Because TIME is the Peter King of magazines, in that it’s inexplicably widely read despite never adding anything to the conversation other than a few obvious pronouncements and obtuse observations about culture. It’s the magazine for people who consume no other media and/or are 90 years old. Anyway, the magazine named Tim Tebow to its vague list of People Other People Will Read About and got fellow Jeebus gladiator Jeremy Lin to write a brief profile. On one hand, it’s diabolically effective traffic gold. On the other hand, f*ck you, TIME.

Hines Ward: Am no bereave team is contemprate make leerease numbell one smaltest leceiverr in NFR histolee. Hines and Steererrrs berong together, rike clack and back. Am Steererrr foll rife. What am Hines to do? WHO WIRR HERP ME NOW

Ben Roethlisberger: HI HINES

Hines: You must herp, Rongrastname! You onree one! Must do something. Team am want to leerease you favolite leceiverrr.

Roethlisberger: COACH GETTIN’ RID OF FAST WILLIE PARKER WALLACE? NOOOOOOOOO

Hines: No, you rummox! You favolite leceiverrr am Hines, foll arr time. Leememberr good old day. Leememberr, Hines win Supel Bowr foll you when you pray rike roser, one hundlred pellcent. Randerr Err bettel QB than you that day! This Hines! He hord arr team lecold. He teach you how be a man. He terr you to get wife light away when people say you lapist.

Roethlisberger: HARF HARF HARF OH YEAH

Hines: Aftell arr that, you just sit and do no thing when team want throw me to culb rike tlash. Hines be in galbage dump, rike toys in end of Toy Stolee Numbell 3. They buln Hines to clisp.

Roethlisberger: NO! NOOOOOOO! NOT HINES LIGHTYEAR! THAT BAD ‘N’ SAD! THE BEN PUT STOP TO THIS IN JIFFY SPEED

[Garage flies open]

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The New York Post got their grubby hands on a private email from Gisele to friends and family asking for them to pray for her husband Tom Brady.

My sweet friends and family,

This sunday will be a really important day in my husband’s life. He and his team worked so hard to get to this point and now they need us more than ever to send them positive energy so they can fulfill their dream of winning this super bowl . . .

So I kindly ask all of you to join me on this positive chain and pray for him, so he can feel confident, healthy and strong. Envision him happy and fulfilled experiencing with his team a victory this sunday.

Thank you for your love and support. Love, G :)

It’s funny because she believes in stuff. Not to be outdone by Rupert Murdoch, we’ve unearthed a personal email sent from Olivia Manning to her closest friends.

Dearest loved ones,

As you know, my precious baby Eli will be playing in the Super Bowl this Sunday. And as you might expect, he’s very nervous. My poor little angel was up all night suffering from anxiety induced diarrhea. I only tell you this because we consider all of you to be part of our family, and I ask that you join me in praying for him extra hard before now and Sunday.

Thank you for your discretion with regards to this sensitive matter.

Love,
Big O

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The celebrity Super Bowl pick is a time-honored tradition, one we at KSK are more than happy to take part in. For the next two weeks, stars from all over the world will drop in to make their picks. Today, it’s hard-bitten crime novelist James Ellroy.

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Five days after their much discussed dinner meeting, NFL commish Roger Goodell and Player’s Union head honcho DeMaurice Smith were spotted dining out on the town. If last week’s rendezvous was all-business, last night’s get-together was a far more intimate affair. Our spies at Katsuya report that the two were canoodling over plates of crispy rice with spicy tuna and enough cool sake to keep the conversation flowing well into the evening.

After discussing labor negotiations over drinks, the NFL’s hottest new couple moved on to other topics, like their favorite movies (Goodell adores Love, Actually, and Smith gushes over everything John Hughes). While we’re not sure any progress was made on the lockout front, we’re told they did agree to meet for a private weekend summit in Vermont while the pair shared in the Hollywood eatery’s famed chocolate “lover” cake.

Following dessert Goodell and Smith departed in separate cars, only to be seen reconnecting later that night poolside at The Standard. The ruddy Goodell sipped a beer, while his new friend splurged on a champagne cocktail. Not too shabby considering their combined income of $2.

“It’s all in the game, though, right?”

