Al: Welcome back to another NFL season everyone. Alongside John Madden, I’m Al Michaels. A great one tonight. A EE-YUGE NFC East matchup between the Washington Redskins, and the improbable Super Bowl champion New York Giants, who made that amazing, memorable run to the title last January. We have a new sideline reporter this season, who’ll be telling us about what’s going on to the field. Let’s throw it down to…

What’s this guy’s name?

Tommy: WHAT THE FACK AH YOU FACKS DOING WATCHING FOOTBAWL RIGHT NOW WHEN THE FACKIN’ SAWX AHH OVAH ON FACKIN’ NESN! EVERY TV IN THE BAHHHH SHOULD BE ON THE FACKIN’ SAWX RIGHT NOW!!!! FACKIN’ JERRY REMY IS GREATEST FACKIN’ BRAWDCASTAH IN THE HISTORY OF SPARTS! CAN WE ALL AGREE ON THIS RIGHT FACKING NOW?

Al: Did he just say fack?

Tommy: FACK YOU! Why is this game the season openah?! No one is giving the fackin’ Paytree-uts the prawpah respect they fackin’ deserve aftah goin’ 18-1, WHICH NO TEAM HAS EVAH DONE EVAH FACK YOU ETERNALLY!

THESE NEW YARK FAGGOTS GAWT FACKING LUCKY! THE CROWD AT FAWXBURROW WOULD HAVE MADE THIS FAR-AH MORE-AH OF A REAL SPARTS EVENT! THIS IS JOONYAH VAHHHSITY SHIT!

(cranks POD album)

Al: I think this is a completely farcical reporter.

Tommy: FACK YOU, YA BAY AREA CAWKSACKAH!!!!!!!!!!

Dear Matt Ryan,

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit damn.

Fuck me up the ass.

I AM STONED.

Matt Ryan, I wanted to write to you on the inside of this toilet paper roll to tell you something important. And that is that… FUCK I’M HIGH!

No, wait. That ain’t it. I’m here to tell you that, no matter what you do, no matter how well you play, the people of Atlanta will never love you. Ever. Not the way they love me.

Know why? Because you’re a fucking cracker.

Also, you don’t fight dogs. EVERYONE in Atlanta fights dogs. People who don’t fight dogs are probably gay. So you should know that. That is, like, culture and shit. You ain’t country. You ain’t ever been country. So you can suck the sweet tea right outta my dong.

I bet you own a computer. You’re a fucking nerd.

You can’t do what I do. Just remember that. I am Atlanta’s first love. The people there will never accept a QB who stands tall in the pocket, makes sound decisions, and throws a catchable ball. Know why? Because quarterbacks who stand tall in the pocket are little white bitches.

In conclusion, fuck you.

Also, I am high.

Send Weed,
Ookie

Photo courtesy of The Onion

Hey! Hey, Bob! Yeah, I’m at the tailgeet! Yeah, I have the basketball jersey on! The same one! I wore it when Sean Teelor died last year, and the team really took off after that, so no way I’m taking it off. This is the jersey that’s gonna win us the Super Bowl.

(shotguns beer in front of grandchildren)

What’s that? Tonight? Oh, no doubt we’re winning by 50. Did you see us in the first game of the preseason? DYNASTY. Oh, yeah. DYNASTY. We were as dominant that night as we were during the Spurrier preseason era. Who’s gonna stop us?

(gets in car, swerves across 8 lanes of traffic, causing 7 accidents)

Zorn’s gonna open up that offense. There’s no reason we can’t score 45 points a geem. The way they’ll utilize Randle El, we’re talking 1,700 yards from him MINIMUM. Worst keese scenario. I think the players know that we Redskin fans won’t accept anything less todee.

(starts singing “Hail to The Redskins” to self)

Wait till you see Brennan get in the geem! Oh, he’ll get in. He’s gonna revolutionize the position behind these NEW new Hogs, who are better than the old new Hogs and I think could be better than the original Hogs who were new at the time.

He’s like Manning and Breedy combined into one super QB, with Joe Montana mixed in. No doubt. Have you SEEN Brennan throw the ball? No one talks about how strong his arm is. You let him throw deep, it’s 1991 all over again. And Mike Sellers is so strong. He can bench, like 7,000 pounds. It’s true. I saw it on the news the other night.

COOLEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(places Redskins pup tent in top of car)

What’s that? Jason Teelor? I KNOW! Whole new dimension to the pass rush. Best years in front of him. See, he knows how to plee now, and I think pleeing for a team with this kind of history will really motiveet him. No one apprecieets how many near hurries this d-line had last year. If they finally get to the QB this year, they’ll be terrifying.

(yells FAGGOT at Latino man walking by)

And don’t tell me Carlos Rogers stinks. He’s finally HEALTHY. Whole new player. He’s Darrell Green reincarnated if Darrell Green were dead. Absolutely. And Reed Doughty hits people harder than Sean Taylor ever did. I could see this D pitching at least 8 shutouts. You coming to the teelgeet? I’m making the FANCY curly fries in the oven.

(parks car, takes eight tries to get it right)

These plee-ers get it. They know what it means to be a TRUE Redskin. They know the importance of following in the footsteps of guys like Ricky Ervins. They’re not going to let us down, Bob. No wee. The neesee-ers haven’t seen this team plee like you and I have. I don’t think they’re ready for Zorn’s offense at all. It could take them dekeeds to adjust.

We’re totally building on the foundation that Gibbs set. You watch. He made it so that we’ll win the next twelve Super Bowls. I expect nothing less. Big return to glory. BIG.

HAIL!!!!!!!

Dear Lee,

We’ve held a few fantasy drafts the past month or so, and if there was a recurring theme to all of our draft events, it was this:

Everyone hates you, Lee Evans.

Oh, how we loooooathe you. No one wanted to draft you, and once you finally fell to the double digit rounds, the person who drafted you inevitably picked you thusly:

“God dammit. I guess I’ll the asshole that takes Lee Evans.”

Follow that with a wistful sigh and you get the picture. Such was our disgust that we didn’t even draft the receivers above and below your name on the draft board, for fear of your shittiness being a contagion, a new strain of execrable awfulness. We couldn’t even say your name without feeling violently ill, like a spoiled child having to say, “I’m sorry”. You bring out the worst in us. Because you ARE the worst of us.

The world is fed up with you, Lee Evans. We, the collective people of Earth, have really had enough of your glaring inconsistency, your ability to have one monster game at the precise moment you have been benched, and the way you manage to not only suck the other weeks, but how you manage to be practically invisible while you are sucking. The average receiver having a shitty game means 3 catches for 40 yards or something like that. But that is a fucking festival of production next to your off days.

We are traumatized. By you. Your play is like rape.

You are shit. We do not mean to be rude. But it’s true. You are a cold dribble of liquid, rancid doodoo. You make regular shit smell like strawberry ice cream. You are a pile of week-old shit covered in brown piss and then doused with tar. You are diseased and horrible. You are not only a terrible receiver, but you are also a terrible person, largely because you are a terrible receiver.

No one likes you, Lee Evans. Everyone hates you and wishes you nothing but ill fortune and misery. If anyone says hi to you on the street, it’s because that’s the only thing they can say to you without wanting to jump on top of you and stomp the life out of your body while screaming YOU FUCKING BUST!!! DON’T YOU REALIZE I HAVE MONEY INVESTED IN YOU, YOU FUCKING CHEESE-EATING COCK?!

You may think people are being nice to you, but rest assured, when your back is turned, we the people, all 6.6 billion of us, are secretly plotting your final hours. We even have a name for your demise: “THE EVANS RESOLUTION.” We haven’t figured out exactly how it will play out. We may throw you into a steep gorge. Or we may all sneak up behind you and choke you with a tire iron. We don’t know. You don’t know. But it will happen. Oh, yes it will. Because we do not like you. At all. We’ve all agreed on THAT, to be certain.

Maybe you should move somewhere far away, with lots of remote jungles and caves with stalactites. That might be best for everyone, Lee Evans. Because the world hates you. Many people say global warming is caused by carbon dioxide. It is not. It is caused by the burning, white-hot rages your pathetic visage ignites in all of us. That’s right. You suck so fucking bad, you killed the polar bears.

