It’s time for some disclosure here. I grew up in southwestern Ohio. Furthermore, generally speaking, I look at that region of the state (and country) with a fondness that some of you may find misplaced. But I don’t think of that area as particulary better or worse than any other municipality in the United States, with a few exceptions.

Indianapolis is one of them.

I’ve visited Indy a couple of times, and I fucking hate that place. Do you know why it’s in the middle of the state? So that when people run from the stink of the eminating shit, they can’t leave the state on a single tank of gas. This acutally happened once. Many years ago, when the city’s septic system overflowed into the streets, people fled to their cars to evacuate the town. Only problem was, people in Indianapolis are so fucking stupid they didn’t know where to go and just wound up driving in circles the whole day. This is how the Indy 500 got started.

It’s like Shitheads Anonymous decided to base their world headquarters there. Their economy’s tits are dragging in the proverbial sand, their taxes are too high and their women are comely at best. And their name is so fucking un-PC. Shouldn’t it be Nativeamericanapolis? I mean, that’s obvious to us, right? Not those fucks. They suck uncircumsized elderly cock.

So imagine my surprise when I saw that Indy was planning a bid to host the 2011 Super Bowl. A Super Bowl? That’s like Finch from American Pie asking Shannon Elizabeth out on a date. What the fuck are you going to do with a Super Bowl, Indianapolis? Have the Super Bowl sit on your couch all night and look at your stamp collection?

Get real, Indianapolis. You are not a real city. You suck, everything about you sucks, and your entire surrounding collection of dirt that you call a state sucks, too. Terre Haute and Dayton laugh at you when you sleep, Indianapolis. You can’t do shit. YOU ARE SHIT. Hit the bricks, Indianapolis, and beat it, because you’ll get a Super Bowl when a snowball shaped like a flying monkey pops out of my ass and soars through Hell.

And in case it wasn’t clear, Indianapolis, get fucked.

Jae Lao: Oh! Oh! Oh, Bob! (Rex has told her his name is Bob) You are not like the other men I have been sold to! You are different!

Sex Cannon: Goddamn right I am.

Jae Lao: Please, don’t make me go back go back to the troupe! Last week I was beaten with a cane for the sin of individuality!

Sex Cannon: Well, what will you do for me if I save you?

Jae Lao: Oh, Bob! You are insatiable! We’ve already done it seven times!

Sex Cannon: Yeah baby, but you’re the only chick I’ve ever met who can lick my balls while I’m fucking you, and that’s pretty fucking sweet.

Jae Lao: But I am only 16! Perhaps we should go slower!

Sex Cannon: Baby, it’s totally legal if you don’t fuck like you’re underaged.

Jae Lao: It is?

Sex Cannon: Of course. Now where’s that trapeze swing of yours?

Jae Lao: Right over here.

Sex Cannon: Okay, what I want to do is use my penis and your legs to make a very long French braid.

Jae Lao: But Bob, I do not know if such a position is possible!

Sex Cannon: Well then, I guess you don’t want your freedom. I guess you just want to go back to Mallomar.

Jae Lao: Myanmar.

Sex Cannon: Whatever.

Jae Lao: But what must I do?

Sex Cannon: Okay, I’m going to put you through what I call “The Gauntlet”. I’ll be honest. No girl has ever passed this test. In fact, three chicks died doing it. But make it through, and maybe I’ll consider it.

Jae Lao: Okay.

Sex Cannon: Okay, so first: you know that thing where you walk on the light bulbs?

Jae Lao: Yes.

Sex Cannon: Well, I want you do that, but also while blowing me. And Orton.

Orton: I’m drunk!

Jae Lao: Okay.

Sex Cannon: And you know that thing where you wrap yourself up in a scarf way up high then unfurl yourself down to the ground?

Jae Lao: Yes.

Sex Cannon: I want you to do to that, except that you land on my dingdong.

Jae Lao: What then?

Sex Cannon: Then I want you to bang Colts’ offensive coordinator Tom Moore, because I think it would look kinda funny.

Jae Lao: Okay.

Sex Cannon: Then I’m gonna strangle you with my penis. Okay?

Jae Lao: Oh… no! No, I cannot do it. It all just sounds so wrong!

Sex Cannon: But that’s what makes it sexy.

Jae Lao: But what will my parents think?

Sex Cannon: Do you mean you want them to watch? Because that’s kinda freaky. I like it.

Jae Lao: No, I will bring shame upon my family!

Sex Cannon: Oh, loosen up. You’re in America now, sweetie. There’s no such thing as shame here in America. Don’t you know that? We don’t even have a word for it. Except for “shame”.

Jae Lao: But how can I trust you?

Sex Cannon: I dunno. Who fucking cares?

Jae Lao: Very well. I shall do it.

(She does all the stuff.)

Sex Cannon: Wow! That was fucking sweet!

Jae Lao: I have proven my love to you, Bob. Now, please! Take me away.

Sex Cannon: Oop. Sorry honey. Can’t do it. Gotta go, like, study some film and shit.

Jae Lao: But you promised me!

Sex Cannon: I didn’t promise anything. You take your chances with the Cumslinger.

Jae Lao: But… don’t you love me?

Sex Cannon: Sure, baby. I love you. I just never want to see you again.

Jae Lao: But where will I go? I still have one year left until they give me my own milk crate to sleep in.

Sex Cannon: Did you say milk crate?

Jae Lao: Yes.

Sex Cannon: Hmmmm. Let me ask you. You ever see the movie Boxing Helena?

Jae Lao: With Kim Basinger?

Sex Cannon: No, she backed out of the part and was replaced by Sherilyn Fenn. Anyway, I didn’t see it, but the premise sounded cool. This creepy dude keeps a chick in a box. And periodically, takes her out and bangs her. I’d like to do that with you.

Jae Lao: How often would you let me out of the box?

Sex Cannon: Not often. Perhaps never. But I’ll tell you what: I’ll upgrade you from a milk crate to a foot locker. I’ll even poke holes in it.

Jae Lao: Really? You mean it?

Sex Cannon: Yeah. Now I may throw another chick or two in there occasionally. But it would definitely be a foot locker.

Jae Lao: Oh, God bless you, Bob Manning!

Sex Cannon: Damn right. Now do that thing where you give yourself reverse cunnilingus.

Jae Lao: Okay!

THE END

UPDATE: Want a strong, healthy love bone? Then do like Rex does! 3 a day, baby!

Last week, Pro Football Talk momentarily posted a blurb about Terry Bradshaw’s supposed tragic demise that they later had to hastily retract. We at KSK were not sucked into PFT’s speculation, unlike last time. In that spirit, we are seeking to dispel a few of the rumors flying around the NFL in the days before Super Bowl XLI.

Terry sez: “I’m not dead yet.“

Rumor: League security is working closely with federal and state officials investigating an organized crime summit being held in Miami at the same time as the Super Bowl.
Fact: The Cincinnati Bengals did not schedule a team trip to the Super Bowl.
Rumor: Players and coaches on media day were surprisingly familiar with the sports bloggers’ medium and collective body of work.
Fact: Ricky Manning Jr. will slap the shit out of your nerd ass.

Rumor: Tony Dungy has agreed to appear before a bigoted, hateful crowd in Indiana.
Fact: Tony Dungy has not agreed to act as honorary starter for the Brickyard 400.

Rumor: Demand for high-grade coke is running far ahead of supply on South Beach this week.
Fact: The Cincinnati Bengals did not schedule a team trip to the Super Bowl.

“Didya ever notice how funny your hand looks when you’re high?”