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 Jason Whitlock.

Last night I got an email from Kerry Washington. “Big Sexy,” she told me, “You know how much I love you. But you know what I love even more? When you drop those NFL truths on me. Won’t you skeet some hot truth all over me on a cold winter’s night?”

And I told her, “Baby, you don’t get it. A lot of people don’t want to hear the truth. They know I’m controversial. I speak my mind. I tell it like it is. No one else had the balls to say Jay Cutler is a pussy, except for Wilbon, Mark Schlereth, and four million people on Twitter. But I did. I said it, consequences be damned. You can’t contain me. Ask any sofa or loveseat you come across.” Kerry knew what time it was. When it comes to the truth, Big Sexy doesn’t mess around. He tells no lies. Unless we’re talking about my gym routine yesterday. Here are your Super Bowl truths:

1. Both of these teams would be better off with Jeff George as a backup QB.

No one fears Dennis Dixon or Matt Flynn. Both these teams should have put an insurance policy in place in case Aaron Rodgers or Tang Chaser Ben got hurt. And trust me, Jeff can still throw the ball long. Also, his mother died. GM’s that can’t understand what that can add to a team are damn blind.

2. Chris Jones Doesn’t Know Jack Shee-at

I see you, Chris Jones, trying to bait me:

Well, here’s the stone-cold truth, kids: Jason Whitlock has no soul. He’s neither a good reporter nor a good writer. He’s a bloviator who’s somehow carved out a niche for himself as a kind of anti-establishment figure by making references to The Wire and pretending he’s the second coming of Ralph Wiley, when Ralph Wiley would be fucking mortified to be associated with Whitlock’s brand of self-serving buffoonery.

Child, please. Ain’t no bojanglin’ in this column. Head up Scoop Jackson way for some real minstrelsy buffoonery. Your criticisms are real rich coming from the Moneyball Dude Of Game Shows. I knew Ralph Wiley. I studied under Ralph Wiley. I read many of Wiley’s Road Dog columns on Page 2, which were secretly really fucking terrible. You think you know Ralph Wiley? Ralph Wiley woulda had Bodie take a bat to your dome for tryin’ to start a beef like that. OMAR STRINGER BELL MY BOY BUNK LOVED HIMSELF SOME PUSSY.

3. Has anyone seen my wallet?

For real. Lost it for 15th time yesterday. It ain’t easy keepin’ a wallet when you can’t see your pockets. It was a nylon wallet with the Ball State logo on it. Mighta left it at Arthur Bryant’s. Come on, tweeps.

4. I have very small hands.

No joke. Take a look next time you see me. Look like a deformed T-Rex. Somehow I ended up with the body of Oliver Miller and the hands of a Pakistani IT technician. This is why I always go for sliders of regular sized burgers.

5. Ben Roethlisberger is not a Hall of Fame QB.

He’s surrounded by the most stable organization in football and has Troy Polamalu and James Harrison to save his bacon on the other side of the ball. He doesn’t belong in the Hall of Fame if he wins three titles. YOU WON’T HEAR THAT OPINION ANYWHERE ELSE. Some people might call me arrogant. Some people might say I say other people call me arrogant just so I can build up my own self-image. BULLSPIT. This truth comes right from the gut. Although I admire Ben for overcoming his addiction to Pussy Galore. And by Pussy Galore, I mean Pussy. FOX will actually print that.

6. Rashard Mendenhall is just like that insane girl you were freakin’ with back in high school who can’t keep her hands off you.

By now, you’ve seen the Mendenhump video making its way around the Internet. Tell me that doesn’t remind of you of the crazy girl you dated back in the day. Sure she had the body of Tisha Campbell, and she’s down for a little action, but then she goes and lays it all out for you with her oozing pumpkin butt on the dance floor in front of your friends and you’re saying, “Damn, girl! How about a little discretion?!” But you end up hittin’ that anyway because you know she’s good to go but you know damn well that ain’t the kind of girl you want bein’ your baby momma, but then she LIES about being on the pill and suddenly you find yourself trapped like Antonio Cromartie. Rashard is JUST like that. Come on, you guys know the type of bitch I’m talking about. I watched movies about girls like that ALL THE TIME when I was 19.