You are a murderer.

In conclusion, get fucked.

Sincerely,

Everyone

When I look at tonight’s eric battalion between the Giants and Redskins, I want to pay close introspection to the running backs. I think the running backs could be the divisive imminent of tonight’s game. You look at the Giants. They have Brandon Jacobs. They have Ahmad Bradshaw. One’s got power. The other one’s got speed and effusiveness. Together, those two make a heckuva pontoon in the backfeel. Bradshaw is so fast! He don’t drink no decapitated coffee in the morning! You can’t stop him, you can only hope to contemplate him!

You look at the Giants, you talk about a team that really knows how to masturbate that ball down the feel. No doubt. They’ve got it down to a teepee. They ejaculate great conference in their running game. They want to wear you down and drain your Stamfordia, Connecticut. They want to dish out the furnishment here.

Now, on the fliphand, you have the Redskins’ backfeel. You look at Clinton Portis and Ladell Betts. That’s a very portent combine. You get those two going, and your defense will get FIASCOED! Just flat out trampolined. MASSACRATED! And that would be a catastory for any defensive cooperator. It’s very ironic.

But on the other fliphand, you also have to look at the defenses. To beat these backs, you have to be VERY intimating. You have to put up a formittenable front four! Otherwise, they will masturbate the ball up and down the feel continentally. And will flabberpack anyone. When I look at these teams, I see a real drudge match. It’s like the irrefutable four versus the immodium project! GOOD VERSUS EVIL! TOTAL ARMANDASSANTE!

If I’m the defensive cooperator of either team, I say to my men, “Guys, we have to be physicalitated. We have to be resentless. We can do it. We have the interestinal latitude and the aptitude, the MAXIPAD, to get this done. We’re gonna be aggressivated. Belitterent. We will deride and constipate. We’re gonna proliferate that o-line and leave them decemberated. If we just pollinate with our renumeration, we can gravitize the whole interstitial Delorean of the castrating municipalation. TIME FOR US TO ELATE OUR GAME!”

That’s what I’d tell them.

SAY! SAY YOU, LITTLE BOY!

Tiny Tim: Yes, sir?

WHAT DAY IS IT TODAY?

Tiny Tim: Why, it’s the first day of the NFL season, sir.

IT IS? I DIDN’T MISS IT?

Tiny Tim: No, sir. You didn’t miss it. It’s today, it is!

HOOOOOLY SHIT! I DIDN’T MISS IT!!!! YEAAAHHHH BABY!!!!!

Tiny Tim: Kind sir, my weak legs hurt from my blood clot medication. And my tiny lungs make breathing so very hard. Can you spare my family and I a bit of food and coal for our furnace?

WHAT? NAH, FUCK THAT, YOU LITTLE CRIPPLE! I GOT SHIT TO DO! I GOTTA GET BEER! AND FOOD! AND WEED! AND I GOTTA GO JERK IT BEFORE THE GAME STARTS! GO HOBBLE ALONG AND LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!

Tiny Tim: OW! My bedsores!

QUIT YER BITCHING, KID! TODAY IS THE GREATEST DAY OF ALL! IT’S THE NFL SEASON AGAIN! WE’RE GONNA DRINK! AND DRINK SOME MORE! AND THROW UP! AND THEN DRINK AGAIN! AND WE’RE GONNA HAVE A BUKKAKE DAY! RIGHT HERE! WE’RE GONNA SPURT DICK JOKES ALL OVER THIS FUCKING SITE! WOULD YOU LIKE THAT, YA LITTLE SHIT?!

Tiny Tim: No.

THEN FUCK THE FUCK OFF! IT’S NFL TIME! FUCK THE CHILDREN! FOOTBALL’S BACK! WOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

In an effort to regain control of his team, Bengals coach Marvin Lewis decides to take the drastic step of bringing volatile wideout Chad Ocho Cinco into his home in a spirited attempt to get the two men to understand one another.

Marvin: Hey, Chad! Dinner’s ready!




Ocho: Comin’ down, coach!

Marvin: On the double! We like to eat as a family every night. This stuff’s getting cold.

