KSK 2007 NFL Prekkake: Jacksonville Jaguars

Sadly, that boy, dear readers, was the smartest boy
in all of Jacksonville Proper.

Five fast facts:

1. The Jags often seem torn between Byron Leftwich and David Garrard. The unpleasant reality: they both suck big time.

2. Travel tip: Jacksonville Landing is a red-neckier version of the Baltimore’s Inner Harbor. Upscale alfresco dining on Styrofoam plates, yee-fucking-haw. If you go, stay in Ponte Vedra or St. Augustine and drive up. Seriously.

3. Matt Jones is fantasy kryptonite for starry-eyed white boys. Be strong. Avoid him.

4. MoJo Drew’s father gave him a belt than enables him to whip any man’s ass.

5. With Mike Rumph apparently out of the game, KSK is hoping for a break-out season from Jamaal Fudge.

Projected 2007 record: 8-8

Actual 2007 record: 8-8

Between the shitty AFC South and playing the AFC West teams out of division this season, there are a lot of beatable teams on the Jags’ schedule. If end Reggie Heyward can return to the form he had two seasons ago and Mr. MoJo Risin' continues to run all over defenses, the Jags should continue to hover around .500. But meaningful playoff success for this version of the Jags is over.

If the Jags can land (a healthy) Daunte Culpepper, then the Jags fans might have something to cheer about this season. Otherwise, one of the few things that might bear watching this is coach Jack Del Rio’s sartorial showcase. But I doubt that legions of Jags fans clad in Limp Bizkit and WWE t-shirts will be overwhelmed with the cut of the coach’s suit. If you want to impress people in Florida with a suit it should be covered in rhinestones or be full of spy gadgets like Jackie Chan's tuxedo in that one movie. I can't remember the name of that flick, but I think it was called Jennifer Love Hewitt: Still Not Topless.

Last week, left tackle Khalif Barnes received six months probation stemming from his DUI arrest last year. This silver-tongued, smooth talker thought he could charm his way out of a night in the cooler by coyly calling the police officer: “A white KKK devil.” Oh, K-Bar, you little minx. In case you missed it a while back when MDS had it at the Fanhouse, here is the police video of the arrest.

I thought the phrase “colored people” was deemed passé over a generation ago. Is Barnes trying to bring “colored people” back? Should I wait to see if Will Smith says it first? Then we will know it is okay for white folks to say it too. Drunk or not, Barnes still exhibits flashes of lucidity in this video, particularly when he refers to Jacksonville as a “hick town.” In vino veritas, motherfuckers.

KSK 2007 NFL Prekkake: Tampa Bay Buccaneers

Naval Tradition: nothing but Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash

Five Fast Facts About the Buccaneers:

- Cadillac Williams's real name, Carnell, is Spanish for "meat."
- According to Wikipedia, kicker Matt Bryant went undrafted and had such low-end jobs as working in a pawn shop and playing for the Frankfurt Galaxy.
- Coach Jon Gruden was narrowly defeated by Lindsay Lohan at FreckleFest '07 this past spring.
- Owner Malcolm Glazer should not be confused with author Malcom Gladwell. Key differences: Glazer owns EPL team Manchester United; Gladwell is a published author who thinks writing a running diary is hard.
- This offseason, the Bucs signed alleged date rapist, drunk driver, dirty player, and Super Bowl goat Jerramy Stevens. Good luck with that one. Lemme know how it goes.

Projected 2007 Record:
0-16, last in NFC South

Actual 2007 Record:
2-14, last in NFC South

Three Longer Notes About the Buccaneers:

1. The Bucs quarterback depth chart, in no particular order, looks like this: Chris Simms, Jeff Garcia, Jake Plummer, Luke McCown, and Bruce Gradkowski. At one time or another all have been called gay for reasons other than being a quarterback. To wit:

- Simms has his boyfriend's initials tattooed on his leg. Pretty gay. However, he's an exceptionally tough gay man, as he completed a game against the Panthers last year despite having his spleen destroyed and subsequently removed. So he's a tough, gay, crappy quarterback -- or, as I like to say, a tough Eli Manning.

