Archive for June, 2008

Those Corners Really Need to Clean Up Their Act

Monday, June 30th, 2008

It’s no wonder the Patriots have had to make do with guys like Randall Gay in the secondary the last few years. As soon as you wave some money in front of one of them, they chase it like a pack of dogs. Really makes you think about their culture. Asante, we’re glad to be rid of him. Receiver would’ve caught that Eli pass on the final drive.

Sometimes when I’m guttily charging through secondaries, I find myself taken aback with the conditions these people choose to play in. Players lazily strewn about. Little sense of cohesion. Defensive calls that don’t even sound like English to me. It’s all me, me, me. Have they no self-respect? It’s just so, so typical. I just pray my daughter doesn’t bring one home someday.

After the game, I head over into their side of the locker room, always making sure to remove my valuables first, and I hear them playing their jungle cornerback music. Rhythm is offensive to the ear. I caught Randy listening to some of it once and diced him with my pen knife. Over in the offense’s corner, we set the bass maximum at “Silverchair”. We keep things orderly, never speaking out of turn.

There are some find, upstanding exceptions. The “model secondary”. That John Lynch, for example. Did a great job in leading the Buccaneers to that Super Bowl. Hard-hitting. Straight shooter. Why can’t they follow his example? Instead they call him a shun him and call him a traitor to his kind. Because he works hard? These are a people I will never understand.

And don’t get me started on the blacks!

Fun with Blind Items: Cleveland Steamer Edition

Monday, June 30th, 2008

From the New York Daily News: Which NFL star pulled a girl toward the bathroom of a West Chelsea club the other night with the line: “Baby, you have no idea what I’m about to show you”? She fled toward the end zone.

Our guess after the colon:

Ladies, please note: the “end zone” is the LAST place you want to flee toward in this scenario.

Sergeant Coughlin Oversees Offseason Workouts

Monday, June 30th, 2008

(Giants weight room)

Justin Tuck: Hey Coach McGaughey, what’s the rotation today?

McGaughey: We got dot drills, then heavy legs to follow.

Justin Tuck: Oh man, not those fucking dot drills. We did box jumps yesterday and my groin in on fucking fire. C’mon, man. We gotta taper a bit. I’m not gonna have anything left.

McGaughey: I keep telling you, do it now, and you’ll breeze through camp. Besides, I can’t veer off the regimen. (whispers) He’s watching us.

Justin Tuck: Who’s watching us?

(door flies open)


Sergeant Tom Coughlin: YOU FUCKING LITTLE PUKE! FUCKING SLACKING OFF YOUR FUCKING OFFSEASON WORKOUTS, YOU MANGY LITTLE PUSSYFLAP?!

Justin Tuck: No, Coach. It wasn’t anything like that. I’m just don’t want to overdo it.

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: DON’T WANNA FUCKING OVERDO IT?! I WILL FUCKING STOMP ON YOUR COCK UNTIL IT LOOKS LIKE A STRIP OF BACON, BACON-DICK! TOUGHEN UP, YOU LITTLE FUCKING COCKRUBBER! YOU’RE FUCKING WEAK AND USELESS, TUCK! YOU AREN’T READY FOR FUCKING WAR! WARRRRRR!!!!

Justin Tuck: Okay, okay. I’ll do the box drills.

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: FUCK YOU, SON. FUCK YOU WITH A BEDPOST. YOU’RE GONNA DO DOT DRILLS UNTIL YOU’RE SPEWING BLOOD! THEN YOU’RE GONNA RUN UNTIL YOU’RE STEPPING ON YOUR OWN FUCKING TONGUE! THEN WE’RE GONNA RUN FUCKING HILLS! NO WAIT, FUCK THAT. WE’RE RUNNING CLIFF FACES. YOU WILL RUN 700 CLIFF FACES, YOU WEAK GLASS OF MAXIPAD DRIBBLE!

Justin Tuck: Okay.

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: YOU FUCKING CALL ME SIR, CUMQUENCHER!

Justin Tuck: Yes, sir. (mumbles) Big jerk.

Sergeant Tom Coughlin WHAT WAS THAT?! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST CALL ME?! YOU LITTLE TITJABBER! TOO BUSY NURSING YOUR DADDY’S COCK TO SPEAK UP, FUCKHOLE?! YOU JUST BOUGHT YOURSELF 500 BURPEES AND 12,000 HANGING SIT UPS, YOU FUCKING SMEGMA EATER!

Justin Tuck: Yes, sir.

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: AND I DON’T WANT YOU SHOWING UP LATE ANYMORE, YOU LITTLE TURDPUSHER!

