Laura joined the Jills after a couple of stints in rehab helped her kick a nasty morphine habit. It all started back in high school when the young cheerleader tried to gain favor with the football team by offering her body up for a gangbang. Sadly the petite youngster’s body was overmatched, and she was on the receiving end of the full log-splitter treatment. After a handful of surgeries to repair her pelvis and few months in the hospital she was ready to return home, now equipped with a raging drug addiction, sore labia, and enough self-loathing to make an anorexic chick seem prideful.

After a few years the scars healed and the addiction was downgraded to “recreational habit.” Once Laura joined on with the Jills even the self-loathing began to subside. Now the cheerleader is a productive member of society once again, and she’s looking to improve her self-worth further by bagging a pro football player. But what finely tuned athlete would want any part of those damaged goods? The answer came in the form of a punter, Brian Moorman to be specific. They clicked immediately after meeting at a rally for Ron Paul and things progressed from there. The two are expecting twins this summer and doctors expect them to fly through the birth canal with the ease of two bullets speeding through an empty hallway.

Of course none of this is actually true.

Image via Professional Cheerleader Blog

At KSK, we’re painstakingly committed to creating a list of all the barely relevant early free agency transactions, losing that list, then reporting the results from memory.

• Gus Frerotte and Isaac Bruce released by the Rams. Who will Gus start two games for next season? You know some hapless team will pick him up and it will be long before David Carr and Byron Leftwich get a look. That’s right, Drew, get that Frerotte’s Fr’real shirt back from Mottram.

• Tedy Bruschi decided to come back for one more season as a Patriot. Having already lost out on Zach Thomas sweepstakes, having Bruschi calling it a career would’ve put the Patriots below the number of required white linebackers as laid out in the charter of the Commonwealth of Massholia.

• The Browns signed Horse Balls to a long-term deal! Brady Quinn doesn’t think it so FABULOUTH.

• The Chiefs let Ty Law go, only to watch his wheelchair careen wildly down a steep hill. Fuckers.

• The Vikings signed Madieu Williams, a former member of the Bengals secondary, for $33 million. Which is only slightly less disturbing than having two former Terps in your starting D.

• Jets trade for Kris Jenkins, trade away Jonathan Vilma to Saints. Wow, that’s a lot of players who used to be good.

• Kawika Mitchell signs with the Bills, but really, they just want his ring.

• Jerry Porter to the Jaguars. So, naturally, the Jags are still looking for a receiver.

• The Redskins, meanwhile, are expressing interest in possibly signing former Seahawks receiver D.J. Hackett.

Says flubby: “Wow, do they have enough lights on the scoreboard to record all the points that Hackett and Reche Caldwell are going to score?”

Well, if not, that big stupid marching band they have can always form a zero.

Not every mock draft can be something awesome, you know. There are only so many variations of the theme “Breasts We’d Like to Touch” before things get stale and we have to mix things up. We crave intellectual stimulation, don’t you know.

Earlier this week, we saw this image on XKCD…

…and it sparked surprisingly passionate responses from the crew — “Cherries should be closer to difficult.” “Green apples over red apples?” “I fucking HATE seeded grapes.” Thus spawned quite possibly the lamest (and, ironically, most contentious) mock draft we’ve ever had: the fruit draft.

The scenario: You are on a deserted island. There is enough fish and local game to provide you with regular nourishment, but food is not so bountiful that you can enjoy a constant, sated comfort. However, you will have an unlimited amount of the fruit you draft — and ONLY the fruit you draft — to supplement your diet. You also have the necessary tools (knife or whatever) to eat your selected fruit. Per an inquiry from Drew, the presence or lack of alcohol on the island should not be part of a fruit’s consideration. In addition, draft participants were asked in advance not to be a pain in the ass by ignoring the intent of the draft, namely by doing something clever like taking “honey crisp apple” once red apple and green apple were off the board, or selecting “Jeff Garcia” for a cheap, obvious laugh. Most of us followed these guidelines.

Two rounds. Serpentine order. Go.

1. Christmas Ape: Peaches

“I dislike melons to the point that they, especially cantaloupe, cause me to vomit after only a few bites. The coconut would be fun to throw, but seeing as how the island is deserted, that joy is lost. Leaving aside the Nic Cage Face/Off jokes, I can indeed eat a peach for hours.”

