Afflictions to the Starting Quartered Back Hath Occasioned a Surrogate to Pugilate in His Stead
Ravagings were rendert to the throwing joint of the head quarterbacksman, leaving Good Sir Palmer rheumy about the oculars and with marked dryness about the vaginal lips. I spake to him as he lay upon to greensward, “Good Sir Palmer, do husband your strength. Your labors require potency in the throwing arm. Is it rubella? Your eyes have yet to roll behind their lids, there is still time. Maintain pressure on the joint until we can apply leaches and allow my haymakers to triumph in your wake.” His rejoinder to me came thusly: “Where are the trainers? Can someone get this incomprehensible mick off me?” Unappreciative lout, how I knit my brows at his person!
But where Crisis has befallen he, the divine mistress of Opportunity has belavisht me with her grace. Here, only when my mind was blackent and consumpt with ideas that the Lord had smote me through continuous potato famine and six wives all lost to complications of child birth, now I am tasked with leading the first team offense into the heat of preseasonal conflict.
Being a first team quartered back is a station of immense responsibility. Therefore, to saw that I am a Man of Distinction I bought my first comb and toothstring, so as to make my appearance less “gruesome” “grueful” and “marked by grue”. It seems some had taken note of mine efforts. Whilst cording my tattering pant string, I was approached by a toff representing a three-lettered entity he said was known to all and sundry as “HBO”. This “HBO”, he said, would make a projected story of our trainings by use of moving daguerrotype. I promised to make winner’s pose prior to each haymaker, for this the camera likes.
One practice was particularly eventful. I could feel the moving daguerrotype channel its attention on my visage. How the cigarette girls would swoon when next I came upon the boulevard! Feeling flush with vainglory, I removed my claddings in the locker quarters when I was approached by the Black of Assumed Spaniard Surname.
He spake things to me of indeterminate subject. So flummoxed was I that I feigned understanding rather than ask elucidation.
“Child Please,” he exclaimed.
“Begging your pardon. Do you address me in the manner of an unruly urchin?” I puzzled.
“Child Please,” he repeated, as if I had said nothing at all.
“Sir!” I thundered. “Though it is my sworn mission to deliver you footballs on the field of play, your manner in the dressing quarters strikes me as irksome! Cease this irksomeness!”
“Man, Child Please,” he said, defiantly.
As I reared back to deliver the mother of all haymakers to this senseless ruffian, I was restrained from behind by the steady arm of headmaster Lewis. With one look I knew I risked more than sourness in the haymaker hand if I followed through on my swing. The Fake Spaniard took advantage of the momentary stillness to chase after a thing emitting a shiny light, whereafter Headmaster Lewis drew me aside and assured me that if anyone would strike this man-child, it would be he.
It was the first time I’d seen him serious.
August 24th, 2009 at 3:38 pm
Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. My favorite KSKharacter!
August 24th, 2009 at 3:38 pm
Sadly, the first thing i thought when I saw this pic was “Damn he has a huge right forearm. he must jerk off a lot.”
August 24th, 2009 at 3:40 pm
We all know the Irish are Southpaw.
August 24th, 2009 at 3:40 pm
Hell yes.
August 24th, 2009 at 3:41 pm
Does this mean a new Marvin/Ocho post where Marvin hits Ocho? Oh please please please.
August 24th, 2009 at 3:41 pm
Huzzah for the pugilist quartered-back!
“Colonel Venture, it’s Tesla! And he’s with the Avon Ladies!”
August 24th, 2009 at 3:41 pm
“Marked by grue.” Well played indeed.
/with 50% less couth.
August 24th, 2009 at 3:45 pm
you had me at “belavisht.”
August 24th, 2009 at 3:46 pm
If only the Bungles would sign Pacman…lofty conversation that would define concrete cyanide would surely commence.
August 24th, 2009 at 3:50 pm
A touch of Tullamore dew and he’ll be fit as a fiddle.
August 24th, 2009 at 3:52 pm
After spending several minutes googling and then trying to look up “belavisht” in a dictionary, I finally figured it out (bravo). Saw this week’s “Hard Knocks,” and Lewis trying to explain interest rates to Chad was like watching their KSK characters. Finally, a “moving daguerrotype” technically would have been called a “magic lantern.” That is all.
August 24th, 2009 at 3:53 pm
Dear sirs, pardon my uncouth rumblings, but might thee explaineth what exactly is going on here? I laughed, but I’m afraid I don’t understand the basis of this ksk kharacter…
August 24th, 2009 at 3:54 pm
@Gross Rexman:
origins of said KSKaracter
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_L._Sullivan
August 24th, 2009 at 4:01 pm
Thanks.
August 24th, 2009 at 4:15 pm
“toothstring”?
awesome.
August 24th, 2009 at 4:59 pm
Damn shame no one had “rheumy about the oculars” in the Excuses Draft a while back…
August 24th, 2009 at 5:01 pm
Every now and then, the forces of nature conspire to make JT O’Sullivan relevant, just so KSK never loses this national treasure of a Kharacter.
August 24th, 2009 at 5:55 pm
holy hell i percolated skywards as soon as i spotted the Irishman’s visage betwixt the ceiling wreath of one Joe of Broadway and the pox of vainglory that is Sporting Illustrations head Archon of ruminations, King Peter!
seriously the best post i’ve read all summer from the most underrated of characters. i may buy your book thanks to this delightful treat.
August 24th, 2009 at 5:59 pm
JT O’Sullivan is apparently my grandfather. How wonderful it is.
August 24th, 2009 at 6:13 pm
*applause*
Welcome back, Sir O’Sullivan.
August 24th, 2009 at 6:27 pm
I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ALL SUMMER.
August 24th, 2009 at 6:29 pm
Does it give you a headache to write like that? Because it makes my eyes bleed a little.
August 24th, 2009 at 6:48 pm
Perfect the return of JT of the Clan O’Sullivan. Fake Spaniards is my new Fantasy team name
August 24th, 2009 at 9:15 pm
Greatest kharacter ever. Though I wish every O’Sullivan post included the query, “What news this day?!”
August 24th, 2009 at 9:40 pm
Pugilate? Is this the tournament again?
August 24th, 2009 at 11:55 pm
“Cease this irksomeness!”
Slow Clap.
August 25th, 2009 at 12:43 am
The money line is “and with marked dryness about the vaginal lips.”
Outstanding Ape.
Methinks that thou chafes too much
August 25th, 2009 at 12:45 am
Or you could use “that thou doth chafe too much”.
Fuckin’ Greeks.
August 25th, 2009 at 8:50 am
Well, I am travelling to the land of Eire in September. Please, tell me more of this Tullamore Dew, LaFarve. I know only the ale of Guinness.
August 25th, 2009 at 11:27 am
This is totally Ape’s favorite running piece to write. I can’t imagine how long it takes to get all that 19th-century gibberish correct, but it must be satisfying. Huzzah!
August 25th, 2009 at 11:51 am
I’m not sure if I feel just a tad bit more intelligent after reading this.
August 25th, 2009 at 12:59 pm
I think OchoCinco chasing after a shiny thing was my favorite part.
It’s because he’s stupid, you see.
August 25th, 2009 at 1:35 pm
Oh god its about time… been waiting for this one. Had me in tears.
“Cease this irksomeness” and the 6 wives dying bit were just too much man… priceless.
As well as “Black of the assumed spaniard surname”
August 25th, 2009 at 11:23 pm
Too good. I’ve just realized that I enjoy the O’Sullivan posts more than Marmalard and Drew’s PK posts, which is saying a lot.