Well, I think we’re just about finished preparing for this draft. I’m glad I flew in from Pennsylvania today to make sure our board and my notes were in order!

1. Limas Sweed, Texas

NOTES: Name kinda sounds like Speed, which means he has to be fast. Played with Mack Brown, who’s my kinda guy.

2. Malcolm Kelly, Oklahoma

NOTES: Played in lots of big games. I mean, REALLY big games!

3. James Hardy, Indiana

NOTES: Has real grit. If he’s the wide receiver equivalent of Vaughn Dunbar, I think we’re in for a real treat.

4. DeSean Jackson, California

NOTES: Very tall, and you can’t coach tall!

5. Devin Thomas, Michigan State

NOTES: Now THIS guy is a football player. Can see it in his eyes.

6. Earl Bennett, Vanderbilt

NOTES: That’s one of those smart guy schools, right? You have to be careful with guys like that, because they can overthink the game. Don’t want any overthinkers on this team.

7. Early Doucet, LSU

NOTES: Boy, doesn’t he just SOUND like a football player?

8. Andre Caldwell, Florida

NOTES: Dropped lots of passes in the 2007 AFC Championship game. But it’s so rare to find a college player who already has pro experience.

9. Jordy Nelson, Kansas State

NOTES: Marinelli likes him. What. EVER.

10. Mario Manningham, Michigan

NOTES: First name seems really chantable.

Yep, that’s a solid board.

I think this year’s draft could represent a real turning point for our franchise. Those fans sure have been rough on me and my family. But if they only knew how much I put into this job! How much I live and die with every decision, how I finally started working alternate Fridays instead of always taking them off.

If only they knew the sacrifices I made! Well, this is the year it’s finally gonna pay off, I tell you! This is the year I finally get it not quite so disastrously wrong. I like this board. We’re gonna get a GREAT player, a real impact player this go round. And we’re gonna win!

Say, you know what? I think Manningham needs to be just a bit higher on our board. He’s a Big Ten guy, and Big Ten guys know what this game’s all about!

(goes to adjust board)

(slips on piece of paper left on ground)

(lets go of steaming hot coffee cup, scalding a nearby receptionist)

(knocks lit Sterno can out of buffet setup, curtains in room light on fire)

(knocks head on table getting back up)

(grabs fire extinguisher)

(attempts to squeeze handle without pulling pin)

(punches IT guy in face by accident while pulling out pin)

(doesn’t expect kickback from extinguisher, falls out nearby window)

(lands on one side of a seesaw, sending 7-year-old-boy into orbit)

(rolls down very steep hill)

(gets permanent grass stain on new shirt)

(gets mouse trap caught on big toe)

(rolls through intersection, causing 37-car pileup)

(falls off cliff)

(lands on locomotive windshield, causing engineer to veer off tracks, train runs into nuclear missile silo)

(falls off hood of locomotive, lands on giant red FULL RELEASE button)

(triggers end of humanity)

OH MAN, NOT AGAIN!

(keeps job)

One of these days, we’re gonna turn this thing around.

OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD, I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M ACTUALLY MARRIED!

HEY MOM, CAN YOU WRITE “MR. ELI MANNING-McGREW” ON ALL OF MY NEW UNDERPANTS?! WHAT AM I SAYING, I’M MARRIED NOW! MAKE IT MRS. ELI MANNING-McGREW!

[sucks inhaler]

HEY MOM, DID YOU FINISH PACKING MY SUITCASE FOR THE HONEYMOON?!

[opens suitcase]

WHAT THE HECK, MA? YOU PACKED THIS ALL WRONG!

[unpacks item]

I’M NOT A BABY!

[unpacks item]

JEEZ MOM, WHY WOULD I WANT TO READ ON VACATION? HONEYMOONS ARE FOR TWO THING, PLAYING DRESS-UP AND EATING S’MORES!

[packs items]

[packs imaginary item]

THIS TRIP IS GONNA RULE!

[sips from sippy cup]

Stay tuned for dispatches from the honeymoon later in the week.

