When we last left latte-quaffing pork ogre Peter King, he was beseeching you to spend thousands of dollars to help his friend Paul Zimmerman through the new “Nothing Is Impossible” foundation. Though I would argue that raising tens of thousands of dollars to help a fairly well-off 76-year-old man recover fully from three strokes, while perhaps not technically impossible, certainly merits changing the name of the foundation to “Something Is Impractical,” or what have you.

Anyway, it’s a new Monday. So what new lessons will King bestow upon us this week? Will he find out once again how nice it is to walk? Will he call on the US Government to amass greater rum reserves to counter the growing global pirate threat? Will he ever teach his kid to learn to fucking drive? No, I’m afraid that this week, children, Peter King has finally, inevitably, decided to explore the recent Internet phenomenon that is a PERFECT FUCKING MATCH for his sensibilities. Read on…

(The Lions) wonder why (Matt) Stafford never became the super phenom he was supposed to be coming out of high school. All logical concerns. But they also know they like him, and they know Daunte Culpepper is not their quarterback of the long-term future, and they may not have a chance to draft a quarterback as promising in the next few years.

Top of the 2010 quarterback draft class: Sam Bradford, Colt McCoy, Tim Tebow, Zac Robinson. OH NO! IT’S BARREN! The Lions may never get a chance to draft a quarterback high in the draft ever again!

Enjoyable/Aggravating Travel Note of the Week

You know, I’m aggravated that Peter King has one of these every fucking week. Hey asshole, you get to travel at no personal expense, and you are nicely accommodated. Just the other week, you got to stay at a Marriott resort in Laguna. What in the name of FUCK do you have to bitch about?

Just before Amtrak Acela Train 2172 left New York Penn Station on the continuation of its trip from Washington to Boston last Tuesday…

And you’re on fucking Acela, one of the nicer modes of transport out there. A ticket on Acela costs more than most airfare. You get nice seats, pleasant atmosphere, and free drinks and food if you’re in first class. So tell me, what was so goddamn horrible about your trip? There better be fucking Somali land pirates involved.

…a sultry, Barry White-type voice came over the PA system, and after a long exhale of breath, the voice moaned, “Ohhhhh baby,” as though the voice belonged behind a closed door and not on a crowded train.

Sounds like someone got into the nutmeg-flavored lasagna!

My seat neighbor looked at me incredulously and said, “Are we on a train?”

No, my friend. You are not on a train. You are seated next to Peter King. You are on one of life’s great roller coaster rides.

There have been a few travel notes that you just can’t make up over the years.

Yes, indeed. Truth is stranger than fiction. Who would’ve have guessed that someone would use the train PA system for half a second to have a goof? AN ASTONISHING TURN OF EVENTS. ‘Twould not be surprising if the voice belonged to Barry White himself. When you ride Acela, you are on a fast track to a surreal dimension even Dali himself could not envision.

The farter on the plane from Newark to Providence comes to mind, as does the yipping dog halfway across the country on the redeye from Seattle to Newark, and the woman clipping her nails on the jam-packed New Jersey Transit commuter from Montclair to Manhattan. This one joins the club.

That would be the Peter King Club For Random Shit That Happens To Pretty Much Anyone Who’s Ever Traveled Anywhere For Any Reason.

Say, what’s on tap for the Dr. Z auction this week, Peter?

Two baseball fans will get something they’ll never forget:

Tickets to something besides a baseball game?

Two tickets to a Red Sox-Yankees game (on one of the following dates: June 9, 10, 11, or Aug. 21, 22, 23),

NO BLACKOUT DATES, FUCKO

…plus an insider’s tour of the ballpark…

“And hee-ah is whey-ah my buddy Murph facked up some dahkie from Roxbury! You can still see some of the blood caked on the pillahs! When I think of beatin’ up dahkies, I think: Rawk stah!”

…plus a trip to the field for pregame batting practice. Fan of the column… Corey Bowdre, Red Sox group sales director…

“Petah! I love yar fackin’ cawlumn! You expose Stahhhbucks for who they really ahhh!”