- Garcia was famously accused of being gay by Terrell Owens after their relationship in San Francisco soured. Garcia has since married a Playmate of the Year who went to court for fighting with another woman over him, but still: what a fruit. If we can't take T.O. at his word, really, who can we trust?

- Jake Plummer chose retirement over playing for the Bucs. This happened for one of two reasons: (a) the shame of fighting Chris Simms and Jeff Garcia for a starting position was too great to bear, or (b) he was terrified of being responsible for more than just handing off the ball to whichever cog of the Running Back Industrial Complex was Mike Shanahan's flavor of the month. Anyway, Plummer married a Broncos cheerleader, so he's gay too.

- Luke McCown is a McCown.

- Gradkowski is named Bruce. Everyone knows that's one of the names the gays took, just like Lance and Julian.

2. Bucs supporters are the only fans who can look at their team's logo and say, "Well, at least the pirate ship is less gay than the last logo." As you certainly know, before adopting the pewter and red color scheme, Tampa's team color was -- and I think this is the official term -- creamsicle. With that came this logo:

That's "Bucco Bruce." He has a big feather in his hat, an exquisitely manicured mustache, a hoop earring, and I'm pretty sure he's winking me. Even the surviving Village People think he should have been a little more subtle.

3. The Bucs mascot is Captain Fear. His web page says that his hobbies are "Surfing, Jet Skiing, Sword Tricks, and Attending Birthday Parties," which is what I've always looked for in a life partner. However, I found this unauthorized history of him somewhat more entertaining:

Captain Fear used to sail around the Caribbean, drinking rum, eating meat and chocolate, and looking for those makeshift rafts that the Cubans make so that he could smash them. He had a crew of some of the biggest baddest toughest guys you’ve ever seen, as well as a bunch of hot bitches to keep them company. They were known throughout the area as the Buccaneers.

One night, while sailing around near Florida, probably dolphin hunting or doing something equally sweet, they got caught in a storm. Or maybe there was no storm and it was just good old fashioned drunk driving. Well, whatever the reason, Captain Fear and his ship ran aground on the beach in Tampa Bay. It just so happens that they crashed into a football stadium which was both sweet and convenient. There were some losers there who were trying to play football. They might have been ninjas, but nobody knows (ninjas suck at football). Anyway, they challenged the Buccaneers to a football game and were completely OWNED by the Bucs football skills.

After that, the Bucs took over the stadium and pimped it out with pirate flags and cannons and stuff and began calling it home. All their hot pirate chicks became their cheerleaders and they had some jolly good times. Captain Fear went kinda nuts and he can usually be seen running around the stadium between plays and during halftime beating up kids and shitting on the sideline and just partaking in all kinds of mischief. The people of Tampa never really minded too much because they like to watch the Bucs kick ass every Sunday.

In retrospect, those three paragraphs should have been the entire season preview.

Kill Kill Kill: ESPN Finally Gets Rid of Len Pasquarelli

So, got yerself a dead whale on the beach, eh? Eight tons of rotting flesh is an unpleasant smell, even if you live in Cleveland. Well, you can let the seagulls and crabs work on that beast, but they might as well be union labor or the Raiders offense at their pace. Our recommendation: eliminate that motherfucker RIGHT NOW in just three easy steps:

1. Pack half-ton of dynamite around whale.
2. Detonate.
3. Pat yourself on the back for a job well done.

What could possibly go wrong?

FREE TIBET OOKIE!

BUY ME!

As if we could really have an all-out Mike Vick day here in the blogosphere without an official wardrobe! When you go down to the courthouse for the trial of the century don't be caught without your o-fficial FREE OOKIE! clothes (because nudity just doesn't fly in those southern courthouses).

Our first number is a vibrant red cotton t-shirt with everybody's new favorite motto scrawled across the front.
If you select the premium option you can even get writing on the back (the future is now!).


And as long as you're out spending money on yourself why not pick up something for the little Vick fan in your family? Seriously, you need to take better care of your kids before the state gets involved.

