Oh Yeah, A Cheerleader Post

This is Jennifer. She's got, like, hair and stuff.

Bonus Friday Cheerleader Post... brought to you by SleepyCamHo.com

Before another week draws to a close, I wanted to extend a hearty 'up yours' to the NFL owners who overwhelmingly rejected reseeding the playoffs to allow wild-card teams to host playoff games, at the expense of division winners with better records. There are valid reasons to support or oppose such a change, but the company-line reason owner were spouting this week was essentially, "It would unfair to our fans, who have grown to expect they will host a home game if their team wins a division." Bologna, I say!

If the owners were so concerned about the fans, they wouldn't subject them to these meaningless end of season games where division leaders rest the good players that fans bought tickets to see and we get stuck watching Jim Sorgi or some shit. GAAAAAH!!!!!

Now ogle these hot twins.

Lots more of the Larisa and Marisa (!) here.

Fictional Cheerleader Biography: Shannon

Shannon was born in Jackson, Mississippi, where her home has been preserved. She was educated at the Mississippi State College for Women, the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and Columbia University's business school. She later became a photographer of some renown while working for the Works Progress Administration.

But her true love was literature, not photography, and she soon devoted her energy to writing fiction. Her novel The Optimist's Daughter won the Pulitzer Prize in 1973. In later life, she lived near Jackson's Belhaven College. She died of pneumonia in at the age of 92, and is buried in Greenwood Cemetery.

The Friday Cheerleader PostFly "High" Falcons

"Your mother and I want you to have a good time this weekend. Maybe you'll go to the batting cages with the fellows or catch a picture-show with your best gal. Whatever you do, if someone offers you a "reefer", run away as fast as you can and call 911 immediately. Reader's Digest says that a "bad trip" is not very "groovy". I clipped the article, it's on the front of the fridge if you want to read it. I also put a copy in your sock drawer. Maybe you want to show it to some of your friends. All we want is for you to not to grow up to be a burnt-out hipster uploading shoe-gazer NFL fight songs on YouTube. That's not too much to ask, is it?"

If you voted for the Lion or Bengal, avert your gaze at once.
These pictures are not for you!

Lots more of this lass can be found here. You're welcome.

The Friday Cheerleader PostGet a haircut ya dern hippies!!!

The league never banned long hair when they were playing. How are these guys any different from Rashean Mathis or Mike McKenzie?
Ohhhhh right, they're not brown.

According to Michael David Smith at the Fanhouse, the Chiefs are spearheading (arrowheading?) the NFL's proposed ban on players wearing their hair long enough to obscure the name on the back of their jersey. What a relief, I was tired of having to ask people "Wait, is that Al Harris or AJ Hawk?"

Damn you Kansas City for pushing your Middle America customs and mores on heathen urbanites. If Troy Polamalu wants to give Larry Johnson something to grab onto when they make sweet love he attempts to tackle him, then who are we to judge?

Speaking of flowing tresses...

Pi Day? More Like Hair Pie Day!

For the geekiest among us, today - March 14, that is, 3/14 - is Pi Day, a celebration of the mathematical formula that determines how to assign something a deceptive, delicious-sounding name that in reality possesses labyrinthine complexity and is really boring.

Say the dorks:

With the use of computers, Pi has been calculated to over 1 trillion digits past the decimal. Pi is an irrational number meaning it will continue infinitely without repeating. The symbol for pi was first used in 1706 by William Jones, but was popular after it was adopted by the Swiss mathematician Leonhard Euler in 1737.

According to Darren Aronofsky movies, it also drives people certifiably insane.

Because schools are where tax dollars go to die, there are a raft of Pi Day activities organized to quash the joy of learning for all the chillins' 'round the country.

Students will present pi projects such as research on the history of pi, pi poems, pi cartoons, pi plays, original pi songs or pi fashion. Then students will participate in a pi digit reciting project. Students get a card with a digit of pi on one side and a math problem on the other. The answer to the problem will tell the student the position of the digit they have. They should then stand in order to determine the mathematical approximation of pi.

We'd like to rename the day Hair Pie day, for no other reason than we can and that a Friday should not be dedicated to something that harkens back to the days of book learnin' (ages 5-8). Here to help us celebrate is the lovely...

