As you’ve seen or heard by now, the Indy Star had a lengthy interview with Peyrton Manning earlier this week in which Ol’ Battleship wasn’t exactly optimistic about his future with the Colts. None of it was particularly inflammatory, but owner Jim Irsay called Manning a “politician” and wished that he’d kept his feelings “in the family.” Just when it looked like the wheels might come off, the Colts today released a joint statement from Irsay and Manning, who say that they have a “great relationship” — at least until March, when Manning’s $28 million option bonus is due.

And so, with the inevitable break-up looming, this Friday’s musical selection goes out to Andrew Luck. Don’t worry, Pey-Pey, it’s cool for a guy to sing it:

The Super Bowl bye week is the worst. No (real) football and limited gambling options make for a boring January weekend. I don’t hate myself enough to bet on the Pro Bowl, and I don’t know anybody willing to take the North in the Senior Bowl. The best way for you to put some money at risk this weekend to start up a Puppy Bowl Pool.

Dozens of shelter puppies will take place in eighth installment of Animal Planet’s Super Bowl counterprogramming. The starting lineup features 20 of the dogs we’ll see, and once again, there’s not a bulldog or corgi to be seen. Much less the elusive bullcorgi (we’re getting so close), the Britishest of all potential hybrid dog brees. However, there are a some pretty chill puppies.

I’m suggesting that people find three friends willing to put up an entrance fee to draft a team of five dogs. Whoever’s dog wins the Puppy Bowl MVP gets half of the money. The other half goes to the owner of the viewer’s choice. Draft well, and you can go for the scoop. Last year one dog did all of the work by himself.

/checks math

I don’t know why the website doesn’t reveal all of the dogs that participated back when they filmed this thing, but oh well. Let’s just assume that the winner will come from the starting lineup. After all, nobody is going to vote for the John Beck of puppies.

Continue after the jump for some puppies to target in your draft.

Abilene the Australian Shepherd

But my dreams
They aren’t as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That’s never free

Calvin the Dachshund

Calvin? No no no. I will call you Hidaldo. Also, that’s not a dachshund. Pretty awesome whiskers though.

Eurika the Chihuahua/Terrier Mix

It’s always wise to have at least one scruffy puppy on your roster. Eurika is scruffy and approachable, as opposed to Leroy Brown, who looks like he slept in a dumpster last night.

Hunter the Boxer

Boxer puppies tend to be playful and outgoing, plus they never have any idea how much stronger they are than smaller dogs. I really hope Hunter fucks up some rat terrier’s whole day in there.

Lucie the Pit Bull/Collie Mix

Oh, Lucie. You’ll never win this thing because people are biased against pit bulls, but you’ve won me over. I don’t know why, but I have an overwhelming desire to get you stoned.

***CRITICAL UPDATE***

Thanks to Jim U for alerting me to the expanded starting lineup that features an additional 16 dogs. This changes everything. They did in fact add a corgi mix. Of course they also added two more rat terriers, bringing the total to four. Please people, spay or neuter your rat terrier immediately. We do not need any more of these dog-like things running around. Keep an eye out for York the Basset Hound mix, Portia the Corgi mix, Montana the Rottweiler/Collie mix, and my new overwhelming favorite…

Salem the Boxer/Lab mix. Andrew Luck has nothing on Salem.

Hi folks. I’m sick as hell this week, so the answers will be a bit more abrupt than usual. Doesn’t mean I don’t like you, it’s just a side effect of not being able to breathe through my nose, all of my muscles hurting, and my head feeling like it weighs 30 pounds. Let’s just guzzle some more Emergen-C and power through this.

Captain Caveman,
I recently started working with what I presume to be my dream girl. We went to a happy hour and hit it off. I asked her out to dinner, and we had a great time. When I was dropping her off in front of her door and about to make a move, her brother came down and kind of dispelled any chance I had for the night. I guess the problem started when I was moved right next to her in the office.

Wait, why was her brother there when you dropped her off? Does she still live at home? Was her brother visiting? Does he live with her? And why is the thing about the office part of this paragraph? What’s happening? Did my fever write your email?

We were constantly together all the time, it was kind of like being forced into a serious relationship by the office. During our date, we made plans to go out on another, so I asked her out again. Not sure what happened, but it eventually came down to her telling me, “Because we sit so close to each other it might ruin our work environment (or some shit like that). What I got from it? It’s not gonna work out. And I totally took the steps necessary to blow her off. Problem is, she asked me when we were going to go out on the date that I had mentioned before. Whatever.

I went out with her, and again, we hit it off.

She told you nothing was going to happen because you work next to each other, then she asked when you were going out again? I need more aspirin.

I believe that I am about to get friend-zoned, which tell you the truth, I have no use for. Once you’re in the friend-zone, you are just an emotional crutch until the girl has a boyfriend. I have enough girl friends that will blow me off once they get boyfriends so I don’t really see the point in actually trying to feign a friendship with a girl that I have romantic feelings for.

I guess my questions are: Should I cut my losses and avoid this girl?

Yes.

Should I pursue her anyway?

No.

Should I try the friend route and see what happens?

That’s a stupid question and you know it.

I am serious when I say that she is my dream girl. That is probably the only reason I am wrestling with these feelings. Bitches be actin cray.
Thanks,
Ball So Hard University Grad.

Dream girl, huh? Is “flighty nitwit” part of your feminine ideal? If you want her so bad, the best thing you can do is blow her off. Don’t initiate any contact with her, and repeatedly tell her that you’re “just really busy right now” when she tries to talk to you. This will make her feel unwanted, which will make her want to win you back. By the time that happens, you’ll have the choice of blowing her off for good or breaking past that mysterious guard-brother she has at home.

If all of this sounds like a dick-ish head game to play, well, yeah, it kind of is. But she initiated this nonsense with her mixed messages, so to hell with her. This is how people who aren’t genuine deserve to be treated.

(Oh, also: don’t sleep with co-workers.)

**********

Dear Mr. Caveman,
I know that it is a horrible idea to date someone that you work with, but my situation is kind of wacky and I would greatly appreciate your advice.

I am currently working for an Americorps program that is stationed in the woods of Central New England. My 28 fellow interns and I will be living in a state park for the next 10 months where we will be teaching in the local school system for 5 months and rebuilding trails for the other 5.

