I pride myself on being a very clean person. I shower every day, even on weekends! And I’ve been known to shower upwards of three times a day. Showers are fucking great. No one bothers me. I can sing the entire new BRMC album to myself. And I can lather up my balls real good. At my gym, they offer free shampoo and conditioner dispensers in the shower. And, since it’s free, I take advantage. I like to squirt about a pint of shampoo into my hair, just to see how much lather I can build up. Answer: a lot.

About a month ago I’m taking my usual 8-minute shower. I come out of the shower, dry off, then hang up my towel. My wife comes into the bathroom. She grabs the towel. There’s a little brown spot on it.

“Hey. What’s this?”

I dunno. Probably dirt.

“What dirt? You weren’t outside.”

Are you insinuating what I think you are? Listen, lady: I wash my ass thoroughly every shower. When I’m done lathering up my hair, I take the leftover lather in my hand and jam it right up my yin yang. Then I make a second go-round with the shower poof after that. And I get in there. No surface gliding for me. I dig around and make sure my crack is completely scrubbed clean of all fecal material and potential Nerd-sized dingleberries. So how dare you accuse me of being unclean in that fashion.

“Fine. Fine.”

She does the laundry and the spot’s gone. A week later, I’m showering again and go to dry off. This time, I’m alone. Mrs. Drew is nowhere around. I hang up my towel. There’s another brown spot on the towel. Since the wife wasn’t around, I examined the spot closely. It was brown. I went to sniff.

I pooped on my towel.

God dammit. If there’s anything I hate, it’s when my wife assumes something terrible about me and turns out to be correct. This, of course, happens all the time. It was clear what had happened here: God (the greatest hater of them all) had magically placed some extra poop in my butt even after my thorough cleaning to make me look bad. I didn’t want to be known as a towelshitter for the rest of my marriage. So I went to throw all the towels in the laundry. My wife notices this. My wife notices everything.

“What are you washing the towels for?”

Uhhhhhhhh, because I love you?

“Seriously. What’s up?”

All right! All right! I confess! I fucking wiped doodoo right on the towel. Fuck!

“Ew.”

I don’t even have to tell you that the exact same fucking thing happened again a week later. And this time: the poop didn’t wash out all the way, so we had to throw the towel out. So now we have a new towel that serves as a constant reminder that I was somehow negligent enough to wipe poop on my own towel three separate times. Guhhhhhhhhh…

I’m proud to say that new towel has remained poop-free ever since. You’d be amazed at what steel wool can come up with.

Kevin, you dream the dreams of America. But you don’t take it quite far enough; there’s one thing missing.

Now you’re on the trolley!

We all know that cheerleaders make everything better, so why should a trip to the beach be any different? Just imagine you’re on the run from the law a well-deserved vacation in the paradise of Punta Cana, DR (Spanish for The Island of Dr. Moreau) when the ultimate gaggle of pussy start traipsing through the virginal sand .

Professional cheerleaders are shooting their team calendar and you are given a front row seat. What do you do? What do you do? Well if that team is the New England Patriots and you’re a Masshole I guess this is the answer…

Holy shit! Somebody hold my likah!

Yep, that looks about right. Odds he got laid…5.9736×10²⁴/1.

So this weekend while you’re hiding from the rain and/or your mother (oh sweet merciful Yaweh) just think, you could have been chillin’ in the DR with some of the hottest women to ever don the spankie. Instead of chatting up your mom you could be oiling up some ass.

Enjoy your weekend everybody, I’m going to the beach in case some cheerleaders need a dedicated towel boy.

Gotta support the team.

photo’s courtesy of Boston.com

Because NBC screwed us out of Jenna Fischer in a two-piece I’ve decided to add a little something extra to this week’s cheerleader fix. Enjoy this spread of Jenna at her best.

Yeah, that’s the good shit.

I don’t watch “The Simpsons” as much as I used to, although last week’s episode was easily one of the best I’ve seen in the past 5 years, if not longer. But it’s no secret that every member of the Gay Mafia is a card-carrying Simpsons geek. Hell, Christmas Ape barely acknowledges anything that comes in three dimensions. Fuck, if you’ve never watched “The Simpsons”, then you have absolutely no business trying to make jokes (though Jimmy Kimmel will certainly hire you for a brief period).

We had a brief rundown yesterday of our favorite episodes, and no two answers were alike. So we thought we’d open today’s draft up to you, considering the show hits its 400th episode on Sunday night. These are the episodes of the show you’d want with you if you were trapped on a desert island (with a functioning DVD player and electrical power generator). The rules, as always: Pick only one episode, and once you pick, you must wait ten choices until you get to pick again. Oh, and be sure to include favorite quotes as well.

