Kissing Suzy Kolber » Badasses

Requiem for a bad ass motherfucker

flubby — Tue, 27 Nov 2007 14:18:00 +0000

Not knowing Sean Taylor personally, let’s forgo the needless examination of his personal life that is part and parcel of the stream of obits we are seeing today. For now, let’s remember Taylor for what he was between the lines: namely a fearsome, ball-hawking hit machine that left a swath of crumpled receivers in his wake.

Mahalo, baller.

Image via Bucktown Skins Fan.

I’m Sorry, Tom Dempsey

Monday Morning Punter — Fri, 09 Nov 2007 15:10:00 +0000

I’m sorry, Tom Dempsey, that the 36th anniversary of your historic achievement yesterday received little to no mention in the intricate, obese web that is sports news. For it was you, good sir, that set the longest field goal in NFL history with a 63-yard money shot, o so long ago.

I’m also sorry, Tom Dempsey, that you booted yourself into the record books with only half of a kicking foot and no right hand. That’s pretty cool, at least if you’re cool with not being able to do the Pee Wee Herman dance. And limited options for masturbating. And forget about email. It reminds me of that one time I tried to eat a sandwich while I was wiping my ass on the shitter. Your whole life must have been like that. And even now, too; sorry, I forgot you were still alive.

And you probably took a lot of grief from people that couldn’t handle the fact that you were different. I mean, look at Lance Armstrong now, he’s missing parts and now he’s dating half of that girl that was on Full House. I hope that you at least got to nail one of those twins on The Patty Duke Show.

I’m sorry that you are now forced to share this record with Jason Elam, a small, unpleasant person who has nothing better to do than hang out with Scrabble players and fantasize about Al-Qaeda. Never mind the fact that his kick came about on a lark at the end of the first half, through the thinnest of air on top of a mountain, while your drive for glory was a game-winner, below sea level, in the sweltering airborne filthiness that is southern Louisiana. Plus you did it against that guy on Webster.

I’m sorry, Tom Dempsey, that you took grief from people that said you did it with a loaded shoe, putting a stain on everything you accomplished. Just the attitudes of the day, I guess. I mean, people would never say that kind of thing about Lance Armstrong. If you did that today, you’d have your own color and people would be running 5Ks in your honor. Plus, you’d probably get to meet Hulk Hogan, like those kids that get cancer always do. I wish I had cancer.

I guess that’s it. Tell Jim Abbott I said hi. I think he’s pretty neat.

Purple Jesus Produces A Second Coming In My Pants

Big Daddy Drew — Sun, 04 Nov 2007 23:47:00 +0000

Reader Gavin B. writes:

I nominate the following name changes:

Adrian Peterson is no longer Purple Jesus, he’s just plain old Jesus.

Jesus (the “son of God” Jesus) is now to be called “Carpenter Jesus.”

Make it so.

Works for me. Hey Childress, this is what happens when you let the best player on your team play more than 40% of the snaps. Fucking dumbfuck.

BAD. ASS.

Big Daddy Drew — Mon, 15 Oct 2007 00:25:00 +0000

Now you know why Sunday is a day of worship. Hey coach, maybe it would be a good idea to play him more than HALF THE FUCKING GAME. Moron.

Purple Jesus rules.

Turns Out, Gatorade Was In You All Along

Big Daddy Drew — Mon, 09 Jul 2007 16:27:00 +0000

Here’s Bear Grylls drinking his own pee. What I like is that, not only does he drink his own pee, but that he stores his pee away and takes frequent sips.

Now, before some of you dipshit commenters out there decide to play Mr. Know-it-all and say, “Hey, it’s all for show! He’s got a camera crew! The guys who wrote this show don’t know squat. Itchy should have tied Scratchy’s tongue with a taut-line hitch, not a sheetbend,” please know that I do not care about your criticisms. I am a Bear Grylls fan in the same way that Claymates are Clay Aiken fans. Bear can do no wrong. And if Bear says drinking your own discharge is the way to go, then I’mma start licking urinals clean.

Animal Death Porn: Drew Rosenhaus and Scott Boras Get Their Comeuppance

Captain Caveman — Thu, 26 Apr 2007 13:00:00 +0000

There are four inherent truths to this video:

1. It desperately needs to be at least four times longer.

2. Everything becomes 40% cooler when it’s set to the Beastie Boys’ “Sabotage.”

3. Hyenas are fucking assholes.

4. Male lions always get a bad rap. “Oh, the lionesses do all the hunting and killing; the males have little purpose besides roaring and insemination.” Oh yeah? Well, it seems to me that the pride would have a big fuckin’ hyena problem if Mufasa didn’t pull the occasional deus ex machina. RAWR! Run away from this, shithead. Oh wait, you can’t — I’ve snapped your hind leg with my jaws of death. FACE.

The Bloggies Are Dead to Us; In Other News, Kissing Suzy Kolber Wins the KSK Blog of the Year for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Excellence

Captain Caveman — Wed, 14 Mar 2007 12:56:00 +0000

Congratulations, Arseblog. You are a sports blog that follows a single team in the English Premier League, and also the hands-down winner of the 2007 Bloggie Award for Best Sports Blog. You often post as many as one times a day. Recent ledes have included:

March 5th: “…there’s rather a dearth of news this morning.”
March 11th: “A very quiet Sunday morning for you. Not much happening…”
March 12th: “…As you can see there’s very little going on in the world of Arsenal this morning.”