Ocho: I’m comin’, I’m comin’! (comes down stairs) My, my, my… I am HONGRAY. What do we have for dinner?

Marvin: The Mrs. cooked up some roast chicken.

Looks damn good, doesn’t it? Let’s dig in.

Ocho: Whoa ho yo, coach. Hold up. Hold up. I can’t eat that.

Marvin: What do you mean?

Ocho: Tell the Mrs. I am grateful, but Ocho Cinco doesn’t eat chicken. Too heavy. Much too heavy. I’m just gonna kick back with my usual dinner.

Marvin: A family-sized bag of chips?

Ocho: Yeah, yeah. Chips are much lighter. Much better for my biology. This one’s even got tomatoes.

Marvin: Um, no. Chips are not a lighter food that white meat chicken.

Ocho: No? Here, hold this chip.

Marvin: What for?

Ocho: Just feel how light it is. It’s very light. Very low weight.

Marvin: That isn’t how nutrition works, Chad. The weight of food isn’t an indicator of whether or not it’s good for you.

Ocho: Sure it is. If you eat LIGHT food, you stay light. That’s why I eat chips, bacon, donut holes, and cotton candy. That’s a very light diet.

Marvin: Actually, that’s just about the heaviest diet you can possibly have.

Ocho: You’re crazy! Look at this strip of bacon.

You see how light that bacon feels? It’s so light, it floats.

Marvin: No, it’s doesn’t.

Ocho: Yes, it does.

Marvin: No, it’s doesn’t. Bacon does not float.

Ocho: Yes, it does. Look.

(picks up bacon, drops it to the floor)

See?

Marvin: See what?

Ocho: It almost kinda floated right there.

Marvin: No, it didn’t. It fell straight to the floor.

Ocho: You didn’t see it just kinda sorta hesitate right there?

Marvin: No. It didn’t hesitate. It fell straight down.

Ocho: You don’t know that. That shit is not readily oblivious to the naked eye.

Marvin: YES IT IS. It’s bacon. It’s a solid object. Solid objects do not float.

Ocho: They do if you drop them from really high up.

Marvin: No they don’t.

Ocho: Then how come I see skydivers floating on TV all the time? They got their arms and legs out and are all like “LOOK AT ME! I’M A WHITE PERSON AND I’M ALL FLOATING AND SHIT!”

Marvin: Those people aren’t floating. They are FALLING. To earth. At an astonishing rate of speed. They’re solid. They don’t float.

Ocho: What about dust? Dust floats.

Marvin: Dust is made of microscopic particles. It gets blown around by the wind.

Ocho: How do you know it’s not made of bacon?

Marvin: It isn’t. It’s made of things like tree pollen and spores. It’s not made of bacon.

Ocho: Yeah, but you don’t know that.

Marvin: Yes, I do.

Ocho: No, you don’t. You’re no scientologist like Albert Edison. You can’t possibly know all that.

Marvin: Yes, I can. Dust is not made of bacon.

Ocho: Okay. What if I took my fork and knife and cut up a very tiny piece of bacon and POOF! Tossed it in the air. Then it’s just like dust.

Marvin: But you wouldn’t do that. No one cuts up microscopic pieces of bacon and then tosses them in the air.

Ocho: You don’t know that. They might do it in Germany.

Marvin: THEY DON’T DO THAT IN GERMANY. THEY DON’T CUT UP LITTLE BITS OF BACON AND THROW THEM IN THE AIR. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS BACON DUST.

Ocho: Yes, there is. They sell it at the store. And they keep it in a bottle to keep it from flying away.

Marvin: Those are Bac-O’s, Chad. Bac-O’s. And Bac-O’s are not bacon dust. Bac-O’s are bacon bits. And they keep the Bac-O’s in a bottle to prevent them from spilling, FALLING onto the floor, because they are heavier than the air. They wouldn’t fly away if the bottle were to be opened.

Ocho: But you don’t know that. They could.

Marvin: No, they couldn’t.

Ocho: They could if there was a hurricane. I saw that Gustav hurricane make garbage cans fly and shit.

Marvin: That’s because it would be subject to 150MPH winds. Bacon does not float in a no-wind environment.