My favorite:

“Last Exit To Springfield.”

Honestly it’s fucking flawless. Even with Lisa’s singing. Want some examples?

“Dental plan!”
“Why must you turn my office into a house of lies?”
“I had an onion on my belt, which was the style at the time.”
“Don Homer, I make a special donut for a you.”

Sheer brilliance. Yours in the comments.

This is probably the least lethal video that will get shown in our kill, kill, kill series. Nonetheless, the very same ferocious instinct driving this turtle to attack these cats, compelled the mighty T.Rex to be a killing machine. If this turtle had some dagger-like teeth or sharp claws, there would be two less cats in this world. As it stands, it can only lash out in impotent fury. Like ESPN’s ombudsman.

Terrapin vs. housecat. Christmas Ape’s loyalties must be deeply divided on this one.

Speaking of foul-tempered reptiles, even though Al Davis can’t win anymore, he is still one vengeful old bastard. Adam Rank at the FanHouse says Davis waited as long as possible to fire personnel executive Mike Lombardi, in order to keep him from hooking up with another team this season. Leaky Lombardi should brush up on his Italian, starting with “omertà.”

I shit you not: this Arcade Fire song sounds like Eddie & the Cruisers.

Last item: Oral Sex Increases Throat Cancer Risk Scientists Say Just want to let our valued readers know this story is out there. Personally, I think the doctors behind this report are all vile little cretins who are trying to fill our heads with damnable lies. They should be dragged into the streets and flogged mercilessly.

In the meantime, you might want to rehearse a phony refutation in case someone tries to cite this study at a particularly inopportune time. “Whoa baby, that report was roundly rejected by a blue-ribbon, double-blind, uh twelve-year study at the University of Medicine Tech State. Yeah, it was, uh, even on Oprah.”

[Shaun Alexander, as he does a minimum of 18 hours a day, sits on bended knee to address Yahweh, his second best lead blocker to Mack Strong]

God, I’d been praying and praying for you to heal this foot of mine. And, Lord, you brought succor to my wounds. For that, I am eternally grateful. You’ve let me continue to live this incredibly privileged life so long as I commit myself to your sacred service.

May I then offer one quibble, God? I came back to play 10 games – yeah – the better part of last season, sure. But 896 yards? Less than four yards a carry? Is mine a benevolent God? We’re talking career worst stats here. I’m finding my faith rocked. Doubts are starting to creep in. Big, quitting-at-the-end-of-the-season doubts.

I touted the restorative powers of prayer, did I not? Didn’t I donate that really big fucking cross to that baptist church in Alabama. You remember? That one Alabama baptist church? You told me there were those to smote and they have been smoten!

Why hast thou forsaken me in favor of the one who is called Frank Gore? He of the land of the Sodomites. No, not Dallas. The other one, the one with the bay. What is his record of good works? I’ve carried out your earthly missions, averaging clearly more than four blessings per mission carried out. Clearly, the same should apply to my football carries.

But now, I’m left with no sign that my efforts are appreciated. And thou has provided no linemen to replace Steve Hutchinson. Fuck you, Yahweh, I do it myself!

[Alexander rises to his feet, immediately feels a sharp pang in his left foot]

Ah, haystacks.

In a world where reality is a constant state of upheaval and turmoil, we present KSK’s latest attempt to separate fact from fiction….

Rumor: OJ Simpson was refused service at a Louisville restaurant on Derby Eve.

Fact: The owner had never actually heard of OJ Simpson, it was just a VERY authentic 1950′s style Kentucky diner.

Speaking of the Derby, if my first-hand observations are to be trusted, the Big Ten fans continued their domination of the infield, with Michigan and Ohio State partisans exchanging first verbal jousts and later their own waste. The MAC and SEC also put in strong showings. This year’s upstart: a surprisingly large group of pixie-like Wofford coeds who had made the trek up from Spartansburg, SC. Terriers, y’all!!!

Rumor: Osi Umenyiora will jump off the George Washington Bridge if he doesn’t have one of the best seasons ever for a defensive end.

Fact: Unless he is being facetious, it sounds like Umenyiora is trying to win support by making an outlandish statement that no one really believes, kind of like when Paris Hilton says she’s never, ever, ever going to do it again.

Rumor: Donovan McNabb (aka “Jasper Beardsley“) was shocked when the Eagles spent their first round pick on a QB.

Fact: Really? Donovan is surprised that after blowing out his knee and Jeff Garcia flying the nest, that the Eagles would seek some insurance at the most crucial position in the sport? Donovan was reportedly also shocked last week when May unexpectedly followed April.

