Parcells is Going to Do What Now?

Wade: For a week coming off a loss, it's certainly been quiet around here. Jim Johnson foiled our attack good, even rattled Romo a bit. Just have to eliminate the distractions and I'll have everything back in apple pie order.

Let's see what else is going on around the league:

Hmmm. Pro Bowl rosters announced. Hey, a league-high 11 Cowboys! That's even more than New England. Wonder how we swung that?

What's this sidebar? "Parcells rejects Falcons offer, may join Dolphins." Hoo boy.

(door flies open)

Jerry: YYYYYYYEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAWWWWW

Wade: Oh lordie.

Jerry: Your Lord is right, Bulbous the Blubber Beefcake! Can you believe what the media is saying the world-beating squad I've assembled is the work of Parcells? They say he's gonna replicate the task in Miami. He didn't even want T.O. or my great goddamn star ROMO.

Wade: You can't really concern yourself with what the media says, sir.

Jerry: YOU BETTER GODDAMN BELIEVE I CAN, CAUTIONARY WHALE!

(flips on TV)

Parcells: It's like I said, you scribbling little faggots: I'll fix this little pathetic fucking franchise right up in no time, just like I did in New England, New York and Dallas. Write that shit down and shove it in your peehole, twinkledick. Please refer all follow-up questions to the back of your sallow teeth, shitheads.

(turns TV off)

Jerry: Did you hear that, Mother Flubber? I know if he said all-you-can-eat moon pie night, you'd have fucking heard him clear as a Day's Inn seafood buffet, Lard O' Lakes.

Wade: He did do a fine job of getting the team back on track after a few losing seasons.

Jerry: He did a fine job of HORSE SHIT, Hamhock! He couldn't even win a goddamn playoff game. This success has all been the makings of Double-J! Now you better get your fat on the road and deliver me a Super Bowl, or I won't give you this hover scooter for Christmas so you can float your flab ass to the refrigerator and back.

Wade: I'll do what I can, sir.

Jerry: YEEHAW!!! WOO HOO!! I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!

If You’re Looking For Intercourse Under $300, You’ve Found The Right Man

Oh, hello there. Please, please. Come on in. Can I have Michelle take your coat? MICHELLE! Take this man’s coat, will you?

(girl wearing a beige body stocking takes your coat and smiles at you)

Can I have Leanna pour you a drink? Some port, perhaps? Excellent.

(pours you a glass of port)

Would you mind if I also partake? Oh, very well then!

(pours himself a glass of port)

Cheers to you, my new friend. Mmmm. Very nice. Very tawny. There’s a whole wildberry essence to it… very good. Well, let’s take a seat, shall we?

WHOA WHOA WHOA! Please, put that money away. You’ll present money to one of the ladies. We don’t handle it out in the open here. It’s very uncouth. Let us instead simply toast to a fine evening. Let us share a brief moment of civility. How are you? Are you feeling well? Are you a police officer?

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


(Tiny pats you down)

Well, that’s a relief! Now, let’s discuss some specifics. I understand you’re looking for intercourse, is that correct?

(You nod.)

Good! Because if you’re looking for intercourse under $300, you’ve found the right man. I offer premium quality at reasonable prices. And I am a stickler for customer service. We have evaluation forms you can fill out at the end of your session. Now, a couple of basic rules:

-You must pay your girl prior to the beginning of your session
-You must use a condom. We will provide them. We have flavored ones available upon request.
-You must take off your shoes before entering the room.
-Some girls do anal. Some do not. You must ask. No surprise visits, please.
-You will not receive a receipt.
-All sessions are audiotaped for quality assurance.
-No rough stuff.

Remember, these are ladies. Please treat them with the same respect you would treat your own mother when you ejaculate on their faces. Do you have any problem with any of these rules?

(You shake your head.)

Good. Tiny will be in the adjacent suite, lest things get too out-of-hand. But you don’t strike me as the unruly sort. Now. Let’s bring out the girls, shall we? GIRLS!


Chanel: I’m Chanel.

Chanel is very, very popular with our regulars. She’s very quick to pick up on what you like and what you don’t. She’s also works the shaft very well during blowjobs. Take it from me! I only ask that you not pull her hair, because it will come off if you do that.


Yvette: I’m Yvette.

Yvette comes to us from Taiwan. Very exotic. Very good with oils and lubricants. What she doesn’t know in English, she really makes up for with her enthusiasm for new and adventurous things, like a blowing you while riding a sybian machine.


Nene: I’m Nene.