Ocho: Okay, then. Let me point something out to you. I eat bacon. You eat chicken. Right?

Marvin: Uh huh.

Ocho: Now, look at me.

Marvin: Uh huh.

Ocho: Now look at you.

Marvin: Uh huh.

Ocho: I rest my case. That bacon is VERY light.

Marvin: HOLY SHIT. ARE YOU RETARDED? SERIOUSLY, ARE YOU MEDICALLY FUCKING RETARDED? THERE ARE 4 MILLION FACTORS THAT GO INTO A PERSON’S PHYSIQUE, INCLUDING HEREDITY, WORKOUT REGIMEN, AND METABOLISM. DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT YOU’RE THINNER THAN ME BECAUSE FUCKING BACON, FOR SOME INSANE REASON IN YOUR PEA-SIZED MIND, IS EXEMPT FROM THE PHYSICAL LAWS OF FUCKING GRAVITY? IS THERE A FUCKING BLACK HOLE IN YOUR HEAD?

IN FACT, BACON DOESN’T START OFF AS STRIPS. IT STARTS OFF A FUCKING HEAVY FUCKING SLAB THAT IS THEN CUT THIN AND FRIED, SO AS TO BE EVEN FUCKING HEAVIER. DOES THAT REGISTER AT ALL WITH YOUR TINY LITTLE FUCKING DINOSAUR BRAIN?

Ocho: They cut bacon in strips? Okay, now you’re just making shit up. Lemme call Ray Lewis and we’ll see what’s what.

Marvin: JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

You know, I turned away from watchin’ my ol’ boys from the Wolfpack playin’ them no good Gamecocks last night in some footbaw to see what this Obarama feller had to say last night, and I have to say I wudn’t very impressed.

When is this colored feller gonna get more specific?

All he talked about last night was war, the economy, immigration, abortion, taxes, gun control, conservation, government regulation, education, foreign policy, and energy policy. But that was all just RHETORIC. Folks down here don’t care to hear all that lofty talk. We’re real Americans. We need to hear SUBSTANCE!

For instance, he barely talked about trade last night. I had hoped he would devote at least 70 minutes to talking about trade. And he didn’t spend 35 minutes talking about property levies, like I wanted. And how come he didn’t say NOTHIN’ about the garbage cans that have been sittin’ in Mrs. Furlong’s yard for HIGH ON THREE WEEKS NOW? The whole neighborhood was up in arms about that! How could he neglect to even MENTION it? Sounds like someone isn’t really tuned in to what the American people need to hear!

And he didn’t say SHIT about how Jake Delhomme’s elbow is doin’. I wonder… does he even care?

Nope, he didn’t say nothin’ about any of that. Instead, he just spent 45 minutes giving a detailed, toplined plan about what he planned to do as President. Well, that just strikes me as hollow. I much would have preferred an 85-hour telethon that noted every detail of every single thing he has ever done or ever will do. Now, I heard that you can get this kind of info on his “intersite”. But, that sounds pretty darn elitist to me. NOT ALL OF US HAVE FANCY INTERSITES, SIR! WE ONLY GOT RADIOS LAST WEEK!

I just think this feller’s different. I done never seen him walking around town! How can I trust someone that hasn’t even served on my city council? I don’t know what kind of crazy tricks he’ll try and pull. I don’t think he gets what really matters to us everyday folk.

Like that stage last night. I didn’t care for that art direction ONE BIT. And he didn’t get how much that means to me. So I’m not votin’ for that feller. He just isn’t giving me any concrete reasons to vote for him.

Also, he’s black.

In an effort to regain control of his team, Bengals coach Marvin Lewis decides to take the drastic step of bringing volatile wideout Chad Johnson into his home, in a spirited attempt to get both men to understand one another better.

Marvin: Okay Chad, here’s your room.




Ocho: Got it, got it. Thanks, coach.

Marvin: Bathroom’s down the hall. The kids are in bed around nine or so, so try and keep noise to a minimum after that.

Ocho: I hear ya. No problem at all. Listen, coach, I have to wash my hands. Is there a bathroom I can use?

Marvin: Oh yeah, almost forgot: my contractor is here today to replace some of our piping. The water in the house was shut off for the morning. Here.

