Here’s your Doug and Doug update for this week. Someone sent us an email saying they had heard we had been paid by Doug and Doug to post these. This rumor upsets me greatly, because it is not true. And I’m still lacking in money. Oh, how I would love a little blog payola coming my way. I could buy a new shirt at Old Navy, or up the Brady bounty. Or I could buy one of those issues of Hustler Hardcore. You know, the one with the black plastic wrap, with the REALLY nasty shit in it? That would be cool. I hear they use majorette batons and stuff.

Anyway, here’s the video. Presented to you strictly on merit, unfortunately.

We’re taking a one-week respite from honoring Kevin Everett’s valiant recovery to remember a fallen hero: Robert Goulet. At least Will Ferrell is still alive.

This is a tale of four hot chicks I know. Two pairs of best friends, united in their desire for matching Halloween costumes.

Pair of hotties #1 are best friends from college. This past weekend they wore matching slutty eskimo costumes (AKA “sexkimo” or “eski-ho”). Basically, there was a lot of fur, short skirts, and cleavage. A couple people mistook them for Mrs. Claus costumes, but really: who gives a shit what they are? They’re obviously costumes of some sort, and the goods are on display. That’s really all I’m askin’ for.

Pair of hotties #2 work together in the fashion industry. They look down on the dumb sluts they work with, and every year put together a creative team costume that everyone thinks is really cool and no one thinks is really sexy. Last year the big hit was Wayne and Garth, which worked frighteningly well because one of them is blonde and the other’s brunette. Keeping with the trend of ’90s phenomena that don’t need to be relived, this year they dressed as Beavis and Butt-Head.

Ordinarily, there’s a little chunk of the male brain that’s interested in bright women with original ideas. Halloween is that little chunk’s day off. So, hot girls, take a memo: I don’t give a shit unless you’re showing it off. I mean, these are two prime pieces of tail — one of whom has gigantic boobs — and they’re covering it all up to dress like dudes. Well, I can’t masturbate to dudes, so until you find some trashy heels and something that gives your father a sleepless night, go to hell.

This week’s Meast is Antonio Cromartie. He scored two touchdowns in the Chargers’ blowout — one on a muffed snap on special teams, the other a pick-6. Also, after drinking three Gatorades and a case of Miller High Life, he extinguished two acres of burning underbrush in San Diego County with his mighty hose.

Someone asked me the other day if Halloween was an actual holiday and I told them to go punch the clown. Well, I didn’t actually say that. The conversation actually went more like this:

He: (walks into my office without knocking, like an asshole) Hey [Punter],

Me: (actually trying to get some work done) Yeah? What’s up?

He: Settle this arguement Punjab and I were having. Punjab says Halloween is not an actual holiday and I say it is. What do you–

Me: Go punch the clown, Chad. Shithead.

He: No, seriously, it’s gotta be a real–

Me: Did we get the day off?

He: Uh…Well, no, but–

Me: Is this a day where it is socially permissible to consume alcohol as soon as I wake up?

He: (frustrated) No, but…

Me: But what, Chad?

He: …But we have the costume contest in the break room after lunch.

Me: Why don’t you and Punjab just skip the contest and consummate your relationship in the broom closet and maybe he’ll buy you that new iPhone you wanted.

He: (leaves)

Yeah, so unless you’re under 15 or someone close to you is sacrificing their abode for a midweek opportunity to get smashed, this day really has very little to offer you. I’ll be doing well to catch a peek of a slutty pirate making their way down Main Street. Henceforth, we present the Second Annual KSK Halloween Kostume Bukkake, where we pick the outfits that we’d have our (least) favorite NFL personalities wearing on All Hallow’s Eve. We’ll get you started–yes, we listed a couple guys twice–and we look forward to your contributions in the comments:

