Michael Jackson. Ed McMahon. Billy Mays. Farrah Fawcett. David Carradine. Steve McNair. Arturo Gatti. Oscar Mayer. A lot of celebrities have passed away recently, some under bizarre circumstances. We didn’t know what to make of all this, so we asked our weekly in-season analyst, God, to come in and help explain why so many stars are dying.
We’ve been a bit derelict in addressing the Tuesday evening release of the NFL schedule. But fear not, for we asked God, our weekly game analyst during the season, to sit down with us and talk about some of his plans for this season’s matchups. Take it away. God.
Hello, my children. With football season at a close, now’s the time of year I have to start forsaking you, and thus plunging you into the seemingly interminable off-season. Suckers. Otherwise you might think me a benevolent creator, and I most certainly am not. Eat it.
Pretty nice Super Bowl I put on for you, huh? And you benighted, ungrateful little shits all carped that it was going to be boring. Believe it or not (YOU BETTER FUCKING BELIEVE), the outcome of this one wasn’t an easy choice for Me. Both teams have a guy really keen on my first son, though Warner getting bonus points for talking about it all the time while Polamalu just signs himself after every play. How ’bout some verbal recognition, you unfrozen cavesafety?
For Me, the deciding factor came down to which of my holy creations I was most proud of. In Larry Fitzgerald, I made a near-flawless physical specimen. In Santonio Holmes, I made a monstrously huge cock. I mean, that thing is impressive. It deserves a Super Bowl ring.
Also, Brenda Warner has had so much work done, I can’t recognize the Child of Light I once crafted. Now she came blame the long hair and nose job for his husband’s failings. Because they are to blame.
Of course, Dan Rooney had to go and fuck up the chain of groveling during the postgame awards ceremony. It was supposed to be ME, THEN Jesus THEN Obama. And you skip right to His Barryness. Wait until I melt your viscera along with Stephen Colbert for joking that I had no hand in this game.
I CONTROL ALL, YOU ELVISH SPEAKING ASSCLOWN! Yuk it up while you’re in chemo, smug boy.
All you secular non-believers lay the credit for the Steelers win on the officials. Silly embittered clueless mortals. Credit where its due, cockwallets. But just to placate you mewling little shits, I had this crocodile tear into a zebra. CHOMP HIS NECK FOR THE GOD-STER, CROC!
Not quite as cute as it is on Pearls Before Swine, is it?
See you losers in seven months. These Me-less fags here on this blog will keep you occupied with an assortment of animal maulings and commenter drafts about favorite ways to blaspheme Me. So there’s that. And have fun with baseball. ‘Cause Me knows, I don’t watch that shit.
Hello, my children. How joyous this day when it has been revealed that I’ve given you a new presidential messiah. And you fools thought he was a secret Muslim. Nope. God went and got freaky with a black chick and he had Him a second son. Wasn’t the first either. That’s right. Jesus had Aretha Franklin at his inauguration too. So enjoy.
To Warner and Roethlisberger, I am not yet ready to disclose which of you will take home your second Super Bowl title and which I will consign to bitter, Meforsaken defeat. But know this: to whomever I go with, the checklist of thank-yous just got longer. Postgame, you thank, in order: Me, then Jesus, then Obama. I will not have my sons spurned! You fucked up last time Ben, and I gave you an asphalt facial. This time it gets updated to magma.
You know, I initially was going to make it so the Ravens made it to the grandest stage (other than personal one I got up here with all the nekkid dancers) so I could hear Ray Lewis and Kurt battle to namecheck Me the most during pregame, but that Joe Flacco makes it so obvious that he’s going to throw it Derrick Mason that even my divine powers could not stop defensive backs from intercepting his telegraphed passes. I only help those who help themselves. AND BOTHER TO TRIM THEIR ME-DAMNED UNIBROW! CLEANLINESS IS NEXT TO ME-LINESS!
I allowed the Cardinals to win even though their fans are wayward in faith and burn shit into the opposing quarterback’s lawn, because, well, did you really think I was going to give Philadelphia two major sports titles in one human lifetime? Not fucking likely.
Go in peace my children. Actually don’t. Be violent. I need something to entertain me during this pointless week off before the Bowl.
Hello, My children. Remember the 1990s when I totally fucked the Buffalo Bills at every turn? Hehe. That was hilarious.
Many people have prayed into My Hotline and expressed their discontent with the run of the Baltimore Ravens. How could You, they profess, rally behind Stabby McStabsalot and his band of rapists, thieves,
and rapists? To be honest, I have a total chubby for Joseph Flacco. He just needed some help against Tennessee. That blown safety call and that delay of game call? Yep, that was Me!