That sounds pretty cool.  Plus, it hits the Trifecta of Evil according to staunch Republicans: education, conservation, and a government-funded program.

/PolFlaWa

We will be doing everything from eating, to cleaning, to creating lesson plans together. These people will basically be my family for the next year. Our cabins are heated by wood burning stoves and don’t have running water or electric lights. However, the dining/community living area is heated with a furnace and has electricity and running water. The male to female ratio is approximately 1:1 and there are no rules against hooking up with each other.

That’s gonna be a long fucking winter, but it otherwise sounds pleasantly rugged, so long as there aren’t too many assholes.

I’m not sure if I lucked out or what, but I expected the female population at this camp to consist of ugly lesbians, unshaven hippies, and other unkempt women. However, when I arrived I was pleasantly surprised to find that there was a beautiful, tall, skinny, blonde girl who is also smart and on the same page about most things as me.

What should I do? This is basically it for my relationship pool at the moment. However, I’m going to be living in extremely close quarters with these folks for the next 10 months and people are bound to get jealous/angry/annoyed with one another. I don’t know if I want to complicate that even more by adding any sort of physical relationship to that equation.

You’re young and idealistic and horny. The first time booze and weed get passed around, people are gonna end up fucking. Might as well be you and the hot blonde girl.

Also, if I end up trying to get closer with this girl, all of my flirting experience has been with texting.

Holy shit, you’re one of the young people that Louis C.K. is always talking about in his act!

I mean, it has to be said that Americorps is way better than being a barista, but still: put the phone away and LOOK at people more often. That goes for everybody reading this. (And yeah, for me too.)

This isn’t really that big of a deal but it’s definitely a road block to my final destination (depending on what I decide to do).

Thanks for your help.
— It’s Cold Out Here

I wouldn’t rush into anything, but I wouldn’t write anything off, either. Just enjoy making friends and doing good work. If you happen to get laid and/or fall in love and/or get your heart ripped out, well, that’s life and these things happen. Enjoy everything to the fullest, even your mistakes.

**********

Dear Sage of the Internet,
Football: I have to choose a keeper for next year. I’m undecided between Forte and Megatron. I’m a hopeless homer and will probably keep Forte but any advice you have would be appreciated. Finished 5th for 3 years in a row. It’s like I’m one of the not-so ugly chicks at the bar at closing time.

Forte was incredible this year up until his injury (especially if you had a PPR league) — and that’s precisely why I’d go with Calvin Johnson. Your choices are a great fantasy back with some injuries and an inconsistent streak, or the no-doubt #1 fantasy receiver in the game who never gets hurt because he’s bigger than everyone trying to tackle him and who still catches touchdown passes even when his quarterback gets hurt.

Sex/Advice:
If you’ll indulge me, I’d like to give some advice of my own. I’m in the Navy (yeah, effin’ squid) and I spent a lot of time away from home. I was married to wonderful woman for over ten years. She put up with the military life because she loved me, I loved her and we have three beautiful children that are the reason I have for living. I never noticed how much I didn’t do. If that makes sense. She did everything, worked, bills, kids, house, pets. She took care of all of it while I was away and I got used to it. I wouldn’t do squat around the house when I was home because I figured she would take care of it. I never strayed, nobody ever measured up to her. But I did take her for granted. She did ask me to do more around the house when I was home, asked me to help with the shopping and whatnot but I was too busy or too lazy.

She left me. Not for another guy, not because she hates me. But because I didn’t do anything to make her life easier. There is nothing I regret more than not telling her how much I appreciate her, how much she means to me, how much having her in my life makes me happy. You’ve said many times that you can’t make somebody love you. But you can make someone fall out of love with you. If you’re reading this and are lucky enough to have someone you love in your life, please take twenty minutes out of your week and let them know it. Do the friggin’ dishes now and then. I know it’s not the end of the world for me, sure does feel like it though. My kids are number one, I’ll always have them. I know I’ll move on eventually, but I know I will never find someone like her again. Life doesn’t let you get that lucky. Get off the computer and give your significant other a hug, right now. Tell that person how much they mean to you. Hold them like you never want to let them go.
– Heart torn like an ACL.

That was super-depressing, but thank you. You make a very good point.

**********

Cap’n-
Girlfriend broke up with me somewhat unexpectedly. She’s going through a lot (insane grad program and sick family member), and said she feels guilty, like there’s no room or emotion left for a relationship. We are very much in love, and she swears this was the only reason for the breakup. For what it’s worth, I believe her. She said she still wants to talk, and while normally in a breakup that’s a terrible idea, I want to see her, talk to her, and be there for her. I know this makes it sound like we’ll get back together, but I don’t want to get wrapped up in that line of thinking. How should I handle this? I’m thinking the “keep my distance, take care of myself, but be available for her” is the play, but welcome dissenting opinions.

No, fuck that. Keep your distance and take care of yourself, that’s it. Tie that “be available for her” caveat to a cement block and drop it into the nearest body of water that can be seen from space.

Relationships do NOT work that way. You don’t love someone and share their bed and get emotionally attached to them, then say, “I don’t have room for you in my life, except for conversations where you offer me emotional support.” I don’t care how busy your life is or which family member’s on life support: it’s a selfish thing to ask.

When a girl breaks up with a guy, she wants to “stay friends” for at least one or both of these reasons:

1. It keeps you close and emotionally involved. This pays off in attention, which makes her feel desirable and wanted. It’s also a nice fail-safe in case she changes her mind and wants you again — she can always turn to what’s on the back burner.
2. It makes her feel better about herself. When a relationship ends, everyone’s feelings get hurt. Sure, the rejection of getting dumped is the worse side to be on, but the dump-er feels guilt for hurting someone’s feelings. If you stay friends, then she doesn’t have to face the pain she caused you! HOORAY! She doesn’t have to feel guilty!

This is your dissenting opinion: she can have your full love and support through her difficult time, or she can have none of it. Do NOT be her emotional crutch — she’ll only discard you when she can walk again.

Fantasy: Uh, not really my main focus here (scary that I view this site as therapy first, football second), but what are your views on fantasy during the playoffs? I’m in a league for the first time this year, and after winning my regular season league, my horrible showing is tarnishing my glory.
-Bannister Jones

I’m not enamored with those playoff fantasy challenges, but I suppose they’re a decent form of methadone if you’re jonesing hard enough. And don’t sweat losing ‘em — there’s no tarnishing a league championship. That’s yours to enjoy the rest of your life.