Man, it’s already primary day n’at. Gotta head dahntahn. Who yinz votin’ fur? I’ve been tinkin’ real hard ahn this one, but I just can’t decide if I should vote for dat skinny black kid or dat scary-looking white dude.

(eats tray of macaroni and cheese using small shovel)

I mean, I kinda like dat black kid. I’ve never hoid a blackie talk like that. Sometime I tink he’s just a white guy who got lost in a coal mine for, like, a real long time. But den I see him ahn Oprah, and he starts with the “urban” talk, like “Yo go girl!” n’at. I don’t really like that. Why can’t dey talk normal likes us folks?

I already kinda daw-out whether the skinny black guy can do it. I voted for Swannie for governor and he didn’t win. If Swannie can’t do it, Stallworth probably couldn’t. And if Stallworth couldn’t, Yancey Thigpen would prawbably be hard-pressed. If so, this guy is just jaggin’ us around.

Yinz think they let you drink Ahrns in the voting booth?

(eats large plate of fatback, offers you some)

Did jeat yet? Jeat? Yo man, you gotta try dis. It’s like the best part of bacon! Only bigger! Anyways, I kinda like dat black kid. But I dunno, he seems awfully smart. And dose smart people, they always tink they’re better dan folks like me. I mean, I put my pants on one size-72 leg at a time. I bet dis black kid don’t. I bet he got some fancy-ass, pants-putting-on machine. The kind they give out at Harvard. I don’t like people like dat. Dey’re not real.

(drinks liquefied ham sandwich)

Den again, he seems like an okay guy. He says folks like me are bitter. And dis is true. I am bitter. BITTER THAT THOSE STUPID FUCKIN’ JAGUIRES TOOK OUT MY BELOVED STILLERS! DAT’S NOT A REAL TEAM! WHERE’S DA HISTORY?! So yeah, he was kinda right dere. I’m so pissed about that loss, I just wanna go shoot someone in the name of Jesus.

Den again, that little blackie can’t bowl! I don’t trust no one dat can’t roll. If you’re gonna come to Picksberg, you better be ready to bowl. Dat guy on dat 9/11 plane was. He said, “Let’s roll,” den came right here to Pennsylvania. Dis is where folks wanna bowl. That Yomama guy sure did bowl like a fairy. And I can’t vote for a fairy. Black is okay. But a black fairy? Dat’s like, tree strikes. Get aht tahwn, jagoff!

(folds entire Papa John’s pizza in half, eats in one bite)

I need a candidate whose gahn deal with the shit I need to get done. I want a president whose gahn make sure I can always drive my truck 100 mph down the PA turnpike and run smaller cars off da road. I need a candidate who’s gahn make sure those crazy immigrants don’t take my job, or any of this delicious blueberry pie!

(buries face in pie)

I dunno if little Urkel’s gonna do all dat. Also, he might be a terrorist.

But he might be better dan dis guy!

Hoooooo! Dat is one scary lookin’ white dude! I saw him at our bar just da other night. He had dis scary face and really HUGE ass. I mean, I seen some big asses in my day. But you could hit golf balls against dis one! I mean, he’s all right. He sounds like he’s one of us. My boy Jeff did two shots with him. Then, he threw a dart right in that ass. The dude didn’t even blink! Dat’s pretty good, if you ask me.

(eats emporer-sized PayDay bar)

Plus dis white guy likes to shoot guns. And I like to shoot guns, too! We got so much in common like dat! Not like dat Harvard guy. Plus, I kept asking dis guy what he was gonna do for me. Was he gonna help cut out a larger doorway in my house? Was he gonna lower all those taxes I pay? I paid, like, $15 last year! Bull shit! Was he gonna widen da highways so I can swerve all over da road like I love to do? Was he gonna nuke da crazy out dem towelheads?

And he said yes, he would! Dat’s good stuff.

Den again, he’s got one weird voice. I feel like I’m at da zoo whenever I hear dat shit. It makes my penis stop working.

Da real question dough is, which one of dese guys likes da Stillers most? Dat’s what’s really what matters to me most. IIIIIIIII GOT A FEEEEEEEELING PICKSBERG’S GOING TAH THE SOOPER BOWL!

