Brady was wearing a protective boot last week to protect the right ankle he injured during the AFC Championship. An injury to the plant leg can be absolutely devestating to a player not only at the quarterback position, but also the suspended congress position and the doggy-style position.

I've studied film on Brady and have noticed that such an injury can hurt the timing of his release point, and will limit his control of any significant output. There's a good chance things will blow up in his face if he's not careful. He'll have to warm up extensively, but once the lights go on and gets that first shot out of the way, he can settle into a rhythm and distribute like a 19-year-old guard in a maximum-security juvy girls' penitentiary.

Ben Roethlisberger's comments about wanting the Steelers to find a tall wide receiver are a cruel reminder that SIZE DOES MATTER in the National Football League. Hines Ward could not have been pleased to hear the dissatisfaction of his quarterback, but this is the NFL, not Seoul House Restaurant on James Swart Circle, and Ward has to do more than regulary refill empty water glasses and memorize menu items by their coded letter-number combination. He's gotta perform in the red zone and bring that fortune cookie to his quarterback's table, or else it's ahn nyung hee ke se yo for this not young slant-eyed homo.

If there's one thing more homosexual than my choice of eyewear, it's baseball season. ESPN's own Pedro Gomez is gearing up for another year of covering the sport for the worldwide leader. I've been visiting Mr. Gomez on occasion, and I have yet to see him breaking down game film or studying the tendencies of the so-called athletes that he allegedly covers. This is conclusive evidence that Pedro Gomez is an illegal alien and must be deported immediately.

I've set up a makeshift 13-camera closed-circuit television system around his home, office, and La Bamba's. I'll be studying his tendencies, day after day, night after night, until I can find just the right opening to deliver a 25-yard toss of justice to my associates at The United States Immigration and Naturalization Service.

If Dana Jacobson needs a stripper pole for her Super Bowl party, maybe she should try this Pole. Heh. See? That's funny because I'm Polish... Eh. Okay. I guess ethnic humor doesn't work these days.

KSK Celebrity Pickkake: Gilbert Gottfried

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