When we last left artful barista Peter King, he was detailing how the Colts define themselves, typing with great sarcasm, and still curious as to why TSA officials won’t do a more thorough cavity search. If bombs can be hidden in underwear, surely they can be hidden in places even more intimate.

So what about this week? Will we get a touching story about Mark Sanchez hugging his dad before the game, even though every player on every team hugs family members before any game if they happen to be in attendance? How did the conference championships affect Red Sox City? Did Peter use a car? And will he drone on and on and on about Brett Favre’s heartache? I think you know the answer to that. Let’s get this over with.

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Only he’s blanketed by three Cardinals. Why not go ahead and throw it anyway? Maybe there’ll be a glitch like in Madden and the ball will go through one of the opposing players and materialize in Miller’s hands. Who knows? Life’s an adventure.

Oh, shit. One of the Cardinals did catch it. Well, just remember to show Tomlin your “Did I do bad?” face. He can’t get too mad. He is the one who refuses to use Najeh Davenport in short yardage situations. First and goal from the four? Let’s run it with Willie Parker twice up the gut. He’s sure to move the pile.

Speaking of Willie Parker: would you like to fumble a few more handoffs? Tiki Barber just called. No, no, allow me. I’ll hold the phone up to your ear so you can listen to him bitch about you stealing his schtick. It’s a nice phone. I’d hate for you to drop it, shithead.

Thinking about which play to call, coach? Thinking about a shotgun lateral dumpoff pass on 3rd and 1? I bet you are. Let me just give you a little piece of advice. You see the big strong kid wearing #28 over there on the bench? You know, the one who averaged 11 yards a carry on the afternoon? The guy who only got 2 carries in the second half? The only good player on your offense? The one you apparently assume is made of peanut brittle? The only thing about this season that’s keeping me from drinking a gallon of rubber cement? THE ONE YOU HAD RETURNING KICKS LIKE HE WAS DAVID FUCKING PALMER? Here’s a wild idea for you:

GIVE PURPLE JESUS THE FUCKING ROCK, YOU STUPID BALD FUCK!

Jesus Christ. I hope Ragnar drives over your goddamn head.