I couldn’t believe my eyes. Single coverage? That’s wanton disrespect. Just because until this game our quarterback never looked my way, couldn’t complete a pass of more than 20 yards and I was jogging through my routes, you commit only one defender to me? Might as well slap my mom across the face with your cock after you wrote “disrespect” on it with a marker you stole from my house.

All I’m saying is any less than six defenders on me is making a mockery of the game. You should have all 53 of your men on the field covering me, with the coach operating little flying robotic drones to help them out. Anything less is a huge breach of the Randy Moss Code. That’s something I apply to all facets of my life.

For example, I get home after the game, and there’s my girl, chained up just like I left her. And get this: She begs for single penetration. Not when Randy brought over Jabar Gaffney for celebration time. Bitch must’ve lost her damn mind. That’s when I hit her. Not once, but twice. Can’t be having this “one” shit.

[Oversensitive door flies open]

WHO THE FUCK TRYING TO PLAY THE DISRESPECT CARD? YOU AIN’T J-PEEZY!

THAT’S DISRESPECT!

BEST BE FIXING THAT MOUF! You motherfuckers only won ’cause you cheated! You had tapes and shit! You might not have been filming during the game, but you got archives and shit. Bet you got cameras all over my house. My! House! I’mma gut that place Conversation-style until I find ‘em. Tear up the kids’ stuffed animals ’cause I know that’s where you hid them. Bet you never thought I’d look there.

WELL JOEY PORTER WILL LOOK THERE! HE’LL TEAR THOSE STUFFED ANIMALS NEW ASSHOLES AND MAKE HUCKLEBERRIES OF HIS KIDS ONCE THEY START CRYING!

Can you believe that motherfucker Tony Sparano? Tried to take Peezy out the game? You can’t take Peezy out the game and you can’t take the game outta Peezy! I’ll take his dese-dem-dose mouf and FIX THAT SHIT GOOD. MAYBE ADD SOME LIGHTS ON IT FOR THE HOLIDAYS! PEEZY GETS FESTIVE TOO!

Last week, in a tribute to the now deceased blog Fire Joe Morgan, we sifted through an entire Peter King MMQB column precisely so you didn’t have to. It wasn’t easy. See how your brain reacts when you subject it to paragraph after paragraph about how wonderfully odor-free the Bucs’ locker room is. Well, it’s Monday again. Which means another chance for our latte-swilling tardporter to regale you with his patented brand of Regis Philbin-like football acumen…

I told Favre it’s pretty amazing that four months ago he seemed determined to play for Green Bay or Minnesota or no team, and look what’s happened. “You’re right,” he said. “Who’da thunk it? Me, a New York Jet.”

“Well, golly gee Pete! I done never expected to leave the ol’ farm for NEW YORK CITY! Who knew that spending month after month leaking complaints to the media in a cynical attempt to undermine the entire Packer organization would lead to them trading me to a team I originally was hesitant to join?”

Five things you didn’t know about Pittsburgh defensive coordinator Dick LeBeau, who was honored Thursday night before the Pittsburgh-Cincinnati game for his 50 consecutive years of NFL service — as a player, assistant coach and head coach. And I won’t even include the one about reciting (from memory) “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas” to his players every year, a few days before Christmas:

From memory? Well, he’s gotta be some kind of bookgician, he does!

What does it say about the maturity level of NFL players that one of their defensive coordinators holds fucking storytime for them every Christmas?

4. He calls his 95-year-old mother, Beulah LeBeau, in London, Ohio, every day.

He regularly communicates with his mother? GET THE FUCK OUT! Now that is some news of the WEIRD!

It’s quieter in hotels and on airplanes these days, with the economy the way it is. I am on a three-flight streak on Continental of being upgraded to first class with my frequent-flyer status, and two of those flights had empty seats in first …. which means there weren’t enough Elite flyers aboard to fill the seats.

