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.

CHEERS to Vietnamese for lunch right before the weekend. That is some good shit, pho sho.

JEERS to not giving me extra peanut sauce with my summer roll. I could drink a 2-liter bottle of peanut sauce. Crushed peanuts are like Viet Cong sprinkles.

CHEERS to March Madness being right around the corner.

JEERS to March Madness not being here right now. It’s March. Let’s get to the bracketeering right NOW, god dammit. I don’t need a Conference USA tournament to know if you belong.

CHEERS to us for making sure this year that we don’t enter into stupid bets that allow other people to take over our site for a day.

JEERS to letting it ever happen to begin with.

CHEERS to Ufford for taking a well-deserved break in the Dominican Republic. Although, I once heard a story about a girl who went down to the DR and had a steamy affair with a native man there. He gave her a box for her to open on the plane ride home. And when she opened it, there was a small coffin in it. And in that coffin was a note that said, “Welcome to the living dead. I have AIDS.” That’s a true story. It’s called “How Stella Got Her Lesions Back”. Have fun, Matt!

JEERS to AIDS.

CHEERS to the Desert Eagle. Now there’s a gun made for strokin’!

JEERS to me for not buying one when I was out in Vegas. Think of all the people I could have taken out! Did you know Jimmy Fallon is favored to replace Conan O’Brien next year? A .50 caliber bullet would go right through him and could possibly also take out one of his fans, who I assume looks something like Avril Lavigne. I’m such a fool!

CHEERS to Dolphins cheerleaders. Did you know they’re mammals? And that they can communicate using sound vibrations? Just go up to one and say ECKYECKYECKYEEEEEEEEKKKK!!! You’re be on Pleasure Island in no time.

Have a good weekend, people.

CHEERS to my new recliner, a purchase suggested by my orthopedist. Is it worth two months of horrid sciatica to hear a doctor mandate that you buy a La-Z-Boy? Fuck and yes.

JEERS to no games this week. We’ve gone over this ground already. But seriously, what the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK? Don’t even talk to me about fucking college basketball right now. I can’t even begin to look at that shit until March.

CHEERS to having a Wii in my office this afternoon.

JEERS to Guitar Hero III. The whole reason I don’t play guitar is because I lack coordination. Why have virtual guitaring if it’s just as fucking hard? Double JEERS for not giving me points for taking my cock out during gameplay. YOU. ARE. FAGS.

CHEERS to Leitch for his new book, on sale here. It’s certain to outsell the Gawker Guide To Conquering All Media, which, in an ironic twist, conquered no media of any sort.

JEERS to Heath Ledger’s death. Surely it’s no coincidence that, in his final role, he pretty much looks just like The Crow. And double JEERS to Mary-Kate Olsen for not picking up the goddamn phone. Bitch, you aren’t working. Quit staring at things like a cat and pick it up.

CHEERS to Hillary Clinton for her inevitable win in South Carolina tomorrow. Yes, just like the Democrats to choose a nominee 50% of the nation already can’t fucking stand. Nicely done, retards.

JEERS to me for bring up politics.

CHEERS to eggs. Oh, savory eggs. How I adore your yolky silkiness on a weekend morning. If you’re against abortion, should you eat eggs? I say no.

JEERS to me for bringing up politics again.

CHEERS to these cheerleader gals in bikinis on a Friday afternoon. Everyone in the water! Whee!!!!

JEERS to non-sequiturs.

CHEERS to Scott Van Pelt for mentioning KSK on the radio just now.

JEERS to ESPN for firing Van Pelt an hour from now.

CHEERS to soft tacos.

JEERS to hard tacos. Fuck you, Ortega shells. You do nothing for me. I’m sick of orange beef grease running down my hand. You hear me?!

CHEERS to whatever bourbon is on sale at the store today. Jim Beam Rye, I‘m coming for you!

JEERS to Stoli never being on sale.

CHEERS to me mailing it in!

JEERS to anyone else mailing it in, because it’s only cute when I do it.

CHEERS to Corrine, the Eagles cheerleader.

And, of course, there’s nothing to jeer about that.

Editor’s Note from UM: CHEERS to Mottram and Littles the Bulldog for tonight’s Blog Show (you’ll see).