Chris Cooley (pictured)- Slutty Nurse

Norv Turner – Edward James Olmos

Joe Gibbs – Marty Schottenheimer

San Diego Chargers – New Orleans Saints

Orlando Pace – 1950 Ford Edsel

Reggie Wayne – Detective Ricardo Tubbs

Jeff Garcia – Templeton from Charlotte’s Web

Eli Manning – Peyton Manning

Archie Manning – Peyton Manning

Peyton Manning – Olivia Manning

Jeremy Shockey – Amy Winehouse

Chad Pennington – Reed Richards

Jim Sorgi – Matt Ufford

Bill Belichick – Allen Funt

Daniel Snyder – Frodo Baggins

Mike Holmgren – William Howard Taft

Quincy Carter – Eddie Murphy’s character from 48 Hours

T. J. Houshmanzadeh – Eddie Murphy’s character in Coming To America

Jeff Garcia – Eddie Murphy offering rides home for the “girls”

Ben Roethlisberger – Placido Polanco

Mike Ditka – Joseph Stalin

Brady Quinn – Sarah Jessica Parker

Julius Jones – Thing 2

Mike Vrabel – Jake Gyllenhaal

Jeff George – Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite

Matt Leinart – Glenn Quagmire

Larry Fitzgerald – Matt Leinart

Roger Goodell – Richard M. Nixon

Gene Upshaw – Kunta Kinte

Jon Kitna – Larry The Cable Guy

Herm Edwards – Worf

Tom Coughlin – Tom Coughlin

Kellen Clements – Baby Jesus

Purple Jesus – A grape-flavored deity of his choice

Peter King – Deanna Favre

Chad Johnson — Keyshawn Johnson

Vinny Testeverde – A styrofoam cup in a landfill

It’s Halloween tomorrow, and the scariest thing about the holiday this year is that it’s midway through the NFL season and no defender has had the guts, nay, the overly swollen gonads, to take me up on my offer of $30 American dollars to snap Tom Brady’s legs like a Snyder’s of Hanover pretzel rod. What’s the matter, NFL defenders? Too goddamn CHICKEN to rob a man of his livelihood and deprive football fans of watching the best team in NFL history take shape?

Pretty pathetic.

You people are nothing but a bunch of cowards. Which one of you will finally have the courage to deliver a late hit to Brady’s tibia well after the whistle has blown? My old o-line coach used to tell us to keep hitting through the “echo of the whistle”. Now, you’re playing your games in quite a large stadium, so I’m sure the whistle is still echoing a good five minutes after the play has ended. An extremely late and vicious hit would then be legal. At least, it would be to me, and that’s all that really matters. Yet none of you have been able to sack up and carry out this vital task.

I’m the one laying it all on the line here. I’m the one who had the courage to step up to the plate, anonymously and online, and ask someone to do my dirty work for me. That takes balls. That takes grit. That takes gumption. And others have stood up and taken notice. That’s right, the Tom Brady Knee Bounty Sensation is sweeping across the nation. Americans from all over have emailed in, asking to donate $20 of their own. These are good, hard-working people, people who deserve to see a man who has everything crippled on live national television.

It’s a grass roots campaign that’s spreading like goddamn wildfire. Why, just check out this guy with an acoustic guitar and a pirated copy of Final Cut. Or, how about an endorsement a little known guy named Michael freakin’ Wilbon?! To wit:

…if I was on the opposing team, I’d hit Tom Brady with everything I had as late as I could and take the penalty and join the fight that would surely follow. Football is a violent game and there’s got to be somebody out there sharpening his fangs for the Patriots Golden Boy in the 4th quarter one of these weeks.

That’s right, kids. No need to read any deeper into the context. Michael Wilbon completely and unequivocally supports the KSK bounty on Tom Brady’s kneecaps. Finally, the mainstream media shows a little courage in their convictions.

And yet, here we are, NFL defenders. It’s midseason, and you’ve continued to let all of us down. You should be ashamed. You should go home right now and cut off your finger as penance, just like that one dude in “Black Rain” did.

Well, perhaps you need a bit more motivation. Perhaps drastic measures are needed here. Perhaps it is time… TO RAISE THE BOUNTY TO FIFTY WHOLE DOLLARS!!!!!

