I feel like we’ve all done this before.

But it’s true. This is my last post at KSK.

Having co-founded this site and having spent the last five years being part of one of the best sports blogs ever, leaving isn’t easy. I’ve thought about this for a month and I just have no idea how to appropriately announce the end of my time here as a writer. But I suppose it’s a good time to look back at some of the insight, humor and depravity for which I was responsible. And I had some. These weren’t necessarily my best posts, but they are a lot of my favorites.

There was some football talk on this football blog. I had some rants about the NFL’s overtime format. A few, actually. I wrote a “guide” on the sport for Czech folks, sounded off on Stallworth v. Vick, and that thing that coaches do when they call timeout right before a game-deciding kick.

I made fun of Baltimore, New Orleans, Cincinnati, Cincinnati again, and made another list of awesome cities you should visit.

A favorite of my friend Ed is the Chris Mortensen/Bang Bus mashup. If I ever use “other” in a headline, it probably has something to do with porn.

I wrote some really odd obits-and-such for Chris Henry, Teri Schiavo, the racehorse Eight Belles, Falco, Tim Russert and Trent Green’s career. There was also this Dr. Z post pre-stroke and this Billy Mays post right before Mays died. Have we forgotten about Billy Mays yet? Yes? Forget I said anything.

I flipped the bird to “great fans“, Netflix haters, and the “American Gladiators” reboot. I even made fun of Peter King before it was fashionable, FJM-ing this post in 2006 and again with this probably-not-outdated Outlook Calendar. I remember Outlook. Kinda.

I did a couple posts with some decent characters, and then abandoned them like red-headed children. Charles Haley, The History Of Pro Football, Tom Brady’s baby, Gilbert Gottfried, and Stephen Hawking were just a few of those. Oh, and this 2 Penguins animation which never caught on like I’d hoped it would.

I did a few podcasts, and those will still be going on, though they won’t be posted here. Our Super Bowl show last Feburary was pretty sweet; we had Jason Witten and that TV Azteca lady, Inez Sainz. In terms of pure filthiness, this podcast–the Nasty Fetish draft, set a standard for perversion that we have yet to eclipse.

Oh, quick question: Do these count as black jokes?

And finally, the piece de resistance, the Earth Hour diary. No, that never actually happened.

I’ll still be around…someplace. In the meantime, I encourage you to follow me on Twitter and on Facebook so I can keep you posted on what’s happening next for me. But I really just want to thank Drew, Matt, Jack, Mike and Flubby for five great years together. It was a privilege to be part of such a talented group. And thanks to Jarret and Brian at Uproxx for making me the world’s first professional donkey porn enthusiast. If only I could fit that on a business card…

Finally, thanks to all of you out there in internet-land for reading my thoughts on the NFL and everything else. I think this site has been part of a revolution in the way fans and media think about pro football, and that change has been almost entirely positive. Folks in Alphabet City and at 280 Park are realizing that they can’t pull the same old shit without better acknowledging their customers and what we want out of football.

I think the resolution to the recent lockout is evidence of that. I think the success of this site is evidence of that. Being part of this site and writing for you and to be part of this movement in media has been an honor, and I hope that you’ll follow me into what I decide to unleash upon this God-forsaken English-speaking world next. Seriously, you guys are cool. Let’s do it again soon.

Until then…I’ll see you on the internet.

Peace.

–Josh Zerkle

Casey Anthony: So look, you guys. I’m not SAYING that I actually did it, but if I did, I totes would have had a good reason for it. Do you know how expensive it is to get a babysitter these days? Almost as much as a bottle of Jack! How was I supposed to get my groove on with THIS STUPID KID following me around all the time. And they always WANT STUFF! I had to go to bars and flirt with guys to buy me drinks, just to get away from that.

Yeah, so if I actually did that, I really like saved myself money! Isn’t it SO STUPID that other people actually take their kids with them to do stuff? Sorry, I have a life! I need to be my own person! I mean, that would be a totes valid reason for knocking my child unconscious and duct-taping her nose and mouth shut. What, I have to BRING YOU YOUR OWN AIR, you little jerk?

