Posts Tagged ‘Big Daddy Drew’

KSK Book Klub: A Few Seconds Of Panic

Monday, July 7th, 2008

As I’ve said before, I’m not really much of a reader. Your parents may have told you that reading is cool, but that’s a lie. Reading is crazy gay. If one of your roommates is playing Madden and the other one is reading “Eat. Pray. Love,” guess which one you’re gonna want to go drinking with? Not the douche trying to expand his mind, that’s for sure.

But recently, best-selling author and Official Friend Of The Blog Stefan Fatsis sent us a copy of his new book ”A Few Seconds Of Panic,” which comes out today. So I read it. And, in doing so, it occurred to me that one way to alleviate the agony of not being able to watch football during the offseason is to read about it. Who knew? It’s almost as good as the real thing. Except I can’t hold a beer, eat chips, and hold open a book simultaneously. Hey publishing industry: if you want more of us to read, every book should come with a free music stand to rest the book on. That would be some good shit.

Fatsis wrote his book after spending training camp with the Broncos as a place kicker and then covering the team through the 2006 season, a season that included Jake Plummer’s benching in favor of Jay Cutler, and Darrent Williams’ murder on the same day the 49ers knocked the Broncos out of the playoff hunt. Fatsis also did not take part in ANY contact drills. What a puss! Hey Fatsis, put a hat on and go hit someone, you timid little Greek bastard. I don’t care if you’re “too old”, or “too small” or “in possession of two reconstructed knees that could crumple any second”. NFL players routinely destroy their bodies purely for my enjoyment. I see no reason why you can’t do the same.

The most illuminating thing about the book is the fact that, by and large, most football players can’t stand their fucking jobs. Oh, they like playing in games. But they only get to do that three hours a week. The rest of the week blows. The coaches are assholes. The fans are assholes. The media are assholes. The pay isn’t really all that great if you’re just a practice squadder. You get hurt constantly. And chronically. And, when you do get hurt, you don’t get a card that everyone in the office signs like at my day job. You get fired.

There’s no job security unless you’re an All-Pro, and 99% of guys aren’t that. Most of the players can’t even figure out why they do it. They’re constantly being hired, then fired, then rehired, and the re-fired. Hundreds of guys are hired every year to bust ass through camp, despite management having no intention of keeping them when roster cuts come down. Your pay for going through camp? A few grand. Most of those guys never even earn the yearly minimum. Coaches constantly tell players their jobs are in jeopardy, yet refuse to clue them in as to where they stand. If your boss did this, you’d fucking murder him.

In a way, it makes sense that NFL players are so jaded and cynical. Unlike most sports, football is the one sport where your time spent actually playing is but a mere fraction of the time you invest: lifting, practicing, going to boring as shit meetings, going to game “rehearsals” where you stand in formation 90 times over, etc. Compare that to baseball. Baseball players get to spend most of their time playing in REAL games. That’s fun. Football? Eh, not so much. You gotta sit through a whole lotta bullshit to get to Sunday.

You also come to learn a few other things from Fatsis’ book, like:

-Todd Sauerbrun is a total asshole.

-I mean it. A real douche. But you probably already surmised that.

-Tight end Nate Jackson’s hip hop name is “Jack Nasty”

-Mike Shanahan can best be described as aloof, detached, insensitive, unemotional, manipulative, uncharismatic, controlling, uncommunicative, petty, and at times incompetent. And, of course, overly tan. But most players agree, he’s one of the BETTER coaches to play for.

-Jake Plummer’s a badass.

-Jason Elam is one of those Tebow-esque, Evangelical Christian overachievers who seems kinda cool to hang out with. Unless you’re gay. He might not like that.

There’s also no shortage of candid, profanity-laced quotes from people in the Broncos organization that, when extrapolated from the broader story, could be totally blown out of proportion by the media. So let’s go ahead and do that right now


Jake Plummer: “Yeah, I missed some (offseason) workouts. And you know what? Mike Shanahan, you can kiss my fucking ass for being pissed at that
 I don’t want to be here every fucking day in the offseason.”

Nate Jackson: “Half the guys out there fuck up, basically, every single play.”

Ian Gold: “This is a business. When I’m here on this field, it is absolutely business. When I’m in the meeting rooms, it is business. Don’t hug me, don’t touch me, don’t call me your buddy, don’t tell me you love me, because I know you’ll motherfuck me as soon as I leave the room.”

Mike Shanahan (after a bad practice): “Guys get their opportunity, they shit in their hat.”

Tom Nalen (to Fatsis after missing a kick that would have saved players 30 minutes of meeting time): “Thanks for fucking us.”

Jake Plummer (to Pat Bowlen): “Hey, Mr. Bowlen, those are sweet boots. Where’d you get ‘em?”

Pat Bowlen (to Jake Plummer): “Aw, these are some fuckin’ ostrich skin. You got to get yourself a pair of these, you little fucker.”

(NOTE: Bowlen will indeed become a new KSK kharakter. He’s like the Double-J’s brother.)

Jason Elam (regarding the theory of evolution): “You’ve got this goo man they want you to think we came from. It doesn’t make sense to me.” (Yeah, scientists! What’s with this half-assed goo man shit? There’s nothing in the New Testament about Swamp Thing!)

