What is this, like a kiddie birthday party? With cake and punch and all that shit? That’s cute. You guys gonna play Pin The Tail On Donkey? Sounds like fun.

Your party is fucking gay.

When I had my birthday, we rented out a warehouse in downtown Chicago. Then we filled it knee high with baby oil and flew in nothing but Penthouse Pets. Did I shoot frozen ropes of Rexjelly all night long? I did indeed. I taught all of those girls and that zebra what a good, hard boning is. I like to fuck. It feels good. We had a raw bar and Queens of The Stone Age played. I don’t see any of that here. It’s not even a real party. You’re just fucking nerds online. I bet your “party” consisted of you heading to the shitter to jerk off. Sounds like a blast. Are you wearing tuxes to work today?

Faggots.

Someone go deep. I wanna give my armcock a workout.

In just one short year we’ve become quite popular within the world of sports. On this, the anniversary of our birth, we are honored to share with you the love we’ve received from our most famous friends.

Thanks PK!

Birthday parties were created in the early 1800′s as part of a pagan ritual. Today they have become overly excessive excuses to indulge children with materialistic baubles. Why, TMQ asks, do we not celebrate the person instead of the gifts? KSK, you were brought on this earth by your Lord and Maker, and it is best not to lose sight of that.

And, if you were wondering who the Lord and Maker is, it’s yours truly. I’m so fucking smart I can create matter simply by concentrating.

KSK Errs Near As Often As The August NYT: Often days like this are referred to as “Bukkake Days”, assuming the word bukkake means any sort of group activity. But it does not. Bukkake strictly means group ejaculation on someone buried neck-up in sand. It’s a very narrow definition. TMQ does not like straying outside of boundaries. It is unhealthy. We must follow them or risk being forever a lost generation.

Why O Why Are You Swearing?: TMQ has noticed an incredible amount of profanity on this website. TMQ appreciates that comedy is hard, largely because TMQ wouldn’t know funny from a raccoon’s asshole. But swearing is the lazy man’s way of getting a cheap, easy laugh. Surely, the comedy stylings of Bill Engvall have taught us swearing needn’t be necessary?

I’m Not a Creepy Old Man Because I’m Christian And A Deep Thinker: Today’s cheerbabes are Nikki, Jenny, and Charlotte. Because I only masturbate to partially clothed women instead of fully nude women, I can retain my moral superiority over all of you.

Happy Birthday, KSK. If you stay out past midnight, you’re contributing to the decay of society. There’s no need to assist the Jews in our eventual downfall.

In just one short year we’ve become quite popular within the world of sports. On this, the anniversary of our birth, we are honored to share with you the love we’ve received from our most famous friends.

Thanks, Tom!

In just one short year we’ve become quite popular within the world of sports. On this, the anniversary of our birth, we are honored to share with you the love we’ve received from our most famous friends.

Thanks Gene!

The year was 2006. June, if I remember correctly. America was still reeling from the death of Aaron Spelling, and a nation of sports fans grudgingly accepted or loudly brayed against the World Cup. No matter what you did, somebody would claim that you fouled Dwyane Wade. It was a dark time.

Things were pretty shitty in my life, too. I had just bought this laptop with a no-longer-necessary engagement ring fund, and its very first use was to blog about some silly New York escapades that a handful of people from Deadspin enjoyed reading. This was back when your commenting name on Deadspin linked directly to a site, and not your most recent comments. We didn’t even have avatars back then. We had to get by by making funny comments. Hard to imagine that’s ever how it was, but it’s true.

Eventually, the silly New York escapades came to an end, and I said, “Whither to now?” And lo, a guy named Drew who blogged about parenthood said, “Why don’t we start an NFL humor blog? I haven’t seen any good ones.” And I said, “Okay.” So we poached some other fellows from the Deadspin comments and started an NFL humor blog (We have still haven’t seen any good ones).