Ah, Nene! One of our favorites. She hails from St. Thomas. Customers have been very quick to praise her ability to put them at ease. She’s very playful, Very friendly. Unless you don’t want her to be. She can get really nasty and tear your dick off if you want. But mostly, she’s very sunny.


Sasha: I’m Sasha.

Everyone always picks Sasha. Dunno why. Unfortunately, she’s booked until 2014. I’m sorry. She’s very in demand.

So anyway, there are your choices. Personally, I don’t think you can go wrong. I can personally attest to the fact that these women all have premium grade genitalia. No scarring or flappy lips of any kind. Only two of them have had children. So that’s very good.

So, who’s it gonna be?

(You think.)

Tough to decide, isn’t it? Well, take your time. No need to be hasty. Let us enjoy this port a little more.

The port is $50, by the way.

NFL PostSecret Week 16: The Final Stretch of the Truth

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


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

YA FAHGAT ABOUT WEL-KAH!!!

Ya gutta be fackin jokin, right? You mean to tell me Dr. Underneath and his 1,000 yards receiving and, most importantly, his luscious white skin isn't good enough for your precious Pro Bowl squad, NFL? Somebody get Goodell on the phone. I feel like bellyachin'.

What'd I only buy two versions of his fackin jersey for, then? Because I was saving room for the Wes Wel-kah Pro Bowl jersey. My regular rotation goes: Papelbon All-Star jersey, Scalabrine jersey, my "Charles River Not Charles Drew River" shirt, " and my "Celtic Green Not Pumpsie Green" hoodie. This woulda fit in perfect.

Three of the Pats eight Pro Bowlers are coloreds. That's almost half! That ain't right, I tell ya. I got half a mind to go back to not giving a damn about this team. Did me okay from 1960 until 2001.

The Science of Sneaking In

With two short weeks left in the regular season, the playoff picture is coming ever more into focus, but that doesn't mean this postseason Gordian knot is all the way untangled. Four teams in each conference are in, but four coveted spots remain. What follows are some scenarios in which the following teams can back their way into opening round losses.

NFC

The Giants can clinch a playoff spot if:


Eli Manning's Citizen Eco-Drive watch instructs him how not to implode drives.

OR


Sinorice Moss applies backward running skills to backing into playoffs.



The Vikings can clinch a playoff spot if:

Knute Rockne disinvents the forward pass.

OR

Bill Simmons concocts an even gayer nickname for Adrian Peterson.




The Redskins can clinch a playoff spot if:

They rally around the memory of Sean Taylor.

OR

They aren't overly burdened by the loss of Sean Taylor.



The Saints can clinch a playoff spot if:

Electrifying back Aaron Stecker continues to live up to all of his draft day hype.

OR

Martin Gramatica enlists cadre of Gramaticas to kick the teams ahead of them in the shins.

AFC

The Steelers can win the AFC North IF:

They're interested in preventing a Christmas Ape killing spree.

OR

Sean Mahan gets breast implant tattoos on his arms to distract the rushers he can't block.





The Browns can clinch a playoff spot if:

Romeo Crennel's decision-making coin tells him so.


OR

I jerk it for a while to this girl and it happens while I don't notice.








The Titans can clinch a playoff spot if:

Fuck. Again? I just blew my load on the Browns girl.

OR

Neither of these teams have fans this attractive.

Holiday wonderment abounds...

I was utterly perplexed when I read this morning that Ray Lewis is, in fact, Jewish. Maj says it's utter bunk, but maybe he just doesn't want to claim God's linebacker. Nonetheless, it says so right on his Wikipedia bio-- so it must be true. Happy Hanukkah, Ray.

Jewish? Cool. But Ray as a mohel ? We think not.

KSK Gamebook: Bears-Vikes on MNF

-You gotta be fucking kidding me with this new Rambo movie. This is the kind of movie that gets 100% of its financing from the Bulgarian mafia. Sylvester Stallone is made primarily of plaster-of-paris at this point. There’s one other problem with this movie. The original “First Blood”, which was about a traumatized Vietnam vet reacting to a bully sheriff like a wounded animal, was a really fucking good movie. Rambo didn't WANT to fuck shit up. He was forced to. Now they’ve got him blowing shit up to Drowning Pool songs. Kinda goes against the spirit of the original.

-Last night’s game featured the Vikings in purple pants. They looked like gay Ravens.

-Nothing says the holidays quite like the word DUH. As in, “It’s obvious… that these Hyundai ads are getting really fucking annoying. Shame on you, Jeff Bridges.”