Ian Gold: “The hard part for me is dealing with a lack of loyalty, dealing with people who have such a lack of integrity that it’s just sickening
 You have coaches that will smile in your face and they’ll shit on you the next second.”

Jake Plummer (to Mike Shanahan during a game): “Just call the plays. I’m going out there and playing fucking football.”

Good stuff, Fatsis. You gave me a real glimpse inside the minds of NFL players. You got me to sympathize with them. Not enough to stop making fun of them, but a good amount nevertheless. I give your book a hefty FOUR THROWGASMS. I would have given you five, except that you say in the book that Matt Stover deserves to be in the Hall of Fame. Pfft. Matt Stover can suck my balls.

This Week’s KSK Commenter Draft - Ice Cream Flavors

Thursday, July 3rd, 2008

Just in time for the Fourth, it’s time to talk a little ice cream.

I’ve been on this planet for a while now, so my method of eating ice cream has been more or less well established. I always get a cake cone and not a sugar cone. A cake cone catches drips more easily (though I often lick around the edge of the cone to prevent such occurrences. A little cone rim job, if you will). Plus, it has little nooks around the rim that fill with delicious ice cream runoff. It’s quite nice.

I also frown at any 12-year-old retard ice cream scooper who does NOT press the ice cream down into the cone, thus filling it. If the scooper fails to do this, I will use my tongue to push the ice cream down into the cone. That way, once I start biting into the cone, I be in flavor country. Aw yeah. Then I beat the scooper about the head with my wife’s diaper bag.

Not a big waffle cone fan. All waffle cones have that slit going down the middle, which channels the melted ice cream directly onto your wrist. Fuck. I’ve never gotten one of those oreo cookie cones that’s been dipped in fudge and rolled around in M&M’s. You need to be a special kind of fat person to get that.

Also, a note to the scoopers at Cold Stone: stop banging your fucking paddles on the counter. It’s fucking annoying.

Anyway, here’s your draft. Draft your favorite flavor of ice cream. I’ll allow sorbets, gelatos, and sherbets. But make it a FLAVOR. Don’t say “I love banana splits!” or something retarded like that. Pick one flavor only. Once you pick a flavor, wait 10 picks before taking another one. My pick: Mint chocolate chip.

Eat the pig… eat the pig… ZIGGY ZIGGY ZIGGY ZIG!!!

EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY - The Bounty On Brett Favre’s Tissue Box Is Now $50

Wednesday, July 2nd, 2008

PETER KING, FEBRUARY 5th:

I love how Favre announced he was coming back on the Friday of Super Bowl week, and told the local paper in town. That is so classic Favre. He picked the time where the world would be most focused on something else, so he could get the minimum amount of attention. Beautiful.

PETER KING, MARCH 4th:

I think he’d rather edge his 465 acres in Hattiesburg, Miss., and worry about how to contain the runaway beaver population than to have the bright lights on him, even in a small town like Green Bay, for five months a year.

Favre loved being just a guy.

BRETT FAVRE, APRIL 4TH:

“It’s crazy to me that I’m the guy they’re all talking about, and the story is out there everywhere, and I have nothing to do with it,” he said. “It’s not something I’m thinking about. It’s kind of funny. Even when I’m retired, they won’t let me stay retired.”

TODAY:

According to Chris Mortensen on ESPN’s NFL Live, Brett Favre is seriously considering coming back to the NFL for one more season. Mortensen said Favre told Packers’ coach Mike McCarthy that he has the “itch to play again.” ESPN’s NFL Live broke the news exclusively at the 4 p.m. hour. Packers’ conrerback Al Harris reiterates. “He’s got the itch.”

What a shock. I’m sure he’s coming back for love of the game. THEY KEEP PULLIN’ YA BACK IN, BRETTY! I’m sure it has nothing to do with being a shameless, gaping gash for attention.

Get fucked, assbag. I got something for you to itch. It’s called poison oak. I hope it gets on the inside of your dick.

Sergeant Coughlin Oversees Offseason Workouts

Monday, June 30th, 2008

(Giants weight room)

Justin Tuck: Hey Coach McGaughey, what’s the rotation today?

McGaughey: We got dot drills, then heavy legs to follow.

Justin Tuck: Oh man, not those fucking dot drills. We did box jumps yesterday and my groin in on fucking fire. C’mon, man. We gotta taper a bit. I’m not gonna have anything left.

McGaughey: I keep telling you, do it now, and you’ll breeze through camp. Besides, I can’t veer off the regimen. (whispers) He’s watching us.

Justin Tuck: Who’s watching us?

(door flies open)


Sergeant Tom Coughlin: YOU FUCKING LITTLE PUKE! FUCKING SLACKING OFF YOUR FUCKING OFFSEASON WORKOUTS, YOU MANGY LITTLE PUSSYFLAP?!

Justin Tuck: No, Coach. It wasn’t anything like that. I’m just don’t want to overdo it.

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: DON’T WANNA FUCKING OVERDO IT?! I WILL FUCKING STOMP ON YOUR COCK UNTIL IT LOOKS LIKE A STRIP OF BACON, BACON-DICK! TOUGHEN UP, YOU LITTLE FUCKING COCKRUBBER! YOU’RE FUCKING WEAK AND USELESS, TUCK! YOU AREN’T READY FOR FUCKING WAR! WARRRRRR!!!!

Justin Tuck: Okay, okay. I’ll do the box drills.