That’s right. Soak it in, NFL defenders. That’s Ulysses S. staring you right in the motherfuckin’ grill. He was one of our worst presidents ever, but the man rocked one hell of a beard. With this single $50 bill, your life could change FOREVER! Think of things you could buy:

-Showtime Rotisserie Grill (Set it and forget it, bitches)
-“Are You Being Served?” DVD box set
-Synthetic hair extensions
-Bottle of top shelf liquor (not for drinking, but for interior design purposes)
-Lunch for two at Houston’s (if you don’t order any alcohol)
-Balsa wood model boat kit
-Very large bag of asparagus

Holy fuck, that’s some good shit. But that’s not all. Act now, and I’m also throwing in this special Halloween bonus: an entire bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup singles.

That’s right. The Mona Lisa of trick-or-treating candy. No need to go from house to house dressed like Jacinth Baker with a knife sticking out of your chest. No need to knock on doors, hoping for a Reese’s cup (or a Fun Size Snickers. Snickers minis are horseshit), getting a roll of fucking Smarties, and then pissing on the side of the neighbor’s house. No, I’m giving you the good stuff directly.

So man up, Dwight Freeney and Robert Mathis. I got $50 and some delightful Halloween treats for you if you give Tom Brady’s calf a good forearm shiver. C’mon, guys. He rocked a pageboy cap in his last press conference. Don’t you just want to tear that motherfucker to pieces? Don’t let me down.

No, strike that. Don’t let AMERICA down.

Look at that insouciant air of contentment. And that was taken last year, before I won my Super Bowl ring. Yeah, I totally earned it. I wear it on the sidelines, even when I pretend like I’m warming up. Peyton smirks at it disdainfully after he throws a TD pass, but I like it just fine. He can’t break my stride, because, well, I sit, mostly.

But it all got so much better. Yes, folks they just added a new lane to Easy Street — Jim Sorgi got himself an extension.

What’s that, Matt Cassel? YOU’RE still in your original contract? YOU still haven’t won a ring? YOUR douchey fans are angry at you for throwing garbage time picks against the Dolphins when the Pats are already up by 40 points?

Oh sure, you ran for your “Eff You TD” against the Redskins. I’m pretty sure Mickey from Natick scored in that game, too. Well, I had my first two pass attempts of the season Sunday against the Panthers. And I completed one of them! My 62.9 passer rating scoffs at your meager 19.2.

And you call yourself a backup.

If Brady goes down, you’re a total liability. Me? I’m like the tiny nuke backing up America’s 50,000 other nukes.

Sunday, you and me. It’ll probably be close so neither of us will actually get in the game. How’s about this: the first one of us kicked off the bench because a lineman wants to sit down loses. The Colts love them some Sorgi, especially when they hide my car keys and kick me in the knees. You’re just another cog of Belichick’s machine. I’m like those extra parts you get with IKEA furniture, y’know, in the really nice plastic baggy?

But with a RING.

So I have flown all the way down from Sacramento to Sunday’s Chargers game, yes, expecting to see some of the greatest steroid abusuhs in the whole world. I flew down in my private jet, by the way, which was FANTASTIC AND WONDERFUL. And what do I get for my troubles, yes? I get you, Shawne Merruhman. Imagine my disappointment in finding you looking so lean, yes, and top-light. And to see that your forehead, yes, it has not expanded to the point of gross deformuhty.

Shawne Merruhman, you call yourself a steroid abusuh?!

I make big laugh at you. Ha ha ha ha. You are little more than a namby-pamby wurst-swallowuh, yes? How many hausfraus have you grabbed and made bangbang with lately? Back in 1979, I broke a personal best by groping over 765 asses in just one month, yes. And when I groped an ass, I groped it HARD, yes. I would tear it, the woman’s asscheek, clean off her body. She would never sit on a shittuh the same way again. If she wanted to make braunschweiger in the toilet, yes, she had to squat like a 1932 Vienna homosexual in a back alley. It was FANTASTIC AND WONDERFUL. Have you ever done such things as this, tiny little Shawne Merruhman? Then you cannot call yourself a true steroid abusuh, yes.

