Kevin Hench’s woefully anecdotal-dependent take on NFL fan behavior has sparked renewed interest in this YouTube clip which purports to show a Raiders fan stabbing a Chargers fan during a drunken stadium brawl. As KSK’s resident self-loathing masochist Raiders fan, I feel compelled to defend the S&B faithful on this issue.

I can see how at first blush one could conceivably jump to the conclusion that something felonious is afoot. But what a casual observer might mistake for bleary, blood-shot eyes is actually the learned gaze of a seasoned medical professional. Admittedly he possesses an unorthodox bedside manner, but check out the deft touch as he artfully removes the vestigial appendage in mere seconds.

Fare thee well, Chargers fan. You and your satin jacket will live to see another playoff flameout, thanks to the knowing hands of his modern-day Albert Schweitzer.

[Singing before the NFL competition committee]

I wanna make love with this shove

HEY

With this shove

HEY

With this shove

HEY

With this shove

I wanna make love with this shove

HEY

With this shove

HEY

With this shove

[Door flies open]

About to hit the field
Make a movie, rated X
Butter you up with some popcorn
Then we get the butt sex

On the couch, locker room
After hours, running track
Me on your bo-sack
You on my face mask

We drafted that Felix Jones
He’s one we shoulda passed on
Me, I got 102 catches
And a fresh jimmy hat on

I wanna make love with this shove

HEY

With this shove

HEY

With this shove

And I don’t what ref is flaggin’

Flaggin’

Flagginnnnnnnn’

Silly Nas, it was just napping.

Image via The Smoking Section

It’s one thing to go around calling yourself a bunch of douchebags on a blog, but none of it can ever be official until said blog has an anthem to call its own. Today, we are officially douchebags of the highest regard, because today KSK has its very own song.

MC Seez Mics of the duo Educated Consumers happens to be a reader of the site, and he figured we needed an official song. All it took was one of our Sex Cannon t-shirts, and the most important deal in hip hop since Rawkus Records signed Black Star was done. What resulted is quite possibly the greatest thing to ever happen. It’s with great pleasure that I introduce to you Kiss the Kolber.

The timing of this release couldn’t be better, because Educated Consumers begin touring tonight at Washington DC’s own Rock and Roll (H Street: Slightly better than you remember!) as a part of the Appetite For Distraction Tour.

Huge thanks are due to Seez Mics, who laid down this track in less time than it takes Drew to write a Wade & Jerry post while sitting on the shitter at work.

Today was a good day.
kissthekolbermp3

Hey folks, Peter King here with Sports Illustrated here with America’s bravest as they do battle with evil forces abroad. I’m a long way home from the cozy confines of New Jersey, but I’m here to support–

[explosion nearby]

Hey fellas, I’m shooting a remote, can you keep it down over there?

Sir, I’d like a venti Café Au Lait with extra whip and a double shot of expresso…Okay, okay, forget that; make it a tall Cinnamon Dolce Latte with Sugar Free Syrup and…Well where is the Starbucks on this base?…Are you serious? Okay, okay, just give me a Coke Zero, then. I’m not picky.

- And then get this flimmity-flam, General. I go to wipe my ass, and there’s no toilet paper! So I’m screaming like a banshee in the handicapped shitter in Hartfield-Jackson, “Bring me some toilet paper!” And then some janitor came by and stole my bags.

- That’s a great story, Peter.

- Hopefully someone will see this sign and send you boys some supplies. Thank God I’m leaving this place in two hours. No Starbucks, no satellite radio, no ESPN. Won’t it feel great to get out of this dump? When do you get to leave?

- Ten months, if I’m lucky.

- …Oh.

- Peter, thank you for bringing this to our attention. I’m going to get to work on a ten-point plan that will bring designer coffees to our troops. Just don’t ask for a timetable on that.

Angela (note: not her real name) has studied dance since she was 4. In high school, she was captain of the cheerleading squad and served as treasurer for the senior class.

After deciding to go to Florida State, Angela pledged at Pi Phi and spent too much time at the Sigma Chi house , where over the course of her freshman year she hooked up with four members of the fraternity, two pledges (on a dare), and a prospective student in his senior year of high school.

During her junior year, she fell in love with a TKE named Hunter who starred on the club soccer team. As a test of their love, she proposed that they have a threesome with her friend Ashley. Hunter responded by saying, “No, I only want YOU.”

This was the correct answer, which displeased Angela. So she pressed him further and convinced him that she really wanted to do it. Hunter, not wanting to turn down the opportunity to sleep with two blonde coeds, bought three bottles of Asti Spumante, headed over to the Pi Phi house, and spent what otherwise would have been an unremarkable Wednesday night engaged in the kind of drunken exploration of human sexuality you can only get while enrolled at a state-funded college. It was the best sexual experience any of them ever had.

And Angela never forgave him for it. They fought for another four months before he dumped that crazy broad.