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: FUCK YOU, SON. FUCK YOU WITH A BEDPOST. YOU’RE GONNA DO DOT DRILLS UNTIL YOU’RE SPEWING BLOOD! THEN YOU’RE GONNA RUN UNTIL YOU’RE STEPPING ON YOUR OWN FUCKING TONGUE! THEN WE’RE GONNA RUN FUCKING HILLS! NO WAIT, FUCK THAT. WE’RE RUNNING CLIFF FACES. YOU WILL RUN 700 CLIFF FACES, YOU WEAK GLASS OF MAXIPAD DRIBBLE!

Justin Tuck: Okay.

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: YOU FUCKING CALL ME SIR, CUMQUENCHER!

Justin Tuck: Yes, sir. (mumbles) Big jerk.

Sergeant Tom Coughlin WHAT WAS THAT?! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST CALL ME?! YOU LITTLE TITJABBER! TOO BUSY NURSING YOUR DADDY’S COCK TO SPEAK UP, FUCKHOLE?! YOU JUST BOUGHT YOURSELF 500 BURPEES AND 12,000 HANGING SIT UPS, YOU FUCKING SMEGMA EATER!

Justin Tuck: Yes, sir.

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: AND I DON’T WANT YOU SHOWING UP LATE ANYMORE, YOU LITTLE TURDPUSHER!

Justin Tuck: Late for what? It was the day off today. I just came in to work out.

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: THERE ARE NO DAYS OFF IN FOOTBALL, PUSSYRAG! YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?! THIS IS YOUR MANDATORY OFFSEASON WORKOUT PROGRAM! YOU FUCKING MISS ONE GODDAMN LAT PULL AND I WILL DROWN YOU IN THE SHITTER! I WANT YOU AT THIS FACILITY ONE HOUR BEFORE O’DARK THIRTY EVERY MORNING!

Justin Tuck: What time is that?

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: RIGHT FUCKING NOW, FUCKWHEAT! YOU’RE ALREADY LATE FOR TOMORROW’S WORKOUT! YOU FUCKING BEST UNFUCK YOURSELF TUCK, OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL CUT YOUR THROAT AND RAPE YOUR JUGULAR! YOU HEAR ME, FUCK BREATH?! FUCK!

Justin Tuck: Yes, sir.

(Coughlin leaves)

McGaughey: You know, I gotta say: He’s been WAY nicer ever since we won the Super Bowl.

Justin Tuck: Definitely.

Your Friday Afternoon Cheers And Jeers

Friday, June 27th, 2008


CHEERS to Will Leitch, for nearly three years of fun over at Deadspin.

JEERS to Will Leitch for leaving just as I found out all kinds of new shit to make fun of him about. Seriously man, fucking raisins? What a freak!

CHEERS to Buzz Bissinger for finally manning up and deciding to go one on one with the fucking great one on November 6th. I ain’t no shrinking violet, Bissinger. Leitch may enjoy being a spineless pushover, but I PLAY FOR FUCKING KEEPS, ASSHOLE. Get ready for a taste of FIAAAAAHHHH! Also, can I have an autograph?

JEERS to the next two months. Seriously, I want to fucking die. TWO MONTHS until the NFL is back? The last Super Bowl feels like it was played eight years ago. I get to spend the next two months sweating my balls off and trying to put together a fantasy draft board, only to end up with a fucking headache after five minutes. JESUS.

CHEERS to Sabra hummus. God dammit, that is some good fucking hummus. Smooth, creamy, salty. I bet Chris Simms rubs it all over his face.

JEERS to Tribe Of Two Shieks hummus. Hey you fuckers, Sabra just served your sorry ass. Take your lumpy, shitty ass hummus out of my grocery store. You’re a disgrace to lunatic, chick pea-grinding Arabs the world over. Go strap a bomb to yourself and run into a Tel Aviv bus. You aren’t fucking worthy of my plate!

CHEERS to me being let out of the house tonight to see a rock concert for the first time in two years. Hey, Hold Steady, you had best be ready to RAWK WITH YOUR FUCKING COCK OUT. I want double guitars. I want SIX encores. I want you to play a slow song once an hour so I can go piss. DON’T SKIMP ON THE ROCK, YOU FUCKERS. I’m driving to fucking Baltimore for that shit.

JEERS to wearing open-toes shoes to any rock concert. Ever wear flip flops to a show? Don’t.

CHEERS to Haterade. You know, yesterday at Deadspin was a real love-in. But that’s not what we do here at KSK. It’s time to wash off all that joy and affection and go back to what we do best: pure, unadulterated bile. FUCK YOU, WHOEVER NEEDS TO GET FUCKED. God, that feels fantastic.

JEERS to fucking Dr. Z for picking the Vikings to win the Super Bowl. You fucking old, jinxing prick. “Dare I pick Minnesota to win it all?” Dare I disconnect your colostomy bag and pull your dick off? Quit needlessly hyping my team, you bastard. Go back to hating them like you normally do.

CHEERS to Lucy Pinder and Cassandra Lynn. Wazzat? They’re not cheerleaders? Eh, who gives a shit.

Ask Pacman Jones!

Tuesday, June 24th, 2008

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From time to time, KSK has reeled in big-name NFL players and analysts to answer questions from fans the world over. Well today, we have a very special guest here with us. It’s Cowboys’ defensive back Pacman, nee Adam, Jones! Onto your questions!