7. This will be the most watched Super Bowl ever because of the lack of cornrows and tattoos.

James Harrison? No cornrows. Charles Woodson? No cornrows. Greg Jennings? No cornrows. Americans are sick and tired of athletes bojanglin’ up themselves on the national stage. No one wants to see these black kids live up to their stereotypes. In other news, I would fuck the SHIT out of Robin Givens. All three holes. Don’t care if she gets double pregnant. Damn, girl. You fine. UNNNGHHHHH!

8. Does anyone have the link to my last column?

I can’t find that shit. Surely, one of you has a link you can send me. Tell me you’re out there, reading me. Tell me you’re there to respond. I have to know, or else I will cry into my very small hands.

9. I did the damn thang watching Cinemax last night.

It was an episode of the “Best Sex Ever.” THE DAMN THANG GOT DONE TO MY THANG. TAKE A CELL PHONE PIC OF THAT, DAULERIO.

10. The Steelers will beat the Packers 30-28 on an Aaron Rodgers pick-six at the end.

That is the truth, my friend. Don’t settle for some corny Ziggy Sobotka shit. I ain’t even playin’ with this column. Tell me you read it. Tell me I brought the heat. I NEED VALIDATION. I NEED TO KNOW I STIRRED THE POT. PLEASE. PLEASE. IF YOU AREN’T OUT THERE I MAY DIE ALONE.

Tim Gunn: Sooooo… talk to me people. How we doing? Super Bowl picks?

Christian: Patriots by 13. This pick is too fabulous to be wrong. I’m too fabulous to be wrong.

God that was easy. What’s taking everyone so long?

(/gets beaten to death by people who weren’t homophobic until they saw him)

Gunn: Amazing. Fabulous. Jillian?

Jillian: I don’t know. I just don’t know if I have time to make this pick. I think the score will be tied at ten after the first quarter, then a Patriots touchdown on a Randy Moss catch-and-run give them the lead before both teams turn it over on consecutive possessions, and I know I want the final result to be a Giants win outright, but now I don’t know if I’m going to have the time to finish this insanely detailed prediction. I’m not sure if this is going to work out. Maybe if I can glue some touchdowns on Plaxico? Oh God I hope this works.

Rami: I think Jillian’s pick is really daring. She’s just a really talented prognosicator.

(/eye-fucks Jillian)

Jillian: (/blushes and smiles)

Rami: I tried to make my pick a little more sophisticated. I mean, there’s a history of Super Bowl blowouts when an excellent team faces an outmatched opponent from a weaker conference. Niners-Chargers in XXIX, Redskins-Broncos in XXII, Niners-Broncos in XXIV. So I like the Pats by 30.

(/eye-fucks Jillian more)

Gunn: I like it. Daring.

Elisa: I took a bath in vinegar once. It put me in touch with my soul.

Ricky: I…

(/begins crying)

I didn’t think picking a winner would be… so… hard.

(/wipes tears from face)

(/wears stupid fucking hat)

Sweet P: …Giants by 20?

Gunn: Oh no. Nonononononono. Sweet P. What. Are. You. Thinking?

Sweet P: I thought it’s kind of hip…

Gunn: Hippity-dippity, more like. Make it work!

Sweet P: (/furiously reworks prediction)

(/new prediction still sucks)

Heidi Klum: Then we’ve reached our decision?

Patriots, you have won all of your 18 games so far this season. But your year was marred by a videotaping scandal that was completely unnecessary for a team of your talent. In addition, one of your key defensive players was suspended four games for using human growth hormone, and your fans are insufferable morons. We want you push the limits at Project Runway, but at times you have pushed them too far.

Giants, you’ve come a long way from where you started. The judges are impressed by your perseverance, but we’re not sure you have the raw talent to survive a Super Bowl against a more talented, more experienced team with a far better coach.

(/dramatic pause)

Patriots, you’re in. Giants, you’re out. Auf Wiedersehen!

(/gets masturbated to)

Vick: Oh, man.

Oh, Lord.

Holy shit.

This jenkem, this is the strongest shit I’ve ever done. And when I say “shit”, I mean it literally! How’s that next batch cookin’ up, Pookie?

Pookie: It’s goin’ good!!!!

Vick: I gotta pick this Super Bowl game and shit. Who do I pick, Pookie?

Pookie: I dunno, MV7. You gotta write that shit down and give it to Loop down the hall. He’ll set you up.

Vick: Shit. I guess I’ll pick the Giants. How do you spell Giants, Pookie?

Pookie: G-I-A…

Vick: Whoa whoa whoa. Hold up. Slow down. Go back to the beginnin’. How do you spell G?