Holy shit that’s riveting. I can’t believe we got nominated to share the stage with such esteemed company.

Obviously, the Bloggies are dead to us. Unlike the Weblog Awards, which were an obvious farce, the Bloggies are masked in a veil of legitimacy, which makes this straight-faced joke of a Shakespeare in Love selection even more insulting. Personally, I think this is Deadspin’s fault. That gadfly upstart Leitch totally split the Kissing Suzy Kolber vote.

There’s good news, though. After three months of sequestered deliberation, the KSK Gay Mafia has emerged from our secret headquarters high in the Andes, and we’re pleased to announce that the winner of the first annual Kissing Suzy Kolber Blog of the Year for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Excellence is none other than…

[drumroll]

…KISSING SUZY KOLBER!!!

“Oh wow. Oh my God. I… I had no idea. I thought With Leather had a chance to win the Kissing Suzy Kolber Blog of the Year for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Excellence, but this means so much more.

“Ummm. Umm. Wow. Who to thank? Whoooooooo to thank. My parents, for believing I could establish the best politically incorrect/profane humor sports blog on the Internet. Desiree at Cheetah’s and of course Ruby at Gold Rush. My agent, Byrd Leavell, who’s been great about sending me the absolute cleanest call girls, even when I call him coked out of my mind at 3:00 a.m. on a Wednesday morning.

“But mostly, I have to thank the other writers at KSK who make this site so great. Christmas Ape, Monday Morning Punter, flubby, and that tiny black man, Unsilent Majority. They’re just the funniest and foulest Internet friends a man can have.

“Holy crap! Wait wait wait! I can’t believe I forgot such an important part of the puzzle. The person who made so many of the jokes come alive and live on across the Internet: Footsteps Falco. God rest his soul.

“Finally, fuck Arsenal. I couldn’t be happier they shat the bed on their way out of the Carling Cup, Champions League, and FA Cup. I’m not even sorry Thierry Henry’s out for the rest of the season. Nyah, Nyah. Suck it, Gooners.”

Big Daddy Drew’s Top Candidate For Head Coach Of The 2008 Minnesota Vikings

Big Daddy Drew — Tue, 27 Feb 2007 17:14:00 +0000

I’m resigned to the fact that Brad Childress, who is to football coaching what Matchbox 20 is to rock and roll, will be coaching the Vikings in the 2007 season. Given that the Vikings will be quarterbacked by either A) Brooks Bollinger, B) Tarvaris Jackson, C) Jeff Garcia, or D) A crude robot Childress has created to resemble himself, complete with Frank Oz mustache, I’m betting they won’t be very good. In fact, they may be excruciatingly bad. And nothing is worse for a fan than being unable to regenerate excitement even during an offseason. Hope springing eternal, my ass.

But there is a faint glimpse of hope for myself and any other NFL fan whose team is destined to suck in the coming year (Hello, Cleveland!). I have found the man destined to become the next great coach in NFL history. His name is Bear Grylls, and he’s the host of Man vs. Wild on Discovery Channel.

Holy fuck, this man is a badass. Last Friday night, I took in a marathon of Man vs. Wild. Over the course of two hours, I saw Bear:

-Get dropped into the Moab desert
-Jump into canyons of that same desert
-Piss on his headdress to keep cool
-Eat a raw raven’s egg, WITH the shell (Bear says it has vital calcium. And if you think Bear is wrong, then you can fuck the fuck off.)
-Extricate fresh water from a mud pit
-Climb out of a canyon by placing one foot on either wall and hoisting himself up with his arms
-Get dropped into an Alaskan forest. Alaska, in case you did not know, is very large.
-Climb DOWN a vertical Arctic waterfall wearing only ski boot linings on his feet
-Quickly construct a shelter out of stick and fronds that was arguably stronger than any Montgomery County municipal building
-Rock a British accent and not sound gay

And he didn’t cry once. Good Lord, what a man. Grylls is a former British Special Forces agent. I bet he’s killed lots of people and is too dignified to even mention it. I bet he’s banged women while fighting off rhinos. I would totally do that if I were him. I bet he has a bearskin rug in front of his fireplace and tells chicks, “See that rug. I made it. I replace it with a fresh one every week. Let’s shag.” I bet he could kick Ufford’s ass. I’m putting a poster of him in my bedroom. Mrs. Drew can cram it if she doesn’t like it. I have two spouses now.

It takes a lot to name your occupation as “adventurer” and not come off as a complete douchebag. But this man pulls it off beautifully. Now, of course, Grylls knows nothing about American football. But I don’t really care about that. If the Vikings hired him, I could just stare at him on the sidelines all game and imagine all the cool shit he did. And that’s really all I need along with the scotch. And if a QB were to break a finger, I bet he could snap it back in place and then stitch the wound with a loose jersey thread. I’d pay to see that.

Plus, his name is Bear. Coaches named Bear are already 1-for-1 in the goodness department. And did Bear Bryant ever become the youngest Briton to climb Everest? Fuck and no. Dead old bastard.

Bear Grylls is such a badass, he doesn’t even need vowels in his last name. If the Vikings hired him, he could probably turn the Metrodome into some sort of elaborate kill zone, equipped with booby traps all over the field to fuck the other team up. Again, I’d pay to see that.

So let’s make that happen. Fuck Obama in ’08. I want some bear meat.