Pacman, what did you think of what Don Imus said about you on the air recently?

-Jimbo, East Plano

Pacman: Man, FUCK Don Imus. Old bag muthaphuckka. Fuck hiz azz. FUCK HIZ AZZ WIT A DIK AN A STIK. Prolly got a dik look like beef jerky. Fuck hiz hat. What he think, he a cowboy? He ain’t no cowboy. Pacman a cowboy. Imus just a horse-azz BITCH. Pacman tak dat horse and smack it on da azz. Gon whip Imus lik he da fuckin’ Black Stallion. Turn hiz azz in2 kung pao and shit. Fuck him and hiz old azz bitch. Cookbook writin’ bitch. Pacman tak dat bitch and giv her da Hoova. Put som shampoo in dat bitch’s platinum hair. FUCK DON IMUS.

Pacman, do you think Tony Romo’s love affair with Jessica Simpson will again distract the team as it tries for a championship?

-Jim Bob, Midland

Pacman: Oooh, Pacman lik dat gurl. Gurl be thick! Pacman do tha drizzle on dat azz. Gurl hum a nice tune when she got a dik in her mouf. Romo know what time it iz. He giv her dat Creamsicle. Ain’t gotta take her down Mexico way fo dat skeet.

Hi, Pacman! Long time Cowboy fan and Laker fan. Have you heard any word recently about Roger Goodell reinstating you?

-Jimmy Bob, Odessa

Pacman: Fuckin’ Orange Whitey fuckin’ wit Pacman. Pacman ain’t down wid it. Pacman been good. Ain’t bitin’ no stripper puzzy on Sundays. Only drankin’ wine. Only smokin’ when I at da hizzay. Orange Whitey dont wanna hear it. He keepin’ Pacman danglin’. Pacman gon tak hiz wife to ChocolateTown fo fukkin’ wit him.

Pacman, I thought you gave up the Pacman name. Shouldn’t we all be calling you Adam?

-Bobby Jim Rob, Arlington

Pacman: It Tuesday! Pacman good on 2sday!

Pacman, how did you get your nickname? Also, would you hook up with Ms. Pacman? She’s kinda hot!

-Robbie Jay Jimmy Bob, Dallas

Pacman: Ooooh, Pacman gon bust Ms. Pacman wide. Gurl give good head if she all head. Pacman hear she give great circle. Gon gobble dat bitch right up. Pacman gon take Ms. Pacman and chomp her dotz. Ain’t no ghostz getting’ ta dat bitch befo Pacman duz. He outrun Blinky fo dat glowin’ pussy.

Pacman, how are you getting along with your new teammates? Between TO, Romo, and the rest, there’s a lotta egos in that locker room!

-Bobby Dingo JayBob, Ft. Worth

Pacman: Ain’t no thang. Pacman ain’t got no hate fo nobody. Pacman all good. Pacman just gon kick back and wait fo Orange Whitey to let Pacman tear dat azz up again. ‘Cause Pacman gon tear dat azz UP. Pacman gon bury it in dat azz. He gon drill some holez. Buleev dat. And he gon drank. You betta buleev he gon drank that drank. Pacman take dat drank and bow da roof off the bitch. He gon make a bitch howl. He gon cork some bitchez. He gon chew dat trim. Put a bitch thru tha wall wif dat dong.

AIN’T NO MUTHAPHUCKKAZ GON BE PHUCKKIN’ WIT PACMAN WHEN HE GIVIN’ DAT BITCH DAT LUV SNORKEL. HE GON MAKE A BITCH CRY FO DAT CHOCOLATE CHARLESTON CHEW. BULEEV DAT.

KSK Off-Topic – Worst Drivers In America By Make

Wednesday, June 18th, 2008


I live suburban Maryland and work in suburban Virginia. To get to work every day, I have to cover a 10-mile stretch of the Capitol Beltway, one of the absolute worst roadways in America. Washington is #2 on the list for worst traffic in the nation, and it’s a well-earned accolade.

In my over four years of commuting on the Beltway, I have encountered pretty much every kind of bad driver you can think of. I’ve seen it all. I’ve seen Pennsylvania drivers who appear to have stepped into a motor vehicle for the very first time. I’ve seen Asian drivers who lack the ability to see any car on the road except their own. I’ve been tailgated by any number of redneck jalopies with ABORTION STOPS A BEATING HEART bumper stickers.

I’ve encountered drivers who refuse to either speed up or slow down as I try to merge onto the Beltway, going the EXACT same speed as me in order to, for whatever reason, run me off the road. I guess they weren’t happy about my Blog Show appearance. I’ve run into drivers who are constantly lightly tapping down on their brake pedals, so that their brake lights come on without them ever actually slowing down. I’ve seen any number of unmarked vans make the “swerve over three lanes to get on the exit ramp” move. I’ve seen drivers in downtown DC who just stop in the middle of the road for no reason. I’ve seen people go 40 in the left-hand lane.

I’ve encountered off duty policemen riding their Kawasaki Ninjas at over 4,000,000 mph. I’ve seen any number of families pulled over on the side of the road, not because they’re broken down, but because they wanted to use the shoulder as a kind of makeshift rest stop. I don’t want to say those people are usually black, but yeah, they’re usually black. I’ve sat behind cell phone users, Blackberry users, iPhone users, Apple Newton users, Koala Pad users, etc. If there’s an electronic device to operate recklessly while driving a motor vehicle, I’ve seen a driver use it.