***********

Dear Caveman,
Fantasy: My crappy team was completely torpedoed by Purple Jesus’s ankle injury. For next year, any good ideas for late round sleeper picks? Think Daniel Thomas will break out?

I liked what I saw from Thomas when he was healthy and playing, but I’m troubled by two things: (1) new coach, and (2) the emergence, finally, of Reggie Bush. Now, I’m not so foolish to think that Bush will stay healthy for a full season, but until we see how training camps go, I’d think of Thomas as more of a handcuff than a sleeper.

As for other sleepers, I’m tired and sick and don’t feel like looking up names and crunching numbers. Ask me again in August.

Sex: I casually dated my roommate for roughly three months. We started as friends, and drunkenly hooked up.

Oh, savvy move! I bet this story turns out great with everyone really happy!

We live a large house with 6 other people. We were exclusive, spent tons of time together but we never really defined the relationship because she was coming off a bad breakup and wanted to take things slow for a while. She never pushed to make it official but I could tell that she was way more into the relationship then I and I didn’t see a long term future so I broke it off. We had a couple other minor problems but that comes with dating someone. She felt the split was premature and that I could maybe feel differently with more time. Isn’t liking someone the one thing in a relationship that you shouldn’t have to work on?

I have a hard time arguing against that.

Is my reason for breaking up with her legitimate? I feel it is but I have never really broken up with anyone before. This question sounds stupid to me but she isn’t really accepting it as a legitimate reason.

Here’s you a couple seconds ago: “I didn’t see a long term future.” I’ve always been of the mindset that as soon as you know you definitely don’t want to marry a girl you’re dating, you break up with her. Unless she was, like, crazy hot in bed. Then the bad news could wait a little bit.

Secondly, she is really broken up about it. Any tips for being the good friend of someone that you just broke up with?

Yes. Don’t live in the same house that she lives in.

Is there any way to “be there” for someone you just dumped?

No. You “being there” for her is just going to be her crying while she asks you the same questions (“But WHY?”) over and over again until you either storm out or give up and fuck her, thus compounding all the problems you’re dealing with at the moment.

Any chance I can ever date anyone else as long as I live with her?
Thanks,
-Keeping it in house

LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

Sure, as long as the new girl never sets foot in your house. No problem at all.

**********

El Capitan,
Fantasy: Because everyone (no one) cares about leagues other than their own. I won the Super Bowl in one league, finished out of the money in another. Hey thanks a lot DeSean Jackson for such a fine contract year performance, and a special thank you to a buggy live auction site that didn’t acknowledge my +1 bid on Calvin Johnson with 5 seconds left on the timer and let him go to the eventual league winner at $15 below expected price.

“I have no question.”

Sex: I have a wedding question that, considering your upcoming nuptials, might be of interest. A cousin of mine is getting married this summer and my wife and I will be invited to the wedding. We live 500 miles away and have two grade school aged children. I recently received an e-mail stating that the bride and groom have decided to make the ceremony and reception adults and high school aged children only. The parents of the groom have offered to have our kids stay at their house with a babysitter. Etiquette-wise this is all well and good but my question is whether I should now graciously decline the invitation.

The wife and I would be taking a day off work, the boys would both miss a little league game, and we would be driving 12 hours for the wedding only to leave the kids with a babysitter we don’t know in order to go to the ceremony and reception. Now obviously the wedding is all about the bride and groom and making their day special

Correct. Let’s remember that as we move forward.

and I would not presume to ask that they make exceptions for our kids. However, I’m not sure that we can, in good conscience, take the boys on a long drive and then tell them to stay with a stranger for 6 hours while we go to party town.

We have a very good relationship with this side of the family and though they would be disappointed, I’m pretty sure they would understand and there would be no lingering hard feelings. That being said I’m a little pissed off about this “no children” development. I was never a kid friendly person but always managed to put on a happy face and made nice in family get-togethers where kids were sure to be around. I’m thinking they are being a bit selfish and not considering the practical situations of many relatives that will be put in a similar spot.
-My kids are awesome, yours suck.

Hell yeah they’re being selfish. It’s their wedding. They’re entitled to do it however they want, and if you don’t like it, then you just stay home and be offended that they didn’t consider what’s practical for you. But I’ll tell you one thing: I bet that wedding’s going to kick ass, and people are going to have a great time whether or not you’re there. No one’s gonna be like, “Oh no, MKAAYS and his wife couldn’t make it because it was a hassle for them. If ONLY the bride and groom hadn’t made this wedding so awesome by not allowing any children!”

Your kids are probably great, but let’s get the prevailing opinion out in the open: fuck your stupid kids. Kids are shitty wedding guests. They’re prone to squirming and talking during the ceremony. They’re terrible at dancing. They pick at the food and whine that they want pizza. They don’t drink, but they cost full price toward the head count. Every child at a wedding represents an ACTUAL, MEANINGFUL FRIEND of the bride and groom who wasn’t invited. So, speaking on behalf of the couple getting married, fuck you for thinking your kids somehow have priority over your cousin’s lifelong friends..

Did you ever consider that a wedding without children would be more enjoyable for everyone there — including you? Maybe your cousin wants to be able to dance the night away with you and your wife without one of you disappearing early to tuck the kids into bed. Maybe you can call in a favor to your wife’s parents and have them watch the kids while you enjoy a fun weekend with your wife. Maybe you could graciously accept the six hours of free babysitting instead of bitching about it. Maybe fuck yourself.

Whatever the case, as you said, it’s all about making the bride and groom’s day special, and your kids aren’t part of that.

Adam Schefter is reporting that the Tampa Bay Buccaneers are close to making Greg Schiano their new head coach, much to the delight of Peter King, who has been talking up his pro potential quite a bit. Schiano has spent the past eleven years overhauling the Rutgers football program from laughingstock to kind of not terrible all of the time. Thus ends a curious search that saw the team spurned by Oregon’s Chip Kelly after interviews with Marty Schottenheimer, Mike Sherman, Brad Childress, an older gentleman with a distinctive hat who kind of looked like Tom Landry for a minute, and token respectable candidate Mike Zimmer.

If the deal goes through, all NFL head coaching vacancies will have been filled. Mike Sherman will likely settle for the offensive coordinator job in Miami, while Schottenheimer can refocus his energy on guiding the Virginia Destroyers to a second straight UFL title. Assuming those are still things that exist, of course.