Justin Tuck: Late for what? It was the day off today. I just came in to work out.

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: THERE ARE NO DAYS OFF IN FOOTBALL, PUSSYRAG! YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?! THIS IS YOUR MANDATORY OFFSEASON WORKOUT PROGRAM! YOU FUCKING MISS ONE GODDAMN LAT PULL AND I WILL DROWN YOU IN THE SHITTER! I WANT YOU AT THIS FACILITY ONE HOUR BEFORE O’DARK THIRTY EVERY MORNING!

Justin Tuck: What time is that?

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: RIGHT FUCKING NOW, FUCKWHEAT! YOU’RE ALREADY LATE FOR TOMORROW’S WORKOUT! YOU FUCKING BEST UNFUCK YOURSELF TUCK, OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL CUT YOUR THROAT AND RAPE YOUR JUGULAR! YOU HEAR ME, FUCK BREATH?! FUCK!

Justin Tuck: Yes, sir.

(Coughlin leaves)

McGaughey: You know, I gotta say: He’s been WAY nicer ever since we won the Super Bowl.

Justin Tuck: Definitely.

Your Monday Morning MILF-age

Monday, June 30th, 2008

Here’s Jessica Alba to kick off your short work week. I don’t know if you’ve seen pictures of Alba after she got pregnant but yeah, she doesn’t look like this anymore. I had no idea one of the side effects of pregnancy was that you turn into Leah Remini.

A Very Gay Second Birfday

Sunday, June 29th, 2008

WHAT?! IT WAS OUR BIRTHDAY YESTERDAY?!

Well, no one told me!

/runs to CVS, buys lamest card on shelf

/buys pack of Ring Dings

/eats one Ring Ding

/sticks candle in other Ring Ding

Happy Birthday, us! If only we had remembered. We could have spent a whole day being completely insufferable!

Your Friday Afternoon Cheers And Jeers

Friday, June 27th, 2008


CHEERS to Will Leitch, for nearly three years of fun over at Deadspin.

JEERS to Will Leitch for leaving just as I found out all kinds of new shit to make fun of him about. Seriously man, fucking raisins? What a freak!

CHEERS to Buzz Bissinger for finally manning up and deciding to go one on one with the fucking great one on November 6th. I ain’t no shrinking violet, Bissinger. Leitch may enjoy being a spineless pushover, but I PLAY FOR FUCKING KEEPS, ASSHOLE. Get ready for a taste of FIAAAAAHHHH! Also, can I have an autograph?

JEERS to the next two months. Seriously, I want to fucking die. TWO MONTHS until the NFL is back? The last Super Bowl feels like it was played eight years ago. I get to spend the next two months sweating my balls off and trying to put together a fantasy draft board, only to end up with a fucking headache after five minutes. JESUS.

CHEERS to Sabra hummus. God dammit, that is some good fucking hummus. Smooth, creamy, salty. I bet Chris Simms rubs it all over his face.

JEERS to Tribe Of Two Shieks hummus. Hey you fuckers, Sabra just served your sorry ass. Take your lumpy, shitty ass hummus out of my grocery store. You’re a disgrace to lunatic, chick pea-grinding Arabs the world over. Go strap a bomb to yourself and run into a Tel Aviv bus. You aren’t fucking worthy of my plate!

CHEERS to me being let out of the house tonight to see a rock concert for the first time in two years. Hey, Hold Steady, you had best be ready to RAWK WITH YOUR FUCKING COCK OUT. I want double guitars. I want SIX encores. I want you to play a slow song once an hour so I can go piss. DON’T SKIMP ON THE ROCK, YOU FUCKERS. I’m driving to fucking Baltimore for that shit.

JEERS to wearing open-toes shoes to any rock concert. Ever wear flip flops to a show? Don’t.

CHEERS to Haterade. You know, yesterday at Deadspin was a real love-in. But that’s not what we do here at KSK. It’s time to wash off all that joy and affection and go back to what we do best: pure, unadulterated bile. FUCK YOU, WHOEVER NEEDS TO GET FUCKED. God, that feels fantastic.

JEERS to fucking Dr. Z for picking the Vikings to win the Super Bowl. You fucking old, jinxing prick. “Dare I pick Minnesota to win it all?” Dare I disconnect your colostomy bag and pull your dick off? Quit needlessly hyping my team, you bastard. Go back to hating them like you normally do.

CHEERS to Lucy Pinder and Cassandra Lynn. Wazzat? They’re not cheerleaders? Eh, who gives a shit.