And don't worry ladies, we've got the goodness the fairer sex. Now just go find some sugar daddy to buy it for your stingy ass.
All the goodness can be found at our shop by clicking HERE (or the nifty picture up in the top right corner). Stay tuned because more great stuff is on the way.

The Offseason Adventures Of Michael Vick Ookie! Episode 8: Indictment!

Vick: Oh, man.

Hoo boy.

Good Lord.

Well, this is it, man. I’m not getting any more stoned than this. I mean, holy fuck.

I might be dead.

(phone rings)

I guess I’m not dead.

(picks up phone)

Hello?

Lawyer: Michael, it’s your lawyer.

Vick: What’s going on, Mr. Perry Mason?

Lawyer: Michael, you’ve been indicted.

Vick: Indicted? Really? Who’s throwing a party? Ookie loves a good party.

Lawyer: No, no, you’ve been indicted., not invited. An indictment is when you are charged with a crime.

Vick: Well, what crime did I do?

Lawyer: Conspiracy to travel in interstate commerce in aid of unlawful activities and to sponsor a dog in an animal fighting venture in U.S. District Court for the Eastern District in Richmond, Va.

Vick: Uh… wha… I was in a commercial?

Lawyer: You’re being charged with dog fighting, Michael.

Vick: Oh, snap! Really? Well, fuck me blind.

Lawyer: This is serious, Michael. It says that Bad Newz Kennels…

Vick: You like that name? I think the Z makes it even fucking nastier.

Lawyer: It’s a very nice name. It says you ran a dog fighting outfit out of Smithfield, VA.

Vick: Well, what’s so bad about that? Know what else they do in Smithfield? Make ham. And I don’t see any charging any farmers out there with pig fighting.

Lawyer: Well, they don't make them fight.

Vick: Well, they should. That would be fucking sweet.

Lawyer: Slaughtering pigs is legal because it’s for commerce.

Vick: But you just said I was being booked for commerce! I made $50,000 off that shit!

Lawyer: It’s just… It’s just not the same.

Vick: (takes bong hit) Well then, that’s fucked up.

Lawyer: It’s says you performed electrocutions. True?

Vick: Hell, yes! I’m the most electrocuting player in the NFL!

Lawyer: And that you drowned them? Hung them? Slammed them to the ground?

Vick: No way, man! I was just being playful. No, wait! That was, like, obedience training and shit. Yeah! I had to drown a bitch or two because they fought TOO MUCH! I prevented them from fighting AGAIN! So, in many ways, I am a hero. How you like that?!

Lawyer: I just... I think you should prepare for the fallout, okay?

Vick: Eh, whatever. Fuck that. (hangs up) I think I better kill the rest of those dogs. I’m tired of these dogs snitching. Priscilla! Come here, girl!

(enter Priscilla)

Vick: Now, you know Ookie loves you, right?

Priscilla: WOOF!

Vick: In fact, he loves you so much, he wants to show you around doggie heaven! You interested?

Priscilla: WOOF!

Vick: I’ll take that as a hell yes!

(grabs cattle prod)

Photo courtesy of The Onion.

UPDATE: This is brutal.

UPDATE #2: PFT explains the origins of Ookie:

THE ORIGIN OF "OOKIE"

One of the strangest aspects of the Tuesday indictment of Falcons quarterback Mike Vick is that, in addition to "Ron Mexico," he also is known as "Ookie."

So where does the Ookie come from?

Apparently, it was given to him by his mother. And, apparently, he only lets close friends refer to him by that moniker.

"Man, if they called me Ookie it would really be on," Vick told ESPN.com's Page 2 several years ago. "I would really be upset, because nobody else can call me by my nickname but my mom. Unless I give you permission because you really know me, but none of the guys know me real good so they can't do it. But yeah, that would really get me going."

It’s The Best Spinoff Of A Spinoff Since “Joanie Now Loves Al”

Folks, I’m proud to announce that longtime KSK commenter Grimey has started his own blog, loljocks. And, from the looks of things, he’s well on his way to years and years of blogging “success.” The site is funny. And, unlike lolcats, it doesn’t have any fucking cats.

Here were two postcards Grimey sent us for our birthday and our keeper league contest. I still don’t know why we picked a girl. Excelsior to you, Grimey.

