I fucking love the NFL's overtime format. It's rigid and unforgiving, like my cock. It also rocks your face, but maybe you just don't know it yet, maybe because you're too busy thinking about the homeless. You're always thinking about the gaddamned homeless; can't you see that THEY WANT TO BE POOR!?!?
Some of you assholes act like winning the coin flip wins the game. Not fucking so, though I'd say if you can't correctly identify an outcome that has a 50 percent chance of happening, your ineptitude has no place in mock combat.
Anyway, even if you're in OT and you lose the toss, you still kick off and have a chance to pin the other team deep. You can still stop your opponents on defense. And even if you fuck that up, they still can block the candy-assed 27-yard field goal attempt that will win the game.
"But it would be MORE FAIR if both teams got the ball," you would mutter through your vagigi as you hang your Che Guevara out the window of your studio apartment to air dry.
Yeah, so those ten or twelve possessions your team had in regulation, wasn't that fair? What about not banishing the special teams units to the sideline to reprise the same pivotal role they played during regulation. Wouldn't that be fair?
Some of you are just in love with the Gay Circus Overtime they use in the college game, because each team gets a turn on the top AND the bottom. We saw a gay circus at the start of the Super Bowl, and most of us can safely agree what a colossal failure that was.
Your views and improvements for OT are welcome in the comments.
I watched the National Geographic show "Galapagos" the other night. If you're familiar with this site, you already know about my affinity for animal-on-animal bloodshed. Well, this special provided a doozy. It's a hawk, killing an iguana by grabbing it and pressing its head INTO THE SCORCHING FUCKING EARTH. Fucking awesome. The Galapagos hawk, if you didn't know, is at the top of the island's food chain. It has no known worthy adversary in its ecosystem. Know what that means? That means it has carte blanche to fucking kill at will. Bad. Ass.
When I die, I'm coming back as a hawk. And I'm parking my ass right outside Cameron Diaz's house.
Welcome to the first latest installment of KSK's newest series, Better Know a Draft Pick. We'll lead up to April's draft by giving you all the pertinent info you'll need on the next generation of future salary cap casualties.
I'm coming for you Mr. Ham!
Name: Joe "Wonderbread" Thomas
Height: Somewhere between Alando Tucker and Brian Butch Weight: When he got on the digital scale it started leaking battery acid
Urine Test: Velveeta Stool Sample: Corn. Lots of corn.
Mainstream Comparison: Jonathan Ogden KSK Comparison: Michael Lewis' recurring wet dream (not to be confused with his other recurring wet dream featuring a nude Tabitha Soren traipsing around the Oakland A's locker room).
Who Wants Him: David Carr's bruised ass Who Will Take Him: Some shitty team that wants to bore their fans
Hobbies: Basting fat chicks in the tub Favorite Food: Miracle Whip sandwiches and his salt lick Favorite Expression:Fe-Fi-Fo-Fum
Story ESPN Will Shove Down Your Throat: He once ate the corpse of his uncle Dave after defeating the Wendy's founder in a Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger eating contest.
Immediate Impact: Seismic Down the Road: Dementia pugilistica and robot legs...not a bad trade-off
I stopped reading Peter King's Monday Morning Quarterback column not long after I posted a picture of his daughter on the Internet. After the Mary Beth fiasco, it just seemed wrong to keep up the annoying charade of paying attention to him.
And yet I have friends who email me all of his greatest hits. During this offseason he's panned The Departed for being needlessly violent and expressed surprise that Matt Damon plays the title character in Saving Private Ryan, which he waited nine years to see. Here are some gems from today's installment:
i. One of the best discoveries of midlife: St. Patrick's Day. Never thought I'd love Guinness, but it's pretty close to the perfect beer.
k. Just discovering the iPod, one of the great inventions of all time, and my one recent find was Norah Jones. What an incredible voice. Shows what a music dolt I am that I barely knew her.
It's times like this I really wish there were some sort of way to express in writing that I'm holding my face in my hands and shaking me head. Where does one even BEGIN to ridicule a jackass this clueless? He's doing this on purpose, right?
Anyway, let's avoid the obvious diatribe and standard ridicule. I hereby open up the polls for Things Peter King Might Think He Thinks About Non-Football Thoughts in the Future.