A true steroid abusuh, he does not research his steroids, yes, or know where they are coming from, the steroids. That is for little Heidis. I was dedicated, yes, to being a top bodybuilduh. And that meant I was willing to plunge into the unknown, or to plunge the unknown into me. One time I injected myself with this pure mercury, because this mercury, it is liquid metal and I wanted to be like the T-1000 and stab people and milk cartons with my liquid metal knife-arms. This did not work, yes, and sometimes I see diamond patterns now. But I am still more man than you, miniature Shawne Merruhman. You would not be as willing to split open a homeless man and devour his pancreas. I did do this, yes, and now I am governuh of Colliefuniuh. And I am a Kennedy, which is FANTASTIC AND WONDERFUL. Let us see you rape your way to the top, with this rape, as I have, yes!

If you were as dedicated to the art of the body as I was, eensy weensy Shawne Merruhman, you would have been able to do something about these terribuh wildfiruhs plaguing the FANTASTIC state of Colliefuniuh. I stopped them, the wildfires, yes, personally over the weekend. You know how I did this? I took this old, unwashed tank top of mine, then I flew up in my private heluhcopter (which is FANTASTIC AND WONDERFUL), and then I wrung this sweat out, yes, onto the fiuh. Not only did the fiuh go down, but this fiuh, it promised to stay away so long as it never had to be subjected to my steroid-enhanced stench.

I bet you have very small testuhcles as well. This problem did not plague me, yes, because I used these, the steroids, to grow my entire body. I often injected them, the steroids, yes, directly into my luftballoons. As a result, my testuhcles are now 15” in diameter each, which is FANTASTIC. Are you FANTASTIC such as this? Ich don’t think so.

Shawne Merruhman, you are not a real steroid abusuh, yes. You are just a very small man. My father, he would laugh at your puny frame, yes, and mixed ancestry. Then he would take his schnitzel, yes, and stick it in your Holstein. Then he would include you in our Austrian hamlet’s annual Braising of the Jews, where we braise them, the Jews. Because we Austrians have real dedicaytion. You are not a real man, yes. Let me show you what a real man looks like. Look at this:

This is a REAL MAN: a real man, yes, who knows what it takes to grow his body with this sheep spittle and discarded uranium. This is how a real steroid abusuh does these things. It is FANTASTIC, yes.

Tonight’s game promises to be at least entertaining, at least significantly better than last night’s matchup, My Thumb vs. My Ass.

Hey, the Packers are pretty good this year. They’ve successfully not sucked, despite not being able to run the ball for shit. Brett Favre has had two weeks to prepare, coming off a shitty game against somebody. Oh yeah, Washington. Really, defense has carried this team, but Favre gets most of the credit, as the media is obviously very desirous to see an old white guy succeed.

Denver managed to beat Pittsburgh last weekend (I’m glad somebody did) after Elam bailed their asses out yet again with a 49-yarder from the fairway as the clock ran out. This will be Cutler’s first Monday Night start, and I immediately predict to see Jaworski provide a detailed and figurative slurping of the young quarterback, if only to not feel left out while Kornheiser performs his tired, grandiose technique of same with the Original Gunslinger. Look for Tirico’s generous doling of tissues during those waist-up camera shots from the booth.

Punter’s Pick: Broncos, 24-10.

-Of all the days during the week my kid refuses to take her regularly scheduled 1PM nap, it had to be Sunday. Damn you, child. If you weren’t so cute and helpless, I’d leave you in the recycling bin.

-Okay, Cadillac. I have an answer to your question. If the car in question is a fucking Cadillac, then no.

-Seriously, those ads are starting to get on my fucking nerves. It’s hard to fuck up an ad when you put Kate Walsh (above) in it. But I should never underestimate the gross incompetence of American automakers. And if I don’t get the Kate Walsh ad, then I get the ad with the other, random guy, asking the SAME FUCKING QUESTION. “The question is: when you turn on your car, does it return the favor?” Not that big red fucking boat you’re showing me right now, my man.

-Emily Deschanel plus Wonder Woman costume = boner

-KSK readers have feuded for a while over which Deschanel is superior: Emily or Zooey. I’m firmly ensconced in the Emily camp, but let’s go to the red carpet!

