What Lofa might have looked like in happier times.

Seahawks linebacker Lofa Tatupu was arrested in Kirkland, Washington Saturday and charged with DUI after allegedly blowing a Busey-esque .015 .15 on the ole breathalyser. Tatupu, who signed a $42 million extension in March and has established himself as a Pro Bowl fixture, issued an apology through the team.

Living down the taint of lawless behavior is difficult but can be achieved after intense character rehabilitation and extensive public relations work. However, there is no erasing the stigma of getting popped while driving a Hyundai Accent. Tragically, Lofa will wear the shame of his choice of automobiles like the Mark of Cain for as many days as he remains on this mortal coil.

“Yo, this is Joe. Just heard you’re headed back to Naptown. Congratulations, man. We’re going to win another Super Bowl this year, man. But check this, I’m not a rookie like when you left. In fact, up in this bitch here, I am what you call an authority figure. Remember that corner couch at the complex– the one you used to be snoring on and shit between two-a-days? That’s my couch now. Keep your ass off. See how you like trying to sleep in a damn chair. Anyway, see you in a couple months and we will tear it up like the old days.

Oh yeah, and if you ever drink my grape Gatorade again, I’ll beat your ass. TOPPA THE FOOD CHAIN, MOTHERFUCKER!!!”

You might fool the fucks in the league office, but you don’t fool Jesus.

The only time that it is remotely fashionable to live in this town occurs in late April-early May in the run-up to the perverse bacchanalia commonly known as the Kentucky Derby. The race gives rise to a host of psuedo-celebrity events.

Last night, Terrell “I Don’t Do Straight Porn” Owens squared off against Kerry “$20M Guaranteed” Rhodes in a charity bowling event. The big contest was held at Lucky Strike Lanes, one of those trendy bowling establishments/ nightspots that popped up in any number of urban entertainment districts over the past few years. Frankly, these bowling facilities are an embarrassment to the word “alley.” I bet they don’t even serve good sarsaparilla.

Owens and Rhodes will also be hitting the good parties this weekend. I’m talking about the kinds of parties that have elaborate screening systems designed to keep schlubs like you out. The Patriots will be hitting the Barnstable Brown party en masse with Tom Brady, Randy Moss, Ted Bruschi, Wes Welker and Matt Cassell (!) all in attendance.

With the Pats, Bill O’Reilly, Carson Daley and Larry Birkhead all there, the douche-level at the place should be approaching China Syndrome status. Michael McDonald is cool though. I can sing just like him… WOO-WOO- WOOOOOOO!

[Note: I'll be in the middle of the infield madness tomorrow afternoon. Holler at your boy if you're going.]

CINCINNATI BENGALS WAR ROOM, two days ago

COACH LEWIS: Alright everyone, the draft’s about to start. We have the ninth pick overall. We’ve done a lot of research, and now it’s time for the payoff.

MIKE BROWN: What’s the latest on Chad, Coach? Are we getting good offers for him?

COACH LEWIS: We’re not trading him. Period. End of story.

MIKE BROWN: But what if we get the right offer for him?

COACH LEWIS: There have been no good offers for Chad. Period. End of story. [sips milkshake]

MIKE BROWN: Hey, wait a second. Where’d you get that milkshake?

COACH LEWIS: UDF. Why?

MIKE BROWN: No, I mean, who paid for it?

COACH LEWIS: Uhh, I expensed it.

MIKE BROWN: That means I paid for it. This is just the kind of thing that can ruin a franchise, Marvin.

COACH LEWIS: Really, I thought it might take something more drastic, like, oh I don’t know, your entire tenure as general manager.

MIKE BROWN: Lout!

COACH LEWIS: Honky! I oughta –

[door flies open]

THE DANIEL: Good afternoon, Mr. Lewis.

MIKE BROWN: This is a restricted area, sir. You’ll have to leave.

COACH LEWIS: Hang on, Mike. I’m running this draft. How can I help you, sir?

THE DANIEL: Gentlemen… I’ve traveled over half your state to be here today. I couldn’t get away sooner because my luxury suites were being renovated and I had to see about it. Those suites are now flowing at two hundred thousand dollars each and it’s paying me an income of five million dollars a week. So, ladies and gentlemen… if I say I’m a football man, you will agree.

COACH LEWIS: I don’t agree.

THE DANIEL: Shut up. You have a great chance here, but bear in mind, you can lose it all if you’re not careful. Out of all men that beg for a chance to take your wide receiver, maybe one in twenty will be football men; the rest will be speculators-men trying to get between you and your property-to get some of the money that ought by rights come to you. This is the way this works. I’m a family man- I run a family business. My name is Daniel Snyder. This is my son and my partner, H.W. Snyder.

H.W.: Hola.

COACH LEWIS: What is your offer? We’re wasting time.