I mean that’s a hail-damaged ass and all, but why is T.O. looking at the dude?

TheDirty.com reports that Terrell Owens has a cameo appearance in a hardcore porn spread (NSFW, dumbass) on BangBros.com. We aren’t 100 percent convinced this is legit, but it could be the start of a new career arc. Start out as the lowly Smiling Bystander, move up the ranks to Surprised Delivery Boy and sooner or later he could be pulling in major roles like Open-Minded Professor or Athlete Plowing Cougar in Locker Room.

Colts backup running back Kenton Keith was popped by Indianapolis police for refusing to leave a nightclub parking lot afterhours, despite his noble intentions of updating Heavy Metal Parking Lot for a new generation.

Even more troubling was the wanton disregard of law enforcement to his inviolate privilege of being above standards of normal society because he’s a marginal player on an NFL team. Before there’s law, there’s order. And he’s on a higher order than us. What’s so hard to understand?

“I’m a Colts player! I’m a Colts player!” Keith informed the cops, surely flipping out the FBI-like badge the NFL administers to its players for just such occasions.

This wasn’t some loitering punk on his skateboard. He was a treasured dispenser of sage advice and comforting remarks through his personal web site. Now knowing this once elevated public citizen could very well be prosecuted for the same minor offenses as they will surely keep them from sending him their poorly worded non-sequitors and rambling bullshit.

Before:

Hey, Bro!! Good to see a fellow Benson Bunny, make it bigtime. Run on bro!! My nephew is playing with the Bengals.. Titus Adams.. Look him up if you get a chance. He went to Creighton Prep.. Hey, just wanted to drop a “Hey” and keep it safe bro.. Maybe someday I will see you in a NFL game. Im a College football official now, working hard to be in the show.. IF you ever come to Jacksonville, FL, holla at me. Benson Class of “82″..

Ok cool

Now:

A’yo heard u was in the league……. how’s it that u gots arrested fo hanging outside da club? thought you wuz baller. SHIT i can arrested for lunchin outside da club. fuck yo shoes

Word life.

Today is Patriots’ Day in New England. And as a testament to the fighting spirit of the revolution, the New England Patriots aren’t going to let something as minor as losing the Super Bowl detract from the marketability of an undefeated season.

The fearless muckrakers at The Smoking Gun reveal that not only have the Patriots not abandoned their quest to trademark “19-0” since the Giant Snatch, they have amended their original application. Before we dismiss this legal wrangling as mere wishful thinking on the Patriots part, maybe they know something we don’t. Maybe the stinging defeat at the hands of the Giants caused Bill Belichick to redouble his resolve to build the Patriots into an unstoppable gridiron juggernaut that will finish the 2008 season without a blemish. Or maybe Belichick has added Doc Brown and Professor Peabody to the coaching staff and plans on tearing the space/time continuum asunder. Only time will tell.

Dear Jesus, thank you for giving us the strength to keep the gays out of our circle.

Last week we learned that for the first time ever sports fan’s favorite video game, Madden 09, will feature user-controlled celebrations. Fans Sad little men everywhere could barely contain their excitement at the prospect of controlling Chad Johnson’s fluid dance steps, flexing TO’s muscles, and exposing Randy Moss’ red eye to a horrified mass of Packer fans.

Unfortunately for these braggadocios bedroom dwellers the celebrations featured in newest edition of Madden are not nearly as exuberant as some might have hoped. In fact, only a small sampling of the game’s players will even be capable of celebrating at all. Thanks to KSK’s high level contacts within EA Sports we are able to provide a list of the chosen players and their assigned celebrations.

Kurt Warner- Kisses wife, thanks Jesus for finding him a such an ideal mate through the process of degayification.

Shaun Alexander- Kneels down to pray, breaks foot trying to stand up, tells everybody Jesus will heal him in time for the playoffs.

Jon Kitna- Points toward Heaven with two fingers, prays for five more touchdowns in order to secure victory.

Adrian Peterson- Thanks himself with a pat on the back, flagellates himself for accepting such a blasphemous nickname.