KSK Commenter Draft: Your Favorite NFL Game of All-Time

Friday, June 27th, 2008

It’s hard to believe we haven’t done this one yet, but your draft this week requires you to pick your favorite NFL game ever, postseason, regular season, whatever. And it can be for any goddamn arbitrary reason you want. It need not be the best game. Shit, it can be a game where a player you hate got hurt. I’m sure the Theismann game will go early.

For most people. I imagine, t choice is bound to be tinged by homerism. For me, it’s no different. A sloppy game your team wins is exactly 18 times better than the most tightly contested games between two teams you couldn’t give a shit about. Sure, I loved the shit out of the most recent Super Bowl. It was probably the best one yet. But to me it’s not going to touch the three to five biggest victories by the Steelers over the last 15 years. If you’re able to distance yourself from your favorite team enough to pick an epically contested game, more power to you. With that kind of ability for emotional disconnection, you should probably be a surgeon or something.

My opening pick: The 1995 AFC Championship Game

Odd as it is, the two most memorable games the Steelers have played in my lifetime have been playoff contests against the Colts. Absolutely, Super Bowl XL resulted in one of the most deliriously happy moments of my life (that life, by the way: very shallow), but objectively I can admit that the game itself sucked. Really, for me, it’s a toss-up between ‘95 AFC Title Game and the 2005 Divisional Round victory in Indianapolis. Both games were instant classics that came down to the wire. Sure, you could make the argument that the 2005 game should be more satisfying, as the Steelers’ chances of winning were nigh on inconceivable, whereas in ‘95 they were heavy favorites.

But that discounts their agonizing loss to the Chargers in the conference title game following the 1994 season. The mantra for the entire 1995 season was “Three More Yards,” which symbolized just how close they got to being blown out by the 49ers in Super Bowl XXIX. The ‘95 AFC Title Game went much like the previous year’s, with the Steelers squandering a lead late in the second half, via a long TD pass from Jim Harbaugh to Floyd Turner that more than smacked of the Stan-Humphries-to-Tony-Martin dagger from the year before. That put Pittsburgh in the same position they were in in ‘94: needing a final scoring drive to send them to the Super Bowl. This time, however, they did it. Then, of course, they had to weather a nearly completed Hail Mary pass to Aaron Bailey that, if I weren’t 13 at the time, would’ve given me a Tim Russert-sized heart attack on the spot.

Some of it has to do with age. At 23, however still young and irreponsible you may be, you can’t have the unalloyed obsession with sports you could at 13. By then, you’re (at least nominally) an adult, you mostly likely have started a career, probably are in a relationship, have gained at least some semblance of perspective. When you’re 13, you really don’t have shit else to think about. These big games are beyond life and death. They get amplified to an importance that’s nearly biblical. There is no tomorrow if your team loses. It’s supremely subjective but if you know any other way people experience life, Mr. Fucking Dispassionate Robot Person, I’d like to hear it.

Tale of the Tape: Shawne Merriman vs. Jeremy Shockey

Thursday, June 26th, 2008

Competitor: Shawne Merriman

Nickname: “Lights Out”

Height: 6′4″

Weight: 272 (est. ring weight: 260)

Reach: Lengthy

Sponsor: MET-Rx

Hometown: Upper Marlboro, MD. The DC area has produced such fighters as Sugar Ray Leonard, Winky Wright, and most recently, the Patterson brothers (Anthony fights tomorrow night on Versus).

Fighting Pedigree: Last night his uncle Henry “Sugar Poo” Buchanan knocked some chump through the ropes with an uppercut at the Playboy Mansion on ESPN. Merriman could be seen in the ring during the post-fight celebration, which was pretty stupid. That house is filled with bitches needin’ some dick. He also trains in a boxing gym in the offseason to keep himself in shape.

Strength: Knocking people unconscious.

Weakness: The boxing world, while flawed, is much less forgiving when it comes to steroid use. Although I’m pretty sure he doesn’t actually need them. He was probably just trying to shrink his balls. Trust me, lugging around giant balls is like having an albatross hanging from your neck. Only they’re your balls.

Predilection towards violence: Rape?

Fighting Style:
The classic action fighter, Merriman will come at his opponent with plenty of power and zero restraint. He will smother weaker opponents (see below), but he’s fully capable of fighting at a distance. He possesses a dominating jab and a devastating overhand right.

—————————————————————-

Competitor: Jeremy Shockey

Nickname: Shock Man!

Height: 6′5″

Weight:251 (est. ring weight: 248)

Reach:Tara Reid.

Sponsor: Affliction.

