Oh noes, Namath’s coming after Captain Caveman! Hit the “smug” button.

You know who got knocked the fuck out this week? Sav Rocca, that’s who. Rocca, former Aussie Rules dude, was playing his first NFL game when he got his dick knocked in the dirt by the Ravens’ Antwan Barnes. Watch it again below.

Monday Morning Punter (surprise, surprise) thinks this was a bush-league play. I’m not convinced it was dirty, but even if it was– we are talking about a punter here — not an actual important player. Let the real players tee off on these guys with impugnity, I say.

Also this week, the Giants’ Will Demps let us know he has better things to do than engage in casual orgies with NFL groupies. While this sounds noble, we suspect it’s only because he hasn’t met anyone like Fallujah Super8–the sports blogosphere’s most legendary groupie. NFL players get paid righteous bucks, thus insuring a pulchritudinous crop of groupies, but sports bloggers aren’t pulling down the same kind of scrilla. Nonetheless, Fallujah (we hear) will rock the socks off of a lucky blogger (or four). If she really exists. All we have to go on are stories.

Fallujah Super8 (think: not quite as nice as Paris–
not as well-cared for as a Hilton)

With that in mind, let’s check out this weekend’s nationally televised games:

• Vikings at Jets 8:00 PM Fox (Yeah Joe Fucking Buck and Troy Aikman. If Buck is also calling the MLB game of the week tomorrow afternoon, you have our permission to pull a Rambo.)
• Chargers at Rams 8:00 PM CBS (Showdown between the league’s premier running backs. Except one of them isn’t playing. Nevermind.)
• Giants at Ravens 8:00 PM NBC (Halftime feature: Jared Lorenzen will attempt to stuff an entire pot roast into his mouth.)

Before we cut you loose for the week, here are the weekly cheerleader pics. This is rapidly becoming an honored Friday tradition, much like sneaking out of work early and blowing the paycheck on black tar heroin. Let me be sure to give full credit Punter for choosing this first one.

C:\Documents and Settings\Vick-punchline.doc

Unless they hang on to their skirts, they may
suddenly fly off into the crowd.

Have a good weekend. Have some fun, but for god’s sake, don’t end up like Uncle Kracker. Peace.

I don’t know what you’re doing right now, but I highly recommend you click here this instant, with all due haste. Readers at Fark decided to have a Photoshop contest using this photo of Tom Brady. The result? I’m fucking dying. Some highlights:

Photoshop credit to Fark artistes squrrelco3, Earguy, voopa, Man On a Mission, and i-dig

I’m buying a car this weekend. WOO HOO! Oh yeah, bitch. I’m buying me the sexiest car on the market. I’m buying a car that’ll make panties drop the second it comes within eyeshot. It’s the kind of car that makes catcalls actually effective. This is the kind of car that elevates me to a greater status of human being, richer and sexier than the rest of you commoners. And that car, of course, is…

The Honda CRV. Oooh, baby. Don’t act like you aren’t jealous. This 4-cylinder honey can accommodate not one, but TWO baby seats. And it’s got a cassette deck. Is that Glacier Blue blinding your eyes? Why, yes it is. Advantage: Drew.

Anyway, in celebration of the biggest check I will ever write until my kid chooses an expensive college over a better state school, it’s time for vehicle draft. You’re in a high speed chase! The 5.0 be hot on yo tail! You need a vehicle that’s fast, with a dexterity of at least 17 or higher. The rules: Pick one vehicle. It can be any vehicle, real or imaginary. Let us also assume you have the money necessary to maintain it, or even trick it out. Once you pick a vehicle, wait 10 picks until you select another.

My pick. You know it…

In case you forgot, the Millenium Falcon did the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs. Don’t know what a parsec is? Well then, fuck you. It’s fast. It can outrun Imperial starships. Not local bulk-cruisers, mind you. I’m talking about the big Corellian ships now. Bitchin. Although I never understood why Han Solo’s ride was the only ship in the galaxy that could jump into hyperspace. Whatever. It’s mine. You ain’t catchin’ me, baby!

Vick: Whoa, man.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

I am stoned like Betty fucking Crocker. I can’t believe how fucking stoned I am. Check it out! Tree bark is growing on my legs! That is fucking trippy, man.

(phone rings)

WHO’S THAT?

(phone rings)

Quit scaring me like that, Mr. Phone. I don’t sneak up behind you and start making weird fucking noises. Show some goddamn respect.

(phone rings)

Shit.

(picks up phone)

Who dis?

Purnell: Ookie, it’s Peace.