Not enough elite flyers? NO! GAH! What miserable fate has befallen us, my dear countrymen! Real estate prices have tanked, stocks are worthless, and PETER KING DOES NOT HAVE SUFFICIENT COMPANY IN HIS EXCLUSIVE AIR CAPSULE! Do you realize he had to spend two whole hours on that flight NOT telling people about the muffaletta sandwich he had that afternoon? Or about his trip to the dermatologist?

Marriotts simply have to change their shampoo.

This is not elite flyer shampoo!

Can’t you put no-smell or low-smell shampoo in the rooms, Mr. Marriott?

My natural odor is strong enough as is!

Driving’s great, especially with Sirius Radio and a good headset for the cell phone. I kept a tally — 33 work calls on the round-trip.

So a tip to you drivers in Jersey and PA: Stay at least two lanes over from the asshole in the Volvo station wagon wearing a Bluetooth headset, drinking a vanilla latte, and trying to eat seven cinnamon scones simultaneously.

Gas at the Sideling Hill rest area on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, late July, on my training-camp trip: $4.29 per gallon. Gas at the same station Friday morning: $2.19 per gallon.

That’s fucking wild. It’s almost as if prices fluctuate in response to market demand!

It must be impossible to recruit for Notre Dame anymore. If Charlie Weis, with his Super Bowl rings, can’t walk into the homes of the best offensive players in the country and persuade them to hone their skills in maybe the best NFL-prep program for skill players, who can?

Here are the national recruiting rankings for Notre Dame over the past four years, according to Rivals.com. Keep in mind: these rankings are public information. All you need to do to find them is conduct a simple Google search.

2009: #10
2008: #2
2007: #8
2006: #8

Of course, it can be difficult to find these rankings if you are making 33 fucking calls in your car telling friends and family about how substandard the free shampoo at Marriott can be.

It would appear that Charlie Weis can recruit a player or two. It’s just that he’s, you know, the fattest, dumbest, shittiest coach in the history of everything ever. So perhaps we shouldn’t call his system the “best NFL-prep program for skill players” when Jimmy Clausen couldn’t hit the broad side of your ample backside with a pass.

Look for this to be the last year the Pro Bowl is played the week after the Super Bowl. As I reported on NBC last night, the league likely will announce in the next few weeks the moving of the game to the weekend before the Super Bowl.

That’s the kind of hard-hitting, relevant news I expect from a show that features Tiki Barber.

I’m sure when (Jared Allen) got the notice of the fine, he immediately went to his coaches and said, “Guys, this fine money is out of control. I’ve got to tone down my hits on the quarterback. Don’t expect me to be so aggressive from now on.” Not.

AS IF!

a. If I read one more story about where LeBron James might play two years from now, I’m going to puke.

b. Really: In what other sport are the next two seasons rendered totally meaningless for a cornerstone-of-the-league franchise like the New York Knickerbockers?

c. It’s everywhere — on talk radio, on “SportsCenter,” in columns, endlessly in every New York paper and Web site.

a. This is not how you use bullet points. If your thought is that LeBron James’ impending free agency is an overhyped story, that can all be accommodated by a single bullet. You don’t need to put each sentence of your thought onto new, successive bullet points. That would be wasteful. Your second bullet, ideally, would make an entirely new point.

b. You are a huge douche.

I’ve never been part of being benched, uh, I didn’t even know that was in the rules. It’s just something that comes with being in the league and I have to go along with it. 

Yeah, that white boy did great, didn’t he? Fuck this place. I’m so outta here. 

Two teams hanging on the fringes of playoff possibility (and the Chargers only because they play in the AFC West) meet for the first time since the Volektricity memorably backed up Marmalard’s vicious taunts of Indy fans in what was the final game ever in the RCA Dome. Now the Colts can effectively end the Chargers season and do a big favor to their own Wild Card aspirations with another road victory over an AFC rival.

But who gives a shit? We demand more cheerleader goodness, NBC. You were so good about it when New England was in town. If I have to deal with the sulking expressions of Dungy, Norval and Pey-Pey with no cheerleader chaser, so help me I’ll switch over to Dexter. I’ll do it! I mean it!

