The celebrity Super Bowl pick is a time-honored tradition, one we at KSK are super fucking excited to be a part of, as we have in the past. For the next two weeks, stars from the world of entertainment, politics, and more will drop by to make their picks for the big game in the Pink Taco! Up next, comedy legend and now serious actor Bill Murray!

Bill Murray: I guess…

(sighs)

(stares out window)

(looks up ruefully)

(sighs)

(looks at shoes)

(gives hangdog look)

(taps foot)

(sighs)

(gives rueful look)

(slumps shoulders)

(stares at watch)

(gives half snicker)

(sighs)

(exhales deeply)

(stares vacantly)

(sighs)

(sighs again)

Patriots… by… 10.

(falls asleep with eyes open)

Richard Roeper: Oh, my God. I LOVED this pick. This may be Bill Murray’s most masterful pick yet. It’s so understated. So minimalistic. So many actors try and communicate with words, or with non-verbal cues, or with movement of the facial muscles. But Bill communicates so much simply doing nothing at all, you know? Nothing is telegraphed. I could project any emotion onto him I please. He could be indifferent, or uncaring, or apathetic, or blasé, or bored, or disinterested, or detached, or listless. Just such a rich character.

This kind of performance is just so rare today. Too many people now try and “act” or “move”. I also liked the fact that the pick had no story structure of any kind. No dramatic momentum at all. We’re always demanding things like “a plot” or “cohesion” or “conflict resolution”. But it’s nice to finally see someone not cave to such mainstream sensibilities. It’s a stunning, stunning piece of work. Oscar caliber, absolutely.

It’s the first weekend since the summer that’s sans football but that doesn’t mean we don’t have some vicious rivalry that we can occupy ourselves with until the media circus commences next week. All this southwestern indolence is just the thing to make us forget about the mesmeric excitement of the game. Why, I don’t miss it at all…I…just… OHGODINEEDFOOTBALLHELPMEHELPMEHELPMEWHOYAGOT?

I have a friend in Indianapolis, and we were discussing the oddities of Tony Dungy’s reluctant return to coach the Colts in 2008. I think “reluctant” is a fair characterization after Bob Irsay installed a slew of unique perks into Dungy’s deal, in terms of time away from the team. As incentive to return, Dungy was granted permission to spend four months in Tampa during the offseason, plus Friday nights during the season to watch his son play high school ball. You know, the one that didn’t kill himself.

My friend, who we’ll call “Jamie,” she and I agreed to as much when she brought the following to my attention (emphasis mine):

I can only imagine [Dungy] wanted to walk – quickly. But we have a new stadium to fill around these parts, and I can’t imagine they were going to let him go prior to its opening season. I do expect him to be gone immediately following. Assuming the thing is completed by the time the season starts. They are WAY behind. I was talking to our former city attorney (our mayor was ousted, so he goes too) on Monday, and he said the roof [is] set wrong. Small detail of a design flaw, so the roof physically will not open or close. Along with a laundry list of other problems, I’d be willing to bet not a single preseason game is played there. Who says we don’t know what we’re doing around here?

To be fair, Jamie can’t bet for shit, but that doesn’t ncessarily discount her inside information. Besides, it’s only 1986 in Indianapolis right now, so they still have 22 years to finish everything on time.

Last night, former XFL player Tinker “Ty” Keck, who was a bitching returner back in his Bearcat days, was the first ever contestant on FOX’s new game show “The Moment of Truth”. I’ve only watched one episode of this show, but I think it’s reasonable to come to this conclusion.

THIS COULD BE THE GREATEST SHOW IN THE HISTORY OF EVERYTHING EVER.

I always wanted a show where contestants were forced to empty out their ids and mentally traumatize their loved ones for cash, and here it is. At one point, they even brought out Rodney Peete (who appeared to have eaten Byron Leftwich) to ask Keck if he ever checked out another guy’s cock while in the shower. Well, of course he fucking did! You got thirty naked guys in the shower. You’re gonna see dong. And if some guy is hung like a goddamn mastadon, you’re gonna notice it. They also asked Keck very personal questions such as:

-Have you ever done anything to cause Catia (Keck’s wife) not to trust you?

-Have you delayed having children because you are unsure Catia will be your lifelong partner?

-If Catia grew a belly, would you encourage her to get liposuction?

Each exchange afterwards went something like this.

Host: Have you ever flirted with another woman over email?