From my experience, I have become not just an expert in shitty driving, but also a bad driving enthusiast. They’re just such a diverse group of retarded people. It’s quite fascinating. Often, my better half and I will try and figure out who the very worst of the lot are. Not by racial stereotype, mind you. That would be wrong. Also, we’ve already done it.

No, we’ve tried to break it down strictly by make. Which brand of car engenders the shittiest driving? Well, here is my Top 5. Keep in mind that I spend at least two hours a day dodging these accident-seeking missiles. I’m also the occasional bad driver myself. So I know of what I speak. A couple qualifiers here:

-No semis are on the list. We all know semis are fucking awful.
-No old cars on the list. Any old, banged up car with a shitload of bumper stickers obviously houses a dumbfuck motorist.
-No motorcycles. Again, they’re all terrible.
-No buses. God, I hate bus drivers.
-No high-end sports cars like Ferrari, because they’re too rare. Porsche is right on the edge.
-No individual models.

Anyway, right to the Top 5:

1. BMW

Second place isn’t even close. Beamer drivers are, bar none, the most selfish, pushy, assholic drivers on the American road. Every BMW driver I’ve encountered seems genuinely offended that they have to share the road with me. They tailgate with almost a 100% frequency. And they are constantly, CONSTANTLY, trying to show off their Beamer’s speed and handling. Hey fuckhead, you’re not on the fucking NĂŒrburgring. Take off the fucking driving gloves and find an embankment to crash into.

2. Volkswagen

I’ve been vehicularly harassed by too many Volkswagens to count. These fucking yuppie chicks with their zippy little fucking bugs. Jesus. I blame the whole “Drivers wanted” campaign. “We want people who love to drive! Who want to take advantage of our German engineering to cut off multiple cars on the road in just seconds!” Put down the fucking Starbucks, turn down the Nick Drake, and take your fucking foot off the gas. You overpaid for a German Buick. Your car is a poorly thought out, overpriced piece of shit. Go buy a Prius like every other liberal asshole. Das auto? More like Das cockpumper.

3. Saturn

A different kind of company. A different kind of fucking idiot. Yes, Saturn. The car for people who don’t know what kind of car they want. Designed in Japan. Built in America. Driven, apparently, by epileptics. It’s as if they aren’t even using the steering wheel. Quite amazing, really.

4. Lexus

I’m convinced 50% of all DC Lexus drivers are between 16 and 17 years old. Yes, if you’ve always wanted Daddy to buy you a luxury car and pay off the DMV inspector before your driving test, Lexus is the way to go for you.

5. Lincoln

Lincoln makes two kinds of cars: The Town Car, for insane car service drivers, and, of course, the Navigator. I don’t know why it’s called the Navigator. Drivers of that car don’t seem to have sketched out a navigational plan of any sort. Perhaps it’s because Navigator drivers are usually filthy rich suburban housewives trying to calm down the seven kids sitting the back.

So, to all you haughty Beamer drivers, all you overly-peppy VW drivers, and all you clueless Saturn, Lexus, and Lincoln drivers, let me just say


HOOOOOOONKKKKKKKK!

ASSSSSSSHOOOOOOOLES!

If You Can’t Appreciate A Fackin’ Bawstun Team Winning A Championship, MAYBE YOU DON’T LIKE SPARTS!

Wednesday, June 18th, 2008

FINALLY! We won! WE fackin’ won! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK!

(keys nearby car)

I don’t know how WE did it, but somehow WE fackin’ pulled together as a Nation and fackin’ gawt it done! Even with fackin’ Dahkie Rivahs in chaaaahge! Even with the fackin’ refs havin’ in it far us, like they always do! We thah fans took this team on ow-uh backs and WON IT ALL! ANOTHER FACKIN’ TRIUMPH FAR THAH CELTICS NATION! You fackin’ hatahs out they-ah just gawt sarved up anathah fackin’ dose of fackin’ BEANTOWN GREATNESS!

(smokes thirty Parliaments at the same time)

Gawd, when I think of how fackin’ lawg we’ve been waiting far this title. I had to spend ovah twenty fackin’ yee-ahs nawt giving a fack about the Celtics. Then that one dahkie died. Then that othah fackin’ dahkie died. Then that fackin’ greasy dago Pitino came through the fackin’ do-ah. NO OTHAH FAN BASE COULD PAWSSIBLY UNDAHSTAND WHAT THE FACK WE WENT THROUGH!

(smashes nearby Latino man with pint glass)

And now ow-uh loyalty has been fully repaid! We fackin’ earned this title! No way this team wins jack shit without the legendary suppart of the QUINZEE FAITHFUL! After everything we’ve been through, this title was lawng fackin’ ovahdue! WE DESERVE THIS TITLE MOR-AH THAN ANY FANS OF ANY OTHAH FACKIN’ TEAM HAVE DESERVED ANY OTHAH TITLE!

(keys another car)

I would just like to take this awppahtunity tah extend a haaaaahty FACK YOU to commissionah Rahjah Goodell of the NFL. You fackin’ prick! You let the gawddamn Giants win the Supah Bowl when everyone knows full well that the fackin’ Pats were-ah the bettah team that day. YOU CHEATED US, GOODELL! This should have been the greatest sparts yee-ah one city has evah had. AND YOU DROPPED THE FACKIN’ BAWL! You gawt sam fackin’ nerve, yah fackin’ red-hayuhd assbandit!