What's your name?

Cheerleader: L -

[Cutting her off] Yeah, whatever.

What? You're shaved down there? Eh, what the hey, join in anyway.

NOTE: Well it IS officially also Steak and BJ Day. That'll have to do.

Your Friday Afternoon Cheers And Jeers

CHEERS to Vietnamese for lunch right before the weekend. That is some good shit, pho sho.

JEERS to not giving me extra peanut sauce with my summer roll. I could drink a 2-liter bottle of peanut sauce. Crushed peanuts are like Viet Cong sprinkles.

CHEERS to March Madness being right around the corner.

JEERS to March Madness not being here right now. It’s March. Let’s get to the bracketeering right NOW, god dammit. I don’t need a Conference USA tournament to know if you belong.

CHEERS to us for making sure this year that we don’t enter into stupid bets that allow other people to take over our site for a day.

JEERS to letting it ever happen to begin with.

CHEERS to Ufford for taking a well-deserved break in the Dominican Republic. Although, I once heard a story about a girl who went down to the DR and had a steamy affair with a native man there. He gave her a box for her to open on the plane ride home. And when she opened it, there was a small coffin in it. And in that coffin was a note that said, “Welcome to the living dead. I have AIDS.” That’s a true story. It’s called “How Stella Got Her Lesions Back”. Have fun, Matt!

JEERS to AIDS.

CHEERS to the Desert Eagle. Now there’s a gun made for strokin’!

JEERS to me for not buying one when I was out in Vegas. Think of all the people I could have taken out! Did you know Jimmy Fallon is favored to replace Conan O’Brien next year? A .50 caliber bullet would go right through him and could possibly also take out one of his fans, who I assume looks something like Avril Lavigne. I’m such a fool!

CHEERS to Dolphins cheerleaders. Did you know they’re mammals? And that they can communicate using sound vibrations? Just go up to one and say ECKYECKYECKYEEEEEEEEKKKK!!! You’re be on Pleasure Island in no time.



Have a good weekend, people.

Fictional Cheerleader Biography: Laura

This is lovely Laura of the Buffalo Jills cheerleading squad.

Laura joined the Jills after a couple of stints in rehab helped her kick a nasty morphine habit. It all started back in high school when the young cheerleader tried to gain favor with the football team by offering her body up for a gangbang. Sadly the petite youngster's body was overmatched, and she was on the receiving end of the full log-splitter treatment. After a handful of surgeries to repair her pelvis and few months in the hospital she was ready to return home, now equipped with a raging drug addiction, sore labia, and enough self-loathing to make an anorexic chick seem prideful.

After a few years the scars healed and the addiction was downgraded to "recreational habit." Once Laura joined on with the Jills even the self-loathing began to subside. Now the cheerleader is a productive member of society once again, and she's looking to improve her self-worth further by bagging a pro football player. But what finely tuned athlete would want any part of those damaged goods? The answer came in the form of a punter, Brian Moorman to be specific. They clicked immediately after meeting at a rally for Ron Paul and things progressed from there. The two are expecting twins this summer and doctors expect them to fly through the birth canal with the ease of two bullets speeding through an empty hallway.

Of course none of this is actually true.

Image via Professional Cheerleader Blog

Fictional Cheerleader Biography: Gina

Jets Flight Crew member Gina, like many of her teammates, is a Long Island native, from West Babylon, N.Y. She graduated from Nassau College with an associates degree in dance and also is licensed as a cosmetologist.

Gina currently works as a hairdresser and also teaches dance.

On a perfect night out, Gina would be “dancing with my loved ones” and “having fun!” She says one of her favorite hobbies is drawing and that "I love any art.”

Gina is very proud of her Italian heritage and lists “putting my shoes on the table” as one of her most unusual superstitions.

NOTE: Holy crap, that's her ACTUAL biography.

Fictional Cheerleader Bio: Britney

This is Britney, cheerleader for the Bucs. Britney is the coolest cheerleader in the world. In fact, she wears nothing BUT her cheerleading uniform, even while buying groceries. She enjoys snorting cocaine and then riding around on a Waverunner. She will do tequila shots with you until 6AM, and then eat a 96 oz. ribeye for breakfast. She listens to The Sword. She likes football, but has the courtesy to watch it in a another room so you can watch it with your friends. Like 99.99% of the population, she can kick Simmons' ass in Scrabble.