(cut to Keck)

(cut to wife)

(cut to Keck’s friend)

(cut to Keck)

(cut to wife’s friend)

(cut to Keck’s tapping feet)

(cut to Keck)

(cut to wife)

(cut to Keck)

(cut to wife)

Keck: No.

Woman’s Voice: That answer is…

(cut to wife)

(cut to wife’s friend)

(cut to Keck)

(cut to wife)

(cut to stock footage of the stopwatch from 60 Minutes)

(cut to Keck)

Woman’s Voice: TRUE!

I wasn’t sure whether to be riveted or bored out of my fucking mind. Hurry the fuck up with it, FOX. Keck’s wikipedia page was altered after the show to include these tidbits, which have since been erased:

Ty Keck looked very nervous on the television show. Im pretty sure his wife no longer trusts him. He should get his teeth fixed and work on his dammaged relationship with his wife.”

It has been said that after appearing on the show, Ty is close to a divorce with his wife and is still trying to work out the problems that arose from his candidness. He also admitted to looking at other men’s genitalia while in a locker room.

Eh, probably for the best. Anyway, Keck didn’t get terribly far in his quest for $500,000 worth of humiliation. He flunked the 11th question out of 21. BUT, we here at KSK have unearthed the remaining nine questions that were NOT asked of Keck, along with the host’s setup for each question. Keep in mind, the questions get more personal and revealing as we get closer to the end. Here now, is the remainder of the show transcript.

Host: So you think you’re a good husband, Ty? Pretty sure about that? Are you REALLY sure?

QUESTION 12: Have you ever wished you could pull out of Catia and ejaculate on her chest while imagining she was Nina Hartley? Then stick a thumb in her eye?

Host: That was a pretty personal one. I got this next question here. You may find it tougher. You may find it easier. Ready? Here we go. Do you think you’re a good man, Ty? Think so, eh?

QUESTION 13: Have you ever masturbated on multiple occasions to one of Catia’s friends or relatives? Was it her mom? Because she totally looks like she could be Catia’s sister. Amazing ass.

Host: Hoo! That was also a pretty tough one, Ty. Ready for the next one? You went to college, right? Bearcat? Good student? Let’s bring out a 17-year-old Bearcat coed. Tina?

QUESTION 14, ASKED BY A 17-YEAR-OLD BEARCAT FRESHMAN IN A TIGHT TIGHT SKIRT: If Catia never knew, would you bend me over a desk and stick a cucumber in me?

Host: Tough one. VERY tough one. But you’re one step closer, Ty. Let’s move on. Feeling confident? Nothing to hide? Here we go.

QUESTION 15: Could this question be more vague?

Host: Little bit of a curveball there, Ty. Let’s talk about your family now. Love your mother? Are you sure? Really?

QUESTION 16: Have you ever wished your mother would fall off a cliff so that you could collect her inheritance, then divorce Catia and flee to Alaska and assume a new life under the alias Franklin Knox?

Host: You look a little sweaty, Ty. You okay? Remember: you can bow out at any time. You ready to keep going? Okay. Are you a liberal guy? Are you sure? Let’s bring out a black man.

QUESTION 17, ASKED BY A BLACK MAN: Have you ever thought the word nigger to yourself? Have you ever considered thinking it, or begun the process of visualizing it in your head?

Host: Another difficult one. But you’re doing great, Ty. You’ve been honest, and that’s all we ask. Let’s go to the next question. Shirelle?

QUESTION 18, ASKED BY A 37-YEAR-OLD HOOKER: Did you slip a finger in my asshole without paying the extra $50 three years ago?

Host: Here comes another…

QUESTION 19: Have you ever masturbated, then taken a shit and then, without washing your hands, eaten a hamburger?

Host: Very tricky, that one. But we’re only two questions away now. How much confidence do you have in your marriage, Ty? How much faith do you have in your wife? You sound pretty sure.

QUESTION 20: Have you ever wandered the streets of Hollywood, looking for fatties to imprison, starve, and then molest?

Host: Another very hard question. But I think we all admire you for your honesty, Ty. This is the final question now. For $500,000. It’s our toughest one yet. Are you ready? Are you a law-abiding citizen, Ty? REALLY? Certain of that?

QUESTION 21: If you didn’t hide the bodies underwater, did you bury them under your house?

Be glad you flunked that 11th question, Ty.

Atonement is now in its first run in theatres, at least for another week, depending on how many women can drag their husbands/boyfriends/casual acquaintances/UPS men to go see it. Such was my fate last night, as I dutifully went to see the film against my own will. As the credits rolled and the theater emptied, I casually frisked myself to make sure my genetalia did not perish in light of my betrayal to my gender.

