Look, I know it’s not everyday that you get a lecture from a seven-week old embryo, but I need to get this off my chest. That’s especially because my chest is like one-sixteenth of an inch right now. So just hear me out. And please bear with me as I ramble through this. I don’t have any slides or anything.

I realize I’m not even a fetus yet, but I already hate the Kansas City Chiefs. I realized it right off the bat; there’s no chance I’ll ever think two shits of this organization. Their team is boring, their uniforms are boring, and their city might as well be named Bordopolis. Did you like that? I came up with that yesterday.

I heard someone ask how the Chiefs did in the draft, and not only did I have no clue, I didn’t care. I just don’t understand how…hey, gimme just a sec. There’s something going on over here.

[womb flies open]

T. J. Houshmanzadeh: Hey.

Fetus: Wow, you’re T.J. Houshmanzadeh, aren’t you?

I mean, I think you’re T.J. Houshmanzadeh. You know, I’m not even a fetus yet, but I know a lot about football. A lot about the NFL, really. I’m not really into the college game.

So, what’s up? Did you just get lost on your way to the Pro Bowl? Did they have the Pro Bowl yet? I don’t know these things. I’m not even a fetus yet.

T. J. Houshmanzadeh: …you’re little.

Embryo: Well, yeah, I’m little. I’m a fetus. Well, I’m not a fetus yet. I’m still waiting on some paperwork. But yeah, plus one for you, my friend. You know, I’ve heard that football players aren’t very smart, but you, you seem to have some actual brainpower in that ugly rat-tail holder you call a head.

My word, you’re dark-skinned and ugly. I could literally hear the property value of my womb plummeting the second you popped in here.

T. J. Houshmanzadeh: Oh.

Embryo: Yeah. And thanks for that. I’m really self-conscious about my height, for future reference. Even though I’m not quite a fetus.

[awkward silence]

T. J. Houshmanzadeh: Do you have anything to drink?

Embryo: What?

T. J. Houshmanzadeh: It’s polite to offer your guests something–

Embryo: No, dude, I heard you. Uh, don’t look at this as a racial thing, but all the fluid in here is mine. It’s vital to my development as a human being, something you could use a little tutelage with, apparently. So, I’m afraid I got nothing.

Did you hear me?

Hello?

T. J. Houshmanzadeh: Okay, bye.

[T. J. leaves the womb]

Embryo: What the fuck was that?

Praise to Xenu! I knew if I sat on my hands long enough a whiny clubhouse cancer would find its way to Redskins Park. We missed out on Ocho Cinco and we’re still trying to lure that gunslinging bumpkin from Kiln, Mississippi to replace our Lionel Richie-esque bumpkin at quarterback, but we landed at least one high-profile malcontent.

And this one might still have something left in the tank! This ain’t no Bruce Smith or Deion Sanders. He could be a Dana Stubblefield and a half! You’ve finally figured this football thing out, Danny you sly old tree-chopping dog!

Dipshit Redskins Fans: HAIL TO THE REDSKINS! HAIL VICTORY! BRAVES ON THE WARPATH! FIGHT FOR OL’ LARGO, MARYLAND!

Jason Taylor, the last component we need to improve from a 9-7 team that loses in the first round to a 10-6 team that loses in the first round! But we’ll do it as a 5-seed this year!

HEY! I’VE ALREADY GOT A TAYLOR JERSEY FROM LAST YEAR! DON’T EVEN NEED TO THROW THAT ONE OUT!

Update: Just in case that’s not enough Raljon-based obnoxiousness, the Dead Tree Crew was out with traffic cone beer bongs at the opening day of training camp. (courtesy a bald blogger at some bullshit newsrag)

Carolina Panthers running back DeAngelo Williams recently hosted a charity paintball event. Joining him were teammates Steve Smith, Brad Hoover, and Damione Lewis, among others. As this video attests, a good time was had by all in the great outdoors. We at KSK are strongly in favor of people not named Eric Rudolph cavorting in the North Carolina wilderness.