-They showed Adrian Peterson’s dad in the stands last night. He looked about 2 years older than Purple Jesus. Which reminded me of this:



-I think I’ve had enough of Dewey Cox for right now. “Walk Hard” looks funny and all, but we’re getting into fucking “Bee Movie” terrain with this promotional shit.

-I know we rip on ESPN a lot here, but I thought last night’s telecast was pretty damn good. Yeah, the game was a total fucking abortion. But what was nice was that Tirico & Co. happily acknowledged it. One time after a Bears penalty (their 5,000th of the evening), Tirico blurted out, “This offense is AWFUL.” When the fuck did Mike Tirico become an interesting person? That sounded more like the Mike Tirico that wants to fuck women on top of cars. I want to get to know THAT Mike Tirico better.

-Apropos of nothing, I am far too liberal with wiper fluid. If there's a particle of dust anywhere one the windshield, I fucking crank that shit for all it's worth. I think I just really like watching it squirt out. I must be gay.

-Kyle Orton looked exactly like Martin from “Knocked Up” last night. No, Coach Smith, Kyle didn’t have pink eye. He was just really hiiiiiiiiiigh.

-I have a friend who has another friend who is roommates with Orton. Apparently, Orton was very displeased about the prospect of starting for the Bears, because it meant the end of the gravy train. He knows he isn't good enough to be a pro QB, and that he looks far more appealing on the bench than in a real game. I love Kyle Orton.

-I find it funny that IBM’s new tagline is “Stop Talking. Start Doing,” yet their ads don’t sell any kind of actual product. In other words, they’re just bullshit. I’m not sure any company has spent more on advertising without actually selling something than IBM.

-One of the fun things about being a fan is, when my team plays well, I say to myself, “Holy shit! They’re fucking great! They’re never gonna lose!” Then the next week they play like shit and I say to myself, “God, they fucking SUCK. They’re never gonna get better unless they fire everyone. FUCK THEM.” I have no attention span at all, despite knowing better. But I think that’s what I LIKE about being a fan: The ability to turn on my team at the drop of a fucking hat. It’s really quite fun. My Vikings suck, by the way.

-I saw Krayzee Eyes Killah in a K-Mart ad last night. He did not ask the big blue light if he liked to eat pussy. Though I bet the blue light could do quite well down there, what with the illumination. He knows where he’s lickin’!

-They went through all the Bears QBs since McMahon last night. Each of them makes an excellent “Use an obscure player as a punchline” reference. Steve Stenstrom? Oh, that’s funny.

-There were black Viking fans!

-Brad Childress apparently showed the team a video of a group of water buffaloes scaring off a lion before the game. What better way to motivate the team than to ask them to emulate an animal so weak and pathetic it needs 30 of its kin to fend off ONE other animal.

-Look out! It’s the Fastest 3 minutes in sports! The highlights are shaking! They’re using filters to make the games look grainier! Oh my God, IT’S SO INTENSE!

-And you thought I overpraised Adrian Peterson. Holy shit, did he enter Favre and Vick territory last night. I’m surprised they didn’t have an ice sculpture of him in the booth with them. Jesus.

What The F--k, Dad?

Nice going, DAD! Way to shit the bed against the Jets, DAD! Great job fucking my fantasy team in the finals with 140 yards and zero touchdowns, DAD! Thanks for not covering the 90 points and pissing away my five grand, DAD! Thanks for letting the doctors snip off my fucking ropecock, DAD!

I hate you! I never want to see you again!

Well, alright, let's calm down here. I guess I can concede that I wasn't seeing you much to begin with, so I think we need to have a little man-to-infant chat here. We both know that you make Matt Leinart look like Jon Kitna when it comes to raisin' pups, ya dig? So what about we make a little dealio here: I'll keep this "shitty father" business to myself and you don't blow my trust fund on some diamond thong for my future stepmother. Okay? Pinky shake? Yeah, you're pinky's as big as my whole fucking hand, so why not?

Oh, by the way, when are you and Mom getting back together? She gets really excited when you're on TV. She has a ritual, she locks herself in her room to watch the game with one of the landscapers, yelling "Go deep, baby! Go deep!" I didn't even know there was a TV in that room. But I see tears of joy on her face every time you guys win!

It hasn't been that bad with you gone; Mom brings over these hot-ass fucking nannies to help change me. Sometimes I'll just shit myself as soon as the doorbell rings so these bitches get an extra shot at rubbing my ass crack. No more tears, indeed.