Pookie: Uh…

Vick: (crumples up the paper) Man, fuck this shit. Let me get my nose in some more of that doodoo.

Vick: (sniffs) Oh yeah. That’ll do, doodoo.

The celebrity Super Bowl pick is a time-honored tradition, one we at KSK are super fucking excited to be a part of, as we have in the past. For the next two weeks, stars from the world of entertainment, politics, and more will drop by to make their picks for the big game in the Pink Taco! Up next, college football great turned author Herschel Walker

(takes off cap, holds it in hands)

Shine ya shoes, guvna?

Righ’, then. Jus’ lemme get me brush an’ I’ll make them shoes like righ’ mirrors, I will.

‘Eaded to the cenner of the city, are ya? Me, I don’ get ta leave the Bow Bells offen, workin ‘ard as I do on this ‘ere corner. Times are righ’ tough fer honest blokes like you an’ me. Nitty-gritty in these parts, but you know tha’ already, sharp fella like yerself.

Golly, me! Didja lay yer eyes on that piece of brass? ‘Ave you ever seen Bristols like tha’? I’d like to get me ‘Ampton in her Berk, knowaddaImean? Why, she looked like tha’ bird belongin’ ta Tommy Brady. Ain’t no one stoppin’ the Pay-ree-uss this year, is there?

Well, then. There you are, guvna! Bright ‘n shiny like a spring mornin.

An’ to you, too, sir. I’ll be sure ta place this on the Pats inna blow-ou’.

The celebrity Super Bowl pick is a time-honored tradition, one we at KSK are super fucking excited to be a part of, as we have in the past. For the next two weeks, stars from the world of entertainment, politics, and more will drop by to make their picks for the big game in the Pink Taco! Up next, college football great turned author Herschel Walker

Football? I’m afraid of I’ve never heard of such a past-time. Is it anything like that rounders game General Doubleday’s men played during their stops on the way to Antietam? As a young man in Illinois, I gained a bit of regional renown as a wrestler, but I know nothing of this game of which you speak.

Now, if you please, I must get back to the business of salving the wounds where our great Union was split in twain. This arduous task is complicated by the well-intended yet nonetheless vexing distractions of the First Lady. She insists upon viewing some bit of nonsense called “Our American Cousin” this evening. Enjoy your “Soup Or Bowl”, as you call it.

The celebrity Super Bowl pick is a time-honored tradition, one we at KSK are super fucking excited to be a part of, as we have in the past. For the next two weeks, stars from the world of entertainment, politics, and more will drop by to make their picks for the big game in the Pink Taco! Up next, college football great turned author Herschel Walker

Hey chief, you mind if I listen to radio while we drive? I love this Opie and Anthony. Very funny guys, yes? I’m glad you ask me about Superb Bowl. I drive cab for four year now and still very best customer is Mister Michael Strahan. He ride in cab and talk very nice to Zulfo. He ask if Zulfo have wife and ask about Bosnia. Big tipper is Mister Michael Strahan. We are going to LaGuardia, yes?

I see Tum Brady on television, I have men like him in cab every day. They too busy to talk to Zulfo. Talk on their cell phone all the time. They bad tipper. Zulfo does not like them and he does not like Tum Brady. He’s not like Mister Michael Strahan. Zulfo says Patriots win game by many, many points.

]]> http://kissingsuzykolber.uproxx.com/2008/01/celebrity-super-bowl-pick-herschel.html/feed 9 http://kissingsuzykolber.uproxx.com/2008/01/ksk-celebrity-super-bowl-pick-herschel.html http://kissingsuzykolber.uproxx.com/2008/01/ksk-celebrity-super-bowl-pick-herschel.html#comments Fri, 25 Jan 2008 17:15:00 +0000 flubby http://kissingsuzykolber.uproxx.com/2008/01/ksk-celebrity-super-bowl-pick-herschel-walker.html

The celebrity Super Bowl pick is a time-honored tradition, one we at KSK are super fucking excited to be a part of, as we have in the past. For the next two weeks, stars from the world of entertainment, politics, and more will drop by to make their picks for the big game in the Pink Taco! Up next, college football great turned author Herschel Walker

The surprise on your face is as plain as the harvest moon in the clear October sky. “Moses Stoltzfus, what do the Amish know of Foot Ball?,” you may ask. During my rumspringa, Brownie Eli and I traveled by the bus to the city called “Dover” to satisfy our boyish curiosity about the English and the ways of their World. There we went to a merchant called Sears & Roebuck to see their collection of whetstones, as my family’s saw had grown quite dull. There I was first introduced to the television and Patriot Foot Ball. The color and noise was simultaneously glorious and sinful! How that bawdy diversion inflamed the humours!

