This merits a flag and a fine? Eat a dick, NFL. Maybe if you let us have some fun once in a while, we wouldn’t be so rebellious. Maybe we wouldn’t drink so much during the games, or leer creepily at the cheerleaders. Maybe we wouldn’t sneak out to secret barn dances with Kevin Bacon. Maybe we would have embraced Mormonism instead of doubting Father Young’s teachings. Maybe we wouldn’t date musicians even though we know they’re bad for us. Maybe we wouldn’t have quit the ASU cheerleading squad for a career in hardcore bondage porn. Maybe we wouldn’t have this terrible meth addiction. Maybe we wouldn’t have run away with Francisco to Portugal. Maybe we wouldn’t have had to have so many abortions. Maybe we wouldn’t have joined the Coast Guard. Maybe we wouldn’t have gone on tour with Trixter.

Let us have some fucking fun, for God’s sake. Is that too much to ask?

Wade: Good golly, is it 2PM already? Boy, I am famished! Haven’t had time to eat all day. But it seems pretty quiet around here now. Yup, I think I’ll just kick back with this delicious Black Angus sub from Quizno’s. Let me just tear open this small packet of pepper to give this baby a kick! Oh, man. This looks good. Finally, after a long, hard morning, Wade’s finally gonna get some much needed chow in his belly. Now just to open my mouth and direct the sandwich towards my oral cavity…

(Doors fly open)

Jones: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAW!!!!!!!

Wade: Oh, dear God no.

Jones: Did you see what my boy ROMO did to those faggots down in South Beach? That’ll teach Jason Taylor to sell Nivea aftershave balm and fuck white women! My boy Romo is a goddamn star, you big titty monster!

Wade: Sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like to enjoy my lunch for a moment.

Jones: Lunch? You want LUNCH? Hoo boy, the last thing your fat ass needs is scheduled eating! I’m surprised you weren’t fucking that sandwich when I walked in here!

Wade: Sir, please…

Jones: Listen, Moby Dickless, we have work to do! Now, my boy Romo is taking off thanks to my Princeton boy! Get in here, Princeton boy! Look what Ricki Lake here is trying to do to this poor sandwich!

(Enter Jason Garrett)

Garrett: Oh dear. Seems someone matriculated at a school that did NOT teach proper nutrition. Are you in concurrence, Mr. Jones?

Jones: Shit yeah! I didn’t know Hamburger University had a football team!!!!

(Jones and Garrett laugh)

Garrett: My goodness, you are an obese man. Did your parents keep you in the house, or did they simply let you graze out in the pasture? Do you know what we did with the obese students back in Princeton, Mr. Jones?

Jones: Tell me! Tell me!

Garrett: Nothing! Because no one at Princeton is obese! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!!

Jones: Oh, that is fucking great! You know, you’re not so bad, for a Northern queer! I can’t wait for you to take over Bessie The Cow’s job next year!

Wade: Can I just please enjoy my lunch?

Jones: You’ve enjoyed enough lunches for this lifetime and the next, Tubgirl. I’ve got a new assignment for you!

(Enter Tank Johnson)

Tank: I’m Tank. I like guns. And fucking.

Jones: WAAAAAAHOOOOOO!!!!! Look that feller!!! Doesn’t he just look fucking MEAN?

Garrett: Indeed. He’s a terribly frightening Negro.

Jones: I mean, his name is Tank! How can you not like that?

Tank: I want a Slim Jim, motherfucker.

Wade: Well, when I’m finished here, I can help take Tank through the defensive playbook.

Jones: When you’re finished?! I think not, Wade Folds Five! I want this young man starting next week! And I want you to personally get him up to speed!

Wade: Isn’t he suspended?

Jones: I’m workin’ on that. Don’t you worry your fat little blimphead about it.

Wade: I’m just not sure if we can get him ready…

Jones: That’s because you’re too fat and slow! You’re so fat, we had to lower you into the stadium through the hole in the goddamn roof!

Wade: That’s not true!

Jones: This young man is the key to our defensive success! And he’s perfect for our fanbase! He loves guns! Texans love guns! It’s a perfect match! YIPPPPPITY YIPPITY WAAAAAAA!!!!!!

(Fires guns in the air)

Tank: Those are nice guns. I want them.

Jones: Keep ‘em! I’ve got thousands of them!