Hometown:
Ada, Oklahoma. It was once the home of Shockey’s best friend Mark Gastineau, formerly of the New York Sack Exchange. Gastineau also pursued a “career” in boxing, and a similarly successful career in wife beating.

Pedigree:
Afghan.

Strength: Taking shots to the head.

Weakness: It’s almost like he wants people to hit him.

Predilection towards violence:
Lets his boys take care of approaching assholes.

Fighting Style: The first time he gets hit he’ll swarm the opponent with looping cuffed punches that glance away harmlessly. The second time he gets hit he’ll go down for 1-2 weeks. Shockey’s best punch is the accidental head butt which he often pairs with a wild elbow.



The KSK Minority Report Card

Thursday, June 26th, 2008

I’m sure that you’ve seen many of these so-called “Institutes” for WhateverTheFuck issuing report cards to NFL, Fortune 500 companies and whomever else they feel like bothering. Supposedly, these things are based on those firms’ minority hiring practices. This whole process always seemed a little bogus to me, especially since “minorities” don’t seem to include people of Indian, East Asian, or Latin descent. And before I drive a burning cross in the carpet next to your desk, let me just add that there doesn’t seem to be enough information floating around that would make these asessments accurate.

But what if we were to grade minorities themselves? Holy shit, there’s a treasure trove of data floating around to do that! Sure, some of it is just rumor and speculation, but who gives a fuck? That never stopped these so-called Institutes from pushing shit on everyone else. In fact, I’m starting my own institute right now, the The Jam It Up Your Ass, or the JIUYA Institute for short, as it says on all of our pending shipment of stationary.

And what is our Institute going to grade? Blackness. Out and out blackness. Yes, we know that R. Kelly is blacker than, say, Tony Dungy, but by how much? Can we create a subjective measure of how well a brutha gets down? We won’t know until we try. And so The Jam It Up Your Ass Institute presents, in conjunction with this fine website, the inaugural Kissing Suzy Kolber Minority Report Card. Enjoy.

1. R. KELLY. Recording Artist/Alleged Child Pornography Connoisseur.

PENMANSHIP – Routinely fails to spell out entire first name.   A

PHYS. ED. – Doesn’t actually play in the NFL.    F

ENGLISH – No ‘z’s used for plural nouns. Song lyrics include well-rounded concepts.     F

SEX ED. – Eighteen or older, Robert. Eighteen or older.    INCOMPLETE

GPA –  D

TEACHER’S NOTES – “I believe you can try … harder.”

2.  Tony Dungy. Head Coach, Indianapolis Colts.

THEOLOGY – Openly shows disdain for gays, citing the Bible. Yeah, buttfucking might be a sin, but so is eating bacon.   F

DRAMA – Never yells. Except about gays.    D

SOCIAL STUDIES – Shown up by his own quarterback when said QB waved Coach’s punt team off the field. Could not come up with two-thirds majority to override the veto.     D

WORLD HISTORY – Kinda looks Mexican.    F

GPA – D-minus

TEACHER’S NOTES – “About as black as the three of hearts.”

3. TRAVIS JOHNSON. Defensive Lineman, Houston Texans.

(aka The Guy That Ruined Trent Green’s Shit Last Season)

DANCE – Celebrated after Green concussed himself on Johnson’s knee on a busted play in the midst of the Dolphins’ nearly-winless season.     A

SPEECH – “He’s like the scarecrow. He wants to get courage while I wasn’t looking, and hit me in my knee instead of trying to hit me in my head. God don’t like ugly, you know what I mean? ”     A

ACCOUNTING – Was (rightfully) not fined for the incident.     A

GEOGRAPHY – Plays for the Texans. In Texas.     A

GPA – A

TEACHER’S NOTES – “Negro Cum Laude.”

4. BRYANT GUMBEL. Host, HBO’s RealSports with Bryant Gumbel.

MATH – Has trouble understanding 4-down/10-yard concept.    D

CHORUS – Sings the alto parts for O Danny Boy. F

MOCK TRIAL – Routinely winds up as the one being mocked.     F

ECONOMICS – Having his magazine show encroached upon by noted Caucasian Bob Costas satisfies “slighted by the white man” prerequisite.     A

GPA –  C-minus

TEACHER’S NOTES – “Maybe Black does crack.”

KSK Off-Topic: Italian Spiderman Episode 6

Thursday, June 26th, 2008

It saddened me in my foramen magnum to see Italian Spidey off his game last week. That’s why it’s all the more joyous to see him return to form with the winning formula of laughable effects and girl punching.

Haters can keep talking shit on Eyetie Spidey, my eggplant avenger. I just chiamo i pinguini on you. Attenzione!