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.

In conclusion, get fucked.

Sincerely,

Everyone

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!!!!!

UPDATE: We’ve opened a late group for the KSK Suicide Pool. Same link, ID#: 27548, pw(latelate). If you’re already in a group, stay the fuck out or I will hunt you down and fill your asshole with sharpened pencils. -MMP

Thus far, the first annual KsK Kares Charity Drive for Fisher House has raised over $500 for disabled veterans and their families. You can donate directly to FH here.

Thus far, the KsK Kares Charity Drive for Fisher House has raised over $400 for disabled veterans and their families. Not bad for a piddly shit site like ours. You can donate directly to FH here.

Thus far, the KsK Kares Charity Drive for Fisher House has raised over $400 for disabled veterans and their families. Not bad for a piddly shit site like ours. You can donate directly to FH here.

This week, we’re holding the first annual KsK Kares Charity Drive for Fisher House, which supports disabled veterans and their families. You can donate directly to FH here.

It’s not even the good kind of hole, where the city is so shitty it actually derives some modicum of endearing personality. Cleveland, Baltimore, Pittsburgh, Oakland — hell, even Jacksonville – all those cities at least haz a flavr. That flavor may be terrifyingly violent, or repulsively redneck, or that of dystopian ape-people. But hell, at least it’s something. St. Louis is basically the same city as Indianapolis, but at least it has that Arch and a river.

Nor is it even the most interesting city in its own state. Gary’s got enough ugliness and hopelessness to land it a team in the AFC North. South Bend is a better town for sports. French Lick has more of a claim to sports history (and a way cooler name to boot.)

No, Indianapolis commits the worst sin of all: it’s fucking dull. “Scrubs” dull? Morrissey dull? Worse: west of Diwaniyah dull. By which I mean:

During the invasion of Iraq in 2003, after my unit bypassed Nasiriyah (lucky us), we stopped short of Diwaniyah — the next sizable city on the map — for what the generals called an “operational pause.” We parked just off the side of the road bisecting endless Iraqi fields and just sat there. Presumably, other units elsewhere were doing things. Not us. Every morning before dawn, we’d get up and prepare for “stand-to,” in which we got into fighting positions just in case the nonexistent enemy attacked at sunrise. Then we’d make coffee. After coffee, we’d smoke cigarettes and swat at swarming insects for the next twelve hours or so. Maybe eat an MRE, not that we wanted to eat. We got no mail. Nobody owned an iPod or a DVD player. Any magazines we had we’d already read. “Stand-to” again at dusk, two hours of uneventful watch sometime in the middle of the night, then do that again the next day.

We did that for ten days, and never in my life have I more wanted to get attacked by Islamic fundamentalists, just so I wouldn’t be bored.

My point? I’d rather live those ten days again than spend another hour here.

Suck it, Indianapolis.

This week, we’re holding the first annual KsK Kares Charity Drive for Fisher House, which supports disabled veterans and their families. You can donate directly to FH here.

This week, we’re holding the first annual KsK Kares Charity Drive for Fisher House, which supports disabled veterans and their families. You can donate directly to FH here.

Your thoughts in the comments about about who wins this clash of the sideshows, maybe even who wins this contest of footballery they’re holding this evening. Haven’t had one of those in a spell. I’m going Saints, 33-27.

This week, we’re holding the first annual KsK Kares Charity Drive for Fisher House, which supports disabled veterans and their families. You can donate directly to FH here.