…is donating this ultimate-insider’s gift for one of this year’s episodes of World War III. (Minimum bid: $1,000.)

Didn’t know World Wars came in episodes. Did you see that World War II episode where we entered the Pacific Theater? Classic.

I think Marshawn Lynch deserved three games off, and it’s right that he won’t be playing ’til October.

Well then, that totally validates Roger Goodell’s decision.

I think the NFL is really ticking me off with the timing of the schedule-release tomorrow. By unveiling the schedule (in what — 30 million homes, or whatever NFL Network hits right now?) Tuesday at 7 p.m., the league is depriving legions of drive-time sports-talk-radio fans the ability to dissect the schedule on the way home, or at the work water-cooler in the afternoon.

Instead, they’ll have to dissect it the next morning and throughout the rest of the day. You know what I call that? EXTORTION.

Now it’ll be on a fraction of the nation’s TV homes, and there won’t be any time for debate ’til Wednesday, if it’s even on radar screens by then.

Yes, I fully expect the NFL schedule to be completely ignored by everyone due to the timing of its release. I would have cared who my team was playing had the schedule been released at 1PM. But now? FUCK THAT. They may as well be playing Texas A&M.

Why, oh why, is the start of round one (of the draft) at 4:05 p.m. Saturday? Did anyone in the league say: Hey, pretty good baseball doubleheader slated for that day on FOX — Yanks-Red Sox and Cubs-Cards.

No, because no one gives a flying shit about baseball and the NFL is a fire-breathing goliath that can shit all over some dipshit Red Sox game if it so chooses.

What if the draft really drags and ends around 11 p.m.?

Then I’ll have something to watch all night?

I think I am absolutely sick about the injustice that is the death of Nick Adenhart.

Oh boy, here comes the preachin’.

How can a 22-year-old kid with a suspended license even possess car keys, never mind get behind the wheel of a car and drive again?

Because that’s just the kind of ambition, fearlessness, and go-get-‘em attitude a fifth of Popov will give you.

I fear Ortiz is not Ortiz anymore.

He’s Toone P. Wiggins now!

If Evan Longoria and Matt Garza are not in the top three vote-getters for MVP and Cy Young this year, I’ll be stunned. Longoria hits good pitches 400 feet. Garza has the Red Sox totally figured out.

Let’s analyze that baseball analysis, shall we? Peter saw one game in the April in which he saw Longoria hit the ball very far (which no other baseball player can do). Then he saw Garza beat his favorite team. Translation: THEY ARE THE BEST AT WHAT THEY DO AND WILL CONTINUE TO BE ALL YEAR LONG. Let me just check my Joe Morgan Player Analysis Guidebook for a moment…

/flips past chapter on the importance of five-toolery

Yes, yes that’s just how Joe would analyze it as well. Bang-up job there, fella.

Keep your Saturday night job, Amy Poehler.

She’s not on that show anymore, you fucking idiot.

This seven-word review, I’m afraid, represents a complete death blow to “Parks And Recreation,” a show produced by our friend Michael Schur, who used to run Fire Joe Morgan. My condolences to Schur. He should know by now that Peter King will not watch a show about land unless Brett Favre is involved.

I’m pretty much on board with everything about “The Office,” with a couple of exceptions: A season or so ago, Ryan was about to be profiled in the Wall Street Journal. Now he’s a shiftless, no-account bum. How’d that happen?

WRITING!

For a quasi-famous restaurant…

A semi-LeBronish establishment?

…Sibling Rivalry, you can do far, far better than you did Friday night.

Oh, no. Another stern warning from Peter King to a restaurant to get its fucking shit together. Expect the staff at Sibling Rivalry to now cower at the sight of Peter King strolling into their restaurant, as if he were Frank Bruni himself, and demanding all the coffee-flavored water and petit fours he likes.

Coffeenerdness: So everyone in Boston kept telling me to try Sibling Rivalry.

People of Boston: Next time, please implore this man to try iocaine powder.

And as annoying as the microscopic five-bite, $25 cod entrée was, the bitter espresso was worse.