We did, however, come up with the best name of any blog ever, and — NOTE: gayness ahead — this little website of dick jokes, animal snuff films, laziness, and NFL fandom has, honestly, changed my life. Simply because I spent a couple evenings sitting at home writing about the NFL, I got to quit my mind-numbing temp job to write a sports blog full-time. Now I work from home. Interaction with co-workers has been replaced by KSK email threads, which will eventually be seen as equal to the letters between Thurber and E.B. White. I often start drinking beer before I’m done with work. I make enough money to eat and pay rent, which is a nice change. And most importantly, I masturbate whenever I feel like it.

Anyway, if my sentiment is borderline maudlin, it’s because our very first post was one year ago tomorrow. Yes, KSK’s birthday is June 28th, and we’re gonna have a big ol’ party. Check in frequently, because we invited lots of people, and we’re expecting some big names. And a lot of the people who couldn’t make it sent us really nice cards, which we’ll also be posting. It’s gonna be a blast.

A bukkake blast.

Ever see a pelican swallow a pigeon whole? Now you have. I think you’re better for it.

Credit for this clip goes to intrepid reader Nick P., who asks, “Why aren’t there 10,000 pelicans like that in Central Park?” Why, indeed. They can put a bunch of French commie-inspired orange gates up in that place, but no pigeon-swallowing pelicans? Way to have your priorities straight, Mayor Bloomberg. Prick.

One thing the movie “Free Willy” never taught us is that Willy was an absolute fucking bloodthirsty killer. I’m really tired of the attempted domestication of the killer whale, nee orca. God fashioned this mammal to be a seal-eatin’, flesh-chompin’ catalyst of violent death. Then you head to Sea World and some dick marine biologist named Lance is making it beg for mackerel. Shit, kids are even allowed to pet them. That is a fucking disgrace, and I won’t stand for it. LET THE ANIMALS KILL. It’s what they’re here for.

That’s why I admire predatory animals so much. There’s no hesitation. There’s no inner struggle. No existential angst. They aren’t worried, “Oooh, I don’t know if I can live with myself if I tear this seal to shreds!” That shit is McSweeney’s gay. Just remorseless maiming for these creatures, thank you very much. The only thing these guys worry about is their next meal. And there’s a purity to that I really aspire to in between shots of raw ethanol.

I was thinking the other day that all hunting should be legal year round as long as you use only your bare hands. In other words, if you’re hungry for cat, you should be able to choke a cat to death and eat its innards while fresh and raw. That’s how animals like the killer whale roll, and I fully support it.

Thanks to reader yesiamahooker (Bosox Siobhan’s brother!) for the clip.

Hello? Hello? Hello! Can anyone hear me? I’m trapped in a dark place. I’m not sure how I got here or where this is, and I’m very frightened. Is anyone there? Hello?

I’ve never been anywhere so dark. There is literally no light in here. I once spent a year in the heart of the Amazon as part of the Peace Corps. One night I had to travel to the next village to give medicine to an ailing child; the path was through triple canopy jungle and the night was rainy, yet I look back on that as a sunny day compared to this blackness into which I’ve plunged. God save me.

Hello? Anyone?

Hmmm… that’s a good metaphor – the jungle, that is. I’m surrounded on all sides by some kind of slick vine. It reeks of Brylcreem and petroleum in here, maybe a hint of lacquer. Good Lord, the scent is nauseating. To my dismay, the darkness has amplified my olfactory glands. Maybe I should sit down.

Hellllloooooooo!!!!!!!!!!! Somebody help me!!!

[vomiting, choking sounds]

Ugh, I shouldn’t have taken so much of this putrid air into my lungs. That was like the first pinch of Copenhagen I ever tried. I’ve got to take shallow breaths. Conserve energy. Hope for rescue.

No! I can get out of here! These vines must lead somewhere. I just need to climb one, get a better vantage point where my cries for help can be heard.

Dammit! That’s like a greased stripper pole! Slippery like a southern politician investigated for fraud. I’d have better luck in an illegal gambling hall run by pirates.

Heh. Pirates.

Shit! Focus, asshole. I have to climb this. There’s no way out of here but up. Christ, now I know how players on a Schottenheimer team feel in the playoffs. Okay. here I go.