Oh, and one of my teeth came in last week, Dad! Look! This tooth is gonna--LOOK AT MY FUCKING TOOTH, DAD! Thank you! This tooth is 1/20th of my future million-dollar smile, which works out to, oh fuck, what's a cool mill divided by 20? The fucking abacus on my crib doesn't go up that high. Hey, hand me that little globey thing with the balls in it that I like to mow the carpet with.

Oh shit, I forget, I'm not that old yet.

It's A (Cleo) Lemon Party!

Billick, your ass is so fired.

A Prayer To Jesus To Give Jessica Simpson Leprosy

10 years, Jesus.

10 long fucking years.

I have played fantasy football for ten years now, and I have NEVER won a title. Ever. You would think that, despite my unyielding incompetence, I would have at least won a league one time by default. But noooooo. I only made the playoffs for the first time last year.

But this year was different. This year, I had amassed a fantasy squad of such astounding talent and depth, that failure almost seemed impossible. My lower round draft picks were excellent. And I made all the right pick ups, playing guys like Kolby Smith and Kenny Watson the weeks they had their best performances. I even pulled off a trade for Steven Jackson. By the end of the regular season, I had a first round bye and was averaging over 100 points a week.

My two main keys to success? Tony Romo and Terrell Owens. They produced nearly every week. Until this week. WHEN THIS FUCKING TALENTLESS COCKLEECH SHOWED UP IN THE COWBOYS LUXURY BOX WITH HER SHITBOX FATHER.

“Oh look, Daddy! The cameras are on me again! I’m gonna smile and stick my tits out now, just like you instructed me to! Is this good? HEY Y'ALL, I'M ON THE TEEVEE! The plastic surgeon you hired was great, Daddy! Ashlee and I look like the Olsen Twins more than ever! This game’s boring! I’m hungry! (eats six containers of own lipstick) Do you think I need to get my hair dyed again, Daddy? There’s a racing stripe going down my head!”

My boy Romo was doing juuuuust fine until this big-titted tiki idol showed up yesterday. Fucking Jessica Simpson. Fuck. FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!

You just HAD to show up at the stadium, didn’t you, you fucking Redneck Yoko. You just had to be seen cheering on your new boyfriend wearing A GODDAMN PINK COWBOYS JERSEY. I hate the fucking Cowboys, and even I was offended. I get it, sweetheart. Your career is fading. You’re not gonna stay on top much longer. I get why your dad ordered you to fuck a rising NFL star while he watched. I get that you have to help up your profile.

BUT YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO GO TO THE FUCKING GAME AND THROW OFF MY BOY’S CONCENTRATION, YOU VACUUM-HEADED CUNT.

I won yesterday’s game against Leitch, but fucking BARELY. I got a championship date with UM this coming weekend, and this fuccubus is throwing a wrench in it all. Now, if I had lost, I was going to wish cancer on Jessica, Howard Stern-style. I was going to pray to Jesus to infect her blood with some form of hideous cancer cell. And for it to reside deep in her bone marrow, quickly growing, turning black and sprouting hair, nails, and teeth. I was going to pray it would then metastisize, spreading to her lymph nodes, colon and uterus. So that she would have to endure round after round of painful chemotherapy.

But I did win, so that seemed inapporopriate.

So, dear Jesus, let us instead pray for Jessica Simpson to come down with a severe case of leprosy. Jesus, I know I don ‘t pray to you often. And I know that, when I do, it’s usually to wish bodily harm upon an innocent being due to fantasy football-related hardship, and that you’ve never answered a single prayer of mine, especially that one I made back in 5th grade about wishing I had a friend.

But I am praying to you now, Jesus, with all the strength in my heart, to give Jessica Simpson leprosy. Today. May it quickly proceed to then rot her body, causing her to lose fingers, toes, ears, and the like. May she be too dumb to understand what is going on with her body, and that she fails to consult a doctor before it is too late. May my boy Romo then immediately dump her sorry ass under the misunderstanding that leprosy is highly contagious (95% of all people have a natural immunity to the disease). May Jessica then be quarantined on a remote Pacific island, where she is then forced to marry Tree Man.

Please do this. I know your God is a vengeful God, and I have naught but vengeance in my heart. This female Brick Tamland has put my fantasy season in severe jeopardy, and I demand satisfaction.

You have my phone number. Let me know when thy will is done. I'll be listening to "(Antichrist Television Blues)" while I wait.

Thanks to AA for the screen cap.