I lived up to my end of the deal, Snake. You said I keep the Steelers from covering and you’d bring Angela back safe and sound. Well, I did it. I compromised everything I believe in for my girl and you got your $64 million swing. That’s how much I love my daughter. Now where is she?

Look where? Outside? Hey, that’s her favorite bag! What game are you playing?

Fine, I’ll open it. A note! “Make… sure… the…Titans…finish…sixteen…and…oh… and…lose…in…their…first…playoff…game.” What is this? We had a deal. I did my part. Where’s my Angela, you scum. I’m tired of being your stooge. You gave Hochuli his favorite weight-lifting gloves back. All I want is a fair deal. Don’t hang up on me. Don’t — I…FUCK!

THAT WASN’T PART OF THE BARGAIN!

THAT WASN’T PPPPPPPPAAAAAAARRRRRRTTTTTT

SSSSSSSSNNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKKEEEEEE

DDDDDAAAAAAAMMMMMMMNNNNNN YYYYYYYOOOOOOOOOUUUUU

Int. FedEx Field, Pregame Warmups

BEN: PEW PEW PEW!

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Yeah yeah, my travel schedule fucked up my posting this week, and that of course includes Always Be Covering. Fortunately I’m ready to let loose with my simply awful picks just in time for some last minute wagering. Continue after the jump for a quick list of the week’s bets.

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I’m in a bit of a hurry this morning because as you’re reading this I’m cramming into some piece of shit plane surrounded by assholes with some hellish strain of the flu that will keep me from enjoying Mastro’s. I’m heading out for a few days of meetings and general spa-ing in Scottsdale after which I head to LA for a few days. Fucking LA. Usually when I go there I immediately begin to suffer from Alvy Singer syndrome. But I have to go there, because that’s where my brother lives, along with plenty of other family and friends. I’m operating under the assumption that they all moved out there to piss me off. Seriously, fuck that place.

Except for Applepan. Applepan makes it all worthwhile.

Oh and the shoe stores!

Oh and the crazy hot bitches I get to stare at while the woman looks on in appreciation of my fine taste!

Hmmm. If I get to meet Sarah Silverman I might just have to cancel my plans to blow everything between Pasadena and Long Beach into the Pacific.

Anyway, ON TO THE PICKS!
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I consider myself to be a young man of moderate intelligence, but I’m willing to admit that my knowledge in the field of economics is lacking. In fact, I’m pretty sure I got a 76 in econ at Pitt. But to be fair, I barely even went to class after midterms. I’m sorry, but the Cathedral of Learning is fuckin’ spooky when you’re high. One time I was sitting outside the building when I was approached by a guy who recognized me because he worked at the one thing bordering on a headshop in the area. He was on his way to a class taught by the professor on whom Michael Chabon based his iconic character, Grady Tripp. Oh I’m sorry, was I rambling?

“I could be wrong, but it sort of reads in places like you didn’t make any choices. At all. And I was just wondering if it might not be different if… if when you wrote you weren’t always… under the influence.”

Well… thank you for the thought, but shocking as it may sound, I am not the first writer to sip a little weed. Furthermore, it might surprise you to know that one post I wrote, as you say, “under the influence,” just happened to win a little something called the Pen Award. Which, by the way, I accepted under the influence.

My fault, I’m a little high. And I really want to fuck Hannah.

ON TO THE PICKS!
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The less they cover they by, the more exciting it is.

Dear AFC South,

Get fucked by the Washington Monument. Houston, I knew you’d fucking suck, but the one week you don’t suck I turn around and you stick it in me dry. Speaking of which, how about those fuckheads in Jacksonville. You assholes let the Texans cover? The FUCKING Texans! Indy is coming off of a bye, but before that they were blowing a cover, and a “win”, against Jacksonville. It’s an endless cycle of suck that can only be saved by one thing.

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I hope you assholes know how lucky you are. While you’re sitting there enjoying this sexy Friday I’m conducting inventory in a 100,000 square foot warehouse from the crack of dawn until I bludgeon myself to death with a clipboard.

Oh, and if you’re not into Bengal fans sporting fake grills or Eagle fans flexing/buffalo stancing/attempting to fart continue after the jump for additional sexiness.

Anyway, on to the picks!

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Hey brah, I’m not wearin’ a bra, brah!

Welcome to another week of Always Be Covering, the blogosphere’s premier source for retarded gambling advice. While the bets we make won’t always play out the way we envision, it certainly does make things interesting to see them blow up every week (I really did bet on that Thigpen guy…twice). What’s the alternative, dumping all of your money into one of those fancy financial stocks? That’s all well and good, but then every Sunday all you get to do is cheer for all the teams to play well. You pathetic piece of shit. Just sack up and make some foolhardy wagers based upon those of a blogger under the influence of various substances.

On to the picks!
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Thank God it’s Week 2, because last week was pretty fucking brutal. Even my real bets got the shit kicked out of them at the last possible minute (Rosario Dawson is a bitch). This week we must go on the offensive with reckless abandon. Remember, sensible gambling will get you nowhere, so don’t be such a god damn pussy. If we’re going to lose, we’re going to lose big, motherfucker!

Quote of the Week: “The more you know, the more you know you don’t know.”

On to the picks!

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Welcome back, one and all, to the third season of Always Be Covering. There’s a full slate of action set for Week 1, so let’s get in there and eat some store-bought crumbcake.

Did I say always be covering? Because I meant, “pass the fucking ball!”

Quote of the Week: You got leads. Mitch & Murray paid good money. Get their names to sell them. You can’t close the leads you’re given, you can’t close shit, you are shit, hit the bricks pal, and beat it, ’cause you are going out.

It’s the first week of the season, which means no Glengarry leads for you, fuckos. These leads may be shit, but the fact of the matter is that we’re going into the season blinder than Drew’s first sexual conquest. Can Shawne Merriman walk? Is a healthy St. Louis any good? Nobody fucking knows, and if they do, they’re full of more shit than Berman the morning after Red Lobster’s Shrimp Fest. So what better way to start the season than with a full spread of feeler bets?

On to the picks (before I start thinking about last night again and cutting myself some more)!
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