KSK 2007 NFL Season Prekkake: Cleveland Browns

The Browns do have some rip-off charming bathware that could appeal to Drew.

Five Fast Facts About The Browns:

-Braylon Edwards' AOL away message permanently set to "knot livin up to expeKtationz! LOLLERCOPTERZ!"
-Kellen Winslow Jr., like all true soldiers, is a big King of Queens fan. Hopefully he'll get the military discount when he sees Kevin James in "I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry" on opening day.
-Now that Jamal Lewis has left Baltimore, he's given up distributing cocaine, only because Cleveland citizens prefer to have their bleak existence straight up.
-Ted Washington still upset he didn't receive Unicron role in new Transformers movie. Unicron upset that it takes him years to float from one end of Ted Washington's gut to the other.
-If head coach Romeo Crennel doesn't work out, there are still at least two Battletoads left.

Projected 2007 Record:

5-11, 4th in AFC North

Actual 2007 Record:

6-10, 4th in AFC North (such overachievers)

Wizznutzz explained much about the small hamlet the Browns call home in its whimsical telling of the family fable of Shitsy Spitsy. Cleveland is a dour place, they said,"passed over by travelers and passed over by history."

It is also an austere place, with its homely Harvey Pekars, Drew Careys and Harlan Ellisons. How happy these humble toilers must have been when Brady Quinn was wished into existence by an 8-year-old gay boy named Shannon and swept into town on a prismatic beam of light and Joe Thomas' fishing boat.

If you're a regular reader of this of any other sports blog, you're more than aware of the swishifying exploits of a certain former Notre Dame quarterback who stole our hearts with his grabasstic and grabballstic ways. Rather than expound further upon such photos - there's bound to be another in a few days hours - we'd like to show Brady what's in store for him, y'know, other than galleries of photos of him posing buoyantly in compromising positions. Because, after all, the Village People costumes will all be well and good until Week 7, when the Browns, then 1-5, turn around in the shower and hand the reins to Brady Quinn.

Grab a pantful of those Cleveland rocks, Mr. Quinn.

KSK Guide to American Football For Pussified Countries Of The International Arena: Czech Republic!

Now that the NFL has decided to start playing games abroad in an attempt to extend their global fanbase, we at KSK have taken it upon ourselves to begin a multi-part series schooling our international friends in all things NFL. Up next: the Czech Republic!

Hey Czech people. I was just in your country, or is it just a half-country now? Whatever, but it’s great, man. It's like a Disneyland for communism! Well, I guess you're not communist anymore, not since '68. Or was it '89? Or…was it…’69. Hehe, 69. G0dammit, that’s some fucking platinum shit right there.

Anyway, there were two things that blew me away about your fine nation, I mean, aside from the fact I wanted to run through the streets shooting people while screaming jibberish in a German accent. First off, you have some damn fine women over there. Holy shit. I could just be walking down the street in Prague, and I’d see some Chesky that’s so damn hot, I just want to drag her by the hair into a convenience store and fuck her brains out until they’re splattered all over the gum. It’s just unbelievable how smokin’ those girls are. Secondly, you guys really like meat. What's up with that?

So I think you guys are really going to like the NFL. It’s kinda like your futbol, except in our game, when a guy goes down to the soil, gripping his knee in agony, he’s actually hurt. And none of our uniformed participants look like they just stepped out a gay bar, or a Cyndi Lauper concert, which is pretty much how every native guy in the Czech Republic wants to dress. You want to see somebody that’s loud, you fucking commies? Go stand in front of a mirror.

Oh, that’s right, you’re not communist any more. My bad, dawg.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in Prague, feel up tits.

But back to these Czech broads for just a second, I mean, I can see why none of you own cars over there, because you could just catch a glimpse of some holka at a red light and your fucking erection would pop right through the steering column. I mean, it's just one fine honey after another. More than once, I've just wanted to follow one to a currency exchange station and watch her exchange her korunas for English pounds while I pound the little Englishman in my pants. Sweet Mother of Pearl!