Without further ado, I present my adaptation of Atonement.

ACT I

England, 1935. Big-assed house. Nobody’s fucking, because it’s not proper and shit, so everybody has blue balls. This is also why everyone smokes. Anyway, some guy with a moustache is coming to the house for a black tie dinner. And so this little tale begins with 13-year-old Briony, a closet lesbian singer-songwriter who can’t find her own clitoris, putting the finishing touches on her first play.

Scene 1: Int. Big-Assed House, Briony’s Room

BRIONY: There. It’s all there. Jolly good.

[touches self awkwardly, binds the play then runs downstairs to tell MUM]

BRIONY: Mummy? Mummy? I finished it, Mummy! I finished it! My first play!

MUM: Oh, such whimsy! Let me read it. [Reads it] It’s stupendous!

BRIONY: I’m going to dedicate it to Joan of Arc, the inspiration for Xena: Warrior Princess! Then I’m going to keep searching for my clitoris using the mirrors in the ball room!

MUM: You will be performing the play this evening, yes?

BRIONY: We can’t! The WGA will picket us for sure!

MUM: Oh, you’re right. I forgot. This goddamn strike is killing me.

BRIONY: No shit. Even Family Guy’s a repeat this week.

Scene 2: Int. Servants’ Quarters

ROBBIE: Mum, where’s my good shirt? I’ve been invited to the dinner tonight! Can you believe it?

ROBBIE’S MUM: What a relief that you’re not black! This would never happen in America!

Scene 3: Int. Briony’s Room:

[Briony is drawn to the window by a bee trying to get out. Since Briony is a flaming dyke singer-songwriter and therefore cares about the environment, she opens the window and lets the bee escape. Then she sees ROBBIE and CECILIA at the fountain. CECILIA takes off almost all of her clothes, jumps in the fountain, jumps out, gets dressed and leaves in a huff. BRIONY would have flicked her bean to a pulp while all this was going on, but she still doesn't know where that is, so she just straddled a rolled-up issue of The Saturday Evening Post and acted like she was riding a horse. And...scene]

Scene 4: Int. ROBBIE’S Room

[ROBBIE is smoking a cigarette (because he has blue balls and the technology and masculine social mores of the day are prohibiting him from engaging in self-mutilation) and typing up an apologetic letter for CECILIA, whom he would care to bang like a tennis ball off a garage door]

ROBBIE: [speaking as he types] Dear…Cecilia…please…forgive me…no, no (pulls paper out and crumples it up, replaces paper, starts over)

Dear…Cecilia…you’re breaking…my heart…you’re shaking…my confidence…baby…no, no, no (pulls paper out and crumples it up, replaces paper, starts over)

Dear…Cecilia…Old Mother Hubbard…went to her cupboard…to get her poor dog…a bone…Then…she bent over…Rover took over…and she…got a bone…of her own. (pulls paper out, gleefully folds it up and stuffs it in an envelope)

Scene 5: Ext. Dirt Driveway To The Big-Assed House

[ROBBIE is walking up the driveway in a tux and sees BRIONY on her acoustic guitar, strumming and singing "Come To My Window"]

ROBBIE: Briony! Briony!

BRIONY: [Runs to him] Yes?

ROBBIE: Give this to your sister. [Hands her the envelope]

BRIONY: I’m going to read it before I give it to her. [Runs off]

ROBBIE: Cunt!

Scene 6: Int. Foyer, Big-Assed House

[BRIONY runs into the foyer and opens the envelope. LOLA, BRIONY's redheaded cousin, comes to see what's all the bother]

LOLA: What’s all the bother?

BRIONY: [Starts reading the letter, gasps] Haha, Rover took over. This guy is a sex maniac!

LOLA: A sex maniac?

BRIONY: Yes, Lola, a…[Licks lips]

CECILIA: [enters] Is that for me? Give me that, you little carpet-muncher! [Starts reading] Haha, Rover took over. Hey, wasn’t this in an envelope?

Scene 7: Doorway of Big-Assed House (is that Int. or Ext? I don’t know, and I guess it doesn’t really matter since this isn’t an actual screenplay. Otherwise, all kinds of shit would be capitalized and this whole fucker would be in Courier New, and I’ve already met my quota for that this week. Shit, we’re getting off-topic. Okay, so Robbie’s finally at the house…)

[ROBBIE rings the doorbell, CECILIA answers the door]

ROBBIE: Oh, hello. Did you like my limerick?

