Look, I know it’s been a rough road, especially with you going to England soon, but just give me another chance. I’ve been playing really well lately! I know I’ve burned you in the past, but…I…I just can’t believe you left me on waivers again. I guess I didn’t know what you were going through in 2005.

If you pick me up, I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ve already thrown more TDs than Peyton and Tom Brady combined, and only one of those guys is out for the year! I know your dad was busted by the IRS, but you can trust me on this. As soon as you put me in your starting lineup and hit “Submit Changes,” everything will be alright.

What the fuck does he mean, “Guilty?” Hey, hey, judge! Can I get a replay on this motherfucker? How come you didn’t put me in jail when I killed those whitefolks? Shit, after y’all let me off for that, I just figured I could do whatever I wanted! The fuck happened? Did Fred Goldman put you up to this? That guy’s had it in for me since his kid ran off with my bitch! Fred? Aw, you really got me, Fred! You big kidder! Way to go! You’ll get another MSNBC special for this one, buddy!

Oh, yeah, get those cuffs on me! Haha, good one Freddy! You really got me! Whoa! Hey, those cuffs are kinda tight, fella! Okay, fun’s over. Come on, if we get outta here now we still get nine holes in. Hey, stop pushing me, fool! What the– HEY COME ON! GET THESE FUCKING CUFFS OFF ME! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! I’M THE JUICE! I WAS A SPOKESMAN FOR HERTZ! I’M GONNA BEAT YOUR ASSES WITH MY DINGO LEG IF YOU DON’T ME OUT OF HERE!!!!

Shit, maybe I really am going to jail…

Alright, Chris, my arm’s up, just like you said. Now what?

Now hold still, Steve, and I’m gonna slap your hand. 

Whoa, dude. You’re not slapping anything. Especially my hand. 

Stop being a wuss and just hold your hand there. Don’t move it. 

Are you gonna slap it hard? I don’t want you to slap it hard. 

I’m gonna slap it kinda hard, Steve. You’re supposed to do it hard. 

No! Why do you want to slap it?

It’s like…to celebrate. You hold your hand up and I slap it. 

But I was the one that made the field goal. Shouldn’t I be the one that gets to slap? 

But you don’t know how to do it!

I do so!

Okay, show me. 

No, I don’t wanna do it. Slapping hands is dumb. 

Quit being a little bitch and just do it. 

Why can’t we do what they’re doing?

You know I can’t jump that high. Do you want to slap hands or do you want a faceful of butt?

Fine. 

Are you gonna do it?

Yes. 

Are you sure?

(sigh) Yes. 

Alright, my arm’s still up. Now…slap it!

I can’t.

What?

I gotta go kick off. 

Slap my hand, Steve. Just hurry up and do it. 

I’ll do it after I kick off, I swear. 

GET YOUR BRITTLE ASS BACK HERE AND ACCEPT CONGRATULATIONS LIKE A MAN!

See ya. [Runs off]

Vinatieri woulda high-fived me. Faggot.

Since the dawn of time, man has sought out to explore his universe, to understand the places and things around him, and to seek his fortunes about the uncharted plains. Man, while sometimes daunted by these pursuits, persevered, and found himself richer for the experiences of his quest, whether or not that quest itself proved fruitful. And the neverending, ever-changing odyssey of man facing the veritable unknown was undertaken over thousands of years…for one reason.

To get laid. 

Yes, while man’s pursuits have become vast and diverse, his motivation remains singular. Over the millenia, this endeavor became more efficient, ritualized, and somehow involving more paperwork. Gradually there became less paperwork, but then sometimes even more paperwork materialized down the line. Paperwork is unpleasant. But paperwork gets men laid. 

Consider the Wright Brothers, among the greatest explorers of our last century. They sought to conquer the air above us, something no man had ever achieved. They would have told you that their aim was to achieve flight, to obtain a purchasing contract from the government, and to revolutionize the way we travel for decades to come. But they would be lying. For the Wright Brothers sought only to fly to faraway lands, and subsequently fuck every nimble-bodied woman they could find. 