• GRONK is party. Rob Gronkowski did an interview with ESPN Deportes following the AFC Championship game. He tried his best to humor the audience, using up everything he remembers from 9th grade Spanish class.

In other things GRONK related, here’s a tribute song from Youtube user unclepoggy that comes via @fitzyGFY. Don’t worry, Tommy. This video doesn’t feature any “housekeepah talk.”

Image via BR

The celebrity Super Bowl pick is a time-honored tradition, one we at KSK are more than happy to take part in. For the next two weeks, stars from all over the world will drop in to make their picks. Today, it’s hard-bitten crime novelist James Ellroy.

Eli.

The car idled.

He puzzled over the permutations of his name and which larger words the letters could fit into, neatly and with meaning:

E-L-I-T-E
B-E-L-I-E-V-E
C-E-L-E-B-R-I-T-Y
E-L N-I-N-O

No dice: he dismissed the exercise as foolish and detrimental. He hated his indulgence. He hated that so many others had no problem doing the same.

Eli forced his mind toward Dick Contino, Italian crooner who purveyed the fatalism that was his own. In his mind, Contino croons the wah-wah ballad “Angel Act” achingly, full of baritone tremolos – quintessentially the pussy-whipped loser in lust with the noir goddess who’s out to trash his life.

E-L-I-M-I-N-A-T-E-D

No time: there’s the door.

Tom and Bill crashed out of Rainbow Gardens, three ladies in tow. Two slinky gamine types trailing Tom with high-pitched giggling. A sloppy mother figure barely able to prop herself on Bill. Her exposed breast cupped in his hand with the insouciance of a child being guided across a street. Eli eyed the party closely. It was a scene he had seen played out on a near nightly basis with as many permutations as there were with his name.

L-E-I-S-U-R-E

Tom and Bill, nut-cutting bigwigs with a penchant for pad prowling and and big boy narco scores. Kings of ’50s Los Angeles and livers of the dream. Ladies provided the filler around their tandem. In gestalt, there formed meaning.

Tom Brady: leading man looks with leading man talent. It worked for him and he worked it with playboy ease and bon vivant bravado. Tom possessed dark traits that the zeitgeist was happy to conceal. Eli half-expected flash bulbs popping around him even at this hour.

Bill Belichick: power broker who had little need to conceal anything. He did anyway. Bill was a Svengali to starlets but a compatriot to Tom. Bill fed Tom innocent woman and beaucoup drugs. Tom didn’t need Bill’s help to score either of those. He took them just the same. More important was that being with Bill meant he didn’t have to hide anything.

Eli wanted to brace them. He always did. It gave him no satisfaction that he finally made pissant charges stick on Tom and Bill years back. Those in the department predisposed to leeriness of Eli’s abilities laughed it off as dumb luck at best and a waste of time at worst. They were probably right. It was only a minor setback to the duo anyway. Here they are in this shit-ass place yukking it up and fucking around like nothing ever happened.

Tom spotted him. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t a mission to surveil. Tom shot him the mega-watt grin. Eli reciprocated for the fuck of it. Here’s lookin’ at ya. Years of being resented and mocked for his glory boy family pedigree by coworkers and quarry alike made Eli keenly aware of his lack of intimidation. He rolled with it.

Eli wanted to know if he was getting to them. He wasn’t.

Good. They suspected nothing. They rode off.

Something else tweaked him: AMBUSH. Eli yanked from the car. They slammed him. He flailed. He got clotheslined, he got rabbit-punched, he got tape slapped on his mouth. He was full-fledged fucked.

His last thoughts were of mom. She would have counseled against being so bold.

Three shots. Eli’s stare lingered on the pavement. Still here. He made himself roll over. It registered immediately: His swinging dick spic informer Cruz had tailed him. Bailed him out. He must have expected he would have had to. Cruz looked pissed.

“Get up.”

The tape stifled Eli’s annoyed sigh.

“Get up.”

He did. Olivia would be waiting later with soup.

Ted Allen: Four chefs. Three courses. One amazing meal. The stakes have never been higher. The ingredients have never been more outrageous. Who will come on top in this very special Super Bowl competition, and walk home with $10,000? And who will be sent home? Let’s meet our contestants.

Tommy: FACK YOU! COOKING SHOWS AHHHH FAHHH FAGGOTS! Now 90210? That’s a real man’s show! I bet Grawnk wawtches it while he’s fackin’ a porn stahhhhhh!

Fat Hump: My name is John Johnson. I live and work right here in Indianapolis. I’ve worked for many acclaimed chefs in my lifetime. Papa John. Tony Roma. Mr. Quizno. Culinary giants. I’d like to think that I have what it takes to win the ten grand. My focus is on bold flavors, but I also like down home comfort food in extremely large, unhealthy portions.

Sex Cannon: You know my name. My cooking is pure pussybait. One whiff of my gastrique, and the panties go a-droppin’.

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: Hey yo, I’m Vinny Scagdaviglio. My boys back at Wolfgang’s will KILL ME if I don’t beat these pussies! I’M ITALIAN! I COME FROM A BIG FAMILY THAT LOVES TO EAT! TOTALLY UNIQUE FROM OTHER STANDARD NEW YORKERS!

Tommy: You’re a faggot!

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: Eat shit!

Ted Allen: There are three rounds: appetizer, entrée, and dessert. Each round comes with its own mystery basket of ingredients. You MUST use every ingredient in your basket in some way. Also available to you: our pantry and fridge. Each round is timed. Your dishes will be judged based on Presentation, Taste, and also Creativity. If your dish does not cut it, you will be chopped.

(awkward five second shot of each contestant reacting to that news)

Ted Allen: Please, open your baskets. (watches them open baskets) And your appetizers must include…

MISO PASTE…

PIG’S FEET…

PEANUT BUTTER…

and MILK DUDS.

Tommy: The fuck is miso paste? THIS SMELLS LIKE SLOPE FOOD!

Ted Allen: Twenty minutes on the clock, and your time starts NOW.

(everyone rushes to the pantry)

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: I haven’t had Milk Duds since I was a kid goin’ to the movies, you know?! I was eating them and fingerfucking Donna Scududa at the same time! HIGH FIVE, AMIRITE?!