What we’ve learned so far today:

Jeff Fisher should have spent more time working on his defensive game-plan and less time playing paratrooper.

Donovan McNabb got benched after two picks and a fumble, providing time for him to brush up on the finer points of the rulebook.

Chilly Chill cockblocks Adrian Peterson fantasy owners with Chester Taylor near the goal line.

Joey Porter is your huckleberry and the Patriots are a bunch of cheaters….

[ as always, Xmas Ape comes through with the screen grabs & video ]

Mike Ditka, wearing a goofy pilgrim-style cap, was whining this morning about the quality of the annual Thanksgiving match-ups — due in large part to the inclusion of perennial chumpstains the Detroit Lions. Truth be told, I am perfectly happy with shitty Thanksgiving games. When I’m stuck in the boonies listening to a second cousin by marriage whose name I don’t remember yammering about the finer points of rebuilding the transmission on a ’76 El Camino, I can sit in rapt attention to just about any crap game. Save the marquee games on Sunday afternoons.

Speaking of marquee, the Jets and Titans headline today’s early offerings. Just when I thought ESPN couldn’t get any gayer for Brett Favre, I saw Greg Garber soliciting accounts of Brett Favre slapping the asses of unwitting teammates and coaches. Now Berman is sooooo jealous of Nick Mangold. After that brutal piece, I am praying for a monster game from the Titan’s front four.

The holidays are practically upon us, and with that the weather has turned cold.  Really. Fucking. Cold.

I spent about half an hour walking my dog one morning this week, then came back in and brushed my teeth.  And I was like, “Why is this water so warm?”  I checked the temperature with my hand.  Warm water.  Checked the faucet.  Cold.  Then I realized: it was so cold outside that the inside of my mouth had gotten colder than cold faucet water.

And yet, here it is, freezing weather, and all these models are without shirts.  So sad.  For them, I mean.

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Sure, Kendra looks pretty good all covered up, but sometimes it’s just natural to completely expose oneself (NSFW).

Welcome to another edition of Always Be Covering, the internet’s worst gambling advice column. Hopefully you’ve gathered by now that KSK isn’t in the “information” business. See what separates us from other gambling advice columns is that other gambling advice columns are gambling advice columns. Sure, sometimes my picks will be absolutely perfect, but then there are occasions like last week where I managed to go a staggering 0 for 7, which is kind of perfect in it’s own imperfect way. Regardless, I feel bad that I may have steered some of you in the wrong direction last week, so I’ll make my amends after the jump.

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In an effort to regain control of his team, Bengals coach Marvin Lewis decides to take the drastic step of bringing volatile wideout Chad Ocho Cinco into his home in a spirited attempt to get the two men to understand one another.

Marvin: Hey, Chad! Chad! Get down here! Losing is not an excuse for apathy, young man! I want you to come down here and be a part of this team again!

Ocho: Hold on, coach! Comin’! What’s the scoop? What’s going on? Why didn’t you let Ocho play last night?

Marvin: I told you, Chad. You were late for the team meeting. So I had to suspend you indefinitely.

Ocho: Well, if I wasn’t DEFINITELY suspended, then why couldn’t I play?

Marvin: No, that’s not what that word means, Chad. It means that you are suspended for an indefinite period of time.

Ocho: Well, if you can’t define that period of time, why don’t you let me? I think I should have only been suspended for, like, a minute. Maybe four.

Marvin: No, Chad. You didn’t deserve to be suspended for only a minute. You needed to be suspended for the entire game because of your insubordination.

Ocho: I was suspended for insubordination? That’s BULLSHIT, man! You should be thanking me. Normally, Coach Bratkowski has to do all the offensive insubordinatin’. Why you suspending Ocho for helping his ass out?

