Christmas is a time for being stressed out by relatives, with alcohol your only merciful bulwark against madness. Or throwing them the Coach Haley holiday greeting. Already faced with that, you expect us to work too? Not so long as we have good seasonal content to recycle. Feel like bitching? Just be thankful you’re not in Sweden, where those blond assholes go nuts for a stupid cartoon with Donald Duck in the jungle.

Also, George Michael died. No, not that one. Or that one. This one. D.C. mourns its machine.

[Cutlerfuckerville]

Fah who for-aze!
Dah who dor-aze!
Welcome playoffs!
Come this way!

Fah who for-aze!
Dah who dor-aze!
Welcome playoffs!
Playoffs, yay!

[Meanwhile, on forbidding Marmalard Mountain]

[Sounds of packages being floated against the walls and cracks of thunder]

Look at them, all those Jays down in Cutlerfuckerville with their warped warbling. Droopy dregs of humanity with hangdog faces and vaginas where their penises should be. How I loathe their chokery and undeserved 4th seedery. So content are they in backing their way into the playoffs. So oblivious to the fact that the bitching hour is close at hand.

But you see, My Tiny Darren, we’re gonna steal their precious packaged playoffs right out from under their droopy sulkface noses. AREN’T WE?! FUCK AND YES WE ARE! There’ll be no Hochuli to stop us this time! No. Nothing stands in the way of King Laserface’s ascent to the top of the world! SADDLE UP YOU POCKET POOCH IT’S RIDING HIGH TIME!

Oh wow, the playoffs are coming. I’ve never experienced the magic of the postseason before, especially after we screwed the pooch the last two years. I’m like Tony Romo without the smiles.

Oh! What’s that clatter? Must be Santee Claus. I would know coming from Santa Claus, Indiana. I hope he brought me the unearned sense of accomplishment I asked for!

Hey! You’re not Santee! YOU’RE NOT SANTEE AT ALL!

Don’t touch that! That’s my division title! It’s mine! Give it!

Where are you taking me!? IIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Settle, settle, widdle inferior quarterback. You’ll have more time to enjoy your Christmas figgy pudding and doodazzlers once I’ve eliminated you from playoff contention. AND IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT THEN TOUGH TITTYFUCK YOU TRAGIC SULKFACE THE CLOWN! THEN I’M GONNA COLD RAPE THE COLTS IN THE POSTSEASON, JUST LIKE I DO EVERY YEAR! I HOPE THE VOLEKTRICITY IS READY! WHAT? HUH? WHAT? FUCK YOU!

[And that's when Marmalard's shriveled boner grew three sizes that day]

A Merry Playoffs to All, And May You All Get Stabbed in Your Sleep By a Marlinspike!

Ya betta ask somebodddddaaaaaayyyyyyy!

One of the more head-scratching plays on Sunday was Mark Sanchez diving at the knees of lead blocker Jonathan Vilma on Darren Sharper’s 99-yard pick-six. Sanchez was the last Jet with a shot of making a tackle, so it’s unclear what exactly Sanchez had in mind besides destroying the knee ligaments of a franchise linebacker.

So congrats to Mark for living up to his Dirty Sanchez nickname. Let’s agree to call this move “the chimichanga.”

UPDATE: That’s a $5000 chimichanga. Spicy!

(thanks, freek!)

Matt Millen, whom sinister forces have once again installed in an NFL announcing booth (even if it craptastic NFL Network), is claiming he’s being unfairly scapegoated for the myriad foul-ups he oversaw as general manager of the Lions. Y’know, all the ones that are completely and without question his fault.

“I don’t go backwards,” Millen said. “I just don’t think like that. There’s nothing I can do about [Detroit]. All I can do is from here on out. I understand. In Detroit, they need a bad guy. I was a bad guy. I was to blame for the fall of the auto industry and the housing market. Somehow, I had something to do with [Detroit mayor] Kwame Kilpatrick [resigning], although I’m not sure what. But that’s what happens when you lose in this game. You give everyone a cheap and easy story to jump on.”

And nobody messes with the bad guy, eh chico. You little cockaroach. Not when he oozes so much machismo. All these pinche pendejos in the NFL, they want a piece of the bad guy. I’m the main mang. Hey, booth attendant, look after my mashismo. Something happens to it, something gonna happen to you.

Thanks again inimitable LSUfreek.

While you’re clicking “refresh” for this week’s Monday Afternoon Quarterbacking of Monday Morning Quarterback (Drew’s on vacation this week, so Punter’s filling in), here are some lovely creations from master of the Interwebs LSUfreek.  Like most Saints fans, freek has a justifiable love of Drew Brees, but I don’t know about these Photoshops.  I mean, I’ll allow that Brees might be the second coming of Christ, but healing Reggie Bush?  I doubt it.

If it weren’t Monday morning and we had something ready, these images would be worked into a new KSKharacter sketch, or maybe a “God explains…” post.  But it’s Monday and the offseason, so you’re just gonna have to close your eyes and pretend.  Kinda like how you have sex.

[tomb flies open]

Anyhoo, I guess it’s time for us to make Hurricane Katrina jokes.  A “flood” of them, perhaps?  Wokka wokka.

/awaiting iTwitter shirts