Sex Cannon: I look at the basket, and instantly my dick gets hard. MISO HORNY. I know immediately where I’m going with this. I’m gonna whore this basket. I’m gonna drop a gallon of cum in this basket. The $10,000 is in the bag.

Tommy: PIG’S FEET AHHH FAHHH FACKIN’ DAHKIES!

Fat Hump: I see everyone jockeying for ingredients, but I like to move at my own pace. I’m quite slow. I see these ingredients, and I think BACON. Everyone likes bacon, right? So I am going to make a peanut butter bacon loaf with bacon croutons, served with a warm bacon fat cocktail on the side. I feel like that’s a good representation of who I am as a chef. I have NOT worked with pig’s feet before. I didn’t even know pigs had feet, to be honest. Was I not supposed to eat all my Milk Duds just now? Because I did.

Ted Allen: While they’re getting busy in the kitchen, let’s meet our judges. He’s the master of high end New York cooking, Geoffrey Zakarian.

Zakarian: (awkward nod to the camera)

Tommy: HE LOOKS LIKE A GIRL!

Ted Allen: The queen of fine dining, Alex Guarnaschelli.

Alex: (terrifying, unnatural smile)

Sex Cannon: Aw man, where’s Freitag? I wanna bend her over the chopping block and show her my rolling pin.

Ted Allen: And modern Italian master, Scott Conant.

Conant: (flashes creepy beard stubble)

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: CONANT! MY BOY! Us goombas gotta stick together, AMIRITE?!

Conant: (smiles that kind of smile where it’s clear that he hates you)

Zakarian: This is not an easy basket by any stretch of the imagination. Pig’s feet have a gelatinous texture that some people find offputting, so you really have find a delicate balance there.

Conant: I think the miso paste may be the trickiest element in this basket.

Alex: Agreed.

Conant: It’s got a kind of cloying sweetness that can overpower everything else, so they’re gonna have to transform that ingredient.

Sex Cannon: I’m roasting the pig’s feet with some Chinese five spice and pink sea salt, and I’m gonna serve it on a warm radicchio salad with a peanut/miso dressing. Then I’m gonna put one of my ball hairs on top for garnish and I’m gonna watch Queen Bitch over there choke it down.

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: Pig’s feet? What a fucking shit ingredient. That’s poor people food. That ain’t proper Italian food. I’m making a Brooklyn-style pizza, with the feet, and it’s gonna be in the shape of a foot. FUCKING PLAYFUL.

Tommy: I am making CHOWDAH! Fack these quee-ah ingredients. No one wants to see those ingredients in a championship Chawpped matchup. NO ONE DENIES THIS.

(throws basket away)

Alex: Did you see that? Tommy just threw out his entire basket.

Zakarian: He’s also putting clamshells in the blender. I’m extremely concerned.

Fat Hump: I see the clock counting down, and it’s going very fast! And I take a look at my bacon loaf, and it is NOT cooking through. This is a problem. I gotta improvise. I’m gonna wrap it in seaweed and do a kind of Indiana take on traditional sushi. Now I’m thinking I got a real chance. Now I’m thinking I can really win this thing!

Tommy: I AM LOOKING AROUND FAHHH THE HEAVY CREAM AND THEY-AHHH IS NO HEAVY CREAM! SHADES OF TYREE! If I lose because of this, it won’t be becawse the othah chefs ahhh bettah! It’ll just be luck!

Zakarian: Did you see John’s work station? He’s left bacon drippings all over everything and hasn’t cleaned any of it up. I have a real problem with that.

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: I get that miso and I smell it and it’s fucking gross. Like, I don’t get why some guys have yellow fever. That’s never been my thing. Anyway, I look over at Conant, and I know he hates red onions. But he’s never had MY red onions. I’m gonna make him the best red onion carpaccio he’s ever tasted. It’s a risky move, I know it’s gonna pay off.

Conant: Is he using red onions? What is he, a fucking asshole?

Ted Allen: One minute to go, chefs!

Zakarian: I’m really worried they’re not gonna get everything on the plate.

Alex: GET IT ON THE PLATE.

Tommy: FACK YOU, YOU FAT CUNT!

Sex Cannon: Everyone else is frantic, but I finished nineteen minutes go. Then I ripped a bong hit and nailed a production assistant. This is NOTHING.

Alex: I think Rex really used his time poorly. He could have used that time to COOK his pig’s feet.

Ted Allen: And ten, nine, eight, seven…

Tommy: SHIT!

Ted Allen: Six, five, four, three, two, one… TIME’S UP! STEP AWAY!

Fat Hump: I look down at the plate, feeling great, and suddenly I realize: THE PEANUT BUTTER. I forgot the peanut butter. Mainly because I smeared it on my Andrew Luck jersey and ate it.

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: I’m looking at all the other plates. Tommy’s got a bowl of milky chowder jizz. The Fat Hump forgot 27 ingredients. And Grossman made a salad. Pathetic. I’m not losing.

Ted Allen: You have arrived at the chopping block. Four of you were here. But soon, there will only be three.

Tommy: We can do math, dicksuckah!

Ted Allen: Chef Tommy, tell us what you’ve prepared.

Tommy: CLAM CHOWDAH! WITH REAL CLAMS! NONE OF THOSE FAGGOT CLAM STRIPS! I’m nawt worried about you hating my dish. I have the backing of the PEDROIAH FAITHFUL. Did you see how we made Cunty Cundiff miss that kick? OW-AH MAGIC!

Zakarian: Well, the soup is divine. It has that great clammy taste that you want out of a clam chowder, and you had a deft touch with the milk.

Tommy: Thanks, dickhead!

Zakarian: But I’m not getting the pig’s feet. Or the miso paste. Or the peanut butter. Or the Milk Duds. You didn’t really use anything in the basket.

Tommy: Yeah no, fack that basket.

Zakarian: This is a serious competition. You can’t just make anything you like.

Tommy: AHHH YOU TRYING TO EDIT ME? NO ONE EDITS ME! STET ALL CHANGES!

Ted Allen: Chef Rex, tell us what you’ve prepared.

Sex Cannon: What you have in front of you is a warm pig’s feet salad with a peanut/miso dressing. I melted down the Milk Duds and made a Asian/Latin mole sauce with it, to give the pig’s feet that extra dimension.

Conant: This is excellent.

