If you find yourself confronted with an NFL postseason without a rooting interest and unmoved by Don Cheadle soliloquies, you must draw from the well of that most powerful of human emotions. Ok, well, lust probably won’t do here. But the second most powerful, hate, will serve as a fine proxy. This is one in a series of posts filled with bile, spleen, vitriol and all-around nastiness toward all the teams involved with the sordid roundelay we know as the NFL Playoffs.

Success comes to the Laserfaced! Douse me in Tentacle Grape, for I have just fucked the Cutlerfucker back to his dimly lit room for some good slicing-myself-while-listening-to-Deb-Talan.

With mopey mope suicide girl Cutlerfucker out of the picture and Ratface Shanatan gone for good, The Laserface Revenge/Coach-Killing Tour © rolls on. Next up is Phoetus Manning and Tony Dungheap. You got one over on King Philip earlier this year. BUT THAT’S ONLY WHEN I WAS LETTING THE LEAGUE LAY ITS GUARD DOWN! YOU DIDN’T THINK I’D DIDN’T KNOW DENVER WAS GOING TO CHOKE, DID YOU? DID YOU? WHAT? HUH? FUCK YOU!

My gang of supersoldiers is running at full cream. 8-8 DON’T MEAN SHIT! WE’VE BEEN GIVEN LIFE ANEW! AND WITH LIFE COMES A DICK TO FUCK YOU WITH!

Tomlinson: flexflexflexflexflexflexflexflexflexflexflexflex

Rivers: Wellie well well wellington, three gimme touchdowns against a porous Denver defense and all of a sudden LaToeInjury wants to pretend like he’s the blue-ribbon bitch again?

YOU HAVEN’T DONE FORDYCE’S-INFECTED DICK ALL SEASON, MR. LEAN MEAT PROTEIN!

Just to spite you, I bought four Philips brand flatscreens yesterday and kicked over the Vizio display with your visored vagina all over it. AND IT STILL GAINED MORE YARDS THAN YOU!

The only thing keeping us in contention all year was this God-graced football cannon and My Tiny Pocket Darren.

He’s useful because he’s portable AND HE DOESN’T SIT OUT AFC CHAMPIONSHIP GAMES IN HIS PUFFY COAT ON THE BENCH LIKE SOME DETACHED OVARIES I KNOW!

I can see it now: Early February in Tampa. All the nearby hometown Alabamians will have hitchhiked into town to see King Philip’s coronation against the Shelisha who was too good to play here.

I’ll use my bonus money to get me a giant floating zeppelin so I can cast disdainful glances on my subjects. “Please, please, regard us,” they’ll cry. AND THAT’S WHEN I’LL GOLDEN SHOWER THE LOT OF THEM! THEY’LL BE SO PROUD THEY’LL TELL THEIR GRANDKIDS AND MAIL CARRIERS ABOUT IT!

I’ll be champeen of the world. They will not need to ask somebodddaaaayyyyy because they will know. BUT I WILL TELL THEM ANWAY!

YA BETTA ASK SOMEBODDDAAAAAYYYYYYYY!