Note the historic words of Neil Armstrong, the first human to walk on Earth’s moon. “One small step for man,” he uttered, “One giant leap for mankind.” Armstrong’s address to the fairer sex was omitted from all the records of the day, but archived audio reveals that the Ohioan was also clearing declaring, “One huge cock for every woman on Earth.”

Man today not only carries a penis, he carries a heavy burden to live up to the conquests of his forefathers. For as the skies and the seas seem familiar to us today, one voyage remains continuous. So go, head forth as your ancestors did before you. Plunge into the depths of your soul and rise with the strength of a thousand donkeys and set forth. 

And get laid.

Here are some photos of women that cheer for NFL teams, or did at some point. Halloween’s coming up, so decide what you’re gonna be. I have my heart set on being Larry Flynt; I won’t have to walk anywhere.

Flubby found this awesome image, but was too busy trying to get his financial planner on the phone to post it himself. I really don’t have anything to add, but if you were to flip this wheel over, every slot would earn you a free spin. 

Image from here, and one more after the jump.

(more…)

I took this picture of Mariel at a charity event three years ago. She loved cheerleading. And I loved her. 

We met in college at a vending machine. She asked if she could borrow a dollar from me, and I jokingly replied that I needed collateral. She wrote her number in my algebra book, and told me to call her sometime. We went out that weekend. 

What I didn’t know was that Mariel was in the budding stages of a horrible meth addiction. At first I tried to ignore it, I really thought she was just a care-free girl. The night before graduation, she was strung out on meth, and I wasn’t sure what to do, so my best friend and I tag-teamed her under the goalpost in the football stadium. The south one, I think. It might be why she went out for the Redskins’ squad that fall. 

But then her addiction got worse. Pretty soon, everything in her life revolved around getting her Next Fix. All she wanted to was get high. I went over one night to see her, and to get my dick sucked, when I found her laying naked in the driveway, face-down, eating through her own wrist. She had just been kicked off the cheerleading team, she said. Blood dripped from her mouth. I called 911 from my cell phone, and then I drove off. 

And that was three years ago, and not a day goes by when I don’t wonder what actually happened to her. I feel like I should have done more, like I shouldn’t have abandoned her. I hope she managed to straighten her life out. Mariel, if you’re still out there, baby, I just want you to know, you still owe me a dollar you fucking bitch.

[4th quarter, Jets score a TD to cut San Diego's lead to 18]

Eric Mangini: We’re going for two.

Brett Favre: Nah, cummonthere Coach, duntwewannabe kickin dat bawl gittinusdown buh 17 poinsan gittintoo tuchday-owns inna fielgolen tiedispuppy up?

Eric: You heard me, Hee Haw. Slot left 535 razor monkey.

Brett: Ulright youda boss.

[Runs play, conversion fails, penalty called on defense]

Eric: What the hell happened out there?

Brett: Thempokeyboys wearindemstripeys donecalled penuldyonna deefey-nsin gonnamovdaball up–

Eric: I can see that, you fucking hilljack. Why didn’t you run the play I sent in?

Brett: Aw cummonthere Coach yewknow ol’ Brett dunlikedat monkeyrazor play no more thenna fiddlewit nostrings, lemme tellya.

Eric: I have no idea what you just said, but run the damn play I gave you this time.

Brett: Cummonthere Coach lemmerundat dangballup damiddlen gitdeez twopoin forya.

Eric: Just do it, you hogfucking hick.

Brett: Ulright youda boss.

[Runs play, conversion fails, penalty called on defense]

Eric: Goddammit, whaddaya doin’ out there?

Brett: Heydere Coach Laveranues wannaknow whywekawldatplay monkeyrazor, cuz heebeethinkin itsa bit racisten Iwannatellim itwadn’t butnow ol’Brett idn’t alldatshore it ain’t.

Eric: Is that why you didn’t run the play? Because you thought it was racist?

Brett: Now, cummonthere Coach ol’ Brett dunntoldya ainthavindat monkeyrazor play, notwhen 244 gypsy checkwitme workin’ somuchbedder, lemme tellya.