Sex Cannon: Thank you, Chef. I like to cook because I think it expresses so much about who I am, and it allows me to express what it means to be human. Also, it gets me blowjobs.

Alex: (frowning)

Sex Cannon: The fuck is your problem? Everyone else liked it.

Alex: Well, you’ve got this great-tasting dish. I’m just curious as to why you served it all on top of an old issue of Club International magazine.

Sex Cannon: That’s presentation. I serve my food HOT. If that’s too edgy for you. If you need to play it a little safer, honey, then whatever.

Alex: (ten minute stare)

Sex Cannon: Can you stop staring at me for so long?

Ted Allen: Chef John, tell us what you’ve prepared.

Fat Hump: What I’ve made today is a bacon sushi roll, served with a bacon jus, and topped with Cool Whip.

Alex: Did you make the Cool Whip yourself?

Fat Hump: No, ma’am. I don’t mess with perfection.

Alex: Well, I have to say (ten minute pause where it seems like she’s about to say she hates it)… I LOVED THE DISH.

Fat Hump: Whew! Thank you.

Zakarian: Well, it’s certainly whimsical. But, there are so many technical flaws here that I can’t overlook. The bacon is quite underdone in the center. Raw, really.

Fat Hump: I kind of like my bacon rare, to be frank.

Zakarian: (stares at him like he’s about to rip his heart out)

Ted Allen: Thank you, Chef John. Now, Chef Vinny.

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: Hey, I’m Italian, so I made a pizza. The fuck you gonna do, right? Had to stay true to my roots.

Tommy: ROOTS IS A DAHKIE SHOW!

Conant: Did you use any red onions in here?

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: About six pounds worth, yes.

Conant: Okay, you know I hate red onions, right?

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: Well I…

Conant: No, no, no. Let me finish. I hate red onions. And you gave me red onions. What do I do with you?

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: I think you’re wrong for not liking it. It’s awesome. I’ll defend my dish. I’m not gonna go home just because you have some gay onion allergy.

Zakarian: I loved your pizza, but I’d like to know why Scott and Alex got Milk Duds and I didn’t. (death stare) I would have liked to taste that, but you forgot it and now I’ll never get that chance, which is awful and horrible and it’s all your fault.

Ted Allen: Thank you, chefs. Our judges will now deliberate.

(they all leave)

Conant: Vinny has watched this show before. He knows I hate red onions. And what does he do? Red onions on his pizza. Is he retarded?

Alex: I liked that dish!

Conant: Oh give me a break.

Alex: I could see his soul in that dish. To me, he had the best cooked pig’s feet of the bunch.

Zakarian: But what about Rex? His dish was technically flawless. You just didn’t like the presentation.

Alex: He served it on a vagina.

Zakarian: I thought that was kind of daring. He’s the first Chopped contestant to use non-plates for plates.

Conant: Then you had that chowder that Tommy made.

Zakarian: It was good, but are we really gonna give him $10,000 for chowder?

Tommy: I FACKIN’ HEARD THAT!

Zakarian: What did we make of John’s dish? I mean, the portion size was INSANE! My plate was enough to feed sixteen people!

Alex: (reading from network script) There were some good dishes there, but were any of them TEN THOUSAND DOLLAR DISHES? Such a hard choice.

Ted Allen: Do you know who you want to chop?

Alex: Oh yeah. Very easy choice.

(everyone comes back in)

Ted Allen: For one of you, this is the end of the road. So… who’s dish is on the chopping block?

(lifts up plate cover, revealing all four dishes)

Tommy: FACK YOU!

Ted Allen: Chef Tommy, Chef Vinny, Chef Rex, Chef John–you’ve all been chopped. Judges?

Alex: Chefs, we were really impressed with your work today.

Fat Hump: Really?

Alex: No. All of you were horrible. And for that reason, we had to chop you.

Sex Cannon: Total bullshit. I don’t agree with judges at all. You haven’t heard the last of me. I’m gonna be making more pigs’ feet and scorin’ more tail and that’s no bullshit.

Mandatory Asshole New York Chef: They fucking chopped me! What are my PAESANOS back home gonna say? WE ITALIANS LIKE BUSTING BALLS!

Fat Hump: Certainly, I’m disappointed. I think, you know, maybe they weren’t ready for something that bold. I have no regrets. I made my food, my way, and at the end of the day, I’m proud of myself. I’m going places. You watch.

(dies of heart attack)

KSK reader Rachel sent in this photo of her brother Sam, who I would guess is pulling for the Giants in the Super Bowl. The beard facemask is a bit much, though. A simple chinstrap beard is the most effective way of telling people you’re a Giants fan.

Due to some unforeseen computer issues, the rest of LOLNFL will be along later today or tomorrow.

All images via Yahoo!

When we last left Busy Beaver Peter Kingdrop, he was fully disclosing that he shared an agent with Jeff Fisher, and that you were more than free to not believe him when he said that Jeff Fisher MAYBE KINDA SORTA picked the Rams more than he rejected the Dolphins. You take that report on faith, America. But if you let it seep into your guts, it will blow you away. I think.

So what about this week? Did Gene Steratore travel a lot? Any more meaty Babb Nuggets to digest? Isn’t it a great sign that the Bucs have extended their coaching search by another eight months? Is Philip Seymour Hoffman still the Meryl Streep of male actors? READ ON. This Fun With Peter King is so valid, it’s SCARY.

I laugh when people call me an idiot for my predictions.

“Ha ha ha! It’s funny because it’s true. Say, did you see that they’re building a Starbucks in war-torn Somalia? Sounds like democracy is just a latte away!”

I shake my head when gambler friends ask me who to pick. Poor saps.

GAMBLER: Who ya got, Peter? My mortgage is riding on this one!

PETER: I like the Giants.

GAMBLER: Oh good! Now I know…

PETER: MAYBE.

GAMBLER: Well, are you sure?

PETER: I think so.

GAMBLER: Do you think it or do you know it?

PETER: I don’t just think it. I know it. I think.

GAMBLER: (opens carotid artery)

These four players had huge parts in the Patriots and Giants making the Super Bowl for the second time in five seasons:

Many of you never heard of three of those four before Sunday. Some of you still haven’t.

Some of you still haven’t heard of Kyle Williams. Why? Because you didn’t watch the game last night and because this is a column about COFFEE, and all the ways in which it is brewed and mixed with various Sno Cone flavorings.