She speaks 7 different languages and eats raw shellfish at least once a day. She likes firing guns. She likes men with back fat. She can shimmy up a palm tree in 7.8 seconds. She'll have fresh popovers ready for you in the morning, every morning. She fucking hates Ellen Pompeo. She can quote all of Kinison's best work, including, "Well, it wouldn't be like that if someone had a ladder and a pair of pliers!!!" She actually likes her female friends. She threw eggs at NOW protesters from her community college dorm room.

She's open to threesomes, and to guiding you through the process. Her father invented the cuckoo clock, and thus she is worth billions. Her Dad will take you golfing at Augusta any time you wish. She sleeps in the nude. She'll teach you how to surf. She likes cars that go really fucking fast. She smokes enough weed to make the Maj look like a goddamn 8th grader. She's got an oceanside condo with a pool bar and 12-burner gas grill. Her teeth and feet are fucking flawless. She follows her birth control pill schedule with military precision.

She majored in English at UVA. Her favorite book is Catch-22. She's smart as shit, but she's not quite as smart as you.

But she smokes. Dealbreaker?

Fictional Cheerleader Biographies: Quinn and Alysha

This is Alysha.

Rather than being a cheerleader in high school, Alysha took a lot of dance classes. She aspired to be a ballerina, taking as many as 20 hours a week of dance from age five all the way through high school. As such, her classmates saw her as standoffish and prissy, and she never enjoyed the social life most teenagers enjoy.

Bypassing college to try to "make it" in New York, knee problems and her curvy figure derailed her dreams of being a prima ballerina for American Ballet Theater. That's when she became a cocktail waitress, let loose, and finally started sucking some cock.

This is Quinn.

As her name implies, she comes from a wealthy New England family. She went to boarding school. She started kissing girls at 11, drinking at 12, and sucking cock at 13.

Seriously, what Alysha knows about sucking cock would be a mere sentence in the encyclopedia of Quinn's cock-sucking ability.

Big thanks to Maxim for the photo shoot of Pats cheerleaders.

Fictional Cheerleader Biography: Kerey

This is Kerey.

She feels as though the Patriots' success this season is owed in some part to her performance as a cheerleader.

It is not.

As a youth, she had a bit of a rebellious streak. She was almost held back one year of high school for skipping too many days, but fortunately her parents were friends with the principal. She voted for Ralph Nader in the 2000 election, because a communist boyfriend she had at the time told her she should. When he was 17, she brought home a black man she was dating for a major family function.

He was never heard from again.

The cheerleaders at her high school were mostly plain and Kerey looked down upon them. One time, some of her friends kidnapped one of them and let the girl loose in the woods 30 miles out of town. It was a particularly freezing evening and the cheerleader developed severe frost bite. So severe, in fact, that she had to have one of her legs amputated.

Kerey still laughs about it during TV timeouts.

Your Friday Afternoon Cheers And Jeers

CHEERS to my new recliner, a purchase suggested by my orthopedist. Is it worth two months of horrid sciatica to hear a doctor mandate that you buy a La-Z-Boy? Fuck and yes.

JEERS to no games this week. We’ve gone over this ground already. But seriously, what the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK? Don’t even talk to me about fucking college basketball right now. I can’t even begin to look at that shit until March.

CHEERS to having a Wii in my office this afternoon.

JEERS to Guitar Hero III. The whole reason I don’t play guitar is because I lack coordination. Why have virtual guitaring if it’s just as fucking hard? Double JEERS for not giving me points for taking my cock out during gameplay. YOU. ARE. FAGS.

CHEERS to Leitch for his new book, on sale here. It’s certain to outsell the Gawker Guide To Conquering All Media, which, in an ironic twist, conquered no media of any sort.

JEERS to Heath Ledger’s death. Surely it’s no coincidence that, in his final role, he pretty much looks just like The Crow. And double JEERS to Mary-Kate Olsen for not picking up the goddamn phone. Bitch, you aren’t working. Quit staring at things like a cat and pick it up.