This is an easy call for me, but perhaps not for you. Emily’s got height on her sis. And she has more, uh, you know, ampleness. Whereas Zooey (on the right) has the ankle tattoo, so you know she’s up for giving you a wild ride. Plus, she does a lovely “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”. Still, I remain firmly in Emily’s corner on this one. Perhaps a duel of the boners is called for. My penile epee will outpoint you any day of the week.

-When the Patriots play another team, the other team may as well not fucking exist. I’m not blaming the announcers here. It’s hard to talk about the other team when they aren’t doing anything. I think the Patriots might break a bigger sweat in practice. In fact, I’m convinced of it. And yes, the Brady bounty will be increased later this week. Fucking Brady and his functional body.

-If you saw any of Romeo Crennel’s locker room speech after the Cleveland win, you wouldn’t have been very inspired. I didn’t know you could say “all right” that many times in one minute. Romeo’s clearly a big Johnny Two Times fan. “All right, men. All right. Good win, but we’re not done. All right? We’re not done. We’re at 4-3, 4-3, and our head’s above water now. All right? OUR HEAD IS ABOVE WATER! All right, but we’re not done. Our head is above water, but we’re not done. All right?” All right, coach.

-Also heard Braylon Edwards in the postgame say the Browns needed to “forget about tomorrow” and concentrate on the Steelers. Hard to do the latter when you do the former, Braylon.

-Eek! The FOX football robot has a jack-o-lantern head! And he’s demanding robot candy! (Robot candy, if you were unaware, is made from human plasma.)

-If Budweiser is the Great American Lager, then Newt Gingrich’s “1945” is the Great American Novel. In Gingrich’s book, the Germans win. Terrifying!

-Next week’s Colts-Pats game is a regional game. If you live in Houston or Oakland you don’t have a satellite dish, you’re probably not going to be very happy come Sunday at 4:15PM. Unless you enjoy watching Daunte Culpepper try and grasp a football with his tiny little midget hands.

-I listened to some of yesterday’s Redskins game on the radio. The Redskin radio analysts, in case you did not know, are Sam Huff and Sonny Jurgenson, who between them probably own 15% of a functioning human brain. I have to say, it’s almost BETTER when the two analysts are senile old guys. At least they have an excuse. And at least their early onset Alzheimer’s makes for fun exchanges. Like this one, which happened on the Redskins’ opening drive:

Sam: This is good. The defense is getting a rest.

Sonny: The defense hasn’t taken the field yet!

Sam: I know! They’re getting rest!

I bet that booth has a chamber pot in it.

-I watched the Eagles-Vikings game yesterday, and I really have nothing to say about it. Except that Brad Childress needs to be shot dead and left in a ravine.

Sweet ass spelunking Jesus, those were not good times. Call me a reactionary but I’m here to call for the head of Coach Joe Gibbs. Some say it’s sacrilege to utter such opinions in the District of Columbia, but most certainly realize that this shit has gone on way too long. Dennis Hopper’s character from Hoosiers could have done a better job preparing his team for a game after sucking the ethanol out a hippy’s gas tank. The Redskins don’t have the personnel necessary to compete for a title but they sure as shit shouldn’t be losing by 45 to anybody. For the love of God, even those teal-clad ball-garglers managed to keep things interesting. They found a way to put the ball in the endzone even after Ronnie Brown got hurt, but all you can do is shrug your fucking shoulders spread your cheeks wide for Belichick’s stubby little captain to make you a man? Fucking shit, man.

If Joe Gibbs had coached the 1980 Olympic hockey team we’d all be speaking Russian. Da.

If Joe Gibbs had coached the 1971 Marshall Thundering Herd the town of Huntington would have wished they’d been on that fucking plane.

If Joe Gibbs had run the Boston Celtics Franchise he would have traded Bill Russell for an old white point guard to run the second team and pre-game Bible study.

If Joe Gibbs had the mount on Secretariat he would have pulled in the reigns after the first 1/8th mile.

If Joe Gibbs were the President of the United States…well actually things would be about the same, except that Kim Jong-Il would have blueprints of every nuclear reactor in America.