Nice crowd the 49ers have on Twitter. One of their “fans” tweeted to Williams (@KyleWilliams_10): “Jim Harbaugh, please give @KyleWilliams_10 the game ball. And make sure it explodes when he gets in his car.”

+1!

It’s only sports, people. Only sports.

Which is why the bulk of this column is dedicated to describing the hotel I stayed at last week, instead of actual sports.

How about this incredible Xerox of fate for the Giants.

Perfect metaphor deployment. A thousand poets could spend a thousand years trying to come up with the perfect encapsulation of this Giants run, and they’d never walk out of the room with a nugget as GOLDEN as XEROX OF FATE. It’s a powerful, gleaming expression — one that speaks to the idea of destiny, that we cannot change things no matter how much we try, and that we are sometimes cosigned to do the same things over and over again. It has so many applications:

XEROX OF FATE, DIRECTED BY OREN PELI: What happens when a seemingly normal office copier begins printing out obtuse messages on its own? One D-list actress you’ll never hear from again will find out.

XEROX OF FATE: Steve Serby’s HILARIOUS quick turnaround book about this unlikely Giants season. Subtitle: HOW THE GIANTS STOPPED COUGHLIN UP LOSSES AND BECAME GOTHAM ELI-CONS.

XEROX OF FATE: A hilarious fake supergroup in a Portlandia sketch!

In 2007, the Giants started the playoffs by beating an NFC South team. Then they beat the No. 1 seed on the road.

And then they had to travel to SEATTLE, which we all know is located in Russia, and then they spent six hours waiting on the tarmac for their plane to be de-iced, and then they had to double back on Route 3 because of a DUI blockade! And then they traveled to Texas a day later to pick up Gene Steratore!

There’s something about Manning that’s hard to put a finger on, but also very hard to beat.

OPPPOSING COACH: You want to stop Eli Manning? You have to defend his CHEMISTRY.

For the many of you wanting to crucify (Lee) Evans for the play: I don’t. Should he have lock-gripped the ball to prevent stripping? Yes, of course.

Is Lee Evans to blame for dropping that ball? No. But, to put it another way, he is very much to blame for it.

Miami’s hire of the Green Bay offensive coordinator as head coach Friday probably never would have happened without Matt Birk, Kirk Ferentz, and two Massachusetts establishments of higher education…

Along with this bag of string and a seemingly innocuous account statement from the Best Western hotel. How does it all tie together? TELL YOU IN A FEW PARAGRAPHS, JON!

Sad news, however you fall on the Joe Paterno spectrum, with the news of his death Sunday at 85.

If you revered him, you’re very sad. If you were a reactionary type who thought he abetted child rape and you hate him and you’re not sad at all about his death… you are also very sad.

Mike Tomlin (secondary) and Jim Caldwell (quarterbacks) coached together at Tampa Bay under Tony Dungy in Dungy’s last season with the Bucs, 2001, if you’re looking for a clue on the next offensive coordinator in Pittsburgh.

/hears Ape destroying a perfectly good hat stand

Someone Who Knows told me a major roadblock to Steve Spagnuolo taking the defensive coordinator job in Philadelphia was the presence of very strong personality Jim Washburn on the defensive line.

Again, can’t Someone Who Knows write this thing every week? He at least would have found a better metaphor than XEROX OF FATE.

I like the Dolphins a little better today now that they’re the leaders in the clubhouse for Matt Flynn.

Gotta like the idea that they’ll overpay for the second coming of Scott Mitchell.

Offensive Player of the Week

Baltimore QB Joe Flacco… A great performance by a player under legit fire.

40% legit, you guys.

Owner Woody Johnson, to Jets beat reporters, on many things, including cooking and toxicity:

Oh, of course! Those two subjects go together so naturally! Like kites and fisting!

“Confidence is a very, very important thing in cooking and also in managing quarterbacks. How many starting quarterbacks are pulled?”

Okay, well the Jets are clearly fucked. Who asked him to bring up bold flavors when discussing how awful Nacho is?

I flew from JFK to San Francisco Thursday on a mid-morning Delta flight… When I approached my row, a 35ish man…

Semi-middle-aged!

…was sitting in the aisle seat with headphones on, reading Harper’s.

This story is a fabrication. No one reads Harper’s. It’s not even a real magazine. They use it as a prop in movies because real magazines would sue for copyright infringement if you showed them.

The other two seats were devoid of people, but not of crap. In the middle seat was a McDonalds bag, crumpled, with an empty drink poking out of the top, with three used red blankets left on the seat. Another blanket with discarded newspapers was on the window seat I was to occupy.

OMG! There’s, like, three ounces of shit in your seat! HOW WILL IT EVER BE MOVED?!

On the floor was a plastic bag with a water bottle, empty, and other garbage, along with another blanket. I surveyed the situation. The guy in the aisle seat took off his headphones and said, “Guess they didn’t clean the plane.”

“Yup,” I said.

Riveting. It’s like Steven fucking Zaillian scripted the dialogue.

“Hey. There’s, like, garbage here.”

“I know.”

AND SCENE.

He put his headphones back on and read, and I took the two bags of trash, plus the newspapers, into the bathroom and shoved them into the garbage hole. Then I took the blankets and deposited them under a row of seats.

So now we don’t get meals on the 6-hour, 40-minute coast-to-coast trips. We pay for the bags we check, in most instances. And now, evidently, we have to bus the planes ourselves.

Don’t you see I had to walk ten extra feet to dispose of that refuse? WHAT IS HAPPENING TO OUR COUNTRY?!

1. I think this is what I liked about championship weekend:

a. The gigantic cooked carrot at Bob’s Steak and Chop House at Montgomery and California streets in San Francisco.

That is perfect. That is just the most perfect goddamn thing I’ve ever read. Hey guys, those were a couple of close games we saw yesterday. Know what THE FIRST THING I LIKED ABOUT THE WHOLE WEEKEND WAS? A carrot. A fucking carrot. A root vegetable of above average size. Served to me at a restaurant you probably can’t afford, where giant carrots are almost certainly treated as a garnish. ALLOW ME TO START OFF MY THOUGHTS ON THE WEEKEND BY POINTING OUT THE SINGLE MOST INSIGNIFICANT DETAIL I POSSIBLY CAN. Because I love really fucking big carrots. What’s interesting, Doc?

b. Riding three cable cars. Touristy, I know. But really fun.