Some of you people are already calling me the white OJ. That’s so sdumb. Why would orange juice ever be white? It comes from oranges. Duh! If you want to make white orange juice, why don’t you get some white oranges. And I don’t even know where those are.

[door succumbs to moral pandering]

Nancy Grace: Yew!

Yew tot mom! Yew’re a stunning bleu tew justice! LEMME JUSSAY! That yew are a deespicabble hewmin bean! Yew are so EVIL! Yew…yew DIRDY HUSHPUPPY!

Casey Anthony: Ugh. Like, CHILL OUT you dirty old bag. Like, who are you even supposed to be? Are you Glenn Beck in drag?

Nancy: IT’S NAWT RIGHT THAT YEW GITTIN AWAY AWAY WIT THIS! LEMME JUSSAY! That yew got away with MARDER! Yew’re a DEE-SCRACE to tha tawt-mawm communitee!

Casey Anthony: Look, Paula Deen. I’m not saying I drugged that stupid little burden and left her in the back seat of my car for a month, but, you know, if I did, I TOTES spent three years in jail anyway. It’s not like I was giving body shots in prison. Um, as far as you know.

Nancy: LEMME JUSSAY–

Casey Anthony: And how the hell did you get on TV, anyway? Did you win “America’s Got Back-Fat?”

Nancy: LEMME JUSSAY–

Casey Anthony: What’s the name of your show? “Swift Breakfast?”

Nancy: LEMME JUSSAY that everyone knew yew were guilty! The only ones that acquitted yew were the 12 folks that actually watched the entire trial and properly weighed the state’s burden of proof against reasonable doubt. BUT EVERYONE ELSE KNOWS YEW DID IT!

Casey Anthony: Whatever. Hey, I’m thirsty. Wanna do some shots? I’m totes parched.

Nancy: HOW COULD YEW! YOUR CHILD DIED THREE YEARS AGO!

Casey Anthony: Whatever. I’ll bring you back a Big Gulp full of gravy.

Nancy: YEW GET BACK HERE! YEW DON’T APPRECIATE THE FRAILTY OF LIFE LIKE I DEW! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO TALK ABOUT AFTER THE SENTENCING IS OVER? YEEEE-HAWWWW! I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!

Dear Mr. Goodell,

My name is Timmy and I want to help you fix the NLF lockout. It is not good when peeple disagree on things and money and I want to help.

I think you should yell at the owners and the players. Yelling is not nice but like my daddy says sometimes peeple have shit in their eers and need a little pepp in their steps. When my brother Joey doesn’t clean his room Daddy yells at him and Joey cries and then cleans his room. When Joey wants ice cream and I have the last bowl he yells at me and I cry and then he takes my ice cream.

Sometimes when Daddy comes home late Mommy yells at him a lot, but then he hits her in the face and she either stops or she sleeps in the car. My dad says you should try that with Mike Brown. I thought he was a basketball coach?

When Mommy asked Daddy for more money to buy a new necklace he pushed her down the stairs and she hit her head. Mommy said to tell all my friends that she just fell and wasn’t drop kicked in the face like John Cena. I didn’t want to but then she gave me ice cream.

The football players want more money but you should say no to them. That is greedy. Uncle Tim says that football players are just a bonch of hooligans. What is a hooligan? Is that like when the UPS man parks around the corner and helps Mommy rearrange the furniture in the bedroom?

I am here to help you so I cant wate to heer from you.

Yours Truly,

Timmy

Don’t get me wrong, there’s no more exciting period in the spring than the NFL Draft, but once the draft is over, my time and energy goes to my second passion: ranking and grading the rising stars in the world of porn. Whether or not the NFL extends its lockout into regular season, the hard-working men and women of the adult film industry will be working harder than ever. And if you think earning a living in pro football is tough, you don’t know the half of it.