CHEERS to Hillary Clinton for her inevitable win in South Carolina tomorrow. Yes, just like the Democrats to choose a nominee 50% of the nation already can’t fucking stand. Nicely done, retards.

JEERS to me for bring up politics.

CHEERS to eggs. Oh, savory eggs. How I adore your yolky silkiness on a weekend morning. If you’re against abortion, should you eat eggs? I say no.

JEERS to me for bringing up politics again.

CHEERS to these cheerleader gals in bikinis on a Friday afternoon. Everyone in the water! Whee!!!!

JEERS to non-sequiturs.

Answer: Not Bloody Likely

Three guesses as to who wins, and the first two don't count.

(Thanks, as usual, to the PCB)

NFL Cheerleader Fictional Biography: Dulcinea

Dulcinea is a 22-year-old cheerleader for the Jacksonville Jaguars. Most of the time she enjoys her avocation, but she could do without the visits to the children's hospitals. Children's hospitals give her the blues.

To chase the blues away, Dulcinea invented a brand new game. She has played it many times with her boyfriend and her roommate Tanya. Once when she was bored, she played it with the Fed Ex guy. He told her she should copyright the game and sell it at the Spencer's at the Orange Park Mall. Dulcinea isn't too sure about that. She would hate for someone to get the wrong idea about her.

NFL Cheerleader Fictional Biography: Erin

This is Erin.

She likes Indianapolis because it feels so cosmopolitan.

Erin was a Pi Phi at Indiana before finishing her degree in marketing at a smaller college closer to home. This allowed her to spend more time with her high school boyfriend, whom she later learned cheated on her. Her voice trembles when she says that she doesn't regret her decision to leave IU.

Because she's the only remotely attractive woman on the Colts cheerleading squad, she tends to act like she's too good to talk to men who approach her. She never goes home with anyone on the first date, unless he has an expensive car and she happens to drink too much. If that happens, she's likely to cry after or (more likely) during coitus. If she doesn't cry after drinking too much and sleeping with someone, there is a one hundred per cent chance she will tell him that she loves him. The next day, she won't remember the admission, and a week later, she will wonder why he never called her back.

Erin can only have an orgasm through oral sex. Her rare performance of fellatio is marred by apathy and poor technique.

Her father left her mother when Erin was eight.

It's the Little Things in Life

We didn't expect yesterday's post about uber-dipshit Joe Damato (seen above, left, in an artist's rendition) to go over so well. But, bless your adorable, shrunken hearts, you hated that bastard even more than we did.

That was a pleasant enough surprise, you hating him the way you did. But the blood diamond churned up by that post was the IMDb page of Joe D'Amato, who's an apostrophe and about 200 pornos away from being our Joe Damato. Please, enjoy this sampling from Mr. D'Amato's filmography:

Sperma Spende
Anal Perversions of Lolita... aka House of Anal Perversions
Raw and Naked
Sex Penitentiary
Robin Hood: Thief of Wives
120 Days of Anal
Homo Erectus... aka Jurassic Pork
Paprika... aka Anal Paprika... aka The Last Italian Whore
Some Like It Hard
Porno Holocaust
Blue Erotic Climax
Greedy Mouth
Erotic Nights of the Living Dead
The Smoking Cauldron of Virgins
Images in a Convent

Oh sure, laugh about Porno Holocaust. But you have no idea how many millions of sperm died during that genocide.

Speaking of sperm dying, I was looking for photos of NFL cheerleaders in Santa hats when my search was abruptly abandoned at this post at the Pro Cheerleaders Blog:

That's Robin. This is the PCB on Robin:

Robin is the most senior Charger Girl and though she may be long in the tooth, she still looks hot in the uniform and gives it all when performing. I think if all Charger Girls give that level of performance and commitment, they would have careers as long and illustrious as Robin’s.

Ah, I almost didn't realize this ancient hag was so close to menopause. I apologize. As recompense, here's fresh-faced and fresh-everythinged rookie Heather:

Merry Christmas, KSKers. As flubby noted below, things will be a little slower than usual next week, but we'll still get it up. Posts. Get posts up. On the blog.

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.

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...

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.