One of the things about the NFL that you might have trouble…actually, if I could go back to the women again for a second: I mean, I spent a good chunk of my life in the States trying to woo these broads that have been grazing on McDonalds and wasting all their time buying clothes that match. And they parade down the street, like 4 or 5 to a group, like they’re a bunch of fucking somebodys, like God's chosen cattle or some shit. "Uh, don't you just LOVE my new SHOES?" Sure thing, Heather. I'll agree with whatever stupidity you can muster if it gets me sex.

Meanwhile, just across the ocean are these foxy, unassuming communist girls that will line up outside my hotel room to vacuum my floor with one hand and stick a wet finger up my ass with the other. And they won't give a shit if I don't ask them about their day! You guys are onto something over there.

Okay, okay. You’re not communist anymore. Whatever.

But even as a grown man, I find myself overwhelmed by this new race of submissive super-snatch, like that one time my parents left town and I had to wash the dog. I mean, sure, I could thread fishing line through young Petra’s clit and tie the other end to a door and slam it all night long, but is that what’s best for her? Is that what’s best for America?

Now I’m not saying I have to gag her with an Abercrombie T-shirt before I fuck her in the ass and write the Declaration of Independence on her back from memory using a Sharpie. But I think that, as an American—-no, as a part of the leadership of the free world, I owe my service to the women of the Czech Republic. I owe it to them to let capitalism reign, to let it prosper, just as each and every one of them owes it to me to get her tonsils poked out by my stiff liberator while one of my friends tags her from behind and she hums the chorus to Battle Hymn of The Republic.

Glo-ry Glo-ry Hal-le-lu-jah!
Glo-ry Glo-ry Hal-le-lu-jah!
Glo-ry Glo-ry Hal-le-lu-jah!
His truth is march-ing on!

I mean, after all, you’re not communist anymore.

Your 2007 NFL Drinking And Drugging Season Preview

I am 30 years old now, and have reached the point in my life where drinking alcohol has begun to fuck with my sleeping patterns. If I drink a six-pack and a glass of bourbon on a Friday night, as I am wont to do, I’ll sometimes wake up at 2AM, unable to fall back asleep.

This pisses me off greatly.

God, the greatest hater of them all, is forcing me to choose between boozing and a good night’s rest, and that is wrong. Shit, if I don’t drink BEFORE I go to sleep, then I have trouble getting to sleep because my brain won’t shut the fuck up. It’s a problem with no solution, which is why I’m planning on becoming hooked on barbiturates very, very soon. Can you snort Ambien? I’ll be finding out shortly.

Anyway, as you well know, the NFL is not only the greatest sporting spectacle in the universe (and when you’re competing against the likes of soccer, baseball, and the NBA, this is not a terribly difficult goal to reach), it’s also the greatest excuse to drink and drug ever. I’m the sort of person who will find any excuse to celebrate something. It’s Friday? Time to celebrate! Just got my paycheck? Time to celebrate! Company over? Bust out the Zinfandel! Lanced a boil? Time to fucking get down. And so it will be with the coming 2007 NFL season. I’ll drink to kick off the season. I’ll drink when the Vikings win, all three times. I’ll drink Sunday nights AND Monday nights. I’ll drink if TO tries to commit suicide again. If there’s even the slightest opening to engage in shallow and self-destructive behavior, I’ll be on it. Promise.

After all, Roger Goodell has made it all but impossible for NFL players to enjoy themselves. But he can’t control US, man. There’s no suspending you if you get fucked up and piss on a street lamp. So I say, full speed ahead. Get out there and embarrass yourself. Do it for Pacman. Do it for Chris Henry. Do it because you’re life is boring and there’s no other way to numb the pain. Without further ado, here are your drinking and drugging options for the 2007 NFL season. Yes, they’re exactly the same as last year’s. But, I tell you, this shit never gets boring.


Light Beer
I live in DC, so sometimes drinking light beer is helpful if you need to drive home. But, let’s face it: drinking light beer is like eating light potato chips. You’re going to overindulge to the point where you may as well have had the real thing anyway. And so I say: fuck you, light beer. If I’m going to get busted doing 80mph on Canal Road coming back from Maj’s apartment with one eye shut, I may as well go all the way with it. This season, it’s real beer or nothing.