"Tried meatloaf the other night. Delicious."
"Got another email from Sergeant McCarthy in Iraq. He thinks the Rams have a chance this year. I met him once, so he's probably right."
"The other day I had trouble getting up the stairs."
"Finally saw The Godfather last weekend. Who knew Al Pacino was so good? I sure didn't expect to see Marlon Brando in the title role!"
"Turns out Bob Dylan has a son. Jakob Dylan plays for a band called 'the Wallflowers.' Must be an ironic name -- I can see them headlining some big concerts. I can't stop listening to 'One Headlight' on my iPod!"
"Have you seen Diane Keaton? What a looker!"
"Apparently the Red Sox spent a lot of money for this Jap fellow. Wait, I'm being told I'm not allowed to say 'Jap.' When did that happen? Crazy. Everyone's so sensitive these days. I blame video games and violence in movies for making things worse than they used to be."
"Just got off the phone with Jerome Bettis. He thinks Nate Clements is worth the money in San Francisco. Can't say I like San Francisco. Too many hills. I had some tremendous sodomy there, though."
I'd do more, but thinking about this clown makes my head hurt. I invite you to add your PK mental diarrhea in the comments.
Hey, remember Jerramy Stevens? Tight end for the Seahawks? Tall guy? Stone hands? Incredible fuckup? Looks like you also add “Nightmare Asshole Neighbor” to his list of accomplishments. Nicole Brodeur of the Seattle Times explains.
One resident woke to find his deck splattered with vomit. Another found used condoms. Others told of being awakened at 3 a.m. by loud fights, or were startled by strangers who partook of their patios…
He has set off illegal fireworks from his deck, showering other units with debris. He takes up two spaces in a lot reserved for the building's retail shops. He gives the building security code to friends, who walk in at all hours.
Well, the residents of the Astoria at Meydenbauer aren’t taking Stevens’ used condom rainfalls lying down. No, they’ve decided to go all out and send him a sternly worded letter!
Last month, the Astoria condominium board sent the former Seattle Seahawk tight end a letter, calling him to a meeting this week to discuss the complaints against him.
Let me tell you something, there’s no better way to get Jerramy Stevens to stop shooting off fireworks at your children than by having a meeting and hoping he shows up.
Let’s face it: if you live next door to an NFL player, you are fucked. I read an article an SI about Larry Johnson once. A neighbor who struck up a conversation with Larry Johnson found that Johnson the next day had let himself into the neighbor’s house and was hanging out in his basement with his kid. The neighbor seemed to think this was charming. I imagine he meant that in retrospect, because if I saw a moody bastard like Larry Johnson waltzing into my house uninvited, I’d go right for the 5-iron under my bed.
If you end up living next to an NFL player, here are some quick pointers for living a hassle-free existence.
-Offer your wife -Get the Slomin’s Shield -Get an awning to shield yourself from falling condoms -Offer to dig holes for all the dead strippers -Buy a vacation home and live in it year round -Pick up a copy of Ugly Kid Joe’s “Neighbor” and listen to it daily for catharsis -Strap steak to your child, ask Joey Porter to have his pit bulls spare you in exchange -Shoot self in head
I think the latter option is really your best bet.
CHEERS to the concept of St. Patrick’s Day, which involves drinking lots and lots and talking in a stupid Irish accent. You know how much this infuriates the Irish? Delightful.
JEERS to St. Patrick’s Day in execution. The bars are disgustingly crowded, you can't hear anything your friends are saying, lots of drunken annoying women singing abound, and everyone’s passed out by 2AM in a tepid puddle of vomit that is not their own.
CHEERS to the NCAA Tournament, which provides us with an orgy of games and brings us all together to in hopes of seeing copious amounts of both riveting drama and barely legal cheerleader jailbait.
JEERS to this particular NCAA Tournament, which so far blows donkey balls.
CHEERS to Homer Simpson for his recent charity work.
JEERS to this rusty tailgate.
CHEERS to the Ladies blog for betting against us in the NCAA tournament (they lead us by one point)
JEERS to the entire KSK Gay Mafia for reading Andrea’s original email without failing to notice the actual prize involved in the wager and heading straight to the “loser has to provide pictures” part. Good job, men. We embody every male stereotype ever perpetuated, even the queer ones.