Marvin: Just use this to wash your hands.

Ocho: That? No, no, no. I can’t use that. That’s drankin’ water. I can’t use that.

Marvin: What are you talking about? It’s water. It’s the same. You can drink it, bathe with it, water plants with it, whatever.

Ocho: No, it’s not. This water is specifically for DRANKIN’. I can’t use drankin’ water on my hands. It’s dangerous. I need sink water.

Marvin: But… you CAN use it. It’s not dangerous at all. They’re both just water.

Ocho: No, there are different kinds of water.

Marvin: No, there aren’t. All water is the same.

Ocho: No, it isn’t.

Marvin: Yes, it is.

Ocho: No, it isn’t.

Marvin: Yes, it is.

Ocho: Then how come they tell you not to drank the water that’s in the ocean?

Marvin: That’s seawater. It has salt in it.

Ocho: EXACTLY. That’s a different kind of water. Like drankin’ water.

Marvin: No, no. That isn’t how it works. All water is THE SAME, Chad. It’s the same base molecule, H2O. Two parts hydrogen, one part oxygen.

Ocho: The fuck you talking about? There’s no oxygen in water. That’s the air.

Marvin: No, you don’t understand. At the molecular level, all water is the same: H2O.

Ocho: Like “Halloween: H2O”?

Marvin: NO! Listen to me. Water is all the same, but then other things can be dissolved into it, like minerals, or flavorings, or salt…

Ocho: Why would I add salt to water if it makes it taste so bad?

Marvin: You wouldn’t. That just happens naturally in the oceans.

Ocho: Then, if it naturally has salt in it, then it’s NATURALLY a different kind of water, just like Vitamin Water…

Marvin: Again, that’s not water. That’s a sweetened beverage.

Ocho: Or Fire Water…

Marvin: That’s a liqueur.

Ocho: Or Waterworld…

Marvin: That’s a motion picture starring Kevin Costner and Jeanne Tripplehorn. None of those things are water. Not Waterworld, or Vitamin Water…

Ocho: Then why does it say WATER on the goddamn bottle?

Marvin: Because that’s a brand name. Just because you CALL something water doesn’t make it water.

Ocho: What about Brian Waters? He seems very watery. Always dripping.

Marvin: No, no. Brian Waters is an offensive lineman. Not a kind of water. Water is an INGREDIENT in Vitamin Water, and even in people, but that doesn’t make either one ALL water. They have other stuff in them.

Ocho: Okay then, let me ask you this: Would you wash your hands with Vitamin Water?

Marvin: No, you can’t wash your hands with Vitamin Water.

Ocho: See? I rest my case. THAT is why I can’t use the drankin’ water for my hands.

Marvin: HOLY SHIT. ARE YOU THE DENSEST PERSON ON THE FACE OF THE FUCKING EARTH?! FRESH, CLEAR FUCKING WATER IS SAFE TO DRINK AND TO WASH YOUR FUCKING HANDS WITH. WHAT FUCKING BYZANTINE LABYRINTH OF BREATHTAKINGLY FUCKHEADED LOGIC CAUSED YOU TO DEDUCE THAT YOU CAN’T WASH YOUR HANDS WITH A GODDAMN SPLASH OF AQUAFINA, YOU DROOLING FUCKING MORON?

Ocho: Hmm… I’m still not convinced about this, man. I think I should probably call Ray Lewis. He can settle this.

Marvin: No, no. You want proper sink water? FINE. I’ll go over to the neighbors and get some for you. I’ll back down on this juuust for you. Okay? That’s the kind of effort I’m gonna try and make, so we can co-exist, EVEN THOUGH YOU LACK THE BASIC, RUDIMENTARY FUCKING UNDERSTANDING OF WHAT COMPRISES WATER AND WHAT DOES NOT.

(leaves, comes back with bowl full of water)

Here. Here’s some sink water.

Ocho: That’s not sink water. That’s in a bowl. That’s dog water. I can’t wash my hands in dog water.