2. flubby: Grapes

“Let me preface my first pick by commending Drew on picking one of the draft topics submitted to us by the AARP. What were the runners up? Favorite cast member of the Lawrence Welk Show? Favorite Maine lighthouses?”

flubby, of course, is the eldest member of KSK by half a decade, and is thus sensitive about these things. The lady doth protest too much, and all that.

3. Unsilent Majority: Peanuts

“I’ll take the peanut. That along with a little George Washington Carver-esque creativity should make life pretty livable. And if not, I can always invent a boat powered by peanuts.”

flub: A legume, NOT A FRUIT.

UM: IT’S ON THE LIST!

UM: [quoting something, probably another Wiki page] “A legume is a simple dry fruit which develops from a simple carpel and usually dehisces (opens along a seam) on two sides.” blow me, lawboy

flub: Culinary fruits??? I thought this was open to botanical fruits only.

Things went on this way for a while. It devolved into smart-alecky one-liners, Simpsons quotes, and a preemptive ban on tomatoes and avocadoes, which led to more histrionics from the Maj, which led to the citation of Nix v. Hedden, the Supreme Court case that ruled that tomatoes were vegetables. Maj’s devotion to picking ANYTHING BESIDES FRUIT in the fruit draft was actually kind of impressive.

After enough brow-beating, we finally got to this:

3. Unsilent Majority: Oranges

“so I don’t get scuuuuurrrrvy.”

4. Monday Morning Punter: Kiwi

Punter noted that the best way to eat kiwifruit is to cut it in half, then scoop out the good stuff with a spoon. So if you’re still peeling them, get with the times, man.

5. Captain Caveman: Mangoes

A pain in the ass to eat, but absolutely delicious.

6. Big Daddy Drew: Bananas

“I eat one pretty much every day. Plus, they don’t give me canker sores like oranges and citrus, and they keep my bowel movements nice and firm.”

7. Drew: Lemons

“If I have fish, I gotta have lemon. Plus if I find sugar cane I can make lemonade, which is just bitchin on a sunny day.”

UM: and if i can find a gun i can shoot myself to avoid living in a world without legumes

A bit of reach on Drew’s part, but I suppose he was drafting for need.

8. Caveman: Strawberries

CC: I was gonna go with the en vogue acai berry, but fresh strawberries are an excellent combination of taste and ease.

UM: strawberries and acai were the only things left on my board

9. Punter: açaí

UM: cuntblossom!

Punter: You fucking deserve it for being such a pain in the ass.

10. UM: Apples

“because this draft is gay, and i already have oranges. fuck it all.”

11. flubby: square watermelons

12. Ape: Pineapple.

“I was looking at blueberries, which are nice to eat by the handful, but I think pineapple is a better complement to the peach. It also gives me something to while away some time on my deserted island.”

Indeed. Welp, that was a pain in the ass and a waste of everyone’s time. Same time next week?

I’m going to Vegas this weekend, and while I’d like to follow guy code and pretend I know everything there is to know about Vegas, the fact of the matter is I’ve been there a grand total of one time, and deserve to have the word MARK written in red oil-based paint on my shirt when I touch down on the tarmac.

Five years ago I came for my own bachelor party. One story in particular stands out. There were 10 of us waiting outside the Hard Rock for a cab one night, but the cab line was miles long. So a big black guy who went only by the name of Seven came up to us. He did not look like George Costanza’s son.

Seven explained to us that he could give us a ride, and then gestured over to a very large Hummer limo.

Keep in mind there were ten of us here. One of my friends (or me) could have piped up at any time and said, “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” and we probably would have realized it. But no one did, and everyone was shitfaced, so we all got in.

I don’t know if all Hummer stretch limos are created equal, but if so, they’ve got a lot of room for improvement. There were two long banquettes of seats and a black light. No one touched the minibar out of fear that a glass of Chardonnay would run $7,500. We asked Seven to find us some ladies for the evening. After ten minutes of driving, we seemed to be well outside the city limits. The highway was pitch black, and the limo driver had cranked up The Prodigy on the stereo system so high that I could actually feel the sound passing through my sinus cavity. I immediately pictured in my head our final destination: Nicky Santoro’s death scene in “Casino”. I was hoping not to buried naked.

Me: I think we’re all about to die.