Garrett: How grand!

Wade: God, I’m starving.

Jones: Tough shit, Flab Wagon! Git your sorry as back to work! WORK! WORK! WORK!

(Beats him with a riding crop)

Wade: I hate my life.

Jones: YEEEEEE DOGGGGIE, I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!!

Having sufficiently honored our bestingraychested Memorial Meast Steve Irwin, we’re re-naming KSK’s most prestigious honor after Kevin Everett, who we think is a total fucking badass for shattering his neck vertebrae and then having the constitution to not be totally paralyzed. We’ll be rooting for you all year, Kevin (plus well into the future after that).

Pick six.

Adalius Thomas did it, man. He lived the dream. He found a ball lodged in his grill and delivered it to the promised land before 10 am the next morning. He also had three tackles, and then after the game he ate five pizzas and took a shit the size of Muggsey Bogues. Simmons would probably suck him dry were it not for his deep-rooted fear of larger black gentlemen.

Yeah, we just picked a Patriot for the Meast for the second consecutive week. But before you polish up your pitchfork, consider that these Patriots have already slapped around two good teams. At least, they were good last year. Who knows, they might not be worth a shit in ’07. Adalius is the black guy, by the way.

Actually, Adalius always wanted to play quarterback in the NFL, but a bunch of my white friends got together and stopped him. We didn’t want him in that position.

As I’ve detailed in the recent past, my father’s 49ers fandom has been the cause of considerable turmoil in the House of Ape, particularly father dearest’s insistence on belaboring the Niners spotless Super Bowl record. This week’s contest of the week could fleetingly put the battle to rest, at least for the remainder of this year, as 2-0 San Francisco travels to 2-0 Pittsburgh. It’s on like Donkey Kong, you old fuck.

Another scrape with the law has brought everyone’s favorite Leslie Nielsen sidekick/amateur decapitator back into the public consciousness. Of course white people everywhere are reacting like they’ve won the lottery (white people winning the lottery? that’ll never happen!), the expectation of comeuppance is palpable. In the past few days Orenthal’s mailbox has been filling up with thank you notes and messages of admiration from all over the Caucasian community. Let’s take a look at some of the more notable inclusions…

Yo OJ,

Just ’cause some assholes stole your shit doesn’t mean you can pull out a piece…unless you’re in Florida.

Meastly Yours,
Sean Taylor

Dear Juice,

I want you to fuck me in an uncomfortable place.

Longing Gaping for you,
Kim Kardashian

P.S. I’m not talking about a conjugal trailer…

Dear Mr. Simpson,

Stay the fuck away from my daughter.

Sincerely,
Robert Kardashian

Dear OJ,

+1

Your pal,
Robert Blake

Dear Asshole,

All your memorabilia are belong to us.

Signed,
The Goldmans

Dear OJ,

Thanks a million!

Sincerely,
Nancy Grace, Dan Abrams, Keith Olbermann, Glen Beck, Anderson Cooper, Jay Leno, Lorne Michaels, Sean Hannity, Shephard Smith, Mark Fuhrman, and every single talk radio host in America

Yesterday Drew offered up this hatchet piece offering a modest bounty to the NFL player who successfully delivered a season-ending knee-injury to Tom Brady.

I, for one, disapprove of such an undertaking. Not only do I suspect that such a measure is illegal, but it also gets in the way of what is truly best for the NFL:

That’s right, I’m cheering for the Patriots. I want them to go 19-0 while cameras cut to the 1972 Dolphins crying. I want them to go 19-0 next year, too, so the cameras can cut to the ’72 Dolphins parked in a closed garage with the engine running. In fact, I’d like to see the Pats win the next three or four or eight Super Bowls.

I’m not a bandwagon fan; I’m an anarchist.

I’m rooting for the Pats the way I root for tornadoes in the town where I went to high school. I root for them the way I cheer sharks on the Discovery Channel, the way I want Entourage to get renewed for ten more seasons, and the way I cheered gravity in Titanic when the people fell the length of the boat and hit the smokestacks on their way down.

I want the boiling point. I want pandemonium. I want the destruction of everything we know. I want Patriots fans to become more insufferable than Steelers fans and Cowboys fans combined. I want civil war.

