FACCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKK!

Has they-ahhh evah been a more-ah tortchahhhhed fanbase than the LEGENDARY FANS OF BAWBBY V NATION?!

(dips)

I had a bad feeling about this game! WE AWLL DID! When you ahhh a Bawston fan, you can spawt trouble comin’ round the cornah! Like when a pack of Rawxbury dahhhkies comes sweeping into town because it’s payday and they need to buy Keno tickets! WE CAN SMELL THEM COMING A MILE AWAY, BECAUSE DAHKIES SMELL LIKE CHICKEN AND PISS.

(visits Hoosiers gym because he loves white people)

THAT is why we didn’t travel to Indy for-ah this Supah Bowl! We KNEW that something wasn’t quite right, and that’s why we were-ah smahhht enough to stay away! No fanbase has evahhhh dreaded a game like this one, nawt since we had to beat back that cunty Tebow! I have lettahs to prove it! NAME ME ONE OTHAH FANBASE THAT CAN SENSE A LEVEL XXVIII(B) CAWKPUNCH GAME LIKE THAT! I am a hahhhdened veteran at this! I am bettah at taking lawsses than any othah sparts fan, even if that intentional grounding call was faggot shit! I AM BETTAH AT MANY THINGS THAN YOU, INCLDING TRIVIA, EDDIE MURPHY’S MOVIES, AND LOSING GAMES.

(also better than you at writing angry 1,000-word missives to editors in the dead of night)

Do you know what it’s like to experience missing out on a Fahhhhhth Supah Bowl becawse of some bullshit David Tyree catch, and then to experience the same thing five year-ahs latah? YOU DO NAWT. Don’t bawthah trying to tell me you do. STAWP. JUST STAWP. Fahhh Dunkin’ Donuts Nation to go out like this – to a hated bunch of fags from New Yark! – is the cruelest blow of all! THE FIRST THREE SUPAH BOWLS MEAN NOTHING NOW!

(stalks around on street corner wearing oversized Bruins jersey)

And Brady? Brady is NAWT ONE OF US. You see, we BAWSTON people stick close to our own! We ahhh born here, and then we go to school in Greenwich, and then we move to LA, and then maybe we die here-ahhhhh! WE’RE JUST THAT LOYAL. No othah town is like this! So when Brady is hangin’ out in Santa Bahhhhbahhhhara and fackin’ some undawcumented non-Mass resident, we get suspicious! WE KNOW SHIT IS FACKED! Tawm Brady is gawnna have to win us ovah again! Don’t tell me that wasn’t a shitty pass to Welkah! WELKAH CATCHES THAT BALL 150 TIMES OUT OF 100! I blame Glamour-ah Boy Brady fahhh fahhhgetting his roots! And I blame Bernahhhhd Pawllahhd! WE AHHH THE ONLY CITY THAT HAS HAD OW-AH PLAYERS HURT BY ANOTHAH PLAYAH!

(pisses on nearby lamp post)

I fackin’ hate awll of you right now! It’s a good thing I’m so good at accepting hahhhtbreak! I’m gawnna go fack an Indian chick and slap the dawt off of her head! WE NOW ONLY HAVE ONE MAJAH SPARTS TITLE AND THAT IS A CURSE! Even if we had won, we know that it wouldn’t have been prawpah revenge for Super Bowl Farty Two! NO ONE DENIES THIS! BAWSTON WAS IN A LOSE-LOSE SITUATION! You can’t pawssibly get that! I FEEL THE GHOSTS AND THEY SMELL LIKE OLD PUSSY!

When we last left Geno Auriemma’s biographer Peter King, he was marveling over Mike Mayock’s travel schedule. How can one man be in both the continental US and Hawaii all in the SAME DAY?! That defies physics! He was also not proud to tell you he watched a bit of the Kardashians (MOAR FUNKHAUSER PLEEZ), and told you that he wasn’t gonna write about Peyton Manning, then proceeded to write twelve thousand words about Peyton Manning. There will be PLENTY of time to talk Peyton later this week, gang! For now, it’s important that we talk about how scary that Tigers’ batting order is!

So what about this week? Did Peter save his receipts from the Conrad Hotel? Was this game exciting for the seven state-like territories in the upper right-hand corner of your United States map-like object? And did Seattle ever give Marc, Peter’s barista, a raise? Well, let’s just see how he makes my latte first. READ ON. But first, a special announcement…

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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 Republican Presidential hopeful Newt Gingrich.

By the end the fourth quarter, the Patriots will have won this game by a score of 37-26. Tom Brady will have thrown four touchdown passes, and Aaron Hernandez will have caught three touchdown receptions. Brady will win the MVP by a decisive margin, just as I shall win by a decisive margin in the Nevada caucuses on February 4th.

Five weeks from now, I will have overcome last night’s loss in Florida, won a majority of states on Super Tuesday, and cemented my place as the GOP party nominee. I WILL be the nominee. In November, I will defeat Barack Obama by a margin of 60 electoral votes and take back control of this country from Socialists and freeloaders. By the end of my first term, we will have created 5 million new jobs, ten percent of them located on the moon. We will have established a permanent base on the moon, and will send out a team of privately funded super buggies to survey the entire surface of the moon and bring back 400 kilotons of moongold, securing this nation’s economic future for the next 700 years. Here is a simulation of that Moon Patrol.

By the end of my first 100 days, we will have learned to control the weather, summoning rain in dry seasons and sunshine in wet seasons. We will be able to grow hydroponic corn inside hotel saunas. We will have also completely weaned black people off of welfare for good, forcing them to either finally get a job or leave the country. My preference, frankly, would be the latter. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with saying that.