Marvin: That offensive coordinating. Not the same thing. This is what I keep talking about, Chad. You keep making mistakes, and then failing miserably to own up to them. I have no choice but to keep you deactivated until I deem you fit to return to the field.

Ocho: LOOK AT ME! I’M FIT!

Marvin: Again, not what I meant.

Ocho: Coach, coach. I already said I was sorry I missed the meeting YO. I already told you, I was sleeping.

Marvin: That’s not a good excuse, Chad. You get plenty of time for sleeping during the night. There’s no reason you can’t show up to a 10 o’clock meeting.

Ocho: All right. All right. Okay, coach. I didn’t wanna say nothing about this, but I have to. The truth is, I haven’t been sleeping good. At all. I think I have a touch of the ammonia.

Marvin: Insomnia.

Ocho: Whatever. It’s just… it’s hard for me to sleep, know what I mean? I got a lot on my mind. Lotta shit goin’ down in OchoWorld, know what I mean?

Marvin: Thankfully, no.

Ocho: It’s just… sometimes at night, I just can’t get to sleeping. I think about shit, you know? I think about, like, letters. You ever think about letters, Coach? I do. And you know what? I really do not like the letter Y. It bothers me, you know?

Marvin: No.

Ocho: It’s just… what’s the point of it? It’s such a gay letter. Everybody’s saying shit like, “Hey Ocho, Y did you sit crosslegged on that one play?” Or, “Hey Ocho, Y did you put mashed potatoes in the toilet?” I don’t like that letter.

Marvin: Okay, that’s not the letter Y. That’s the word “Why,” which is spelled W-H-Y.

Ocho: But Y is in that shit! You see? What’s it doing there?

Marvin: Become sometimes the letter Y acts as a vowel, rather than a consonant.

Ocho: Well, how the fuck does it do that? Where does that letter get off thinking it’s all Optimus Prime and shit?

Marvin: It’s just a letter, Chad.

Ocho: Yeah, but it shouldn’t be. We’ve got so many better letters out there. Like X. That’s a good letter. LOOK OUT BITCHES, THIS MOVIE IS RATED X! That’s solid. I like Z too. It’s so sharp, you know? Like, Z is all, BACK OFF MUTHAPHUCKKA OR I’LL CUT YO ASS! That’s not a gay letter. That’s a letter that will do some fuckin’. Know what I mean?

Marvin: No.

Ocho: Also, the letter Y looks like a slingshot. And I don’t like it when we use letters as weapons. You don’t see any gun-shaped letters. That would be bad for the kids.

Marvin: I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s Y. It’s a letter. It isn’t malevolent in any way. It serves an important phonetic role in how we speak. You use the letter Y to make a “yuh” sound.

Ocho: Yuh? Who the fuck says Yuh? That’s Eskimo shit.

Marvin: It’s not a word. It’s sound you make to pronounce the rest of the word. If I say the word “Young,” I need the Y sound in order to pronounce it correctly. Do you see what I mean?

Ocho: See, I think you’re just making it all up.

Marvin: I’m not making it up. They teach this stuff in first grade, Chad.

Ocho: You know what would be a good letter? The happy face.

You see a happy face, you know what that shit means. That would be a good letter.

Marvin: Okay, a happy face is not a letter.

Ocho: But it could be.

Marvin: But it isn’t.

Ocho: But it could be.

Marvin: But it isn’t.

Ocho: But it could be.

Marvin: But it isn’t.

Ocho: But it could be.

Marvin: But it isn’t. It’s a fucking drawing.

Ocho: But that’s because you only THINK of it like that, know what I mean? It could be a letter if we wanted it to be.

Marvin: No, it couldn’t. It doesn’t represent any kind of phonetic speech command.

Ocho: Sure it does. It says, HEY LOOK AT ME I’M A WHITE PERSON AND I’M ALL HAPPY AND SHIT!

Marvin: Again, it’s not a letter. It’s a drawing. It can’t be a letter.

Ocho: Yeah, but you don’t KNOW that. What if it used to be a letter and they just left it out by accident?