In McNabb’s defense, surprising things have been afoot all over lately. For instance, did you know there is a basketball team called the Golden State”Warriors”? Apparently they play very entertaining basketball games while I am sleeping. (As you can see, I am in the midst of my annual tawdry eight-week fling with the NBA. Right now my favorite player is the Nets’ Bostjan Nachbar. Because “Nachbar” looks a lot like “nacho bar”. Mmmmmm, nacho bar.)

Rumor: Keyshawn Johnson to the Oakland Raiders?

Fact: Who knows? It would have been great to be in the Carolina war room when the Panther brass watched Keyshawn interview Dwayne Jarrett. Do you think they were merely exchanging knowing looks and smirks or were they justout-and-out holding their side braying with laughter while pounding on the table? I’m hoping the latter.

That’s all the enlightenment I have time for right now. But before I go, I saw this over at Mondesi’s House. Since KSK’s Big Daddy Drew was the one who blew the lid off Brady Groingate, I thought it on only apropos we link it here. This one is for the Steelers fans, particularly Christmas Ape…

If you woke up in the morning and found a bear in your driveway, you might freak out a bit. Likewise, if you woke up in the morning and found a moose in your driveway, you again might lose your shit. But if you woke up in the morning and found a bear killing and eating a moose in your driveway, well that’s what I call an Animal Snuff Porn holiday. Why, you could even paint your boat with leftover moose fluid.

But whatever you do, don’t call Animal Control. My friend Mr. Bear laughs at your pathetic animal control squad. Animals weren’t meant to be controlled. They were meant to roam free and attack each other at will. It’s what God intended, I say.

You know, I went to college in Maine, and I was constantly warned to be on the lookout for moose. Ooh, they might charge you! They might total your car! Well, you know what? I never saw one goddamn moose in my time up there. And now I see this. I tell you, moose, you’re all talk and no action. Oh, and the moose here is dead now.

And now it’s really dead. Wheeeee!!!!!

Special thanks to AnalRapist for the link. I would expect nothing less from someone who names himself after one of the most horrible acts a man can do.

The New York Post recently reported that Peyton Manning attends the Kentucky Derby every year with Kid Rock, Dennis Hopper, Travis Tritt, and George Strait. Rock told the Post:

Well, wouldn’t you know it, KSK was able to transcribe this year’s historic meeting. Here’s what happened.

Kid Rock: Who’s ready to fucking party?!

Manning: I am ready. I am more prepared than any of you for this party. I studied tape of Wisconsin students for the past two weeks. I’ve got all their tendencies down pat.

George Strait: Then let’s get to drinkin’!

Travis Tritt: Yeah, let’s watch the horses and have some fun!

Kid Rock: (whispers to Manning) So, what do you think? They’re both nice.

Manning: (drinks) I don’t know. They’re more or less indistinguishable.

Kid Rock: (drinks) C’mon, man. You need this. How long has it been?

Manning: (sighs, drinks) A year.

Kid Rock: (drinks) A year! C’mon, man! You gotta let him go!

Manning: (drinks, crying) You don’t fucking get it, man! He saw a window into my soul!

Kid Rock: (drinks) I know heartbreak, my friend. Trust me. I too had a special someone.

Manning: (drinks) Oh, you mean that little midget of yours?

Kid Rock: (drinks, lunges) Don’t you fucking talk about Joe C. like that!

Manning: (drinks) What are you gonna do about it?

Kid Rock: (drinks) Bawitdaba.

Manning: (drinks) What does that even mean?

Kid Rock: (drinks) Bawitdaba, bitch.

Manning: (drinks) Seriously, that’s just gibberish.

Kid Rock: (drinks) I’m a cowboy, bitch.

Manning: (drinks) No, you’re not. You’re from fucking Michigan.

Kid Rock: (drinks) Bawitdaba.

Travis Tritt: (drinks) Now, now, you two. There’ll be plenty of time for fightin’ later on. Let’s go try and find Randy Travis, Alan Jackson, Clint Black, Ronnie Milsap, and other similar artists.

Dennis Hopper: (does a whippet) This place is so full of… energy, man.

Manning: Jesus, who brought him? He fucking creeps me out.

Hopper: C’mon, man. Just relax. Just let the atmosphere… absorb you.

Manning: What does that even mean? None of you people make any goddamn sense.

Hopper: (does a Quaalude, pulls knife) It means you do what I say, bitch.

Manning: I thought we said no knives this year.

Hopper: When you rape Diane Keaton, you get to do whatever you want.

Manning: What?

Kid Rock: (drinks) C’mon, let’s go watch the race. Who you guys got? I got Imawildandcrazyguy, because that’s totally me.