Getting into the fuck game is serious business. YOu’re not only competing against those looking to break in, but also the veterans, pros and hoes that are already there. But I think this year’s talent crop has some promise. Here now are five of the rising stars I have at the top of my board this year. I think you’ll be seeing big things from these folks for years to come.

Keith Hanrahan (aka Justin Cider). Long Beach, California.

Justin here has all the measurables: He’s 5-foot-7 with a 9-inch dong, and can even get to 10 if he’s getting down with a threesome or some hot interracial. What I like about this young man is that he’s versatile; he can play the missionary position but can also play in the 69 technique. But Justin doesn’t rest on his physical gifts; this man is a master technician of the vagina, a really strong Fucking IQ, and he’ll really fill a need for any project looking for a leading man. Justin’s number one on my board not only because of his length but also because of the tattoo-chest hair combo. Very rare.

Robin Nguyen (aka Boo Kiki). Palo Alto, California.

Boo won’t be on a lot of people’s boards because of some recent off-the-mattress issues. She had a DUI in 2009 after fleeing the scene where she stabbed her then-boyfriend in the asshole with a kitchen knife, and recently burned down a designer shoe store after she was caught shoplifting there. I have her at number two because she does have a solid work ethic; she will get out there and compete and is not afraid to fall on a loose cock. She’ll also bring versatility to whatever studio takes her, since she did play both ways in college.

Colleen Mulcahy. Boston, Massachusetts.

Neat story about Colleen here: she became the youngest CFO in JPMorgan history by sleeping with each of her managers and then blackmailing them for with the sex tapes to get promoted up the corporate ladder. But after the recent economic crisis, she finds herself without gainful employment.

She needs development, but at 29 years old, she’s entering her sexual prime, and there’s still a lot of raw ability here. She’s no stranger to cold weather and scouts agree that she can fuck downhill. It’ll be a challenge for directors to find opportunities for her, but in my opinion she has a lot of upside. I think of her as a poor man’s Amy Adams. Of course, being poor is the biggest reason people fuck in front of a camera for cash.

Wei Tu Yong. Hsinchu, Taiwan.

Wei is not going to fit the schemes of most outfits looking to add talent this offseason, but as I always say, “The eye in the sky don’t lie,” and the upward trends in human trafficking and debt bondage are undeniable. Wei is totally raw and is going to be a project for whoever acquires him; he’s not going to fit a lot of schemes. But the increasingly perverse nature of the industry coupled with inefficient worldwide standards for human rights make Wei an absolute steal.

Nina and Tina Williams (aka Sweet and ‘Lo). Atlanta, Georgia.

These twins are a package deal, making them a terrific value pick. Nina has a great motor and is proficient with her battery-powered dildo, which coincidentally also has a great motor. Tina will provide a lot of depth for a production either looking to spell Tina or provide a double-team in situations late in the film. I dropped them down to number five on my board because of Tina’s work ethic concerns, coupled with the fact they stole their respective hairstyles from Carrot Top.

These are just a few of the bigger names that have been working hard to get a sniff at the big time. But remember, anything can happen in the world of adult film; dreams are made and crushed at the hands of the people at the controls. That’s how it goes in any industry, especially the fuck game, and that’s why I love it. Be sure to do your own research and adjust your draft sheets accordingly. Nothing less than the future of your fantasy fucking is at stake.

RECE DAVIS: Hello again, everyone. Rece Davis along with NFL insider Adam Schefter. As the league’s 32 teams are about to get ready for training camp, you’re just about to head out on the road, yourself. You’ll be joining Chris Mortensen on a cross-country bus tour to visit every NFL team.

SCHEF: That’s right Rece, I’ve been going over the particulars of the trip with Chris and we’re both excited about getting out to the camps and seeing these clubs prepare for their respective seasons. Our bus is ready and waiting for us and I’m just about to board. Chris and I have talked it over and he’s really excited to have somebody else in the bus this year.

MORT: I DO NOT WANT TO HAVE ANYONE in the bus this year! Last year, you let me do it by myself. LET ME DO THIS BY MYSELF!…It’s hard to…uh, research…when there’s another guy in the room, ya know?