Marvin: They didn’t.

Ocho: Yeah, but you don’t KNOW that. You can’t possibly know that. You weren’t there when they did it.

Marvin: It doesn’t matter. Trust me. There was never meant to be a happy face in the alphabet.

Ocho: Okay, well let me ask you a question then. You got kids, right?

Marvin: Yes.

Ocho: They ever sing the Alphabet Song?

Marvin: Yes.

Ocho: Are they HAPPY when they finish singing it?

Marvin: Yes.

Ocho: I rest my case. There’s clearly supposed to be a happy face at the end of that shit. You know what else would make a good letter? A Snickers bar.

That way, you could be reading through some word and be reminded OH SNAP! I FORGOT TO FUCKING EAT!

Marvin: A Snickers bar would not be a good letter.

Ocho: Give me one good reason why it wouldn’t be a kickass letter.

Marvin: HOLY SHIT. THE DEPTHS OF YOUR RETARDERY HAVE NOW REACHED A NEW FUCKING LOW. THIS IS WHY I FUCKING SUSPENDED YOU, YOU EMPTY-HEADED DOORSTOP. I’M TRYING TO SAVE MY FUCKING JOB, AND I HAVE A RECEIVER WHO CAN’T BE BOTHERED TO SHOW UP FOR PRACTICE BECAUSE HE’S TOO BUSY THINKING UP NEW, FUCKING STUPID LETTERS FOR AN ALPHABET THAT HAS ALREADY SERVED THE ENGLISH-SPEAKING WORLD WELL FOR FUCKING CENTURIES.

DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW TO READ? OR WRITE? ARE YOU FUCKING ILLITERATE? I CAN’T EVEN FUCKING BELIEVE I’M ARGUING WITH YOU ABOUT WHETHER OR NOT A FUCKING CANDY BAR BELONGS IN THE GROUP OF SYMBOLS WE USE FOR DAILY COMMUNICATION. THAT’S HOW FUCKING DUMB YOU ARE, CHAD. YOU MAKE EVERYONE AROUND YOU NEARLY AS FUCKING RETARDED AS YOU ARE. SO GO BACK TO FUCKING SLEEP, ASSHOLE. AND YOU KNOW WHAT? DON’T EVER WAKE UP. BECAUSE ANOTHER HOUR OF YOU AWAKE IS ANOTHER HOUR THE WORLD’S BRAIN CELLS ARE SUBJECT TO MASS FUCKING GENOCIDE.

A FUCKING HAPPY FACE? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?

Ocho: You know what else would make a good letter? A knife. Ray Lewis agrees with me on that. It would be like Z. Just really badass to have in there. It’d be like, NOW I KNOW MY A-B-KNIFE, NEXT TIME MAYBE I’LL TAKE YOUR FUCKING LIFE.

Marvin: JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

Notwithstanding the showdown of stubbly ex-alcoholic quarterbacks and the proliferation of dominating defensive tackles, one of whom has a predilection for stomping opposing centers, we just can’t resist a war of the waistlines. And so it is with known megaendomorphs Eric Mangini and LenDale White. It’s a nominally close game between teams fairly close in the standings but miles apart in talent. Of course, that’s not the spread these two are concerned about. WHO YA GOT?

Contestants

Eric Mangini__________________LenDale White

Overshadowed, but not completely because they’re big, by:

Bill Belichick__________________Chris Johnson

Thanksgiving favorite

The food!______________________What he said

Eating position

Head of table______________________Wherever the scraps are

FreeDarko Spirit Animal

Paunchy circus bear____________________Exploding whale

Why shouldn’t feed him from the stands

May name child after you________________________Will probably follow you home

How many seats does he get on the plane?

Half of first class_____________________How many are in the cargo hold?

Does he outweigh the team’s center?

Yeah, but not his sister_________________Not with the labor people

Finishing move

The two-hand fried ice cream scoop_____________________Two-yard gain, one calorie loss