Eric: You don’t know the monkey razor play, do you Brett?

Brett: Nosir, aintgotta Gatdang clue.

Eric: Just tell Stuckey to run to the corner and throw it to him.

Brett: Hey coach, alligottadu stickdaballun mah bellybuttonin breethoutreel biggin wegonna gitdat toopoincunvershun, lemme tellya.

Eric: [confused] Why don’t you ever talk like this on TV?

Brett: Cummonthere coach playclockgonna runnout onnus now juslemme rundatbawl inthere.

Eric: Hey! Farmer Fuckhead! Throw it to  Stuckey!

Brett: Ulright youda boss.

[Runs play, pass incomplete]

Eric: You gotta execute better than that, goatfucker.

Brett: Imgonnatell Laveranues you saiddat.

Eric: [to himself] Maybe we should onside kick it again.

Fun Fact For Fantasy Football Fuckfaces: Ronnie Brown was benched in 75% of all Yahoo! leagues yesterday. Granted, his four touchdown runs and his one touchdown pass were pieces of production that nobody saw coming. And it gives me great joy to know that if Ronnie Brown can turn it around, there’s hope for our economy after all.

And so did we. That’s it for us. Here are some pictures of women that are too good to sleep with you. Maybe you should go outside this weekend and interact with other humans. I would, but I’m surrounded by Southerners, and all they want to talk about is God and the SEC and shit. Fuck them.

This is why these assholes drive around in circles for sport; they’re just as annoyed with each other as they are with themselves. That’s what happens when you can’t buy booze on Sunday.

Photos courtesy of NYJets.com, bigcatcountry, and Bengals.com, respectively.

Mahalo, bitches.

Mary Louise was born Thomas Arthur Cunningham on July 10, 1961. Tom was sick of life as a man, and so he ordered doctors to cut his dick off, all the while popping hormone pills to kill what masculinity Tom had in him. Changing genders is expensive these days, and Tom had to hold up a couple liquor stores to help pony up the cash for it all.

The one thing that Tom’s pills couldn’t kill was her love for football. And when that boy from Peoria, Illinois legally became Mary Louise McGillicutty, she went out for the Chicago Bears cheerleadin’ squad. The team only took 22 girls that year, and when the tryouts were over, Mary Louise finished 23rd. She was devistated.

But there was no way that Mary Louise was going to let any other girl steal her sunshine. Why, that just wasn’t way Ol’ Tom had raised his boy. So she set out in the dead of night, armed with nothing but one of them fancy handbags and a piano wire. They say it takes the desperation of a kook, or a crazy person to take a life, but not Mary Louise. She knew just what she was doing, and all the while, she had her eyes on the prize.

So next mornin’ come and Mary Louise gets a phone call that she made the team after all, and she was elated. The girl had finally realized his dreams of being an honest-to-God cheerleader. But it wasn’t long before the other girls started diggin’ into the past of ol’ Mary Louise, and the night before the first game of the year, those other ladies met in their little dance studio and pushed Ol’ Tom’s boy in a corner.

Well, she didn’t take too kindly to that.

In fact, Mary Louise had a suspicion that the girls might be onto her. That’s why she chained up all the exits in that little studio before climbing out a little hole in the rooftop. And as 21 of the prettiest angry women you ever saw tried to follow her up, Mary Louise poured down a li’l bucket of somethin’ for them to drink.

Gasoline.

Now, you know s’well as I do that it don’t make no sense to set fire to a buildin’ you happen to be standin’ on top of, but ol’ Mary Louise didn’t pay it no mind. She pulled out an old Zippo her daddy had given to him when she was just a boy. She flicked her open and that sucker lit on the first try.

And down the hole it went.

I figure that girl gave her knee a good sprainin’ as she jumped down onto the roof of her El Camino, but that didn’t slow Ol’ Tom’s boy down one bit. She jumped into that car and drove off into the night, never to be heard from again.

And that’s why the Bears don’t have cheerleaders no more.