We will have assassinated Vladimir Putin and installed in his place a fully functional Yakov Smirnoff android, who will sign favorable deals with us to export Russian oil and underage Russian call girls. By the end of my first term, I will have divorced my current wife, married one of these call girls, given her a position in my Cabinet, fired her over creative differences, and replaced her with a 23-year-old GOP pollster with killer legs and a pretty mouth.

By the end of my second term, we will have invented cold fusion. Now, we’re gonna need a place to store all that free, clean energy. And I will have set up permanent energy stations in formally blighted urban areas vacated by minorities who were too lazy to afford proper health insurance and died as a result. We will have bulldozed many of these corpses out of the way to make room for clean, efficient new ultramalls that will offer people fine food and clothing at reasonable prices.

We will have annexed China. We will have taken over that nation completely and finally gotten them to stop spitting on the sidewalk. We will build an elaborate system of treehouse condos that will be the envy of every other nation. We will have cured death, and found a way to accommodate the resulting spike in population. We will have expanded the United States by 20,000 square miles by building an elaborate network of man-made islands shaped like a palm frond. We will have cured obesity thanks to a special new brand of prescription chewing gum. EVERY American will have an IQ over 150. People that wish to replace their defective limbs with robot parts will be able to. We will have developed a special DEATH RAY that can take out alien spacecraft from 22 lightyears away, more than enough time to fend off the coming Xerophians. We will have fully irrigated the Moab desert and learned to clone pineapples. And we will have finally made auto-fellatio a skill all men possess.

All of this WILL happen.

When we last left fate xeroxer Peter King, he was personally clearing his airplane seat of refuse, which is something that should only happen if you’re living in INDIA. I also put him under legit fire for declaring a carrot he ate to be his first memorable moment of championship weekend. In Peter’s defense, it WAS a big carrot. Thicker than Tebow downstairs. He also rode the cable cars, lamented the lack of Rams home games featuring Tom Brady, and expounding on the wonders of cooking and toxicity.

So what about this week? Did Peter find some other complete idiot who doesn’t like football who Peter thinks has lots of out-of-the-box ideas about the sport? I’m told that Paul Krugman would like to do away with the sport entirely in favor of a series of town hall meetings to discuss the economic effects of raising the capital gains tax. PRETTY HARD HITTING STUFF. And did Peter get to drink more Blue Bottle coffee? READ ON. There’s something about this Fun With Peter King that’s hard to put a finger on, but also very tough to beat.

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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.

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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.

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When we last left professional cricket sideline reporter Peter King, he was reporting on things that Adam Schefter had reported on, marveling over naked homeless women breastfeeding on the subway, and paying tribute to the drafting prowess of Josh McDaniels. Oh, people of Denver: This wonderful man gave you what will be three wasted years trying to develop an option QB, AND he drafted Knowshon Moreno. STILL HATE HIM, YOU BITTER BOULDERITES?

So what about this week? Where is the grass slipperier today? Did Peter finally see Moneyball? And will Seattle finally get around to fixing the barista problem in New York? Don’t know how you fix this, Seattle, mostly because you are just a collection of people and you have nothing to do with the employee training at coffee franchises in an entirely different city. READ ON. You’re either gonna love this Fun with Peter King, or you’re gonna nap through it!

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Q: Tommy! Tommy! Do you fackin’ realize that you have nevah done a mailbag? America needs you to do a mailbag, TAWMSTAH! You should do a mailbag column, and the first lettah every week should be from someone begging you to do a mailbag! FACK KOBE!

-O’SullyMcTavindish, Re-veahhhhh

TFQ: You ahhhh fackin’ right! I should!

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When we last left Josh Bickford biographer Peter King, he was maybe almost kinda considering splitting his vote for MVP into portions so small that they can only exist for a billionth of a second and may or may not be the key to unlocking the secrets of extra physical dimensions of the universe. Also, he drank some wine.

So what about this week? I noticed that the teaser on the front page of SI.com for MMQB uses the phrase “the Tebow saga,” which is perfect, since Tim Tebow is EXACTLY like “Twilight.” He has a dedicated legion of fans who scare other people. He’s been remarkably successful despite the fact that critics don’t think he’s any good. And his story has gone on wayyyyyy too long. Let’s see what Peter thinks of all this… TEBOWVILLEMANIALANDNESS. READ ON.

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Garrett: Oh, dear! Oh, dearie me! Oh, dearie my! Oh, dear heavenly crumbbums! This has been a most disappointing way to end our 16-game progression, dear brother!

Judd: Mmmm. Yes. Indeedy. Terrible way to end things. Simply dreadful. My darling wife Contessa made her famous “Interracial Roast Lamb” dish last night, and I couldn’t even bring myself to eat, I’m so sick over what happened!

Garrett: A terrible eating!

Judd: An AWFUL eating!

Garrett: A rotten eating!

Judd: A scurrilous eating!

Garrett: Such a pity.

Judd: It was not your fault, dear brother. You know this. Look at the foul detritus handed to you by your gauche owner! You’ve yet to be given the freedom to build the team in your image! A fine team! A PRINCETONIAN TEAM, free of glory boy riffraff!

Garrett: If only, dear brother. If only our immediate superior weren’t so… so… VULGAR. So crass. So Unprincetonian.

Judd: Well, you should tell him that! Be the first to stand up to that boor Jerral Jones! Let him know that all his billions won’t get him a table at the Mayflower Club!

Garrett: Maybe I will, dear brother. Maybe I will. For too long, I’ve suffered under the cruel yoke of his debasement. And that doesn’t sit well with me at all. No, the time has come to stand and fight! I’m going to do it, brother. I’m going to tell that man precisely what I think of him!

(door flies open)

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