CHEERS to Dan Shanoff and MJD for their liveblogging work on Deadspin
JEERS to the asshole who started off his liveblog “Two of my college buddies (JackO and House) flew to L.A. to watch the games with me and double as my peanut gallery.” Nothing beats flying in your friends to come laugh at all your jokes.
CHEERS to Sportsline.com’s scoreboard, which is awesome.
JEERS to ESPN and SI’s scoreboards, which are decidedly not. The new SI.com layout is so annoying, I may abandon reading Peter King to make fun of him altogether.
CHEERS to the Chargers for going back to white helmets
JEERS to the Chargers for not going back to the powder blue jerseys. What the fuck is wrong with you people?
CHEERS to me. God dammit, I am one fineass piece of manmeat. And cheers to Mrs. Drew for choosing such a strapping young buck for a groom.
JEERS to you, for not being me.
CHEERS to Ufford for his brilliant piece on John Amaechi at With Leather.
JEERS to Ufford’s translucent skin. Hey Ufford, I can see your heart beating.
CHEERS to little football pants on attractive women.
JEERS to, well, nothing to jeer about that. Enjoy the weekend, children.
During the NFL offseason, we’ll be asking various luminaries of the league establishment to join us in making picks for other prominent sporting events. It’s a day late, but here are the Final Four picks from of your favorite NFL players, coaches, broadcasters, and columnists. Their title picks are in bold.
Norv Turner: Kansas UNC Ohio St. Florida NOTE: Turner’s bracket picked all 63 games to chalk.
Bill Simmons: Texas A&M Georgetown Florida Kansas NOTE: Should these picks end up being erroneous, I already have an excerpt from Simmons’ next column about it: “When I look back, OF COURSE I should have taken UNC to win it all. In fact, I was ready to pick them. But, as usual, I outsmarted myself. Don’t you just hate when you’re too smart like I always am? Let me reanalyze the entire field in retrospect so that I look like even more of an arrogant prick.”
Najeh Davenport: Duke Duke Duke Duke
Peter King: Colgate Tufts Ohio U. Montclair’s Girl’s JV Teeball (“Such Good Kids.”)
Ted Johnson: Trombone Hat Grandpa! Toenail
Tom Brady: Coat Hanger Punch To The Abdomen Push Down Flight Of Stairs Crushed RU-486 In A Glass Of Cotes Du Rhone
Chris Berman: Buffalo San Francisco Brown Leather
Michael Irvin: Glass Pipe With Tin Foil Plastic Honey Bear Container Corncob Pipe Petrified, Hallowed-Out Human Finger
Tank Johnson: In The Ass In The Mouth In A Stab Wound In The Eye
Pacman Jones: Gold Teeth Criminal Record Lean Anything That Will Help Set Black People Back 125 Years
Sean Salisbury: Via Email In A Photo Booth In A Public Park In A Popcorn Box
Lawrence Phillips: Rape Murder Arson Rape (He Likes Rape)
John Madden: Favre Manning Brady ”Does Frank Winters Still Play? Remember Him? Ol’ Frank Bag O Donuts?! I Like Donuts!”
You've probably heard by now that the fine broads over at Ladies... threw down the gauntlet last week and challenged us to a collaborative college basketball pool. As it's been said before, we're (cough) a football blog, and most of you realize that the ability to pee standing up has no value in this venture.
I don't think I've watched 40 minutes of college basketball this entire year. But I "know" some of the women over there from Deadspin (Andie, being a law student at Notre Dame, and Wanda, being a single mom, have both impressed me as fans and as people), so I was eager to get something together. Probably too eager.
The rules were negotiated. Our six brackets will go head-to-head against their six best. Whichever set of brackets tallies the most points will be declared the winner.
At stake is:
(1) a day's worth of posts from the winners on the losers' blog (2) the KSK winner going admiral on TheStarterWife around the ice during the first intermission of a Capitals game at the Verizon center
One of those is true.
Some people wonder what KSK has to gain from this proposition. Oh, sure, our site gets more traffic than theirs does, but there's more to it than that. This is an opportunity to take the moral values of KSK to the streets, to spread the gospel of the Sex Cannon, bukkake, and mock pedophilia.