(takes off shirt, waves it in air for 90 straight minutes)

I will never farget this! Even when we dawminate, WE CAN’T GET ANY JUSTICE! I won’t be able to enjoy the title as much as I want to now! It’s nawt fackin’ fay-uh! WE WERE-AH RAWBBED!

And to awl yah fackin’ Bawston hatahs out they-ah, I’d like to invite you to FACKIN’ SACK MY CAWK! Jealous much, pillowbitahs? Well, if you can’t appreciate a fackin’ Bawstun team winning a championship, MAYBE YOU DON’T LIKE SPARTS! Far real, you should seriously rethink yar priarities, YAH FACKIN’ LOSAHS! Everyone knows that the warld is a bettah place when a fackin’ Bawston team is on tawp. THIS CANNOT BE DISPUTED! No othah town has this kind of history, or fan base. WE MAKE EVERYTHING BETTAH!

(cranks Godsmack album)

And how can you hate this C’s team? If you love basketball, or only like it when yar team is good like I fackin’ do, THEN YOU GAWTTA LOVE THIS TEAM! Look at Pawl fackin’ Pee-uhce. I never thawt that dahkie would amount to jack shit. Looks like one of my Chaaaaahlestown boys finally stabbed some sense into him! And Kevin Fackin’ Gaaaaaahnet? WE DESERVED HIM! HE’S OW-UHS NOW! And my boy Eddie House! Everyone loves my buddy House! I wish a REAL playah like LARRY FACKIN BIIIIRD were on the team. But what the fack can you do? Gawd, Larry was the greatest EVAH!!!!

This is the kind of team everyone should get down on their fackin’ knees and warship, even if you aaaaaahn’t from hee-ah. Even if yar a Lakah fan. If you can’t appreciate this team or it’s amazing fans, MAYBE YOU DON’T DESERVE TO EVAH BE HAPPY!

(gets 33rd tattoo)

Especially you, Lakah fans. You faggots don’t even show up to the game on time. YOU DIDN’T DESERVE THIS TITLE, YOU CAWK-SACKIN’ ASSFAGS! Maybe you can find some Kleenex is yar fackin’ man-parses, yah fackin’ assticklahs! We Bawston fans show on time, cheer far the home team, and boo the othah team. LET’S SEE SOME OTHAH GROUP OF FANS DO THAT! You guys ahhhh just a bunch of wannabes! Yar just a bunch of fackin’ staaaaahfackahs!

Omigawd, is that Matt Damon? HOLY SHIT, MATT DAMON IS AWN MY FACKIN’ STREET! HE’S NAWT LIKE THE REST OF HOLLYWOOD! HE’S TRUE TO HIS ROOTS! MATTY, GIVE TAWMMY AN AWWWTOGRAPH!

Damon: Get away from me.

No prawblem, Matty! You ahhhh the fackin’ MAN!

(keys one last car)

So savor this moment, Bawston fans. Once again, we have proven that no one can fackin’ stawp us! Sack on that, Kobe! For once, YOU gawt the surpise buttfackin’!

YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK! YANKEES SACK!

UPDATE: Yup, just as I expected

Dear Mrs. Randall, YOUR HUSBAND DIED A COWBOY!

Monday, June 16th, 2008

(envelope flies open)

Dear Mrs. Andre Randall,

YEEEEEEEHAW! WAAAAHOOOOO! GREAT GREEN GOBS OF ELEPHANT CUM, WHOPPITY YOW!!!!!

How the hell you doin’, honey? It’s with deep regret that I must inform you that your husband, Andre, died this weekend while workin’ on my new Cowboys stadium, THE GREATEST GODDAMN STADIUM YOU EVER DONE SAW! It’s 50 times better than the stadium those faggots in New England play in!

Apparently, your husband died after touching a high voltage line. That makes him the second guy to do that this week. HOLY SHIT! That sounds like a helluva way to go! One second you’re about to take a lunch break, the next: ZAP! You’re a goddamn squirrel fricassee! And here I thought the only high voltage we got exposed here at the new stadium was some of the new, top-notch pussy we got comin’ in for the cheerleadin’ squad! YOU TALK ABOUT ELECTRIFYIN’!

Anyways, the ol’ DOUBLE-J sure is sorry as shit for your husband’s death and any inconvenience it may have caused. Shit, I just figured the only workers we’d lose building this gorgeous, state-of-the-art facility would be a couple of day laborers. AND WHO THE FUCK CARES IF ONE OF THEM GETS THE SHOCKER, KNOW WHAT I MEAN? The only way one of those guy’s families would know something was wrong was if the monthly check didn’t arrive at their village in the rainforest!

Sure does hurt me to lose a local feller. Although, if he’s touching bare power lines, he might not be the sharpest penis in the vagina! Shit, even our fatass retard coach wouldn’t do that, UNLESS HE THOUGHT IT WAS A LICORICE ROPE! What a big fat fuck! Anyway, your husband’s recklessness has helped absolve me of any legal liability for his accident. So really, he did me and the insurance company quite a big favor by bein’ so goddamn dumb. CHEERS TO THAT FUCKER!