THIS FANCY MEAL I CAN EASILY AFFORD DIDN’T LIVE UP TO MY EXPECTATIONS! I DIDN’T MOVE FROM MONTCLAIR FOR THIS!

Folks, I swear we have reached some sort of new low here. This can’t get worse. It really can’t.

Dying to Tweet.

It got worse.

Rumor has it I’m going to be taught how by my SI.com people this week…

/head explodes

I will be needing a transcript of this historic Peter King Tweeting Seminar. I really will.

Instructor: So Peter, the way you tweet is by typing something into this box and then pushing the UPDATE button.

King: This box?

Instructor: No Peter, that’s the address bar of your browser. The white box in the middle of the screen.

King: It’s asking me, “What are you doing?”. What does that mean?

Instructor: It means, what are you doing?

King: Well, currently I’m enjoying a peppermint mocha from Peet’s. PEET’S, FABULOUS JOB MAKING SURE YOUR PEPPERMINT MOCHAS HAVE JUST THE RIGHT AMOUNT OF MINTINESS. Should I write that?

Instructor: I guess. You just have to keep it to 140 characters.

King: What characters? You mean, like Don “Donnie Brasco” Banks?

Instructor: No, I mean 140 letters.

King: But what if I want to go on longer? For example, last week Frank Ames took me to Normandie Farms. Now, I don’t know what they put in their popovers, but you absolutely have to try them. With just a schmear of strawberry butter, they are truly something special. Only gripe? The coffee tasted like it came of out the kidneys of a dehydrated old man. NORMANDIE FARMS, YOU HAVE A LOT TO LEARN ABOUT HOW TO PACK AN ESPRESSO POD… Will I be able to do this “tweeting” while I drive?

Instructor: (kills self)

I also hate the fucking coy “rumor has it” way King presented this item. Oooh, rumor has it he’s gonna learn to tweet! Everyone’s talking about Peter coming to Tweetland! YOU KNOW YOU’RE INTRIGUED!

…when I’m town for some high-level (ha-ha-ha) meetings in midtown Manhattan. (The real high-level meeting, I think, is seeing Citi Field on Thursday night.)

HA HA! Even Peter’s business appointments are enjoyable! Aren’t you so glad for him?

Sounds like I’m missing everything in Tweetland.

Oh, you are, Peter. Please please please, start tweeting THIS INSTANT. I can’t wait for you to show off the skills you learned in First Grade Tweetology 101. The world shall be enriched beyond measure.

You put on the best Easter spread in the world, Pam Whiteley.

That’s a direct challenge to you, Normans!

Jack Bowers, you’ve got a lot of people from a lot of places pulling for you this week. Good luck.

Who? What? What the fuck is this doing here? Does Jack Bowers get any Red Sox auction items, or is he too young and poor to qualify for Nothing Is Impossible dollars?

You cannot be serious about shuttering the Boston Globe, you New York Times people.

I MOVED TO THIS TOWN SPECIFICALLY TO READ DAN SHAUGHNESSY EVERY DAY!

That’s unjust and ridiculous and will be a black mark against anything you do journalistically in the long-term.

I think it’s so cute how Peter believes the New York Times has a long-term anything. I know that the Times will certainly lose credibility in my eyes if they take action to preserve their existence.

How do you walk into the flagship journalistic institution in a six-state region and say, “Unless everyone in the building takes a monstrous pay cut, and a few of you walk away from your jobs forever, we’re closing the place?” What kind of management style is that?

The kind that prevents a business from getting shuttered? You see, Peter: When a business is hemorrhaging money at an alarming rate, the people running it often have to take steps to ensure that it, you know, stops hemorrhaging fucking money. But I suppose that’s a hard concept to grasp when your world revolves around minor nuisances as you ride a fucking Acela train.

Eat shit.

UPDATE: Enterprising commenter miamidiesel has a swell idea:

So here’s something I think we should all get behind: emailing Sibling Rivalry and telling them not to kowtow to this fat fuck and his flagrant attempts to get free shit by using a public platform he doesn’t deserve. We can call it the “Nothing for Your Bitching” Foundation.

Go to it.