Philip Rivers: WHAT? HUH? WHAT? DON’T MAKE OL’ LAZYFACE SAY IT!

LaDainian Tomlinson: …I got cut.

Philip Rivers: HAHAHAHAHAHA YOU SURE DID! CUT JUST LIKE THE WIFEY’S MIDSECTION WHEN THE DOCTOR NEEDS TO RETRIEVE THE NEWEST PRINCE LASERFACE!

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I have more pet peeves than I could ever possibly catalog, but one of the things that bloggers do that I hate most is write “Insert joke here” or “The jokes write themselves” instead of actually writing a joke. It’s like announcing to your audience that you recognize comedic potential in a story but you don’t have the time or the brain power to sit down and come up with a joke.

That’s the story today, when Pro Football Talk reported on the first-ever Raidercruise — which leaves from L.A. on May 2nd, with three scheduled stops in Mexico — with the lede “Some of the best jokes write themselves.” Well, actually, no. The jokes don’t write themselves. They magically appear online in popular dick humor forums. Join us for a Raidercruise jokekkake, won’t you?

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When we last left Peter King, he was sipping Chive Okra Double Triple Coolattes, still trying to figure out how to turn on his Kindle, and reminding you that Joe Montana was a very good quarterback, BECAUSE YOU CLEARLY FORGOT AND ONLY HE REMEMBERS SUCH THINGS.

So what about this week? Did Peter have a Body Factory smoothie? Will Peter save the world by renting a Prius? CAN THIS MAN EVER GET ENOUGH NARD DOG? Read on…

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Historically, I bitch about how much February sucks. Football’s over. It’s cold, and it’s been cold for what seems like for-goddamn-ever. The jackass in the cubicle next to you is excited about pitchers and catchers reporting. And for whiteys like me and Drew, any slight pigmentation our skin once had has long since leached away.

But I dunno, I’m less suicidal than usual this February. The Super Bowl happening a full week into the month helped, and the Colts losing kicked off the off-season on a positive note. The SNOWPOCALYPSE has kept me entertained. The Winter Olympics are a worthwhile distraction. A constant and varied workout routine has made me more energetic. I’m not saying I’m not eager for spring, but hell: it was light in New York City until, like, 5:45 yesterday. I think I can make it another five weeks or so. And then it’s the NFL Draft, then summer, then training camps.

Chin up, everyone. We’re gonna make it. We always do.

So whaddaya say we celebrate the sunless hell of winter with some hot pale chicks (and shirtless Alexander Skarsgard for the ladies)? Very well, the motion passes.

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Grab some weed and a box of Scooby Snacks, because we’re hopping in the Mystery Machine for this week’s draft. The idea is to select the historical mystery that you most want solved once and for all. After that we turn it over to the commenters. Just remember to wait ten picks before selecting again.

The draft order is as follows…

1. Ufford
2. Flubby
3. Drew
4. Punte [Ed. note: Punte was unable to participate.]
5. Kogod
6. Ape

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Slightly Less Large Father Drew appeared on Washington Post Live last night. Here’s video of his appearance with Ivan Carter, who I would safely call the happiest black man in America. Seriously, dude, what are you on? Anyway, the only thing new you can take away from this is that Carter knows nothing about the internet and that Drew knows nothing about ironing pants.

Greetings, perverts, weirdos, and awkward shut-ins. Welcome to another sexbag. I apologize for the lateness of this edition, but after last week’s lackluster entries we had numerous and spirited submissions this week. Mmmmmm… “spirited submissions.”

Anyway, this is late enough in the day without me going on and on in a halfhearted introduction. Let’s get to your letters.

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Terrell Owens is looking fierce, yall.

[ TMZ via The 700 Level ]

EPISODE 25, PITCHING OR CATCHING? @PUNTE and @flubby recap some NFL news, and enjoy a few audio clips of Kevin Smith, Hunter Thompson (fake?) and surfers calling a beach storm. Jonah Keri brings a little baseball to the show (okay, a LOT of baseball) while discussing his newest venture for Bloomberg Sports. We try to keep the lip-smacking to a minimum, but there’s an obvious edit error that somehow made it past the cutting room floor.

This is the worst week of the year. More than one week after the Super Bowl. The head rush from the Saints win is slowly dissipating. We are now firmly stuck in the middle of yet another deadly offseason, AND THERE ARE STILL MONTHS TO GO. Just brutal. I can’t stand the thought of it.

So let’s try and put off our misery by arguing about who should be Meast of the Year. Plenty of deserving candidates out there, and we’re gonna let you vote. But you can only select from our pool of nominees! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Candidates after the jump:

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