Vick: Oh, Peace! How the fuck you doin’, man? Dude, remember when we put that rabbit in a garbage can and rolled it down a highway exit ramp? That was fucking hilarious.

Purnell: Michael, I’m not doing so hot. Listen man, Quanis and I have decided to negotiate plea deals.

Vick: You’re starting a flea circus? That’s fucking crazy man. I saw a cartoon about that. They were on trapezes and stuff. Really high end, mind-blowing shit. Do fleas fight? That would be bitchin’.

Purnell: No, we pleaded guilty. You know, in the dogfighting case.

Vick: Oh, the dogfighting thing! That shit’s still going on? I smoked up, like, sixty times after that, so I figured that shit was just over and what not. I always think things will work out in the end. You might call me an optimist like that.

Purnell: No, it’s not over. We had to settle with the government.

Vick: Settle? How much did they pay you?

Purnell: No, not that kind of settlement. We got a chance at reduced charges in exchanges for testifying that you were the main financier and organizer of the fights.

Vick: So you get off easier by testifying against me?

(processes)

(processes)

(processes)

(processes)

MUTHAPHUCKKA, I’VE BEEN BETRAYED! YOU SOLD ME OUT, MAN!

Purnell: We didn’t have a choice! We were going to go to jail for years!

Vick: But what about our friendship, man? What about all the good times we had together? Like the time we smoked up and ate that entire package of Hormel pepperoni? Or the time we smoked up and went down to the dock and unhooked all the boats and watched them drift away? Or what about the time we smoked up and I nailed your fiancee? We shared moments, man. Precious memories. And now you’ve gone and doodooed all over them! You and Qyntel!

Purnell: Quanis.

Vick: Whatever.

Purnell: We’re still friends. You know we’re boys, man. No one can take that away from us. But we had to do what we had to do.

Vick: You didn’t have to do anything! Look at me! I do nothing all day! I had to take a shit just now and I didn’t even bother to get up! Now there are fruit flies all over me!

Purnell: This is serious, man. These people mean business. They take this dogfighting shit hard, man.

Vick: But I don’t get it, man! I’m no animal hater! I love dogs. That’s why I like to fight them! I like to admire their inherent dogginess! This is horseshit!

Purnell: Either way man, you have to plea. It’s the only thing to do.

Vick: Fuck that. Nobody can send my ass to jail. No one has my escapability! I’mma beat the rap, then get back to doin’ what I do best: run with the football as a quarterback.

Purnell: But I thought you were suspended.

Vick: (takes bong hit) I was? Man, why am I always the last motherfucker on Earth to know shit?!

Photo courtesy of The Onion

Some highlights from last night’s KSK keeper league draft. You can take a look at the results here if you are so inclined.

-Last night’s draft (pictured above!) was done entirely via conference call, with 6 of us in DC calling in from the lovely Buffalo Billiards in DuPont Circle (where else would you expect a Gay Mafia to congregate?). And if you thought conference calls with your sales team were a complete clusterfuck, try drafting on the phone with 14 other assholes shouting out joke names like “RICK ANKIEL!”. No wait, Leitch actually drafted him.

-UM picked players who had already been drafted on two separate occasions. Each time, I cried out, “Party foul!” and made an L on my forehead, which might make me the biggest douchebag in recorded history. I was also wearing a pink shirt.

-Biggest gaffe of the night: Jamie Mottram taking Carson Palmer in Round 2, then Tom Brady in Round 3. And that’s before he started drinking. I blame the fact that Mottram wore a Smoot jersey to the draft. When you wear a Smoot jersey, you want two of everything.

-UM tried to pull a fast (and some might dare say Jewy?) one by drafting Darren McFadden with his final pick. You’ve never seen someone so thoroughly exalt in their own cleverness. He was shouted down like the retard that he is. He’ll be drafting Cody Paul next year.

-One of my favorite things to do during a draft is to shout out, “That’s a horrible pick” any time someone who is not me selects. I think it really lends an air of professionalism to the whole proceeding.

-Sarah, our contest winner, promised she wouldn’t draft like a girl. And yet, the evidence is clear: she totally drafted like a girl, constantly asking who had been taken, drafting a D too early, doing everyone else a favor by taking Cadillac Williams (the player no one wanted to draft), and drafting Jared fucking Lorenzen (and not even in the last round!). But she did draft Rex Grossman. She’ll be pregnant by October.

-I was gonna have taquitos at the bar last night, but I audibled to wings at the very last second. It seemed almost heretical to NOT order wings during a football draft.