People think of the South as My country, but honestly? Fuck the South. If I can burn Tennessee AND North Carolina in one weekend, you know I’m gonna smoke that pipe. Those bastards use My House as their own fucking country club so they can plan their dinky little meat-and-three dinner parties? It’s not fucking high school, people. GO TO CHURCH AND BE BORED LIKE EVERYONE ELSE, FAGGOTS. At least that way I know you’re just there for Me.
But what about Kurt Warner? I really was on the fence about letting his team advance. Thing is, the playoffs really aren’t fun for Me unless somebody totally shits the bed. And fucking with those cajuns is more fun than, oh, just about anything that isn’t combustable. Remember that it’s totally okay to hate people that don’t live in the same geographic area as you. I said “Love thy neighbor,” not “love everyone.” Because, damn, how miserable and frustrating would THAT be?
Oh, and Kurt? THANKS AGAIN FOR THE PICTURE YOU DREW OF ME, FUCKFACE! YOU MAKE SIX MILLION DOLLARS A YEAR! YOU COULDN’T SHELL OUT FOR SOME FUCKING WATERCOLORS? Guess what, asshole, I drew a picture of you! Wanna see it?
Enjoy sticking that dildo up your ass, shithead. Your wife will appreciate the night off.
Donovan McNabb? Wasn’t me. Hey, I had nothing to do with that shit, I swear. You don’t see any black quarterbacks in the New Testament, do you? People think his getting benched brought his groove back, like it was some near-death experience. Truth was, I tried to kill Donovan that same week, and I totally screwed it up. So his figurative near-death experience was replaced by a literal near-death experience, and you know how those go. And just for future reference, never drop a piano without careful planning beforehand.
I would have felt like a total dingus if I hadn’t let one home team win. And before you lump Me in with those douchebags in Steeler Nation, hear Me out. Would you REALLY want to see the Chargers, those shit-eating 8-8 Chargers, get into the Super Bowl? Do you really want a BCS in the NFL? Should I reward that bitch Tomlinson for sitting out? Again? Plus Roethisberger’s a big dumb animal. He’s not getting to the Super Bowl if he has anything to say about it.
Anyway, that’s what happened last week. So don’t bother me on Sunday after 3, because I’ll be watching the CBS pregame show. That Shannon Sharpe is amazing. Did you know his great-grandmother was a duck-billed platypus? Oh, and don’t forget, I AM THE LORD AND THE WAY, NOT SOME COCKSUCKING MICROMANAGER! I HAVE BIGGER FISH TO FRY! NOW SOMEBODY KILL ME A SHEEP! WOOOO! GO RAVENS!
Many people scoff at the idea that God can control the outcome of sporting events, or that He even cares. But those people are wrong. God does control the games, AND He cares a great deal. Today, He explains why He let the outcomes of Round 1 of the NFL playoffs happen as they did.
Before I get to this week’s games, I want to address the issue of Kurt Warner trying to draw Me…
Excuse me, Kurt. Would you mind if I go just right ahead and direct you to the Second Commandment. You know, the one I wrote…
Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above…
See that “heaven above” language right there? That me means Me. I’m from heaven. I built the damn place. YOU DON’T FUCKING DRAW ME, MOTHERFUCKER! I WILL NOW GIVE YOUR FUCKING FAMILY CANCER!
/gives family cancer
These fucking people… they claim to live by Me, and then they go and just doodle Me (badly, I might add), as if it’s nothing. As if they aren’t VIOLATING ONE OF THE MOST FUNDAMENTAL TENETS OF MY HEAVENLY LAW. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.
I don’t like it when people try to draw Me. They never get it right. They always fuck up the nose. I have a good nose. I don’t have one of those fucked up Owen Wilson noses. Besides, I can take on many various forms. Sometimes I look like a human being. Other times, I like to turn myself into fine mist and then sneak into ladies’ bedrooms when they’re fingering the honeypot. That’s some solid misting, right there.
Other times, I like to take the form of a cloud. Why? NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS, THAT‘S WHY. I also enjoy taking the form of a very bright white light. That’s a classic one. And at night? That’s wolfie time.
Didn’t think God was a lycanthrope, did you? Well, I am. Sometimes, I like to turn into a wolf. Then I run into the forest, find a six-point buck, and then rip its throat right out. BAM! NATURAL SELECTION THERE, BUCKY! MY SELECTION! YOU GOT SERVED.
You know who it’s fun to turn into from time to time? Dylan McDermott. You should see the looks I get on the street when I turn into that guy. I bet he’s just drowning in pussy. Good stuff.
Anyway, it bears repeating, DON’T DRAW ME. And since you, Kurt Warner, have crossed Me once more, I assure you Deangelo Williams and the Panthers will tear you a new Godhole come Saturday night. Fuckhead. Enjoy the loss. And the cancer.