Yep, I’m still pretty fucking pissed. Offense can’t function without an “NFL quality” line? Fine, get beat. Defense can’t stop Tom Brady? Fine, get beat. Nobody calls Randy Moss for pushing off? Yeah it sucks, but fight back. Instead of bending over for the Patriots why not call Sean Taylor over during the next timeout. Here’s what you do–give him some earplugs, convince him that any whistles he hears are his imagination, and tell him that the next play isn’t over until somebody is in traction. At least then we wouldn’t be the the NFL’s newest prison yard bitch.

Hey Joe…uh, where you gonna run to now, where you gonna run to?

Yeah, Mexico. You should totally go hide out in Mexico for a while.

And now for Mr. Belichick…

A lot of people want me to lay into heartless football coaching machine, but what’s the point? Doing so would be counter-intuitive, it just serves to feed the beast. What I really don’t understand are all of the emails I’ve received about how I shouldn’t bitch about the Pats running up the score, which is especially odd because I don’t really remember doing so.

Here’s where I stand on the issue, Brady is a dick, Gibbs is a pussy, and Belichick is an asshole.

Yeah, they’re assholes for leaving their starters in after the Skins started to sit defensive players, but we’re pussies for letting it happen. Should Brady be throwing deep jump balls to Randy Moss when they’re up 42 in the fourth quarter? It seems pretty ridiculous, so why not get them to stop? Instead of going up for the ball why not just keep your feet and flip that country motherfucker on his head?

Now that’s football.

Though receiving scant attention from the mainstream press, Marvin Lewis yesterday was continuing his mentoring program with Cincinnati-area at-risk youth.

Marvin Lewis: Okay, glad you could make out here today, uh…

At-risk youth: Terence Hawkins.

Marvin Lewis: Terence, right. Okay, I’m gonna let you take over for a bit. We’re up 3-0. We stopped the Steelers on their opening drive, but now they’re moving down the field. This is a critical point in the game. Our offense is playing well, but we don’t need to play catch-up on this defense. Whaddaya got for me?

At-risk youth: Okay, right. Okay. Yeah. I think I remember what my mans was telling me to do last week. Let’s try this…Madieu Williams, spin around real fast.

Madieu Williams: Whoawhoawhoawhoawhoawhoawhoawhoawhoawhoa

At-risk youth: Cool. A’yo, Leon Hall. When Hines Ward makes a routine move to the inside I want you to run straight at that goal post.

Leon Hall: Goal post. Got it.

At-risk youth: Dhani Jones, take a seat.

Dhani Jones: Has anyone espied my copy of “Piscatorial Eclogues”? You would be ill-advised if you displaced my Dr. Cornel West bookmark.

Marvin Lewis: Okay, who are you subbing in for Jones?

At-risk youth: No one.

Marvin Lewis: But you only got 10 men on the field.

At-rish youth: ‘xactly. It’s called the 46 defense. Because four plus six equals ten. I learned that shit last week from the new Mick Boogie mixtape.

Marvin Lewis: What’s it called?

At-risk youth: ’s called “Four Plus Six Equals Ten.”

Marvin Lewis: What does tha–

At-risk youth: It’s about drugs.

Marvin Lewis: But you can’t have only 10 men on the field. It makes it easier on the offense.

At-risk youth: Nah, nah, coach. My man told me ’bout this thing, right. Like, he told me, if you play 10 dudes on dis down, you can play, like, 12 on the next and shit. And you if you play nine dudes…

Marvin Lewis: YOU CAN PLAY 13! Oh, man. That is genius. Yo, Bresnahan.

Bresnahan: Yeah?

Marvin Lewis: You’re fired. Terence here is my new defensive coordinator.

(Bresnahan shrugs, walks away without bothering to take headset off.)

At-risk youth: Aight. I’m thinking, like, we play, like, five guys per play in the second quarter, then in the second half, we can play the whole team on defense.

Marvin Lewis: Fantastic. If Tomlin didn’t wear sunglasses all the damn time, you could see the terror in his eyes.

At-risk youth: Yo, can I get your prints on this gun, right quick?