Marvin: JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

Due to multiple annoying circumstances, I only just now got around to cramming for the two fantasy drafts I have next week. And after pouring through various annuals, all of which are now dated, trolling the Fantasy Football Café forums (Sample forum topic title: “SELVIN YOUNG???????”), and listening to any number of annoying podcasts (ever hear ESPN’s Fantasy Focus podcast? Don’t.), I have come to one startling conclusion about the players in this year’s draft:

I hate them all.

Apart from Tomlinson, every player here that positively bursts with the potential to fuck you raw. The list of players that shat their pants last year is incredibly robust: Bulger, LJ, Rudi, FUCKING LEE EVANS. Oh, how I loooooathe you, Lee Evans. You eat shit, young man. EAT A POUND OF SHIT.

Usually, any given year, you look at the list of players and, for no rational reason, a few guys look appealing. “Ooooh, Josh Reed! I bet he’ll be AWESOME!” But this year, I look and I just want to fall off a ledge. Earnest Graham? Really? I have to consider that asshole? Jesus.

With that in mind, here are eleven players that I just know, in my heart of hearts, will manage to screw me whether I draft them or not.

Peyton Manning: If this really is the year that both Tom Brady and Peyton Manning miss significant time with injury (fingers crossed!), it’s not gonna be nice and cut-and-dried. No, both of these assholes will invariably gut it out, staggering onto the field for every game, and calling 500 surprise draws on 3rd and goal from the four yard line. Then you’ll see headlines like “MANNING THROWS FOR 90 YARDS AND 1 INT IN BRAVE DISPLAY OF LEADERSHIP”. But you can’t NOT start Manning. He’s Manning! ARRRGGHHHH I hate that shit.

Ben Roethlisberger: Did he really throw 32 TD’s last year? I’m shocked he threw 32 TIMES. That’s not happening again. OR IS IT? See? I‘m annoyed already.

Brian Westbrook: “Hi! Just to let you know, I’m going to spend all my time this year being downgraded from Questionable to Doubtful on Saturday, only to run and catch for 100 yards each the next day! Then, the next week, I’ll find a new, hidden, surprise nagging injury that really will keep me out, even though it’s the one week I’m not on the injury report!” Fuck you, you bastard. I’ve never met anyone from Villanofun worth liking.

Frank Gore: With Mike Martz in town, you two get to be overrated together! I’m also excited about the prospect of Deshaun Foster spelling Gore for a series or two for no real reason, at which point I’ll shout out, “Hey, the fuck is Foster doing there?” No one fucks a backfield quite like that guy.

Ryan Grant: Much as I loathe Brett Favre, the prospect of every Green Bay skill position player turning to complete shit in the wake of his departure seems all too likely. YAY.

Greg Jennings: Ditto.

Michael Turner: I had Jerious Norwood in a keeper league last year. He ran for six yards every time he touched the ball. His reward for being productive was about 2 goddamn carries a game. And now here comes Turner to be the man in that offense. But I guarantee you: Mike Smith can’t be any dumber of a coach than Bobby Crackerbumfuck. Norwood will get on the field just enough to make you blind with hate towards all parties involved.

The Ronnie Brown/Ricky Williams Miami Shitpie

Jonathan Stewart: I’m telling you, whichever rookie back you draft will end up being the wrong rookie. Just look at the underachieving asshole Stewart is gonna replace. DEANGELO WILLIAMS, YOU ARE A FESTERING, PUS-OOZING WASTE OF HUMAN POTENTIAL.

Braylon Edwards: If you owned Edwards BEFORE last season, as I once did, you know he was about as consistent as my urine stream. And I’m telling you, there is NO reason he can’t turn around and go right back to Shitland again. Especially if Mr. Black Tights has to take over for Horsie Balls at the signal calling duties. Top 3 receiver, my ass.

These are but 11 players. There are just so many more out there, waiting to bend you over and take a guitar neck to your cornhole. Old fuckers like Edgerrin James. Young fuckers who will probably never end up doing anything like Chris Johnson. The myriad number of ways they can ruin your shit has no ceiling. Purple Jesus alone has about 75 potential ways to destroy your weekend.

They could show just enough brilliance to give you a false sense of confidence. They could get injured during the playoffs. They could shit in hampers. You just never know.

Thank God fantasy football is back.