Regular Beer
Last fall, I was in NYC at a block party that had free beer. And not only was it free beer, it was GOOD beer. Ommegang or some shit like that. It was so good, I just dunked my face in it and began sucking it through my oral and sinus cavities simultaneously. The burn let me know it was working. Anyway, during the party, we looked over onto Seventh Avenue and saw a man rollerblading down the middle of the street in full hockey gear, holding up all lanes of traffic. Upon further review, it was Tim Robbins. So, if you ever wanted proof that Tim Robbins is a complete douchebag, there it is.

Anyway, stock up on the beer this year. It’s the only way you’ll tolerate the Patriots going 16-0. Guhhhhhhhh.


Wine
I like buying wine at Trader Joe’s. The assholes there really overestimate themselves. “This hearty Cabernet contains hints of oak and pear, and makes a great pairing with a spicy stew or blackened catfish.” Dude, I buy wine at your fucking store because it’s $6 a bottle. And tell your cashiers to stop being so friendly. It creeps me out. I like wine after a fantasy team winning. That’s what arrogant prick NFL GM’s like Bill Polian drink after a victory, so I like taking the fantasy all the way.


Champagne Bukkake
I’m pretty sure no man has ever entered a bar on a Sunday and ordered a glass of bubbly for himself. And, since Brady Quinn is otherwise occupied, it won’t be happening again this year.

Mixed Drinks
It’s a Rum and Coke year this year. My team will be god awful. So, instead of drinking to wallow in that fact, I’m going to drink to overcome that fact. That’s right. Instead of drinking to artificially feel happier, I’m going to drink to artificially feel more confident. It’s a subtle move only seasoned alkies can pull off. By the way, the more lime juice you add to a rum and Coke, the more rum you can add. You won’t find drinking analysis like this anywhere else, bitch.

Scotch
Some people are scotch people. Some are bourbon people. I don’t really get this. Both are brown. And delicious. And make me happy. I, of course, am a beer whore. But I’d like to formally expand my whoring to all brown spirits. Single malt or blend? Who fucking cares? I'm drunk and horny.

Irish Whiskey
Jameson whiskey ages well. And, unlike other Jamesons, it never needs a vaginoplasty.


Bourbon
You know, I never buy bourbon out of plastic bottles, but I think I’m being too snobby. This year, I’mma try that Uncle Dale’s Tennessee Mating Fluid. It should go well with the Cleveland offense.

Tequila, Gin, and Mezcal
I don’t touch these. There's no quicker way to black out. Might come in handy for Chiefs fans.

Cognac/Port
Port is fucking cheap! You can get it for like $5 a bottle. And that is NICE. Here’s the problem with spirits like Cognac and port. You drink them like liquor, but they aren’t as high in proof. So really, it’s not very efficient drinking. These are drinks for connoisseurs who prize the flavor of spirits over just getting drunk. These people are assholes. Anyway, they make fine holiday drinks for watching games with the family. It’s a good way to hide your blind lust for pure drunkenness.

Construda
Last year, I watched the Chiefs-Colts playoff game high. HUGE improvement. The beauty of watching a game high is that you don’t really care about what happens, which in turn makes for far more enjoyable viewing.

Coke/Ecstasy/LSD/Meth/Crack/Ice/Swank/Vicodin/Valium/PCP
For those who are really, really into not caring.

There’s your 2007 preview. Remember: the preseason starts in a matter of weeks. Better get that liver in shape.

Watching the ESPYs So You Don't Have To: You Can't Put a Leash On J-Dog

After days of meticulous editing the ESPY's finally aired last night, although nobody's quite sure why. The annual event of homogeneous cross-promoting and self-congratulatory nonsense (they totally stole that from us) was ably co-hosted by the Disney Corporation's resident bad-boy, Jimmy Kimmel. Teaming with the late night star host was the subtle and understated LeBron James.



In the first award of the evening (I think) Devon Hester beat out my homegirl Morgan Pressel for Breakthrough Athlete. Sadly the most interesting part of his off-field persona is his hair.