CECILIA: Uhh, limericks use an AABBA rhyme scheme, you fucking simpleton.

ROBBIE: [confused] What?

CECILIA: Limericks use an AABBA rhyme scheme. The poem in your letter used an AABCCB rhyme scheme. And it wasn’t even yourpoem. It’s Andrew Dice Clay, and it’s like 20 years old.

ROBBIE: Oh. How embarrassing. Let me furrow my brow in embarrassment.

CECILIA: Anyway, I have many leather-bound books. Come see.

ROBBIE: This place smells of rich mahogany. [follows her to the library]

CECILIA: See all these books? Fuck me on the books! [He does, until Briony sneaks in and totally cockblocks ROBBIE]

BRIONY: [crying] This is going in my mood journal! [runs out]

Scene 8: Int. Dining Room Table

[ROBBIE walks in]

MUM: Robbie, please meet Paul Marshall. He plays midfield for Manchester United. And he has a mustache!

PAUL: [says hi in British]

ROBBIE: Hello. You look kinda gay.

PAUL: Good show, chap, jolly good show! Say there, chap. Could you help me find the twins?

ROBBIE: See? I knew you were gay!

MUM: Lola’s twin brothers are missing! Let’s hurry up and look for them!

Scene 9: Ext. Outside, where it’s dark and shit

PAUL: So…Lola…

LOLA: Yes, Paul?

PAUL: Does the carpet match the drapes? [Starts banging her in the woods, all the while they do it doggystyle, until...]

BRIONY: Lola? [PAUL runs off. LOLA, upset from being cockblocked, cries] Lola? Lola, what did you do with your Birkenstocks?

Scene 10: Int. Living Room

[LOLA is carried into the room and set on a couch]

INSPECTOR POIROT: Who could hov done zuch a fine job of hollowing out zis sweet leettle beetch?

MUM: Wilt Chamberlin?

BRIONY: Robbie did it. I saw him do it. With my own eyes.

POIROT: Aha! Zis Rub-bie will be going to jail! Aw-haw-haw!

[ROBBIE shows up with the missing twins and POIROT and THE AUTHORITIES haul his ass off. BRIONY watches the whole thing go down while touching herself, until...]

BRIONY: Heyyyyyyyy…who is this little guyyyyy?

TO BE CONTINUED…

The celebrity Super Bowl pick is a time-honored tradition, one we at KSK are super fucking excited to be a part of, as we have in the past. For the next two weeks, stars from the world of entertainment, politics, and more will drop by to make their picks for the big game in the Pink Taco! Up next, it’s the Washington Post’s Dan Steinberg!

This is dumb, I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I certainly never thought of myself as a “celebrity” and I’m not sure why anyone would even care what I think about the Super Bowl. Even I don’t care what I think about the game, so why should you? Whatever.

Can you believe that the Post is sending me out there for over a week? What am I supposed to do with myself? Can you imagine something so tedious as to spend media day trying to convince Eli Manning that his favorite cheese can’t be Velveeta? Hopefully somebody will have a funny shape shaved into their head, otherwise I might be relegated to writing about actual sports.

I don’t even like football. My preferences skew towards more genteel competitions like curling and competitive botany, so I can’t tell you who is going to win with any certainty.

The region of New England offers a wide array of artisanal cheeses, and I do enjoy a good Cabot cheddar. So if I’m forced to choose, I guess I’ll side with the Patriots.

Woe is me.

As you may know, Will Leitch, editor of Deadspin and spiritual godfather to this site, released his brand spankin’ new book the other day (Buy it here). Since our definitive Leitch parody went over so well, Will asked for the honor of contributing a post to KSK. Because we feel bad that he so rarely gets the chance to write for Deadspin any more, we granted his request.

You may remember some of our previous forays into the frightening world outside of our apartment — yes, it’s a basement apartment, ha ha — in which we provided some viral marketing for Spike’s “Pros Vs. Joes” by striking out against John Rocker, whom we later interviewed, the result of which is available (with footnotes!) in our new book. We also happened to be wearing an old Rick Ankiel jersey during said strikeout, as of course we never hide our love for Ankiel (which you can read about in our new book), even though he used HGH, to which we’re not opposed, as is detailed in our new book.