Anyway, Mrs. Randall, I’d like to again express my deepest sympathies on behalf of myself and the intire COWBOY family: me, drunken Switzer, Princeton Boy, Other Princeton Boy, Fatty, Pacman, my boy ROMO, my lovely assistant Jennifer, that faggot Aikman, Special Emmitt Smith
 all those assholes. I know there isn’t anything in this world that can compensate for the loss of your husband, which is why I’m not sending you any kind of money. That would only cheapen his memory. Instead, I’mma induct your son into the GODDAMN COWBOY RING OF HONOR! HOW YOU LIKE THAT SHIT, SWEETIE PIE?!

Actually, it’s not the official Ring of Honor. This is the unofficial subcontractor ring of honor, which is scratched into the crawlspace behind the new Pot Belly Sandwich Works located near Section 218 on the Loge-level concourse. You ever have one of their sandwiches? GOD DAMN, THEY ARE TASTY! Small, but still pretty fucking good! The Double-J likes himself THE WRECK! Salami, roast beef, turkey, ham, swiss: That thing’s tastier than a Thai girl’s ass! Why, big ol’ Wade would spurt in his Tuffskins if he ever saw one!

In fact, I’d like to present you with TWO $1 coupons for the new Pot Belly Sandwich works that you can redeem when the stadium opens in 2009! No need to thank me. THE DOUBLE-J TAKES CARE OF HIS OWN, DARLIN’! That is some delicious grievin’! I’d also like to extend to you an exclusive invitation to join our season ticket mailing list, provided you pony up the $3,000 waiting list convenience charge.

I’ve also enclosed ONE free ticket to our pregame showdown against those faggots from Houston on August 22nd! Ever seen my boy Romo live? HE’S A GODDAMN STAR! And you can see him up close as he rides the pine while some no-name dipshit scrub takes the field. I’ll be a fucking Louisiana witch doctor before I let my boy ROMO get hurt!

That ticket comes with a $450 convenience charge. We accept Visa and MasterCard. This ticket’s only free provided you buy a six-pack of tickets to every other preseason game. THE DOUBLE-J DIDN’T GET RICH BY BEING A SHITHEAD!

We’ve had an awful lot of troubles at our new stadium site. Your husband died, that one asshole got hit with a crane hook, some other guy fell 20 goddamn feet. And that’s just the shit we made public! One guy’s kid got eaten by the escalator! WHAT A GODDAMN MESS! But I tell ya, when you see this sparklin’ jewel of a new stadium, you’ll agree it was ALL WORTH IT! This place is gonna be a goddamn penthouse, darlin’! We got fountains, and arches, and panels, and glass, and all kinds of crazy shit! Even the shitter looks cool!

So don’t think your husband died in vain. He died a hero! A cowboy! He died doin’ what he loved: installing electricity so that the LED screen at my concession stands work properly! GOD DAMN, THAT IS A RIGHT HONORABLE WAY TO BOW OUT!

Let me ask you somethin’, darlin’: you a looker? Andre was pretty young. You must still be pretty well put together. You come on down to TIXAS Stadium and let the Double-J give you a once over. Even if you ain’t cheerleader material, it never hurts to have some more quality pussy ‘round these parts! I’ll give you a shoulder to cry on, and a lap to grind on! They don’t call my cock “The Widowmaker” for nuthin’!

So sorry ‘bout the dead husband. Hope he gets better. And don’t forgit about my little offer. ‘CAUSE THE DOUBLE-J KNOWS THAT SAD TAIL IS GOOD TAIL! YEEHAW! WOO HOO! I AM FUCKING CRAZY!

Warmest Regards,

JERRY GODDAMN JONES
OWNER
PRESIDENT
PRIME MINISTER
POPE
KING
VICEROY
EMPEROR
GENERAL MANAGER
HEAD FUCKER IN CHARGE
DALLAS FUCKING COWBOYS, THE PRIDE OF TIXAS!!!!!

PS – If you want, Tank Johnson can come to the funeral. My boy TANK just loves goin’ to funerals! Even if it’s for folks he don’t know! What a crazy asshole!

The New Cowboys Stadium Should Not Double As A Strip Club

Thursday, June 12th, 2008


Wade: Well, this has been some week. Lots of things going on. Let me just recap my current situation to myself before anyone has a chance to inter


(door flies open)


Jerry: YEEEEEEHAW!!!! GREAT GRAND-SPANKIN’ PUSSYSAURUS, HERE COMES THE DOUBLE-J!!!

Wade: Well, that happened faster than usual.

Jerry: No time for talkin’, Fatty! I need your fat ass UP! Outta that chair, Barefoot Contessa! Move it! Move your big fat piggy ass! Make room!

Wade: I’ve already moved offices eight time. You already put me down here in the visitor’s showers.

Jerry: And it’s a good thing I did, seein’ as how your fat ass could use a good hosin’ down every few minutes or so! The groomer’s almost doing an acceptable job with you! NOW MOVE, SLOTH-BOY!

Wade: What the heck is goin’ on here?

(door flies open)

Thom Felicia: Oh my god. This looks like the kind of bathroom where Russian mafia members have naked knife fights! I’m a little scared, and a little tingly.

Wade: Who’s he?

Jerry: Thom here is damn near the gayest interior designer in the whole U.S. of A. Which is sayin’ a lot, ‘cause Lord know interior designers love themselves some wallpapered cock! Thom, what do you think we can do with this area?