ESPN tried to stir up the pot with a cat fight when they sent Ashley Judd and Pat Summit to present the inaugural Jimmy V Perserverence Award to the incredibly inspirational Coach Kay Yow of NC State. Yow is in grips of a battle with cancer but she credits God for allowing her to attend the show. Which is more than she could say for those asshole doctors who kept trying to force her in to bed. No other nominees were mentioned, the are presumed dead. Immediately following the show Sidney Lowe went to have his colon checked out.

Under Armor just got my pants very interested in amateur female athletics.



I'm gonna need about another minute here.

Christian Slater is in attendance... HEY THAT'S MICHAEL PHELPS' PUBLICIST!!!

Kimmel on the glittery star adorning TO's white blazer: "I didn't even know you were Jewish."
TO: (Laughter) [whispering to date] "What's a jewish?"

There's nothing quite like the awkwardness between the athletes and celebs backstage. Maria Sharapova and Josh Duhamel just spent an awkward fifteen seconds killing time on camera before they could sneak away to start humping. Hey, that Aryan superman isn't going to create itself.

Samuel L. Jackson is up on stage talking about violence in Ireland, because why the hell not!

The theme of the evening seems to be group showers, and why the hell not, that's why all guys play sports to begin with. First came the non sequitur skit involving Kimmel, Danica Patrick, Street Sense, and Jerry Tarkanian sharing a group shower. Kimmel was flirting with the Shark but a blind guy could he was eye fuckin' that horse.

Disney's new anti-hetero agenda really got legs when Kimmel invited LeBron into his home, and bathroom, during his time in Los Angeles.

I swear to god Taryn Mowatt just said she wanted to cup my balls. I'm super cereal, not even bullshittin'.

LeBron thinks he's having fun with Bobby Brown, but I'm pretty sure this is all a producer's practical joke that went a bit too far. Well Annika Sorenstam seems to be enjoying it, who am I to argue? Thank God Jimmy's there to make rehab jokes.

Dane Cook ALERT: This is not a drill. Parents should now secure their 15 year-old girls before he gets too many laughs. On a serious note, I hope Dane Cook suffocates on a horse's cock.

I swear I can't remember the last time they gave out an award to somebody who doesn't teach kids of different religions to play soccer without blowing each other all the way to Wales (I'm just assuming Wales is far away). I just don't get you gentiles. Don't you all pray to the same Jesus?

Hey Boise State won their second award. Good thing too because the NCAA just took the first one away from Ian Johnson.

I think Shaq wants to grab a shower with the OG Blazer.

Apparently there was a storm in New Orleans, Tiger Woods' dad died, and two African American coaches led their teams to the Super Bowl. They must all be related because they just shared a moving montage . Jesus Christ ESPN, that's some racist ass shit. Are you trying to say that two African American coaches going to the Super Bowl was a tragic event or was that just your stock African American montage? Does anybody have dibs on FireNorby.com.

Backstage clip from after LeBron's performance: "Was that fun? Alright, now let's go shower together." I told you it was a theme.

Queen James via the transplendant wizznutzz.com

Chris Berman is on stage with Jamie-Lynn Siegler, let the shitty Sopranos jokes and lecherous downward glances begin!

They inexplicably saved it for a montage but Landon Donovan won Best MLS Player. MLS MVP Christian Gomez might as well start tying the noose.

Remember how the Florida Gators won the football and basketball championships in the same year? Apparently ESPN doesn't. Editor's Note: OK, they just showed them in a montage of champions set to the music of some band so fucking cool that their existence cannot be confirmed or denied.

Tony Dungy accepted the Best Team ESPY on behalf of the Indianapolis Colts but for some reason he didn't extol on the virtues of group showering.

Just what the evening needed, Jimmy Kimmel scrubbing Mike Tyson's tattoo in...wait for it...a shower!

That's it! DVR or no DVR, I can't watch any more of this shit. I'm taking a bong hit and going to bed. If anything relevant happens I'll post about it in the morning. It's not as if this shit is timely.

Update: Fuck! I forgot to watch Common's performance. I knew there was some reason I was watching this crap.