-My favorite pastime during this draft was to get my hopes up for one particular player falling my way, only to have him taken a few picks earlier, then getting on the phone and screaming FUCK YOU to whoever picked him. I didn’t get why these people in front of me kept taking players with good value. Fucking dicks. Sometimes, the shoe was on the other foot and I took someone who was coveted by another. I got two FUCK YOUs myself, and that was really rewarding.

-No one except for Punter realized until the middle of the draft that our league only starts one RB. Rob Iracane, who drafted 3 RB’s in the first four rounds, would probably like a do-over.

-I drafted Bernard Berrian. I wonder if he’s Armenian.

-For half the conference call, some kid screamed bloody murder in the background. Apparently this was emanating from the bodega / refugee shelter / crack-house where Sarah was making her “picks.”

-I reached for Adrian Peterson in Round 2. And you know what? I don’t mind. It’s a keeper league, and I’m about to go All Day on everyone’s asses for the next decade. WOO HOO, bitches!

The KSK Keeper League Draft is this evening. I’ve never been in a keeper league before, so my board is completely fucked. I’d like to draft for the future, but who the fuck wants to wait a whole year for a team to be good? I want to win now, bitch! Now I know how Dan Snyder feels. This building for the future idea is horseshit. I have the 6th pick. But, since Leitch drafts at #2, it’s really like having the 5th pick. C’mon, Steven Jackson!

Anyhoo, while composing my board, I got the idea that we needed a genuine fantasy board, one that had actual fantasies on it. So the KSK Voltron assembled, and these were the fantasies that spurted out. Consider these the innermost fantasies of our collective subconscious. I have ranked them in some particular order. You can probably tell which ones are Ufford’s.

-Everything Steve Martin wishes for in the above video
-Scarlett Johansson naked in a plastic kiddie pool full of baby oil
-Year long NFL season, which subsequently bankrupts all other sports
-Sitting in a comfortable chair with a tub of popcorn as I watch commenters drown
-Three shelves of single malt scotch and bourbon, a crystal rocks glass, and an ice box
-A summer home on Lake Washington in Seattle. A winter home on South Beach
-Sea Gals out of hot water, can they use my shower?
-Tonight’s draft lasts less than four hours
-A license to kill
-The ability to piss pure Yuengling
-Magic Carpet, with complementary harem
-A leather jacket that makes its own milk!
-That dinosaurs would roam the earth once more
-Flatter abs, bigger biceps, wider shoulders, two more inches to my height and length
-The ability to tan
-The ability to shit greenbacks
-Fucking flying, bitches
-An end to baseball bloggers emailing us their stupid shit
-Being hired by Josh Homme to front Queens of the Stone Age
-Tenure at Arizona State
-My own personal M1A1 tank (with full-time crew)
-Teleportation
-A Suburban like Laurence Maroney’s
-Large piranha tank
-Optional vampirism
-Pet dingo
-World class opera singing ability
-A gong to voice my displeasure
-The Royal Shakespeare Company available at my beck and call to act my favorite movie and TV scenes
-Have my seminal fluid taste like grape jelly
-The collective burning of every New Found Glory CD
-A request from the President to design an aggressive euthanasia program. Say goodbye, hobos and retards and fat chicks!
-Operation Ivy League Human Shield in Iraq
-That Man Vs. Wild Was REAL, dammit!
-Bill O’Reilly blinded by a sudden burst of understanding like in The Allegory of the Cave
-A microwave burrito so hot even God couldn’t eat it
-Bakula-like ability to Quantum Leap into certain people at certain points in time, including the guy who was in Jenna Jameson’s first sex scene
-Tequila bender with Mel Gibson
-Posts that write themselves
-KSK bought by Rupert Murdoch for $5 billion
-Free reign to paddle Kim Kardashian on the ass with a tennis racket
-Replacements tour
-A magical remote control to turn up the funny on certain Deadspin commenters
-Some really, really good nachos that never congeal, get soggy, or get cold
-Cameo in a Sam Peckinpaugh film
-Pillow fight with Keeley Hazell

Actually, flying belongs at the top. But that would involve some semblance of effort. And if I have one true fantasy, it’s to never have to make any sort of effort whatsoever

Let me just start off by saying that I hate racism. Seriously. I don’t care for it at all. I grew up learning about Martin Luther King, Frederick Douglass, and lots of other pioneers for civil rights. I admire their work, and I do my best to live my life without judging people based on their race, religion or anything else like that. I’m not perfect, but I try my best, and I think making a constant effort is a small victory in and of itself.