[grunting]

Whoa, this vine is arcing back. Almost parallel to the ground. Other vines crowding in on me… Sweet mother Mary! The ceiling! I’ve found the ceiling! Hey! Hello! Can anyone—

Oh. Oh no. It’s harder than sheet rock. And yet sticky, kind of like… ugh. Feel faint… slipping…

[loud thud]

[labored breathing, then gurgling]

[silence]

Greetings from the lovely shores of Cancun, Mexico! Or should I say, hola?! As you can see, I’m currently enjoying my spring break. Many American college students have a spring break that lasts one or two weeks. Mine, on the other hand, lasts from March 21 to June 21. It’s not really a spring break. It’s just spring. And lemme tell ya, spring is a good time for fuckin’. Isn’t that right, Manny?

Manny: Si, Senor Rexy. Otra Tecate?

You’re goddamn right I’ll have another. Aaaaahhh!!! I am so fucking relaxed. Manny here is the best bartender Fat Tuesdays has ever employed. And I should know. I’ve met all of them! Now I know some of you Bears fans are concerned about what happened in the Super Bowl. But let me just say, that hasn’t bothered me in the slightest, so I see no reason why it should bother you! There’s still plenty of gun powder left in the ol’ Cannon, if you catch my drift. And if you don’t, I’m referring to the amount of semen in my cockbag. Ain’t that right, Manny?

Manny: Es muy grande, amigo.

Fuckin’ A. God, I love it down here! You should have seen the girl I took home last night. She had a big round ass, with a crack so deep, you just wanted to fill it with taco meat.

Manny: Bien comida, senor.

Muy bien, compadre. Some of you might be wondering what I’ve been doing to improve my game during my three-month stay down here. Let me tell you something, Rex Grossman doesn’t do minicamps. Okay? There’s nothing mini about what I do. I only do things that are large, throbbing, and have the potential to kill lesser men. But, to put you at ease, I assure you I’ve been thoroughly working the two most important muscles in my body: the Dragon, and ol’ Chief Riding Bull down below.

Every morning, I wake up at 11:59AM, fuck, and then head to the beach. Then, I play volleyball using ONLY MY RIGHT ARM for a solid fifteen minutes. After that, the ladies usually come flocking. It’s like the Axe Effect, only I don’t need the Axe. Fuck Axe. And fuck Tag. I get the ladies to come calling with my OWN musk, bitch. After that…

Manny: (laughs)

Yeah, you KNOW what happens next, don’t you, Manny?

Manny: CANNON FIRE, senor!

Hell, yeah! Slap me cinco, motherfucker! I told you my English would rub off on you! You know, I haven’t read the paper much lately. What’s goin’ on in the world, Manny?

Manny: Senor Imus es un cabron.

Don Imus? Pfft. He’s about as sexy as a pregnancy test. I heard they released our schedule. You got that?

Manny: Si. Si. El preseason, senor?

No, skip the preseason. That’s maricon shit.

Manny: Los Chargers?

With Norv Turner coaching? That’s a win.

Manny: Los Chiefs?

Versus Chief Riding Bull? That’s a win.

Manny: Los vaqueros?

Cowboys? That’s a win. I like reverse cowgirl fucking.

Manny: Los Lions?

Pfft. Win.

Manny: Los Packers?

Against Oldey McShitmypants? Win. I am that asshole’s Bennie Blanco: younger, better, SEXIER. Remember Bennie Blanco, Manny?

Manny: Si. Era un badass. Los Vikings?

Win.

Manny: Los Eagles?

Win. Okay, okay, I’ve heard enough. They’re all fucking wins, Manny. I’mma plow through the league, then plow through the rest of Latin America. Sound good, amigo?

Manny: Viva el Cumslinger!

Long live me, indeed. See you in September, everybody!

Photoshop job courtesy of the incomparable twoeightnine

UPDATE: Want a “Viva el Cumslinger!” t-shirt? Of course you do.