Instead, the limo pulled up in front of Cheetahs. Only I got out of the limo. The others were told to wait. Before entering the club, Seven turned to me:

Seven: Now don’t talk to any of the girls about our business while we’re in the club. Just pick two you like and I’ll hook you up.

Me: (retarded) Okay! That sounds great!

We headed into the club. Seven grabbed one girl.

Seven: You like her?

Me: She’s okay. Can we keep looking?

Seven: No.

Me: Okay. She’s great! When can she meet us back at the hotel?

Stripper: What are you talking about?

Seven then pulled me aside and castigated me for bringing up our business in the club. I apologized. He pointed out two more girls. I said okay. We got back in the limo and were driven back to Mandalay Bay. We got out. My friend Farooq (not his real name, but he is Muslim), paid Seven $700 cash in advance. Seven told us to go wait in our rooms.

We sat around the room for a solid two hours until someone said:

Someone: Uh, I don’t think they’re coming.

Everyone Else: Oh! It was a scam! We get it now!

But at least he didn’t kill us. I felt very lucky in that regard.

The rest of my trip there didn’t go to waste. There was a French hooker in a g-string in the cabana next to us one day at the pool. I didn’t have to pay for dinner at China Grill. I made a futures bet on a Vikings Super Bowl win that had no chance of winning. I actually made it to the main part of Ghostbar after waiting in 17 separate lines to get in. Once there, a woman came up and said hi to me.

Me: I’m getting married next month!

Hooker: Well, you can always use a good ho.

Me: Yes! That is true! (doesn’t know what else to say)

I tried craps, only to end up throwing the dice off the table twice, which I hear is a bit of a party foul. I studied the rules of that game for five hours on my flight over. It still baffled me. I got so drunk each night that I began talking to my own shadow. And I made $80 at the blackjack table while having this strategy chart out in front of me like the little girl I am. The Pit Boss came over and made fun of me for it. Well, fuck that guy. I made $80. I AM A GODDAMN WHALE, YOU FAT PIG!

So all in all, not a bad trip. What does this go round have in store? You’ll just have to find out next week, dicksmacks.

And not a moment too soon. I was growing weary of my tasty beverage alternative. Have you ever tried slurping whipped cream out of Keith Olbermann’s asshole?

Oh no! That petite coed is trying to leave the frat party, but Jerramy Stevens and his friends are there!

Boss: Oh, man. We’re understaffed for the evening again. Judy, I’m afraid you’re going to have to work a double shift.

Judy: But Mr. Franklin, I already promised my sister I’d look after her kid so she can go work her OWN night shift. I can’t do it tonight.

Boss: Well, this puts us in a real bind. I mean, unless someone walks through that door right now with a sterling employment application, I’m gonna have to call back Tina or Charlie.

(door flies open)

Big Sean: Ha ha. I tell you what right now. I am liking the raw POTENTIAL of this Boston Market.

Boss: Who are you?

Big Sean: Ha ha. Two words, okay? BIG. SEAN. I’m Big Sean, and this is my associate Little Sean.

Little Sean: SMELL FOOD! WOMAN!

Boss: Oh my God! Is that your penis?

Big Sean: Ha ha. I’ll tell you what. When I look at a restaurant like Boston Market, I see chicken. Okay? I know a lotta people say, “Well, they’ve got meatloaf.” Uh uh. This menu is all about CHICKEN. What kind of chicken do you have here? Delicious chicken, that’s what.

(throws the boss an employment application)

Big Sean: Lotta room to grow here. Lotta room for Big Sean to grow. And if that young lady over there sticks around, plenty of room for Little Sean to grow as well.

Little Sean: ONE EYE SEE GIRL!

Boss: Well, I mean, what are your credentials?

Big Sean: Ha ha. Four letters, okay? E-S-P-N. This is the best network in sports, okay? I know a lot of people say, “Hey, FOX isn’t bad!” Uh uh. Not gonna happen this go round. Let me tell you about your sneeze guard. HOO BOY, it is dirty. I mean, it looks like Little Sean here gleeked all over it.

Little Sean: RUB CLEAR PLASTIC!

Boss: Well, I’m very skeptical. You just walked in off the street. And you have your penis out. I’m not even sure that’s in accordance with health codes.

Big Sean: Ha ha. I tell you what, Manager Boy. You get me behind that glass? And you let ME scoop out mashed potatoes to customers? And you see that line goin’ out the door? (playfully punches his shoulder) My oh my, you are gonna be dancing in the streets.