Despite getting hits in the five-figures every day, our message still isn't being received by those who need to hear it most. Still, some of us aare concerned that I've put our precious little blog in peril, that we've given up too much for a chance to gain too little. This might be the first time our hopes lie in the hands of Unsilent Majority, and that is fucking scary.
It's my fault. I got us into this. And I apologize.
I apologize to all of our readers, because if we lose, we really have no idea what kind of filth will make it up here. Rumors of posts celebrating Title IX, baby pictures, and ranking men based solely on their appearances are already floating through the series of tubes. Just disgusting. These women really have no shame.
Also, I apologize to the fine readers that the Ladies' blog already has. If any of you are reading this now, I want you to know how sorry I really am, because if we win this motherfucker, all of you will be scarred for life. You will only wish your worst fears were confirmed, because the pervert training wheels will be popped off faster than you can say Fatty Arbuckle. I look forward to the chance of having eight women hating us, suddenly and simultaneously.
The upside is there, but it happens to be mighty close to the downside in value. That's why it's a bet. But we intend to prevail, and when we do, you can be certain that we'll piss all over that blog, standing up.
Some people have made the point that we've completely strayed from any football coverage since the end of the season. This critique has not fallen on deaf ears around these parts.
Ahem.
Hey, the Patriots signed a bunch of receivers! 'bout time. But did they really give that much money to Kelley Washington? Too, too much, indeed.
There. You're all caught up. It's the fucking off-season, remember?
Now: the weekly mock draft. Coming to a consensus on this week's subject was a tough row to hoe, especially because we're not farmers so that idiom makes no sense to us. At first, we considered the invention you'd most like to have on a desert island, but we all seemed to come to the same conclusion.
Our thoughts, as they often do, strayed to killing. Fastidious enthusiasts of violence that we are, we enjoy murderous implements of all sorts. Sure, firing a gun accurately requires a great deal of skill and technique, but where is the brutal artistry? Killing with a gun robs you of the personal touch you only get with hired goons personal non-gun weapons. From this, a draft was born.
And if we could use them to maim and butcher the person who came up with the Wendy's "Trophy burger" commericials, all the better, right?
Round 1
1. flubby -- The club. "Over the years, the club has been the preferred weapon of degenerates ranging from Australopithecus to Sheriff Buford Pusser to Eazy-muthafukkin-E. The version I use is an early-1960's Al Kaline MacGregor baseball bat."
2. Ape -- Taser
On the lethality scale, it's probably fairly low. But the hilarity quotient is off the charts.
* Unlike a sword or mace, it doesn't transfer vibrations from the impact to the wielder. * It is difficult to block with a shield or parry with a weapon because it can curve over and round impediments such as shield or weapons and still strike the target. * It provides defense whilst in motion. * The flail needed space to swing and could easily endanger the wielder's comrades.
Check, check, check, and check. I especially like that it might harm my allies."
4. Punter -- Bow and arrow
"I enjoy incapacitating personnel as much as the next sociopath, but all that time walking up to that person seems like such a waste.
With a bow and arrow, now I can kill without interpersonal contact. Thanks, bow and arrow!"
"Preferred weapon of drug kingpins and African warlords alike, the machete lets people know you're serious about hacking them to pieces, especially when it comes to children. Plus, the machete is relatively light, for quick slicing. And, as a bonus, it can cut through tough undergrowth, making a lovely mulch for your landscaping work. Bonus points if the machete is rusty and therefore more prone to cause infection. I really wish I could have picked the Krull, but no fictional weapons allowed."
"I don't know why, but you only see dwarves handling battle axes. This makes no sense to me. What makes the battle axe so inherently dwarven? I think full-heighted people should also be able to take advantage of its dual-sided blade (excellent for backhanded slashing) and intimidating appearance. I've never seen a battle axe used properly in film. This is a weapon that should rightfully fuck people up left and right. Great for Execution-style decapitations."
"It's like a hammer, only it's made to kill people."
A uniform state of shock descends over KSK. Unsilent isn't fucking up a draft board. Clearly because he knows he has the Jew claw to fall back on regardless.
"I'm dovetailing off UM's pick here. From the Battle of Stirling in Braveheart, it's the weapon that makes the "THUNK" sound when driven through the Englishman's helmet. It's like the war hammer, but I think it has a better draft value because it came in under the radar."