While the TV sports talking guy’s terror at the sight of Jon Beason in full paintball regalia is a bit over the top, we can’t help but notice a resemblance…

Shawshank in a Minute

Can you believe KSK used to be one of those pussy-ass narrow blogs? Sad but true. But we’ve seen the light, and it’s coming from a web page that uses the full width of the monitor.

Let’s get one thing clear: if your blog doesn’t have widescreen pictures, your blog SUCKS. What, you think people are gonna check out what you have to say because you can form cogent arguments with high-minded prose? WRONG.

Give the people what they want: BIG PICTURES. OF BIG TITTIES.

Examine, please, Sexy Friday’s Exhibit B:

If this picture were smaller, you wouldn’t be able to see the hole from her absent navel piercing, and this additional piece of information from the greater detail enlightens further discussion: Does the Tampa Bay cheer squad forbid belly button rings while the girls are in uniform? It would certainly seem that way; most squads have similar rules that require makeup over any tattoos.

So lemme get this straight. They have to wear tight, revealing clothing that showcases their bodies and enhances their cleavage while they perform sexy dance moves… but no navel piercings! Why, that would take away from their demure image! “You know, I bet most of these girls are bankers or lawy–OH MY GOD! Is that a belly button ring?!?! GET OFF THE FIELD WHORE!!!”

Today, we visit the horrifically violent and economically depressed city of Baltimore, where the crew of the David Letterman Show decided to visit Ramshead Tavern to catch a show performed by that band endlessly fawned over by hipsters, The Hold Steady.

DIDJA SEE? OR WUZ U DISSTRACTED BY MAXIMUM LAFFOS?

Thanks to a sharp-eyed reader Paul for spotting Mountain Drew, but not the writer of The Dugout who he was with. Always gotta hog the attention, don’t you, Magary?

Most people merely dislike commercials. I fucking HATE them. I loathe them with all the bile in my bloated liver. Hatred for ads is embedded in my marrow, programmed into my DNA, woven into the fabric of my soul.

That’s why the people who invented TiVo/DVR and satellite radio are gods. They have golden thrones reserved in heaven, while advertising fuckfaces like Big Daddy Drew will burn for all eternity because they profited from making everyone else’s life just a little bit more miserable. Ever written a jingle? Die. And then say hi to Hitler for me.

Today’s draft is for TV and radio commercials you want erased from history. And while I don’t have the track record of hating diamond commercials as much as Christmas Ape, my #1 pick is easy:

Man and woman enter a European square. Man goes to the middle of the square and shouts at the top of his lungs, “I love this woman!” Pigeons fly away from the commotion. Woman is aghast. Man presents woman with diamond. Woman whispers quietly into man’s ear: “I love this man.”

Oh, so that’s how it is? A love so deep that a man has to shout it to the world is embarrassing to you, you fucking bitch? Oh, here’s something shiny that I paid $10,000 for, maybe you wanna go out in the square and shout your love for me, too? No? Just gonna whisper it in my ear because you’re too selfish and materialistic? FUCK THIS AD.

Your picks in the comments. Wait for ten other people’s selections before choosing again.

Brady Quinn’s picture is being used without his permission in online advertisements for gay dating web sites. [Aside: If that was the gayest picture they could find, they obviously weren't looking very hard.] While gossip site TMZ may consider this tidbit to be an exclusive, similar news could be found here on KSK and elsewhere weeks ago.

Hey TMZ, if you want to “borrow” some more “exclusives” from sports blogs. I would suggest the following which concerns another sexy quarterback. Trust me, your readers will love this…

[ thx to MC Bias for reading TMZ so I don't have to ]

View the whole album here. I’m going to a wedding this weekend. I’m going to guarantee I look just as stupid. Fucking wedding photographers. QUICK CATCHING US OFF GUARD!

NOTE: This probably isn’t actually Eli’s wedding, given that his wife isn’t wearing a wedding dress. Unless she’s one of those brides clever enough to change out for the reception. But we’re KSK, so accuracy can suck it.

INVIZABUL PEENIZ!

UPDATE: More Quinn fabulousness over at Shutdown Corner.