Curse these likable Saints!

You know how I know that New Orleans won’t win the Super Bowl this year? Because it would be way too acceptable to the average viewer. Of all the teams that could possibly contend for a title this year, the Saints are the only one (OTHER THAN MAH STILLERS, A-COURSE!) that I would be perfectly content with them getting a championship.

And the likable team never wins titles. NEVER! Sure, on occasion the MORE likable team will win a Super Bowl (viz. SB XLII) but never an entirely likable one.

Look at ‘em, likable little bastards. Breesus leads the league in likability and skipping passes on water. Even with Jeremy Shockey on the roster, I have a hard time hating them (no small feat). Even knowing a Saints title would force more Archie Manning on my television, I can’t say I would be all that troubled by the overall prospect of it happening. I’ve never had a bad experience with a Saints fan. I mean, I’m sure they’re all raging Cajun dickholes when they get in LSU mode, but for whatever reason, when they don the Saints gear they become halfway tolerable, which is the highest compliment I can pay a fan of a franchise other than my own. Most importantly, of course, the Saints have never won dick, so it’s not like their fans could get all that cocky afterward.

And that’s why the Saints are doomed. DOOMED, I SAY!

For those who didn’t charge off into the night midway through the broadcast intent on killing Tony Kornheiser for invoking Brett Favre’s name after every play, it was merciless offensive onslaught by the Saints, led by Drew Brees and Lance Moore. It was so overwhelming, in fact, even Jeremy Shockey showed flashes of competence. Meanwhile in the KSK live blog world, a furious maelstrom of cheese punnage broke out. The Saints obviously couldn’t get enough scoring, as they were still running trick plays up 20-plus points in the 4th quarter. Still, as bad a night as Aaron Rodgers and The Pack had, it certainly wasn’t as bad as this guy’s.

After the jump is the usual cavalcade of crowd oddities and video of Greg Jennings getting KTFO.

The Packer Pope may have had his way on Monday night at home against Minnesota earlier this year, but he didn’t count on running into Muhammad in the Big Easy.

The inappropriate behavior didn’t end with the sacreligious football figures, however, as Mike McCarthy performed an adroit reach-around on a referee on a challenge of a spot. No wonder he ended up winning it.

And, hey, we finally know what Tatanka and Papa Shango are up to: cheering on the Saints!

And some more assorted wackiness.

Wait a minute. That’s a lacrosse facemask, you asshole. You are awarded no points.

Drew Brees: How’s your ciabatta chicken sandwich, Peter?

Peter King: Oh, it’s delicious. So, Drew, you have to be upset with all of the concern after another hurricane in the gulf.

Drew Brees: Yeah, I really wish we could just move the team to LA and get it over with. I mean, what if the damage to Gustav would have been more severe? Are we going to be rebuilding that shithole every three years?

PK: Drew, that’s not very sensitive.

Drew Brees: What do you mean? It’s true.

PK: I suppose that’s true, but people live there.

Drew Brees: Well, people are stupid, Peter. We’re putting all this money into disaster relief when we should be fighting terrorism here at home.

PK: Oh, come on, Drew.

Brees: I’m serious. Some Arab terrorist could walk through that door and kill us all. The government should be doing something to protect us!

PK: Drew, I can’t believe what I’m hearing from you.

Drew Brees: It’s time to be aware of our role in the world, Peter. People want to do bad things to us, for reasons we don’t fully understand. Wrap your head around that for a…

PK: Drew, do you really want to live in a country where we’re expected to police the rest of the world? I mean, give me one reason why we should assume that role.

Drew Brees: Peter…is that your dad behind you?

PK: Actually, my father’s been…Oh, Christ, no!

BIFF KING: Wow, this is a relief. I made it just in time for the 12:30 showing of The Berenstein Bears Learn To Buttfuck. Usually I’m not a fan of such a departure from the source material, but I could see this heading in the right direction. You’ve really captured the pathos here.

PK: HOW IN GOD’S NAME DID YOU FIND ME? I didn’t drive a rental car. I didn’t bring my cell phone. I took a cab from the airport and WALKED FIFTEEN BLOCKS to this restaurant so I didn’t leave any trail whatsoever. For the love of God, PLEASE TELL ME HOW YOU KNEW I WAS HERE?!?!

BIFF KING: Stevie, I’m in here all the time. This is the official ciabatta stop for El Segundo.

PK: LIAR!

Drew Brees: Hey, if you don’t mind, this is a private conversation.

BIFF KING: Oh, I gathered that, visor boy. Don’t think I’m too eager to jump between the Stevie Bear and his meal. That’s how limbs are lost, my friend.

Drew Brees: I’m not your friend, pal.

BIFF KING: That’s an expression, cockface. You need to stop into CVS and get your valium refilled.

PK: FOR ALL THAT IS HOLY JUST GET OUT OF MY LIFE!

BIFF KING: Did you know one time Stevie invited a girl over to his house just to watch him eat?

PK: We were going to a study group and I hadn’t eaten lunch that day!

BIFF KING: You couldn’t have been that hungry, Stevie. Not if you could pass up such a hot little piece of pink vanilla pie. That’s when Mom started taking him to therapy.