But ever since I was suspended for two games for my double DUI convictions, I do have to say that, while racism really sucks, being white sure comes in handy when you need it. And to that I say, thank god for this white skin!

I can’t tell you how many times having white skin has saved my ass. Sure, I was convicted for DUI twice. But those were just the times I was arrested! I’ve been caught dozens of times. Often with a hooker! Mostly, the cop pulls me over, checks my license, then gives me a playful punch on the shoulder, saying, “You dog, you! Don’t you know we got a game tomorrow?! You go home and get yourself a good night’s sleep, and GO CHIEFS!” I always figured they let it slide because I play football. But then the same thing has happened, like, thirty times to my buddy Roscoe. And he can’t play football worth a shit. But he’s whiter than a stack of Hammermill copier paper. So it’s gotta be the skin. Whew!

And my white skin has uses outside of the legal system. Like the other day, I went to buy a soda, but was 50 cents short. So I went outside and asked a couple passersby for some spare change. None of them batted a fucking eyelash! Some guy handed me a crisp twenty, smiled, and just said, “Pay it forward, buddy.” I mean, holy shit! Can you believe that? That Eddie Murphy skit wasn’t lying at all! That shit actually happens!

Wow!

Sometimes I feel bad that this white skin has proven so effective in helping he wriggle out of jams. But what am I supposed to do, ask to be thrown in jail? Look, I’m only human. I’m allowed a certain amount of self-preservation. Having white skin accords you certain privileges. I’d be an idiot not to take advantage of them. Just last week, some real estate guy offered me a job after I retire. I don’t know anything about real estate. Shit, I went to Idaho State. Sometimes I spell my name with two r’s by accident. But I can white out any spelling errors with my trusty white skin. It’s amazing.

I feel bad that Pacman Jones was suspended without actually having been convicted of anything. And I feel bad that Michael Vick has already been convicted in the court of public opinion. But what good does it do if I go up to the commish and say, “Hey Rog, how about suspending me for 8 games instead of 2?” Not only would it solve nothing, it’s just dumb. Punishing me more isn’t gonna make black player stereotypes any better now, is it? So why suffer needlessly when other people will just keep suffering needlessly? Way better to keep a low profile and let that shitstorm pass right on over.

I guess the league has to act whenever the actions of a player threaten to tarnish the league’s image. And it’s way worse to the league’s image when a black dude is the perpetrator. Is that fair? Hell no. But you won’t see me complaining. I’m just glad those crazy PETA assholes haven’t camped out in front of my house. After all, I do enjoy hunting on occasion. I don’t want them spray painting any of my shit. That’s stuff is hard to get off, and I hate the smell of turpenoid.

And it’s not like the league has control over all the racism out there. They’re in the business of pleasing customers. And if customers want Pacman Jones fucked sideways, what choice is there? That’s just smart business. Either way, I’m glad it’s not my problem to deal with! Some people have even pointed out the hypocrisy of the situation, yet still nothing has happened! That just shows you the power of my blinding whiteness!

I hate racism, but thank God for this white skin!

(kisses skin)

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go get ass shitfaced and drive down an embankment going 90.

The Sports Network (which exists) is reporting that the NFL will open a “concussion hotline” for concerned players, doctors, coaches, and that guy that takes fantasy football a bit too seriously.

The NFL has taken a proactive stance on addressing concussions, a condition that has led to several players retiring or being sidelined for substantial amounts of time.

The league announced Tuesday that it would establish a concussion hotline. It’s being formed to report information on a confidential basis about players being forced to practice or play against medical advice.

KSK has recently learned that players confidential informants have come forward on behalf of these woozy injury victims.

Reader Dan V. is quickly becoming our go-to man for expertly crafted Photoshop work. Here, he shares three terrifying images.

Yes, but even Ralphie didn’t have such a dopey laugh.

I’m pretty sure the implication here is that Romeo Crennel is subpar. It’s not meant to be racist. But, if Dan was being racist, then Girls Gone Sports definitely approve.

Oh, that is fucking scary. I ain’t sleeping tonight.

Mike Vick co-defendants Purnell Peace and Quanis Phillips will reportedly appear in court later this week to formally accept guilty plea agreements. This would leave Ookie as the sole remaining defendant. In legal parlance, Vick has gone from being merely fucked to supreme mega-fucked 5000.

ESPN reports Vick is considering taking a plea himself to avoid additional federal charges. At this point, a trial seems unlikely. Vick should start preparing himself for incarceration. Any man loses his spoon spends a night in the box, or so we hear.