I picture a world where the handful of intelligent, humble people from New England have to apologize for liking their hometown team. I want the number of Patriots bandwagon fans to make the Yankees’ fan base look like the Marlins’. I want the contrarian fucks at Slate to be right just this once. I want every other NFL team to be the Washington Generals to Brady and Belichick’s Harlem Globetrotters.

Why? Because fuck your stupid sports arguments, that’s why.

I want the people who’ve been ruining my new-NFL-season buzz by bitching and moaning about CameraGate to live with the fact that the New England Patriots’ tyranny was caused by their bitching. Yeah, that’s right: everybody who’s been talking about putting an asterisk by the Pats’ three Super Bowl wins, how they’re cheaters for life, how they’re just like Barry Bonds… do you know what you people are? You’re Seahawks fans still bitching about Super Bowl XL.

Let that sink in for a minute.

So Tom Brady, you keep those knees healthy. Be sure to stretch a lot. Fuck some more models if you think that helps. And please, find a way to get a little more press coverage — we simply can’t get enough of you. GO PATS!

UPDATE:

Marvin Lewis: Goddamit Deltha O’Neal! What is this I hear about your Rott attacking a woman and her daughter?

O’Neal: They was asking for it. Literally, they said “please, doggie, bite us viciously in our ass and legs,” at least that’s what the canine psychic said Dogtha O’Kee-ill said they said to him. Anyway, I wasn’t even arrested, coach.

Lewis: It don’t matter. I don’t need any headlines like this. The more these things crop up, the more heat I get. Mike Brown has already made it apparent that he’s cool with me missing the playoffs, so long as I don’t need to have anymore sit-downs with the Rog about player discipline. So we’re spending the rest of the week learning about comportment and etiquette. We’re off to the Skyline School for Wayward Bengals.

O’Neal: But coach, we haven’t finished preparing for the Browns.

Lewis: You let me worry about that. I’m not getting shitcanned on account of your antics.

Lewis: Okay, I want you guys to have a well-mannered, professional game out there. I want you to stay the fuck away from that Jamal Lewis guy. He’s gonna steer you wrong, get you into that bad shit. Under no circumstances are you to interact with him.

Michael Myers: Aren’t we gonna need to tackle him though?

Lewis: The fuck I just stay? Keep away from the muthafucka.

/Jamal Lewis runs for a 43-yard touchdown.

Caleb Miller: Coach! I was gonna tackle Jamal, but he was trying to offer me a good price on an ounce of rock, so I let him go right on by.

Lewis: You did the right thing. That’s some fine work, son.

/Braylon Edwards catches a 60-yard touchdown pass.

Leon Hall: Coach, man, dawg, we gotta do something. We’re gonna lose to the goddamn Browns. You know embarassing this is?

Lewis: Don’t try to lecture me on defense. I was a defensive coach for the Steelers, Ravens and Redskins when they all had top-ranked units. Didn’t you go to Michigan? You should know about embarassing losses. App State, right?

Hall: Uh, that was this year’s team. I entered the draft following last season.

Lewis: Well, Detroit’s in Michigan, right? Still the murder capital of the country, isn’t it? But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Leon?

Hall: But there are hundreds of unsolved murders in Detroit!

Lewis: You just don’t know when to keep your mouth shut, do you, Leon Hall?

/Kellen Winslow scores on a 73-yard pass and doesn’t even bother to run half the way.

Defensive coordinator Chuck Bresnahan: Marvin, I don’t know about this idea to let at-risk youth design our defensive schemes.

Lewis: And why the fuck not? We need something to burnish our image with the community.

Bresnahan: Well, for starters, on this first play, we got one defensive lineman lined up, eight people covering Joe Jurevicius and two guys selling bootleg CDs on the 30-yard line.

Lewis: They got the new Talib?

Bresnahan: What?

Lewis: Nothing.

…

Forget it. Just follow the kid’s plays, would ya?

/Derek Anderson throws another eight TDs.

Lewis: Contract extension, here I come.

Somebody over at NFL.com just became my new hero. Apparently Elisha Manning is questionable for today’s game against Green Bay and Britney Favre…

But don’t worry Indy fans, Petunia Manning is healthy and flowering.

Note: Eli’s birth name is actually Elisha Nelson Manning, oddly enough he’s always gone by “Eli”…just don’t tell NFL.com’s Injury Report guy.

HT: Sexy Sarah at Strike Zones and End Zones