The Washington Post‘s resident Dithering Dairy Nebbish Dan Steinberg has been subpoenaed as part of Dan Snyder’s campaign against the media’s heinous tendency toward afflicting the comforted and vice versa. This all because Steinz had the gall to link to Dave McKenna’s now-infamous list of reasons why Snyder is, if I may paraphrase, a gigatwat. Not that Snyder himself has done more to publicize the piece more than a million D.C. Sports Bog links ever could. Anyway, according to my interpretation of court papers (POSSIBLY MADE FROM TREES CUT TO CLEAR A VIEW OF THE POTOMAC RIVER – WE’LL NEVER KNOW!) sent from Snyder to WaPo, I believe the Redskins owner wishes to ascertain the truth as to whether Snyder and McKenna are, in fact, a Leopold and Loeb-like tandem of killers who wish to target only NFL owners possessing a height of 4′ 8″ or shorter.

Let us be the first to clear the air. Steinberg and McKenna are not “in league” with one another. They fell prey, as many in the media often do, to our habit of trapping them in a bedroom and flipping the light switch on and off while shouting “DAN SNYDER FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT”

Artist rendering

So, you see, all this Snyder-bashing is completely the fault of the folks here at KSK. Unless you wish to pursue legal action, in which case, this is just a stupid post written by a raving insensate derelict and completely devoid of merit, which isn’t really that far from the truth. Plus, it’s all cool because we’re a satire site. If Snyder’s journo pappy caught him up sufficiently on libel law, Danny should know that as a public figure that he’s fair game to unbelievably cruel ridicule as long as we don’t present it as the truth. Ipso fucko.

[Re-reads handy satire libel checklist before posting]
[Changes all references to Sam Blyder]

Vicki Smith is owning this story!

It’s a Monday morning in early June. Other than Drew’s impending mockery of Peter King’s prattlings, there’s not a whole lot even worthy of our warmed-over ridicule. LaToeInjury adding a macho calf tattoo to honor his newest employer? Yawnyawnyawnyawnyawnyawnyawn. Some scrub on the Packers keeping the NFL offseason o’ sexual assault allegations humming? Those are all well and good, but they aren’t exactly prime KSK material.

Not like a picture of Tom Brady showing off the tardface in a charity bike event benefiting Boston-area tards. I’m sorry, that’s wrong. The preferred term is TAAAAAHHHHHHDDDDSSS.

British-driving Toonces might not be mentally disabled, but he really should be wearing a helmet while operating the Power Wheels Hummer.

An uncomfortable pat on the ass to reader Barry for the Brady picture.

In 2005, the Louisiana Superdome was severely damaged by a natural disaster. The next season when they returned to play there, the Saints appeared in the NFC Championship Game. Three years later, they are the reigning Super Bowl champions. And your question to me is “why beseech God to flood LP Field?” Anyone with a lick of sense can see what we’re trying to do here.

What you should be asking me is: why not sooner?

This is a copycat league we belong to, my friend. The losers have to adapt to meet the strengths of the winners, or else you’re going to get lost in the tide of innovation.

You in the front.

Yes, that pun was intended.

This is not an organization blessed with great fortune or acclaim. We lost a Super Bowl by a single yard. If it weren’t for our batshit crazy owner, I might not have been allowed to stick around to be the head coach for this franchise for 40 years. But even I know there’s limits to everything. You have to make hay while the sun is shining. Or, to use a more topical phrasing, make a Super Bowl run while there’s water damage to your stadium.

I’m not a genius; I just know what works. And generating league-wide sympathy by being the victim of a disastrous work of a vengeful God is 100 percent guaranteed to net you a Super Bowl title. The track record proves it. You gotta problem, you can take it up with the man upstairs.

You, second row.

No, that was a reference to God. Mr. Adams’ office is down the hall.

To you pointing fingers and making leading questions, will you be the same to congratulate us when we’re hoisting the Vince Lombardi trophy next February in Dallas? I imagine your networks and publications will be among to first to indulge in the soft focus story of redemption. I hope my comments made here today will be included among the images of a ravaged community. Because I ravaged it FOR YOU, fans.

Thanks. That will be all for today. Please turn in your galoshes before exiting the facility.