THE DANIEL: I can offer you a first-round pick with a conditional third-round pick. If Chad has a successful season, we can upgrade that latter choice to a second-round, or even first round selection. If you’d like cash in addition to those two selections, then that’s fine.

MIKE BROWN: Two first-round picks AND CASH?!?! That’s pretty good.

COACH LEWIS: Chad Johnson is not for sale. Period. End of story.

THE DANIEL: I can guarantee to sign the deal today and put up the cash to back my word. I assure you, whatever the others promise to do, when it comes to the showdown, they won’t be there…

MIKE BROWN: [pulls Coach Lewis aside] Marvin, you have to take this deal. This is a great deal. I know because I know a lot about running a football team!

COACH LEWIS: We’re not trading him. Period. End of story.

THE DANIEL: Ah, you drive a hard bargain, Mr. Lewis. Let me sweeten the deal. I’ll throw in with my original deal, four alpacas and a year’s subscription to seventeen magazine.

COACH LEWIS: We’re not trading Chad. Period. End of story.

THE DANIEL: I’ll throw in 5 links of sausage and a harpoon gun.

COACH LEWIS: No.

THE DANIEL: Six bottles of whiskey and a my old Animal House DVD, along with my bootleg copy of Cumming Into Money Part 4. It’s bank robbery porn.

COACH LEWIS: No. Now please leave. We’re about to start the draft. [picks up milkshake, but it's empty] Hey, what happened to–

THE DANIEL: I DRANK YOUR MILKSHAKE! I DRANK IT UP!

MIKE BROWN: Hey, where’s your son?

THE DANIEL: I’VE ABANDONED MY CHILD! I’VE ABANDONED MY CHILD!

COACH LEWIS: [picks up phone] Can we get security in here, please?

MIKE BROWN: You should really keep an eye on your son.

THE DANIEL: DON’T TELL ME HOW TO RAISE MY FAMILY! [runs out]

COACH LEWIS: You know, we could have used a couple good alpacas.

MIKE BROWN: Call him back if you want. Collect, of course.

ESPN is reporting that the Pac Man Jones to Cowboys trade is finally a done deal. The Titans get a fourth round pick and a conditional pick next year. Sounds like the Cowboys got Pac for a song. Not a good song either. I’m talking some of that Sufjan Stevens shit.

More than a few of you suggested that we should use this week’s draft to jumpstart Ape’s career search and select potential alternate professions for our newly-outed colleague. And to that, all we can say is, “Maybe next week.” But for this mocker, which we began earlier in the week, we explore our respective lost ambitions and think about all the shit that was filed away in the under-utilized, what-do-you-want-to-be-when-you-grow-up recesses of our minds.

It’s not as frou-frou as much as it is personalized, and, sadly, potentially uninteresting. You’ll find this week’s helping of dick jokage and profanity notably undersized. This episode transpires without the Sultan of The Sugar Sheet and KSK resident master of Google Fu (referring to flubby, of course). The brevity of this edition may be a good thing. But then again, maybe Ape will go over this and find some inspiration for plotting his next move, now that he has some extra time on his hands.

Onto the draft.

SPECIALIZED TRADE DRAFT (STD)

The rules:

You are drafting a specific talent or trade. You will instantly become a master of this trade without any sort of experience, practice, or required licensing. There would also be no economic limitations as to how often you perform this trade. Trades determined to be similar to previous picks will be disqualified at my discretion.

The order:

Ape
Drew
Uff
Maj
Punte

Off we go.

1. APE - Painter

Not practical in any sense and the necessary pretension would be annoying. But I could produce incredibly valuable works in no time or effort at all, be considered a genius and fabulously wealthy.

MAJ: and only a matter of decades after dying a miserable death!

Eh - celebrity artists these days don’t exactly struggle.

MAJ: Fair enough, Salvador.

2. DREW - Play basketball as well as Michael Jordan in his prime

His ability combined with my luscious white skin makes me the greatest sports icon in American history. Plus I’d be able to dunk, and I’ve always wanted to be able to dunk.

MAJ: NOOOOOOOO! Obviously I would have taken that number one.

I had one other thing #1, but this easily supersedes it.

I’m like Mike now!

3. UFF - Play guitar.

No explanation necessary, I believe.

DREW: Fuck, guitar was easily my top choice after MJ.

4. MAJ - Architecture.

Because I’ve always wanted to tell people I’m an architect. Plus I’ve always dreamed of owning an extremely elaborate tree house, monkey butlers and all.

PUNTE (2 picks)

5. Plastic surgery.

I would specialize in breast augmentation…and nailing women that just healed from breast augmentation.

And I’m assuming flub will miss this draft, so…

6. Movie directing.

I would create everything from anti-environmental propaganda to bank robbery porn to the next “Mary Poppins.” I’d win awards and do lots of cocaine while being lavished with praise and alienating my family.