[honking from outside]

BUS DRIVER: Time to get up and move out! Great! Grand! Wonderful! Trick of the day. NO YELLING ON THE BUS!

SCHEF: Hey, we’ve already got some talent on the bus already? Mort, you didn’t tell me that they had girls on the bus before you left last year!

MORT: That’s because they didn’t! I’m gonna send a very angry tweet about this!

SCHEF: Hey, Mort! Get a picture of us! Hang on, lemme look gangsta first.

MORT: You know, maybe we shouldn’t be taking pictures of this.

SCHEF: Jeez, Mort. This bus is amazing! I don’t know where these women intend to sleep, or even how they expect to be found once we dump them in upstate New York, but I’m sure appreciating all of their efforts. If only Vernon Davis could put out like this! Uh, hang on. That came out wrong.

MORT: Hang on buddy, I’m in the middle of a very important interview. So, Fat girl’s ass, would you say that the NFC West is wide open this year? Because it doesn’t get much more wide open than what I’m looking at right now.

How come these faggots get a bus and I don’t?

Last year’s.

New Orleans, your 15 minutes are up.

After the earthquake in Haiti earlier this week, you are no longer the devastation darling that endeared you to so many Americans back in 2005. You wooed us with your water damage, and the plight of your people tugged at our heartstrings amid your spurts of cantankerous looting. You were a fun little retarded brother to have around, New Orleans. But now it’s time for you to go.

It’s time for you to resume being the Coonass Las Vegas to all of the drunks, whores and tit-deprived youngsters of southeast America. Finally, in this period of transition, we can stop pretending that you ever were a real city. Even Indianapolis relies on media of exchange other than beads and frontal nudity, and even the worst cops in Cincinnati wouldn’t have the gall to loot their own town. And not even Marion Barry, in his highest hour, would go on television in the wake of Hurricane Katrina and tell all the white people to, generally speaking, get the fuck out of town.

And that, somehow, brings us to the New Orleans Saints. The Saints literally take cash payments from the city and the state to the tune of about $15 million a year. As the city was mildewing around them, the team was getting eight-figure annual payments just to not leave. And then it was like, “Oh, America loves the Saints.” Bullshit. America loved the Saints in much the same way as we loved Corky from “Life Goes On.” We’re generally indifferent, but we’re keeping an eye out in case somebody falls down a flight of stairs.

Of course, New Orleans could just give it up and let the team move to LA. And while it might seem lewd to part a team from its fans at first brush, pro football in California makes more long-term sense than pro football in Louisiana. But the idea of taking away Corky’s one precious toy is too much to bear for the rest of the world (It’s somewhat amazing that in the midst of all that flooding and destruction that Tom Benson was the only one that actually wanted to leave). At least when Benson tried to run his team out of town, he did it without robbing a Walmart.

So enjoy it, New Orleans. Enjoy this playoff run like it’s your last, because it very well might be. The Saints are the only organization in your city run with any modicum of efficiency. We’ll be over here fawning over this other shithole in Haiti now. If you want the attention back on your fair town, you’ll have to earn it. Good luck. You bastards are gonna need it.

Thunn, Nunn, Unght, Suvuh, Shicks, Fuvv, Fuhh, Frehh, Tehh, Wuhh…

Huppy Nuh Yuh, uveywunn!

None of you understood Chris like I understood him. Sure, he was a black kid from the south and I’m a white guy from Massachusetts, but we had so much in common. We both had that dream of nailing prime teenage ass. Because there’s no ass like teenage ass. I understood that, and Chris understood that, too. And now he’s gone.

I’m saddened that Chris never had a chance to finish up his NFL career, because all of the girls out there that are like 9 or 10 years old now would have been 16 or 17 by the time his playing days were over. And really, there’s no better way to cap a 1,000-yard receiving season than by realizing all the juicy pre-pubescent tail that’s on its way down the pike in the autumn of your career.