"I, too, am looking to increase my range. I'll take the trebuchet, a beautiful hybrid of slingshot and catapult."
In a stroke, Caveman completely upended the whole point of the draft. We bitched, but then he started waving his gun around. Problem solved in a flash. Enjoy your big French catapult, pussy basket.
That's just ghastly, Punter. Which is why we love you...from at least 500 yards at all times. But, as with most weapons, plastic bag can serve the purposes of evil. Observe:
"I'd just snatch the weapon right out of your hand."
I'd only support this if Unsilent got one of those Castlevania whips that got stronger with the more people you destroyed with it and shot flames out of the end. But then, Simon Belmont was a little too effete in that Captain N cartoon series, so it's a wash.
"It's like a gun, but with arrows! Plus, you don't have to worry about the bow snapping against your arm with a regular bow. ever have that happen? Holy fuck does that hurt."
We were going to shoot this down, because it's too much like a gun - crossbows have stocks and triggers, for fuck sake - and for being redolent of Punter's pick of bow and arrow. Then again, Caveman took a trebuchet, so who are we to rigidly adhere to rules and procedure?
Of course, like the NCAA Tournament, which you're probably watching in lieu of reading this today, some worthy candidates get left by the wayside. In the hopes of not being remiss, we offer a few honorable mentions:
Brass knuckles (Tough to pass on this, but I needed a distance weapon.) Tire iron Two-handed sword Halberd Bastard sword Scimitar (so curvy!) Sack of doorknobs
I suppose that headline's a bit of misnomer. I'm actually pretty happy that clown drunk drove himself off the Seahawks and onto a new team where he'll get a nice little suspension and a league-minimum contract.
But I'm not here to call out our spoiled, self-entitled, idiot sports stars. I'm here to call out the hero-worshiping, holier-than-thou, dumbfuck sports fans.
Allow me to elaborate. Last season I posted an open letter to Jerramy Stevens that said, in essence, "I've tried really hard to cheer for you, but you're just too much of a goddam jackass." I wrote it in early November, after Stevens had a killer game against the Raiders in which he got flagged for a critical 15-yard unsportsmanlike penalty, dropped a possible TD pass, and instigated the Tyler Brayton knee-groin incident.
In January, a commenter identifying himself as "C.P." added this gem, directed at me and other commenters who happened to agree that Stevens was an immature boor whose play didn't make up for his attitude (I've taken the liberty of adding sics, because it's a nice easy way to make a person look even dumber):
What a bunch of jackasses...you all need to get out of your house [sic] more and get an actuall [sic] life!! So the guy made a few mistakes when he was younger!! Big F'n deal!! If we were all made to pay for mistakes we made while young and stupid even though we learned from them and no longer act iun [sic] that manner, where would we all be now. [sic] Give the guy a break. Maybe he needs to get his head on straight and start being a little more consistent, but he is big, stron [sic], athletic and when he is on he is one of the top players at his position!! I'm sickl [sic] of listening to asswipes like you beatin a guy down when it's obvious what he needs is HOME FAN support, not more negativity from some hack football fan who want's [sic] to lump his Jerramy's career into a microcosm like the Raider game. Big deal!! He was all we had against the Cowboys and you should be damn fortunate we had him!!
Oh shit. I had no idea it was my lack of faith that made him suck. Let's have a quick look at the mistakes Stevens made when he was young. And I guess 27 counts as young, because that's his age now.
1998: Breaks man's jaw with baseball bat. 2000: Accused of drugging and raping a 19-year-old girl at UW. Cleared of charges. 2001: Crashes car into retirement home, charged with hit-and-run. 2003: Charged with DUI after police find two half-empty champagne bottles in his car. 2006: $15,000 fine for instigating Bratton's knee. 2007: Charged with DUI.
Wow, I wish I could not be blamed for my youthful mistakes that span almost a decade into my late 20s. So... where you at now, C.P.? Is this one my fault, too?
This grand "fuck you" goes not just to C.P., but to ALL sports fans who think their favorite pro athletes' shit doesn't stink. You all can head over to the all-you-can-eat cock buffet. I believe the Ray Lewis fans are already there.