7. MAJ - Play golf like Tiger.

Because I want to fucking dominate people.

8. UFF - Mixed Martial Arts.

I would kill so many people.

PUNTE: That would be a new experience for you.

9. DREW - Write songs as well as The Beatles.

So I can segue from basketball star to rock star in relative short order.

APE (2 picks)

10. Forensic Science.

You’ll never find out why.

11. Chef.

I already have a lucrative endeavor and something to dispose of my enemies surreptitiously, now for the only way to please myself that I haven’t already mastered.

12. DREW - Champion Surfing Ability.

Aw yeah.

PUNTE: Don’t you mean “cowabunga?”

13. UFF - Parkour.

You know, I was going to take something sensible, like business/financial acumen, but honestly, I’d rather be able to scale buildings and do flips off of shit.

“What’s that? Someone in that second story window flipped you off?”

/scales brick edifice
/somersaults into window
/chokes out the offender
/dives out window
/does a flip with a full twist, landing on feet
/plays face-melting guitar solo

Yeah, that’s a good draft.

PUNTE: time for Maj to pick breakdancing. Who’s house…RUN’s house…

MAJ: You’re not far off.

14. MAJ - Dancing.

I’m a Jew without the slightest hint of rhythm, and it’s something I’ll never be able to overcome without some divine intervention.

15. PUNTE - Flying Helicopters.

Training to fly is crazy expensive (you have to buy your own gas!), plus it’s so much easier to gun people down from an elevated position.

MAJ: But you’d still have to buy a helicopter. I thought about jet pilot.

Drew’s going surfing in DC; who gives a shit?

Good morning, fair readers. You may have noticed that the URL address insists that this site is now hosted on something called “uproxx” instead of our throwback blogspot address. You’ll also notice that everything looks pretty much the same, and the same will be true for our content: still lots of swearing, animal death-porn, and cheerleader cupcake on Fridays, plus the same formulaic imagined theater from your favorite KSKharacters that everyone loves so much.

Although visitors will be redirected automatically to our new URL, it may be wise to update your RSS feed and/or bookmarks.

So, why the change? Well, think of it as a particularly moving episode of Extreme Makeover: Blog Edition. We loved the way our old place looked, but this new site (constructed by that stupid-haired fucker with the annoying voice, the sensitive guy with glasses, and those two hot chicks) gives us special features that help our dysfunctional family live more comfortably. Drew has a special “applause room” where his petulant thirst for attention is sated, Christmas Ape and I have an on-site anger management counselor, the basement is outfitted with a troupe of actors ready to act out The Aristocrats for Punter, flubby got the wax museum he’s always wanted, and there are extra foot stools everywhere for the Maj.

We don’t think there are too many bugs to work out, but if there are, thanks for your patience. Or fuck you. Whatever makes you feel more at home here.

One thing is readily apparent from the results of the Kill, Kill, Kill bracket thus far: you bastards love the chalk. All four of the big cats– like other high seeds– sailed through the first round. Subtle attempts by fellow Mafia members to spur some upsets have been underwhelming at best. Accordingly, we are stepping up our efforts to subvert democracy.

The tiger you are voting on is Daniel Stripèd Tiger from Mister Roger’s Neighborhood. He has some serious self-esteem issues and for some reason wears a watch even though he lives inside of a friggin’ clock. His best friends are an alcoholic lesbian museum curator and a pompous owl who thinks he knows every goddam thing there is to know. Only a quivering nancy would vote for him.

The jaguar, on the other hand, is a Jaguar XF with three hot chicks hanging on it. If you don’t vote for the Jag it means you don’t like cars or girls. Enjoy your skateboard, fruit-loop.

The lion you are voting on is Snagglepuss. Snagglepuss is a third-tier character from Hanna-Barbera. He never got his own show and his principal claim to fame is hosting the Laff-a-Lympics. Snagglepuss is without a doubt the most pathetic specimen in the annals of lion-dom (not counting, of course the Detroit Lions). If you love America, you will not vote for the lion.

The panther you are voting on is the one from L.L. Cool J’s “Walking with a Panther” album cover. Pros: He wears a gold rope chain and keeps top secret shit in a Haliburton briefcase. Cons: Fuck you, what did you not understand about the gold rope chain??? If you don’t vote for the panther, you are worthless in the eyes of your God, and should probably consider suicide.

Vote at the top of the right column. The poll closes at the end of the day. Voting is closed. The Bengals won with 56 percent of the vote and the Lion won with 54 percent.

And not a moment too soon. I was growing weary of my tasty beverage alternative. Have you ever tried slurping whipped cream out of Keith Olbermann’s asshole?

BWWWWHAAAHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!