Holy crap, does this man have to visit every tourist attraction multiple times? Sweetheart, I think if we go to Madame Tussaud’s a third time, we’ll really understand the wax figures more in depth. ONTO THE BOOK DEPOSITORY.

c. Nice coverage at the goal line on Wes Welker, Ray Lewis.

Way to go, BOY.

I love offensive coordinator Greg Roman’s brain.

So soft and mushy. I bet if I stuck my peepee in it, it would feel AMAZING.

He comes up with some weird stuff, confusing stuff…

WEIRD! “Guys, we’re running exclusively out of the weird formation today. NOW GO!”

2. I think this is what I didn’t like about championship weekend:

UNDERDONE CARROTS.

a. The traffic on US 101 at 4:20 p.m. Friday.

Holy shit, really? Who does this matter to besides you?

In rain varying from steady to a heavy mist, it took me 2 hours and 55 minutes to drive 43 miles from the 49ers headquarters in Santa Clara to my hotel in downtown San Francisco. One crazy, maddening ride.

Indeed. Who knew that there would be traffic in a major metropolitan area during an enormous sporting event? AND DID YOU KNOW THAT HOTELS AROUND CANDLESTICK CHARGED MORE ON SATURDAY NIGHT? I’m really worried about America, people.

I think if I’m a Rams fan, and I’m already skittish and skeptical about my team’s long-term future, and not really thrilled about what I just saw in a 2-14 season, how do you think I’m going to react when I hear the best of the eight games on my home schedule in 2012 — New England and Tom Brady at home, likely the last time in his fabulous career that Brady will ever play in St. Louis — has been shipped to London?

RAMS FAN: When does baseball season start? Also, what happens when you fry a fried pretzel?

Let the record show that if the Rams-Pats game is shipped to Wembley, the only Brady game in the Edward Jones Dome will be the 40-22 New England victory in 2004

NOOOOOOOOOOO! People of Earth, we are missing out on the classic RAMS/PATS rivalry, that dates all the way back to the 2001, when fate xeroxed itself and the Pats won their first Super Bowl! Don’t you see how important it is for EVERY team to play against Tom Brady every year? He’s the whole reason we live and breathe! We need to clone him and send him out to all the far corners of the world, so that every town can lead the league in Bradyness!

… unless Brady becomes the first 43-year-old starting quarterback in the NFL since George Blanda. He’d be 43 the next time New England is slated to play the Rams on the road.

He’ll never play the Rams or Redskins again?! REPUGNANT. Now you’re telling the people of St. Louis that they’ll have to watch Tom Brady play on TV, instead of paying top dollar to watch him in a terrible stadium? THIS IS BULLSHIT. I feel sick about the whole “the NFL schedule is perfectly balanced” business.

I think the best outside-the-box thinking about football this season comes from noted 93-year-old American poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti.

XEROX OF FATE

a poem by Larry Ferly

A leaf rustles in the wind
A dog tarries ’round his owner
Is this every day?
The Giants play defense good

“Seriously, they have to do something to change the basic rules of the game,” he (said).

It needs more coupleting.

“I prefer European soccer.”

WHAT THE FUCK WHY ARE YOU LISTENING TO THIS PERSON?

“It’s much more interesting than American football. It’s like chess when you really pay attention to it. The more you know about it, the more interesting it gets.”

It’s so INTERESTING, and it becomes more INTERESTING the more you are INTERESTED in it. I’m a poet.

“Football is just not that interesting.”

HOLY FUCK. Oh yeah, that’s some real out-of-the-box thinking right there. Hey guys, here are some pretty cool ideas about football from some literary prick who hates football. Most INTERESTING thing I’ve heard in a while!

“Every time they line up, it’s going to either be a run or a pass.”

I know! There are only TWO plays in every NFL playbook!

This is why I don’t like poetry. Every time you read it, it’s gonna be either a WORD or SOME OTHER WORD. Pretty fucking boring, if you ask me. Lawrence Ferlinghetti is a piece of shit.

I think there’s a reason the franchise in this town has been good, and bad, and good again, and it revolves around just that — teaching the quarterback you have.

There’s your PK Butchered Sentence of the Week. That’s what Peter does with language. He butchers it.

Marco Scutaro to the Rockies for Clayton Mortensen, a bottom-of-the-rotation candidate. Stupid, stupid, stupid trade.

Once the Red Sox come into play, Peter actually has opinions.

Did GM Ben Cherington watch the end of the Red Sox season, when Scutaro played hurt and played brilliantly — the best player on the team over the last two weeks (when the team was dying and drinking) other than Jacoby Ellsbury, at a time when too many big-money players stunk up the joint?

If you hate Scutaro, you hate America.

He obviously was undervalued by a team that now seems to value more the guys who drink in the clubhouse in the seventh inning than those scratching and clawing to try to win games.

Garbage in my airplane seat, traffic, bad Red Sox trades… THE WORLD IS FUCKED. I wonder what Lawrence Ferlinghetti would make of all this!

Do not lose your zeal, Shannon Magrane. I’m no American Idol fan, but I did see this the other night, and Magrane is one cool, confident kid — like her dad, former Cardinals pitcher Joe Magrane. Interesting clip.

INTERESTING! Welcome to Interestingwood, Shannon.

f. Check out this piece by CSN’s Matt Maiocco on the kindness of inactive 49er cornerback Shawntae Spencer.

g. Now there’s a guy who’s showing teammates how to pass it on — the right way — the way Bryant Young showed him.

A. And here’s your weekly misuse

a. of bullet points

b. HEY LOOGIT! These add space and make the column seem longer!

Tried a latte at Blue Bottle Coffee in the San Francisco Ferry building Saturday — and it was worth the 15-minute wait in line. I’ve been to two of these individual coffee makers in San Francisco now, and the care really shows in the product.

And barista knew my name! Whoa. Impressive.

This espresso was incredibly smooth, and the barista took 10 to 15 seconds making some sort of tree-like art on the foam.

IT WAS A SWASTIKA.

Didn’t much care about the artwork, but the coffee was great.

Quasi-Hitlery!

Beernerdness: Had a couple of Lagunitas New Dog Town Pale Ales on tap Saturday night. A beautiful caramel-colored ale, easy and delicious to drink, slightly…

Cirtrusy?

fruity.

BINGO BANGO! If only they made carrot beer.