For our second extended advertisement for PVJ — which, we think, sounds like a delicious sandwich — we brought A.J. “The Balls” Daulerio along for a game of touch football with Andre Rison and Kordell Stewart. Despite our noblest intentions, we were undone by an oversized, unexplained pylon in the middle of the field, something that, to be quite honest, we were totally unprepared for.

For this iteration, we — Daulerio, us, and photographic correspondent Aileen Gallagher — recently accepted an invitation to once again try our hand against the Pros, this time against former Knicks Charles Oakley and the less-renowned Charles Smith, who we remembered for missing four straight shots in the closing minutes of Game Five of the 1993 NBA Eastern Conference Finals against the Bulls, which were the last Eastern Conference Finals of Kurt Cobain’s tragically short life.

Interestingly, PVJ has moved out of its old digs at Grand Central Station and has found a much nicer home at Madison Square Garden. We were nervous we might see Isiah Thomas, but the Knicks were away that day. We didn’t even get a customary grope from MSG personnel, perhaps because we neglected to shower that morning. We are, after all, a blogger.

We fear, however, these girls got no such reprieve.

Because it’s Spike, of course, cheerleaders were needed, and we feel it’s necessary to share this information because Gawker’s new pay system is based on page views, and pictures of cheerleaders are more likely to lead to a click-through than three sentences of italicized text.

We did not speak with the girls, of course. Even if they had noticed us as we stared at our feet in a dusty corner of MSG, such conversations seem inappropriate to us. Our Midwestern values frown on such forwardness.

As always, the in-person experience of PVJ is both eye-opening and depressing. These were once great athletes, and now they are reduced to…

Oh, fuck it all.

Do I really have to go through all this shit again? You get the point. These guys are old now, but they’re still way better at sports than regular people like me. And along the way you get to see embarrassing photos of me. Whoopdee-fucking-doo. So go ahead, spend the rest of your afternoon making fun of my shoes and noticing tiny details in the background of the photos.

Fantastic life you must have.

Fuck all of you. I quit.

While Tommy Brady’s droppin tha Hulk Hogan big boot on them daaahkies in the Big Apple, auld numbah one receivah Wes Welkaaah is fillin’ up on the fortahfying seed a’ the great Mistah Chaaahlie. He’s that much maah unstappable now! Stepping up his game in time fah tha big show!

Just whaaat he needs to cahve up them big dumb stumblebum daahkies like Aahsi Uoumenyeraah. Quit hoggin all tha vowels, ya greedy scaaatalagical taaaah baby!

Just ya wait, New Yaahk daaahkies. We gonna let ya heeah abaat this all yeaah long! Go Paytreeuts!

The celebrity Super Bowl pick is a time-honored tradition, one we at KSK are super fucking excited to be a part of, as we have in the past. For the next two weeks, stars from the world of entertainment, politics, and more will drop by to make their picks for the big game in the Pink Taco! Next up, former movie star Tom Cruise!

We are the authorities on football. We are the authorities between the 20s and in the redzone. We are the authorities on eliminating careless penalties. We can ice kickers. We can bring pressure from the outside and cover spreads. That once you know these tools and you know that they work, it’s not good enough that I’m just doing okay.

Have you ever met one? A QB?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Being a Scientologist, when you look at a game on paper, it’s not like anyone else, it’s, you look at the matchups, you know you can see what happens with a clairvoyance THAT IS STUNNING. You know you are the only one who can really pick. That’s what drives me.

Earlier this season, when I was sitting in DS’s luxury box at FEF, I peaked up from reading my copy of KSW. These, these Giants, a team hopelessly behind at the intermission had regained the lead. I saw how they improved conditions. They were, like, man, you’re either in or you’re out. That spectatorism, I’ve no time for it. That is something we have no time for now.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Giants. Patriots. PTSPs. One day they’ll just read about them in the history books. I just go through that tech, literally. It’s not how to run an offense. It’s how to shatter or confront oppression. You apply it, then boom. Madden taught me that.

We have the ability to create that new reality. Where we can pick games regardless of score. We can shatter that oppression, those QBs. Let’s get it done. Let’s get it really done.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Even if kids spend the overwhelming majority of their time with video games, it’s not for a lack of realistic toys to play with. Take, for example, this fine toy tableau of LaDainian Tomlinson seated comfortably on Charger blue pine. Clearly, this is the regular season edition, missing as it does the puffy coat and dark visor. The sullen expression is well articulated, though. Leave it to Spawn creator Todd McFarlane to capture that so flawlessly. He knows from angst.

Thanks to reader Vipul for the tip.