Boss: Where, did you go to college?

Big Sean: Ha ha. Three words, buddy: UNIVERSITY. OF. SOUTHERN. CALIFORNIA. Now I know a lotta people say, “Hey, that’s FOUR words!” Uh uh. When you abbreviate it? And you take out that “of” there? You got yourself a three-word school right there.

Little Sean: SWEATER PULLED TAUT!

Boss: Okay, okay. I guess this can work. Let’s try you behind the counter.

(one hour later)

Big Sean: Welcome to Boston Market. May I take your order?

Customer: Yeah, I’ll have…

Big Sean: Ha ha. I’m gonna tell you something RIGHT NOW: This is all about Pastry Top Chicken Pot Pie.

Customer: What?

Big Sean: Ha ha. When I look at a customer like you, what you need to have is a strong pot pie. Okay? It’s got the light and flaky top, then it hits you up with chicken and vegetables on the inside. When you get that combination going? With the chicken and the pastry? That is TOUGH to stop. Who’s gonna turn that down? No one, that’s who.

Customer: Actually, I wanted the roasted turkey breast.

Big Sean: Nuh uh. Not gonna happen. Know why? Because you aren’t built for that kind of meal. That turkey’s gonna go right through you. You’ll be shitting pure hydrochloric acid in an hour.

Little Sean: ANAL JELLY BEANS!

Customer: OH MY GOD, WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?

Big Sean: I’m Big Sean, and this is my associate Little Sean.

(Customer runs off)

Boss: You just scared off another customer, Salisbury. I’m sorry, but I have to fire you.

Big Sean: Ha ha. Doesn’t matter, Manager Boy. There’s just not a lotta room to grow here. Now a lot of people said, “Hey! There’s a lot of room to grow there!” Uh uh. Didn’t happen. Okay? When you get into a situation like this, there’s a ceiling you’re going to hit. AND YOU CANNOT GO BEYOND THAT POINT. Just stop right now, ‘cause it ain’t happenin’.

Little Sean: UNDERWEAR CATCH BIG DRIBBLE!

Boss: I think I’d like you to leave.

Big Sean: Ha ha. One thing about Big Sean: YOU NEVER COUNT HIM OUT. Okay? He’s gonna get stronger as this whole thing goes on. Right, Little Sean?

Little Sean: LIKE GUSHY VELVET!

Okay, we’ve had enough of mourning death for one day. Back to celebrating it with this clip of a tiger trying to bag itself a cow. Stop nipping at its legs, tiger, that’s poor tackling form. If it were a horse, Roy Williams would have some useful advice for you.

Anyway, this must be what trying to rape Raven Simone is like.

Having lived most of my life in the D.C. area, I never got the local feed of Steelers games, so I was rarely treated to Myron Cope’s yinzerspeak except on rare occasions that NFL Films gave the replay of his calls. I do own a number of his Terrible Towels, which I understand are fairly ridiculous to fans of teams that creatively steal things from Texas A&M.

This story though I can appreciate most of all.

Washington came to Pittsburgh in 2000 to play the last game ever at Three Rivers Stadium. Cope kept calling the Redskins the “Red Faces.” According to The Washington Post, early in the third quarter, a Washington publicist knocked on the radio booth door during a commercial break and asked Cope to stop. He went on the air and said: “If (Snyder) thinks he can give me orders, he can stick his head in a bucket of paint.”

UPDATE: TheStarterWife points to this audio collection of Myronisms.

“He’s is going to make some lucky CFL team VERY happy. You’ll see!”

The Washington Redskins have decided to cut their losses in the failed Brandon Lloyd experiment. The Skins shelled out a couple draft picks and $10M to land Lloyd a couple years back. While their quarterbackery was sketchy during his stint in DC, the fact remains that BLloyd scored as many touchdowns for the Skins as I did.

While some would call Lloyd a woeful bust (and lazy to boot), in Unsilent Majority’s world he was a delicate flower, who never got the respect he was so richly due. A fact that Maj was often reminding of us of in the daily email threads. (“If they don’t throw to him then what’s he supposed to do?” * ) While the rest of us grudgingly admire Maj’s pie-eyed enthusiasm– and even tacitly endorse Lloyd’s Aikman-baiting, if we never hear his name again it will be too soon.

*- He really said it; I shit you not.