Jason Elam- Points toward Heaven with one hand, shoots Az-Zahir Hakim in the throat with the other.

Troy Polamalu- Prays quietly to self, braids hair.

Derrick Brooks- Tackles ball-carrier, testifies.

Mark Brunell- Praises Jesus for all to hear, sits back down.

Trent Dilfer- Begins to kneel in prayer before wondering what sort of God would let him go bald.

David Tyree- Proclaims his inability to catch footballs without the benevolent grace of Christ Almighty.

Jesus, this game is gonna fucking suck.

So I’m at Disney World, right? I don’t know why. Probably has something to do with jerking off to The Little Mermaid earlier in the night. Except what’s really been on my mind recently is the Seahawks’ draft. They’ve spent so much money locking up stars and getting free agents that this draft has to fill some serious needs. They’ve got practically no cap space at all.

Anyway, the point is I’m at Disney World, except it’s like, I don’t know, not exactly Disney World, you know? Like at one point I went to get a hamburger, and the inside of the restaurant was my 10th grade English class. Mrs. Stevens was there and everything. She was hot — not super-hot, but teacher-hot — and married to a crippled guy, so we all wondered if he was the kind of crippled guy who could have sex or not. We all wanted to bang her so bad.

I walk out of the restaurant/classroom, and BANG, there’s that stupid parade that they do every goddam day: plush Disney characters walking by, snot-nosed kids with sticky ice-cream faces agape, fucking Cinderella atop her little coach. Cinderella’s super-hot, by the way, so I have a quick little side-dream where I crush her ass.

And then there’s Shaun Alexander.

Shaun’s kinda like a grandfather with Alzheimer’s these days. You’ve got fond memories of him taking you fishing and teaching you how to tie your shoes, but now he’s nothing like those fond memories and you’re kinda just ready for him to die.

And so I was just thinking about my grandfather and wondering if he’s gonna get Alzheimer’s, when I hear the horn-blast of a semi and an 18-wheeler comes fucking OUT OF NOWHERE, mowing down screaming families and plowing into the back quarter-panel of Shaun’s convertible.

The sound of crunching metal is ear-splitting. The little Chrysler flies like a cue ball on the break down a full block of shitty stores selling mouse ears for 23 bucks a pop. Minnie’s lifeless body lies crumpled like a rag doll, and I can see blood starting to seep through the plush costume. Shaun’s nowhere to be seen, but I’m guessing that all I have to do is find a first-down marker, and he’ll be two yards shy of it.

I look down at my hands, and I’m holding a glass of 18-year-old Glenlivet and a freshly lit cigarette. So I take a long pull of the drink and a drag off the smoke, and think, “Ahhhhh, cap space before the draft.”

Then I woke up.

Matt Ryan breaks two tackles at once against Notre Dame. That’s how shitty Notre Dame was this year.

What you’re seeing is a camera phone pic of the Carolina Thunder softball team soliciting outside of the Wal-Mart in Travelers Rest, South Carolina. From what I can tell, the team is made up of 12- and 13-year-old girls, which you would only find interesting if you happened to be a Japanese businessman or a lonely junior high school teacher.

I hope this team is good at softball, because their soliciting outside of a Wal-Mart on a rainy day DURING AN ECONOMIC DOWNTURN WHILE THESE SPOILED LITTLE BITCHES ARE WEARING CUSTOMIZED PULLOVERS WITH NUMBERS ON THE BACKS doesn’t strike me as a positive PR move.

If I could openly give these young ladies some advice, it would be this:

At least make some remotely uncalloused effort for my donation. I don’t care what you do. FUCKING BAKE SOMETHING, maybe. Don’t stand in front of a discount store and hold an empty bucket in front of me and expect me to fill it. My Diet Sam’s Choice Cola gets higher priority over your dipshit redneck fuckface parents trying to make you feel important. It’s best you realize your place in the world now, so that when you get married at 19 and have three kids before you turn 25, you don’t have delusions that you could have amounted to something with your sorry little Dixie dick-gobbling life.

You can fill that bucket with a handful of kiss my ass. Fuck your softball team and fuck you.