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Rather than look on in approval from afar, Jerry Jones seems to inject himself into the action as much as possible. After Sunday’s win over the Bucs, Jones usurped the coach’s post-game prerogative and awarded the game ball. Jones gave the ball to Wade Phillips, nominally for his defensive play-calling, who reportedly dumped the ball moments later. Perhaps Wade would have preferred a box of Drake’s Devil Dogs.

In addition to part-time coaching, Jerry is also a big-time television star. Here’s the recent pizza commercial referenced in the Newsday link. (FF to the :30 mark if you want to see the groinal fustigation and are willing to forgo essential plot and thematic developments.)

A millionaire pretending to take a punch in the dick? At some point you think he might say to himself ‘I am a sixty-six year old billionaire, perhaps some quiet dignity is in order.’ But alas, it appears nothing is too unseemly for Jerry:

Director: Jerry, Jerry, in this one we need you to look into the camera and say “Dis here Papa John’s sho’ am good pizza!” Take a bite, aaaand then… shit your pants.

Jerry: Okay, roll ‘em.

Memo to all NFL players: Any interaction with Brian Russell, no matter how small, can be calamitous to your career.

Vernon Davis learned the hard way.  All he did Sunday was hustle 70 yards downfield to try to stop a Josh Wilson pick-6 and continue to be a “draft bust” by blocking in the Martz scheme that marginalizes him as a receiver.  But he was powerless against noted incompetent dickface Brian Russell, who baited Davis into committing the 15-yard personal foul that awesomely set off Mount Singletary.

How does Russell do it?  Well, how would YOU do it if you were too slow and too weak to stop any play on the field?  Your only hope to make up for, say, a 29-yard Frank Gore run after you accidentally set a pick on a teammate (that actually happened on Sunday) is to be a huge enough asshole — just come off as a total bitch of a man, a weakling with a big mouth — that larger, faster, and more talented players lose their cool and rightfully smack your stupid bitch face.

How come it’s only the GOOD safeties that get murdered?

And now a guest post over at the movie site Pajiba. It’s about Entertainment Weekly, which I read every week. Because I’m gay, you see.

Many people scoff at the idea that God can control the outcome of sporting events, or that He even cares. But those people are wrong. God does control the games, AND He cares a great deal. Today, He explains why He let the outcomes of Week 8 in the NFL happen as they did.

Ladies and gentlemen of the internet, I regret to inform you that God could not be with us this week. Actually that’s not correct. Of course He could be with us, I mean, He is God after all. I guess it would be more accurate to say God had better shit to do this week. Mostly he’s just been masturbating. Yep, that’s right, God masturbates. He masturbates just like you do, only he’s way better at it than you could ever imagine. You know how God’s voice makes your head explode? Well if you saw God stroking it your balls would melt and run down your leg forming a puddle at your feet. But I digress.

Joining us in His stead this week is none other than His Son of Sons, Jesus “Hominum Salvator” Christ!

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Former Lions receiver Roy Williams decided to have a little fun at the Lions’ Mike Furrey Annual Charity Halloween Party to Benefit White Receivers by going as the luggage-thieving former Detroit running back Tatum Bell, complete with Rudi Johnson stolen drawers and a bell hop uniform. Though I hear Dan Orlovsky had trouble getting in ’cause his costume was over the line. ZING! How does he do it, folks?

Or maybe we could be mistaken in that it could be a riff on Buzz the Bellman from the Hudsucker Proxy.

“Say, buddy, who’s the most liquid businessman on the street? Jerry Jones!”

My publisher is too cheap to pay for an actual book tour. Apparently, spending $1,000 to fly a fat man into a city and letting him expense dinner doesn’t match the revenue generated by selling three books in a suburban Barnes & Noble.

So I’ll be pimping this book the only way I know how… by making dick jokes anywhere and everywhere I can. The BDD Virtual Tour begins today with a guest column over at Florio’s Pro Football Talk. I’ll also be doing a special guest post today over at movie site Pajiba.

Tomorrow I’ll be taking over at With Leather for the entire day. Then Deadspin on Thursday. Then MJD’s Shutdown Corner at Yahoo on Halloween. Then special columns over at Every Day Should Be Saturday and at ESPN.com next week (right into the belly of the beast!). It’s just like a real book tour, only you don’t have to do anything, and I get to make dick jokes all day long. I think it’s quite an improvement. Enjoy.

I’m sorry, Peyton Manning, about your sudden collapse in the fourth quarter of your Monday night game. It was as if you, Peyton Manning, were sabotaged by 2005 Peyton Manning, who then opened a wormhole and instantaneously replaced you with himself. Where were you when 2005 Peyton was in the game? Did you get something to eat? I don’t know much about time travel, but I bet it would make me hungry.

I feel bad for you, Peyton Manning, because the other teams in your division are actually good now. It’s bad enough that you’re living with the burden of being a decent human being off the field, Peyton Manning, but now you have to carry your team without a running game or defense. It’s like, you were so busy acting like a football player that could carry his team…and now you actually have to BE one. It’s like that one Kevin Kline movie where he becomes president and then bangs the chick from Ghostbusters. I remember the name of his character, but not the name of that movie, for some reason.

You have so many endorsements and reputable friends, Peyton Manning, and I only have one of each. But I get to do lots of other cool stuff. I can drop in pass coverage in games and then drop my nuts on some random woman’s chin afterwards. If you only knew the anonymity that came with being a 6-foot-4-inch bald guy. You know what those great clutch players have that you don’t? Real simple–STDs. I don’t know what tainted pussy does for the competitor in me, I don’t ever question science. Or answer questions about science.

So…yeah…if you ever want to tag-team some human resources girls sometime…I’m on the cell.

The undefeated Titans got over the hump against their divisional nemesis, the Indianapolis Angry Pey-Peys, through a steady diet of stingy defense and Kerry Collins hate speech. The Colts were absolutely allergic to taking turnover opportunities seemingly gift-wrapped to them. Still, despite ending the terrible reign of Indy, we say fuck the Titans until the end of days for subjecting us to their retard fans. And ESPN can get doubly fucked for having nothing but Suzy voiceovers and no shots of the matron saint.

UPDATE: Nevermind. Guess we have to wait it out until the post-game. Because Suzy interviews with drunks have always gone so well in the past.

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