Thom Felicia: Well, I don’t want to do anything radical, Mr, Jones. I want it to really reflect your personality. I just want to make it better.

Jerry: So how can you make it reflect me more, FAG BOY?!

Thom Felicia: Well, we’ll have to make it bigger. And shinier. And add lots of mirrors. I’m also thinking of a sort of wall-to-wall gun rack aesthetic.

Jerry: HOT DAMN, THAT SOUNDS CLASSY! MAKE IT HAPPEN! AND DON’T SUCK ANY COCK ON COMPANY DIME!

Wade: Why are we redesigning everything? What the heck is going on?

(door flies open)

Pacman: Yo yo. U put dat fat bitch in da showa, Pacman gon make it rain fo real. Pacman down wid it.

Jerry: I LOVE YOUR ATTITUDE, ADAM! You see, Tubby, my boy ADAM here is a goddamn STAR! Which means we’re gonna have to make some adjustments to make sure he’s comfortable here in Big D.

Pacman: Pacman say lights too bright up in dis bitch. I gon darken dat shit right up.

(takes out gun, shoots out lights)

Jerry: Good thinking, Adam!

Wade: What are you doing?

Jerry: Stop being such a puss, my big chocolate Ă©clair. Adam here suffers from a highly debilitating mental illness called Mons Venopsychosis. It’s a rare condition where the brain is actually tricked into believing that it is ALWAYS in a titty bar. Isn’t that somethin’, Fatcakes?!

Wade: That’s not a real illness.

Jerry: Then why did my boy ADAM show me this doctor’s note?

Wade: “Yo yo. Pacman doctor say he need tits and shit.” This is a forgery!

Jerry: Well, that is just sad, Tubelina. I go out of my GODDAMN way to support this poor, mentally crippled man, and you have the gall to doubt him! Now, Adam. Is it true that you suffer from this horrible affliction?

Pacman: Dat shit b real. Pacman say he gon cuckoo for dem Cocoa Puff tittays. He gon need long time fo dat rebiliteration. He gon need big dose a azz. Pacman gon drain dat azz.

Jerry: You see?! He’s sick! That’s why we have to make this place MENTALLY CRIPPLE ACCESSIBLE, FATASS! That means making the place look more like a strip club, so that our boy ADAM can feel more at home! Jenna?

Jenna: Yes, Mr. Jones?

Jerry: HOO WEE, YOU GOT SOME BODACIOUS TIXAS TA-TAS! Don’t you change a damn thing, sweetheart. You just keep doin’ what you’re doin’!

Pacman: Ooh! Pacman gobble up dem dots!

Wade: I thought you said you were going to make the place look more LIKE a strip club, not actually make it a strip club.

Jerry: Now how the fuck can I make this place look like a proper titty bar without some REAL TITS TO GO AROUND?! Thom! Get your faggity ass over here!

Thom Felicia: Sir?

Jerry: WE NEED MORE TITS LIKE THESE ‘ROUND THESE PARTS! And I want everyone wearing skimpy cocktail dresses with slits that go up to the armpits! What else can we do to make this place nice for you, Adam?

Pacman: Kill dem lights. Pussy ain’t go no face.

Jerry: Well put!

Pacman: Pacman gon need his own back room to do his bidness. He gon squeeze dem tits till dey pop.

Jerry: You getting all this, Felicia?! What else, Adam?

Pacman: Gon need some guns. Pacman like 2 fish in dat azz.

Jerry: I don’t know what that means, BUT I LOVE IT!

Pacman: Ain’t no music up in dis bitch. We gon git some Young Jeezy up in dis bidness. AND WE GON GIT SOME DRANK! O WE GON GIT DAT DRANK. Pacman say ain’t no drank drank we ain’t got no NyQuil. Pacman gon make dem bitches spit da bit. He gon make a fist party wit dem bitches. Muthaphuckkas ain’t no playas if they ain’t takin no sip a dis pussy juice. Pacman gon grab dem quarters and rain dat hail down. He gon spit on dat asshole and wait to put dat Slinky in dat shit. Pacman like it when there blood on the flo. He gon stick dat azz till it rip. PACMAN GON FUCK LIKE A JOHN DEERE DIS FRIDAY. BELIEVE DAT. HE GON TRACTA THAT AZZ.

Thom Felicia: Okay, I didn’t understand any of that.

Jerry: Well, make it your job to understand, gay boy! We need this place looking like a five-star Tixas poon parlor by next week! And do a rush job on the bar. Switzer’s doin’ the bartindin’!

Wade: Sir, this is a huge mistake. We can’t afford this kind of distraction. How are we going to keep players focused in this kind of environment?

(door flies open)


Garrett: Indeed. And how will we keep this fellow focused on football, instead of on the brie en croute hidden in his shorts?

Wade: Ugh. You always gotta show up.

Jerry: Shut up, Fart Garfunkel. Git your shit outta this shower, so we can make more room for the DJ! And the lasers! DJ’s AND LASERS MAKE TITS SING!

Pacman: Pacman gon mak dat azz sloppy.

Wade: Jesus.

Jerry: Let’s make this place into a world class PUSSY RODEO, BOYS! YEEEEEHAWWWWW!!! WOOOO HOOOOOOO I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!