Last week, I allowed the Ravens to beat the Dolphins because the city of Miami is a den of sin and sodomy. Sometimes I turn on the Godscope and point it a Miami, and I swear I have no clue what I’m looking at. Are those three Cuban men fucking in that alleyway? Four? Why is there a Chihuahua there? Why are they smearing bananas on each other? Yuck. Not cool.
I also allowed the Chargers to beat the Colts. A lot of people might think I like Tony Dungy, since he worships Me and all. Well, to be frank, I think he’s stealing a bit of My thunder. I get it, people. Tony Dungy is a swell guy. But you don’t praise him. You praise ME. STOP STEALING MY THUNDER, TONY DUNGY! ONLY I KNOW HOW TO MAKE IT!
As for the Vikings… FUCK THEM. THEY’LL NEVER WIN A TITLE IN A MILLION YEARS AS LONG AS A SHADY JEW OWNS THEM! I DECLARE IT SO!
Many people scoff at the idea that God can control the outcome of sporting events, or that He even cares. But those people are wrong. God does control the games, AND He cares a great deal. Today, He explains why He let the outcomes of Week 16 in the NFL happen as they did.
What? What’s this? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT? I’m sorry. It’s my son’s birthday tomorrow, and I frankly have clue what to get the little fucker. I go up to my son and I say, “Son, what would You like this year?” And, I shit you not, this is what the kid says back:
Sell all that you have and distribute to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven.
You listen to me, you little fucking snot. I AM IN HEAVEN. I RUN THE MOTHERFUCKER. So don’t play coy with me on this shit. Remember on your 33rd birthday when I gave you the burden of all man’s sins? Not a fun gift, was it? No, I remember you being quite vocal about your reluctance to accept that little trinket. DON’T THINK I WON’T FUCK YOU LIKE THAT AGAIN, YOU LITTLE SHIT!
You know what? Fuck this. I’m getting the kid an iTunes gift card. Let him download all the shitty Michael W. Smith songs he likes. I heard you can buy the entire “I Can Only Imagine” compilation for under $10. And if he doesn’t like it, then next year I’m getting him a pack of cigarettes. SMOKE UP, JOHNNY!
Anyway, this week I decided to smack down the playoff hopes of several teams: The Jets, Broncos, Vikings, and Eagles. Why? BECAUSE FUCK THEM, THAT’S WHY. I don’t need a why. That’s why I’m God. If I did it, that is my will. AND YOU WILL ACCEPT IT LIKE THE WEAK-MINDED LITTLE SHEEP YOU ARE! NOW GO STICK A TREE IN YOUR HOUSE AND SING WEIRD SONGS ABOUT MY KID! AND DON’T SEND HIM ANY VANILLA CUPCAKES! HE’S ALLERGIC! I RULE!
Hello my children. You know, the more that I think about it the more I like the idea of Festivus supplanting Christmas as the official holiday of the winter solstice. Sure, practitioners of this holiday don’t glorify me through song and prayer, but overall it has a lot more going for it than a tree and a fatass with some reindeer. While Frank Costanza’s holiday of choice isn’t steeped in history and tradition like Christmas, but it was the brainchild of a guy who spawned a Seinfeld writer. I’ll take that over some old Roman guys who decided to celebrate my son’s birth in the middle of fucking winter to appease the damn pagans.
That is why I am in favor of erecting Festivus kiosks in cities across America.
In the spirit of the holiday, I’m going to air a few of my grievances before we get to Sunday’s games.
Many people scoff at the idea that God can control the outcome of sporting events, or that He even cares. But those people are wrong. God does control the games, AND He cares a great deal. Today, He explains why He let the outcomes of Week 14 in the NFL happen as they did.
Hello my children. I trust that you enjoyed the bounty of football goodness I provided for this, the 14th week of the NFL season. As the regular season winds down we turn our attention to the holiday season. For Me the holidays are a lonely time when all the love and worship is doled out to Jesus and his ex-boyfriend, Santa. And what do I get? Not a single Me damned thing, that’s what. This is why I’ve always been such a strong proponent of the Secret Santa method of giftology. You see, everyone gets together and picks a name out of a hat, and the name you draw will be the recipient of a special gift. This way everyone gets a piece of the sweet holiday action, and anybody who receives a particularly awesome present is compelled to reciprocate with sexual gratification. Keeping that in mind, let’s get down to some explanations.
Hello my children. I trust that all of you are all preparing to celebrate the miraculous birth of my divine progeny in a tasteful and understated manner.
Oh come the fuck on! What is wrong with you people? You’re starting to make me think that the atheists are actually smarter than the believers. You people are getting on my last damn nerve, and no, I cannot protect you from terrorists. Terrorism is a machination of man, and it is up to man to stop the terrorists. I’m pretty much useless on this front, so don’t expect me to be watching your back while you’re preaching the good word. Let’s just move on to the explanations of Week 13’s games.
