In the world of knowledge, the idea of good appears last of all, and is seen only with effort. -Plato

At KSK we’ve presented you with our opinions regarding Peter King and his nemesis, one James Arthur Monk. I’ve never had all that much against PK, mostly because I stopped reading his articles when I got tired of SI‘s anti-Redskin agenda (sure, call me paranoid…they’ll come for you next). The one sticking point for me has always been his irrational opposition to the election of Art Monk to the Pro Football Hall of Fame. For this I’ve always held a grudge against the grandiose Oracle of Starbucks (although he’s also known by such affectionate epithets as Fucktard, His Dudeness Doucheness, and Manning Family Rectal Inspector).

And now, just like that, PK is flipping the script. All in some pathetic misguided attempt too court my forgiveness and loyalty (I know how you think Peter, I have a key to your diary). Listen PK, just because you contradicted everything you’ve ever said about my favorite wide receiver doesn’t mean that you’re getting one of my conceptually flawed, yet undeniably popular, Hanukkah Hams (he’s obviously not in it for the Christmas Card…so much profanity and so little pig fat).

It can’t be that simple, the guy has spent years bashing the candidacy of the venerable Monk. When Bill Polian told PK he was acting like a donkey raping shit eater (I’m paraphrasing from memory…does THC hinder memory?) King decided it was about time to change his mind. And get this, Dr. Z approves! (somebody’s off his meds).

Sometimes we get so involved with inner-sanctum nonsense that we lose sight of the big picture. It’s good to have an outsider knock us on our ass every now and then.

Well what the fuck do you think we’ve been trying to do all this time, improve Monk’s confidence? It’s as if all of the football guys at Sports Illustrated have just recovered from the worlds longest hit of nitrous (Tom Jackson’s Pac-Man impression makes me giggle). Now that King has looked at Monk’s true contributions he’s been deemed worthy of entrance into the Hall that PK guards with all tenacity of Cerberus on a five-day meth high.

Let’s just say that I’m not quite ready to drink the kool-aid promising a “new and enlightened” Peter King (although I’m down with the “new and lightened” PK…big ups vanilla face). The last time I fell for the “phony nice guy” routine I wound up with an Anvil tattoo above my ass crack. For all I know this could be his way of teaming up with Brian Pillman only to turn heel and join up with those Canadian bastards in the Hart Foundation (yeah I had to sink down to that level, the Sports Guy already had dibs on the Rockers and Piper/Snuka).

In my heart of hearts I am still holding out hope. I know that PK is a great football mind, despite his penchant for douchebaggery occasionally veiling his knowledge. Perhaps one day Peter and I could be friends, maybe we could even meet for one of his coffee-like beverages (although I take mine sugarless and blacker than Kueth Duany). Yet non of this can happen until Monk’s sultry bronzed visage is resting in its rightful spot in Canton. There is nothing gay about seeing the beauty in a sculpture!!!

For now we can call things even, maybe one day I could even be dating one of your lovely daughters…or not. Too soon? Yeah, it’s probably too soon.

Peter King’s Monday Morning Quarterback