People tried to change Chris. They said, “Hey Chris, you should really wait until some of these girls turn 18.” I don’t know why they said that. I don’t like women that get involved in politics, anyway. And neither did Chris. That’s what made him so special. That and his penchant for the little ladies with naturally bald beavers. Can I say beavers? I think so. That’s the way Chris would have wanted it.

Chris, I know you can hear me up in heaven. Even in that somewhat run-down section of heaven that they reserve for black people. And I just want you to know…I just want you…Oh, God, I promised I wouldn’t do this…I want you to know that you’re an inspiration to all of us…That the middle schools of this country have lost a great loiterer…that forever you shall…I just…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…

Every now and again, we at KSK stumble across something outside the realm of professional football that we feel compelled to share, such as Beaker’s adventures in the nation’s capital. Yesterday, when Unsilent Majority requested a Photoshop of a Nazi-fied Mr. Peanut for the Meast/Least, Christmas Ape obliged with the cheerful anthropomorphized fascist legume you see above. Just look at Nazi Peanut (full name: Stabgsefreiter Johann Erdnuss of the Fuhrer’s Wehrmact) — so dashing, so full of the joie-de-vivre that comes from the extermination of Jews to purify the Fatherland. How can he wear those jackboots and not dance a little jig?

So charmed were we with Herr Peanut that we captured some images of him hangin’ out with his pals, making the Third Reich a happier, more delicious place.

“Ze peanut ist ze only pure nut! Exterminate ze cashjews!”

On July 30th of this year, ESPN dispatched noted NFL reporter Chris Mortensen on a 21-city tour of the league’s training camps. However, ESPN news personnel soon discovered that Mortensen was also conducting reports for another media outlet, one that currently remains unknown at this time. ESPN seized the written reports and images immediately, with the intention of reviewing them for disciplinary action after Mortensen’s bus tour has been concluded. No one outside of the highest-ranking executives for the network has read the reports or seen the images from this alternative set of reporting. Until now.

July 30th: Chris Mortensen is reporting that there is a bus behind him. This bus, Mort explains, is the most lavish vehicle that has ever been in his charge, and admits that he’ll have a difficult time keeping his journalistic principles in check during the trip. “This is ESPN’s Chris Mortensen, reporting in front of my new 18-wheeled passport into the panties of women in 21 different NFL cities.” That it is, Mort. That it is.

August 4th: Mort visits Green Bay and has a delightful encounter with Darlene, a waitress at a nearby diner. “”Titletown doesn’t have the same level of talent that I’ve seen in Dallas , Tennessee, and Atlanta,” Mort tells us. “I thought they were going in full pads today, but turns out they’re just a beefy lot up here.” Mort and Darlene reportedly reached a deal. Terms were not disclosed.

August 6th: Mort’s bus rolls into Bourbonnais, Illinois for Bears camp. While looking for directions, Mort meets Kelli (with an “i”), an spohomore-to-be at Olivet Nazarene and, according to anonymous reports within the school, a very bad girl. Kelli tells Mort that Bourbonnais is located squarely within Kankakee County, and proposes that Mort gather some of the Bears together for a Kankakee-kkake. Mort leaves immediately, hoping to confirm the county’s whimsical name with a second source.

August 8th: Allen Park, Michigan, a town deader than the flying wedge or VHS format, but Mort manages to find life in Lions camp with Lisa, a PR intern responsible for distributing press releases to working media present in camp. Mort repays Lisa the favor with a release of his own.

August 10th: Mort finds himself in Latrobe, Pennsylvania with Kim, a 27-year-old lifeguard at a nearby community pool. Mort responds to Kim’s taunts of Steelers domination in the recent Super Bowl by proposing “one for the taint.” Kim is down with it.

Chris Mortensen reported that copious amounts of ass was there to be had, but that it was still too early to declare a clear favorite. Preseason, after all, is about getting reps for the younger people and sharpening skills for the veterans. Only one side can come out on top at the end of the campaign, Mort says. Here’s hoping that Mort gets a few more miles out of that bus before it’s time for the grind of a new NFL season.