After my return to Hempfield, I could not chase the thoughts of Foot Ball from the corners of my consciousness lo these many years. I tell my dear Rebecca that the newspaper is a necessary worldly intrusion since it holds the schedule for the Farmers’ Markets where we trade our bread for assorted sundries– and verily this is so. But, when alone I pore over the newspaper for news of my beloved Patriots. Were that my team of oxen were as mighty as those known as Koppen and Light.

O, Brother Belichick! How your weatherbeaten visage reminds me that of my dear departed Mother. They say you are dishonest, but I would never shun thee. I eagerly await news of the outcome of this Super Bowl. I predict a Patriot victory and a bumper crop of squash.

Bill Murray: I guess…

(sighs)

(stares out window)

(looks up ruefully)

(sighs)

(looks at shoes)

(gives hangdog look)

(taps foot)

(sighs)

(gives rueful look)

(slumps shoulders)

(stares at watch)

(gives half snicker)

(sighs)

(exhales deeply)

(stares vacantly)

(sighs)

(sighs again)

Patriots… by… 10.

(falls asleep with eyes open)

Richard Roeper: Oh, my God. I LOVED this pick. This may be Bill Murray’s most masterful pick yet. It’s so understated. So minimalistic. So many actors try and communicate with words, or with non-verbal cues, or with movement of the facial muscles. But Bill communicates so much simply doing nothing at all, you know? Nothing is telegraphed. I could project any emotion onto him I please. He could be indifferent, or uncaring, or apathetic, or blasé, or bored, or disinterested, or detached, or listless. Just such a rich character.

This kind of performance is just so rare today. Too many people now try and “act” or “move”. I also liked the fact that the pick had no story structure of any kind. No dramatic momentum at all. We’re always demanding things like “a plot” or “cohesion” or “conflict resolution”. But it’s nice to finally see someone not cave to such mainstream sensibilities. It’s a stunning, stunning piece of work. Oscar caliber, absolutely.

Jack: I don’t understand this whole NFL thing. It just feels so brutish to me. Doesn’t it, Meg?

Meg: Yes. It does.

Jack: I mean, the whole thing just feeds into this disgusting male mentality that glorifies violence and menaces women. I find the male animal to be a horrible creature: shallow, depraved, and manipulative. Don’t you think, Meg?

Meg: Yes. I do.

Jack: That said, I do like those Detroit Lions. I think they’ll win this week. Don’t you, Meg?

Meg: Yes. I do.

Jack: Meg, what’s your favorite team?

Meg: Whatever your favorite team is, Jack.

Jack: Well, like I said, I like the Lions.

Meg: Then I like the Lions.

Jack: Meg, who’s your favorite player?

Meg: Whoever your favorite player is, Jack.

Jack: Mine is Ernie Sims

Meg: Then I like Ernie Sims.

Jack: Meg, you are the last true innocent creature left on the earth. I see in you the hope and brightness of a newborn child.

Meg: I see that, too.

Jack: You are my muse. Together, this artificial world cannot infiltrate the pureness of our friendship. Now take that brick over there and bash yourself in the head with it.

Meg: Okay.

(picks up brick and bashes herself in the head with it)

Jack: Now go wander out into that busy street for me.

Meg: Okay.

(wanders into busy street and is hit by a Cadillac)

Jack: Now I want you to stick yourself with this syringe I found on the beach.

Meg: Okay.

(sticks herself syringe he found on the beach)

Jack: Now I want you to sit over in the corner and watch me while I have sex with my new wife. And I want you to blow this dog while I do it.

Meg: Okay.

(sits over in the corner and watches while Jack has sex with his new wife. Blows dog)

Jack: I feel so inspired by your strength and courage, Meg. Let’s spend the next five minutes cutting an album with just two good songs and a shitload of half-assed ideas.

Meg: Okay.

(Five minutes pass. Album is produced with Jack playing all instruments including drums. Album is released. Gets a 9 from NME.)

Jack: Let us now have some candy.

Meg: Okay.

Jack: Actually, I’m just gonna go get some candy for myself. I’d like you to sit here and stare at this blank wall until I get back.

Meg: Okay.

(stares)