(Street Sense wins)

Kid Rock: Fuck this, man. Where’s Meat Loaf? I want to fucking BATTLE.

Meat Loaf: I’m glowing like the metal on the edge of the knife!

Kid Rock: Don’t you sing that fucking song, fat man.

Phil Rizzuto: Ok, here we go, we got a real pressure cooker here.

Kid Rock: And no Rizzuto! That’s fucking cheating!

Meat Loaf: Very well. I shall seduce you with a 9-minute minisuite!

(both men get up on a stage)

Kid Rock: Pass me the mic, bitches! Yeeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh!!!!!!!
I’mma fucking party tonight
Got a Party Ball with cold Coors Light
No bitch ever tells me no
Got drunk once and nailed Sheryl Crow
Beat that, ass face.

Manning: (over in the corner) Oooh, Randy Moss! Oooh, the Pats are the team to beat! Well, la di fucking da. Who fucking won the Super Bowl this year, you fucking cunts?

Travis Tritt: (drinks) Are you okay, Peyton?

Manning: I’m fine! Those mint juleps are too fucking sweet.

Travis Tritt: (drinks) Kid told me about what happened with Kenny. If you ever want to talk, I just wanted you to know that if you need someone to talk to. Or to do a duet with…

Manning: I appreciate that, George.

Travis Tritt: Travis.

Manning: Whatever.

Hopper: (corners Strait in a stable) So Coppola has this big fucking heart attack, and then it’s like fucking anarchy, man. These Cambodian fuckers take me to a shooting range, and they let me machine gun a cow for, like $10. You ever machine gun a cow on ether?

Strait: (terrified) Uh, no.

Hopper: It’s fucking great.

Meat Loaf:
Objects in the rearview mirror may appear closer than they are…
Objects in the rearview mirror may appear closer than they are…

Random Man In Crowd: Do “I Would Do Anything for Love,” asshole!!!

Meat Loaf: I won’t do that, you fuck.

Random Man In Crowd: You melodramatic fat shit.

Manning: I love this song, man. Objects in the rearview mirror really do appear closer than they are.

Travis Tritt: Wanna go in that handicapped bathroom?

Manning: Sure.

Kid Rock: Hey, where’d everyone go? I’m Kid fucking Rock! Nobody parties harder than me! I fucked Pamela Anderson a decade too late! C’mon, man! Fuck. This party blows.

Last week ESPN’s primary source of breaking news–Mike and Mike In the Morning–informed us that their buddy Mark Schlereth has a new gig. The Big Stinky will be moonlighting as Detective Rock Hoover (a name of his own creation) on Guiding Light, a show older than Philo T. Farnsworth himself.

Stink is set to become the second ESPN television “personality” to crossover into the world of retarded housewives the beautiful people after Stephen A. Smith agreed to a cameo on General Hospital. Now we all know what prompted Smith to make an ass of himself…

…but why would Schlereth stoop to such lows? I can still remember when he was known for being one hardcore motherfucking lineman and know it’s come to this?

10. ESPN’s health plan cut him off at the knees

9. Mike Shanahan is attached to direct

8. He’d rather die than be upstaged by his daughter

That’s Alexandria on the far right left, definitely the left. And yes, this whole post is just an excuse to show you pictures of another pundit’s daughter

7. He’s bi-curious and Salisbury is too much of a closet case to experiment with him

6. He was looking for a more professional work environment

5. He’s tired of ESPN dumbing him down for their audience

4. Some people still respected him

3. He thought Guiding Light was the “Man Law” thing

2. Always dreamed of playing a guy named Rock Hoover–all the gayness of Rock Hudson with the added suck-factor of vacuum cleaner

1.

OK, that post was thrown together with a bit of haste. Here’s another picture of Alexandria Schlereth.

Monday morning, and all the news is about basketball and baseball and, somewhere, hockey. Even golf headlines are trumping our true national pastime as the NFL briefly sinks into obscurity following the draft.

Likewise, things are quiet here at KSK’s secret headquarters high in the Andes. Drew’s recovering from a kielbasa overdose, Punter’s all bruised up from a rough outing with his mule, Christmas Ape is at the animal clinic following Jean Grey’s catnip overdose, Unsilent Majority is sneaker shopping, flubby nearly died from bourbon at the Derby this weekend, and Footsteps Falco is still dead.

That leaves me, and I’ve got my hands full with the Rottweiler mix I adopted from the animal shelter this weekend; I have to train her to attack Steelers fans while she’s young, or she’ll never learn.

So, enjoy the Blog Show. You’ll note we get our due credit for snagging those Brady Lite pictures first. U-S-A! K-S-K! K-S-K!