Drew Brees: Hey, sometimes therapy can be very helpful for people. It’s really a healthy way to deal with the difficult things in life.

BIFF KING: …I’m sorry, was that you talking, Drew Brees? Or was that the Hershey squirt on the side of your face? All that money you’re making and your cheek still looks like the ass-end of Stevie’s tighty whiteys.

Drew Brees: [gets up to leave] That’s it, I don’t have to take this.

BIFF KING: You sure don’t, Gorbachev. You’re too big time to hang out with common folk like Stevie here. Just don’t come crying to me when you’re 55 and you can’t remember you’re kids’ names. Unless you’ve tattooed their names on their faces.

Drew Brees: Kiss me ass, you fucking creep.

BIFF KING: Is that what that thing on your face is? Is that a memory mark from your father? Was he a champion of the loci method?

Drew Brees: [grabs a knife from off the table] I’m gonna stab you right in the fucking eyes. You think you can just show up unannounced and treat people like dirt, you fat freak? Somebody has to take a stand against your wandering brand of bullshit. And that somebody is me!

BIFF KING: Come get some, Pony Boy. El Segundo knows no fear.

Drew Brees: Say goodbye to that yellow tooth, you fuckfaced piece of –

T.J. Houshmanzadeh: Hey.

BIFF KING: Hey, Touraj. How goes it.

Drew Brees: Oh my God! It’s a fucking terrorist! Al Qaeda’s come to kill me during my lunch interview! [throws chair through window and smashes it, jumps out the window and sprints away]

PK: How do you guys know each other?

BIFF KING: We, uh, we’re former associates.

T.J. Houshmanzadeh: Do you have anything to drink?

BIFF KING: Take a look around, chocolate cock. We’re in a fucking coffee shop. The world is your oyster.

T.J. Houshmanzadeh: I think I just want water today.

BIFF KING: Jesus, you Iranian-African-Americans are something else.

PK: I hate my life.

Marques Colston: Aw, shit. Not again!

Scott Fujita: Another season in turmoil!

Reggie Bush: So many displaced citizens!

Jeremy Shockey: So when does the raping start?

Devery Henderson: Yo, that’s some fucked up shit.

Jeremy Shockey: That’s what I thought happens when hurricanes come through the bayou. People have a bunch of king cake and rape the shit out of each other. That’s the only reason I agreed to this trade.

[Shockey smashes storefront window]

I’m finding, not looting!

Mark Brunell: And when does the blaming the destruction on the city on the sins of the Big Easy start? There was just a big homofestival of homosexuals right before Gustav came rolling into town. That makes for good evangelizin’!

A lesbian comedian caused this!

Hurricane Gustav: ‘ow dare vous eee-vacuatre zis city before I kin commence with wreaking zee havoc! Geet back from your sheethole in Indianapol-ees. Geaux and show some balls, les Saints, vous bunch of filth-zy Mohammedians! I’ll tear vous Supairedome leem from leem!

Levees: /reinforced

Gustav: Aaaaiieeee! I sur-ren-daire!

KID: Mister Brees! Can I have an autograph?

BREES: Of course you can, young man.

(takes off shirt, signs shirt, gives it to KID)

Saayyyy… those shoes of yours look awfully ragged. I bet you’d like some new ones!

KID: Would I!!!

BREES: Tell you what, I’d love to go with you to buy some new ones right now, but I’ve got stuff to take care of across town before the UNICEF benefit tonight. Here’s some money.

(hands KID $800)

Buy some for your brothers and sisters, too, okay?

(rubs KID’s head before KID runs off)

BREES: Adorable little scamp.

DISEMBODIED VOICE: DREWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!

BREES: Who said that??

VOICE: DREW BREEEEEEEEEEZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!!

BREES: Oh, no. It’s… it’s…

BREES: No. No, it can’t be! I got rid of you!

BIRTHMARK: YOU CAN NEVER BE RID OF ME. YOUR PUNY ELECTIVE SURGERY CAN’T REMOVE ME FROM YOUR VERY SOUL.

BREES: Listen, it wasn’t anything personal. I just… I just didn’t like the effect you had on me. I’m a better person now. I started a non-profit–

BIRTHMARK: EAT THESE MUSHROOMS.

BREES: No.

BIRTHMARK: EAT THEM.

BREES: I’m not going to do things for your amusement any more. New Orleans needs my help.

BIRTHMARK: GOING TO SAVE THE CITY WITH ANOTHER 18-INTERCEPTION SEASON? EAT THE FUCKING MUSHROOMS!

BREES: (eats mushrooms) Ohhhh… I don’t feel so good. My stomach…

BIRTHMARK: HERE, THIS SHOULD HELP.

BREES: (drinks entire bottle)

BIRTHMARK: NOW GET YOUR ASS DOWN TO BOURBON STREET!

[three hours later]

BREES: (walking through a sea of people) BEARS! Bears everywhere! I’m freaking out man! I’m freaking out! Oh Jesus don’t let them get me!

BIRTHMARK: TAKE YOUR PANTS OFF AND THIS WILL ALL GO AWAY, DREW.

BREES: (takes off pants) Ahhh…

BREES: Ahhhh!!!! A centaur!!!!

BIRTHMARK: THIS NIGHT RULES.