Oh, yeah. Someone will be making the rounds at Rehoboth Beach the next few days. If you’ve got a fruity drink in your hand and a fisted dildo in your knapsack, Brady Quinn wants you under his umbrella.

Here at KSK, we’re alcoholics first, bloggers second. Actually, we’re masturbators first, then alcoholics, then football-needy douchebags, and somewhere around 15th or 16th on the list of priorities is blogging.

The point is, most of us are hammered most the time. Hell, I cracked open a bottle of DH Krahn at three o’clock yesterday. You can do these things when you work at home.

Which brings us to today’s commenter draft. Having already “drafted” beer last year — the quotes let you know the pun is cheap and intentional — we turn our attention now to mixed drinks. The premise: for the rest of your life, you can ONLY order the drinks you draft here. It’s a terrifying prospect, the possibility of a summer without mojitos and margaritas, or early NFL games without Bloody Marys, or a Tuesday morning without Mad Dog 20/20 and Sprite.

My first pick: a Manhattan.

And I want it with bourbon, not Canadian whiskey. Easy on the vermouth, served up in a rocks glass. (The only drinks that should be served in a martini glass are martinis, goddammit.)

Your turn. You know the rules: make your selection, then wait ten picks before choosing again. If you’re drafting something archaic or little-known, by all means, share a recipe. We’re always looking for new and fabulous ways to get tight.

NOTE: We do mean MIXED drinks. Hey, you like Johnnie Walker Blue Label “mixed” with ice cubes? You’re very clever, fuck off.

The Cleveland Browns have been wondering exactly where the fuck their Pro Bowl tight end has been hiding out this offseason. Fortunately, our intrepid field reporters managed to capture a snapshot that shows our missing protagonist in action. Can you pick out the real Kellen from all of the impostors?

Hint: He’s one of the fucking soldiers.

Not to worry Browns, Drew Rosenhaus is on the case!

Yeah assholes, why should he have to pick up the (SPRINT MOBILE!) phone and tell his coach where he’s at? For soldiers like Winslow, leaking such information could put his entire unit in danger.

Photoshop by Ape

Video via FanHaus FanHouse

Waldo image via JTrue

According to the top headline on NFL.com this morning, the Kansas City Chiefs “believe in Croyle.” And why wouldn’t an eternal optimist like Herm Edwards believe in the guy whose completion percentage fell just one and a half points behind the Tarvaris Jackson? Hell, one time he threw for 216 yards…in one game!

At KSK we’ve managed to get inside the collective head of the midwest’s most consistently mediocre franchise to see just what else the Chiefs believe.

The Chiefs believe…

that Kelli Croyle’s bountiful protuberances were crafted by their Christian God.

that Dad just went out for some smokes and will be back home anytime now

in the Great Pumpkin. Largely because they see Ryan Sims every day.

in evolution, except for the whole Triassic period.

that they can fly, that they can touch the sky.

that an R Kelly impostor is fucking 13 year-olds to hurt his album sales.

that John McCain will live another four years.

in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman’s back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, and that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap.

But most of all, they believe in a thing called love…

…just as long as it’s between a man and a woman and it has nothing to do whatever the hell was in that video. They are Missourians, after all.

[Phone rings]

LEITCH: This is Will.

CRIS CARTER: What the fuck is up with these cats, man?

LEITCH: Wha…what are you talking about?

CRIS CARTER: There are these two cats…well hold on…maybe, maybe it’s one cat. I don’t know. But the words on the picture say Time Travel Cat Almost Creases Paradox? What the fuck is a paradox, man?

LEITCH: That’s not my site, Cris. I didn’t have anything to do with that site.

CRIS CARTER: You think this shit’s funny? This ain’t funny.

LEITCH: Cris, I’m not laughing at all.

CRIS CARTER: And how did you get that cat to travel back in time? Motherfucker, if you’re sending cats back in time, bitch, you better TELL ME.

LEITCH: Cris, I write for one blog. It’s not about cats. I have no insight into time travel.

CRIS CARTER: And then I saw you and your friends running through a forest and you used your magic powers to bomb somebody’s funeral? Why the fuck would you do that, man?

LEITCH: What the fuck are you talking about?

CRIS CARTER: You think that shit’s funny? That ain’t funny.

LEITCH: Cris, I write for one blog. It’s not about cats. I have no insight into the dark arts.

CRIS CARTER: And like the last two message board posts I couldn’t even read. And what’s up with that Scatman song? That song ain’t worth a shit, you know what I’m sayin’!

LEITCH: Cris, I gotta go.

CRIS CARTER: Don’t you hang up on me, motherfucker! I wanna know about this girl that’s crying about Britney Spears!

LEITCH: That’s not a girl. Goodbye.

CRIS CARTER: Motherfuck–

>click.<

LEITCH: Wow, what an asshole.

(Oh, if you haven’t seen this or this, or heard about this, you probably didn’t get this, and need to spend more time online and less time hanging out with those damn friends of yours. -PUNTE)