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.

Not included:

“where Larryoke happens”

“where ratting out your dealer happens”

“where Senior Seau happens”

Larry Izzo hosts a karaoke event dubbed “Larryoke” and his Patriot teammates turned out in en masse. Since it’s for a good cause, we probably shouldn’t mock Wes Welker and the rest of the 18-1 choke brigade over this. But then Kyle Eckel has to go and do something like this…

To truly appreciate the hilarity, you have to view the entire photostream. No Brady, but not surprisingly, Matt Cassel is a capable substitute.

[ via: Busted Coverage ]

UPDATE: Commenter jm comes through with video goodness:

Mr. Burns: Excellent, now what have you got for me?
Nick Kaczur: Nick Kaczur has become a snitch.
Nick KaczurMr. Burns: Tell me something I don’t know!
Nick Kaczur: Sometimes I go to the movies alone.

Pats starting offensive tackle Nick Kaczur got pinched in April for possessing a small amount of hillbilly heroin. Rather than face the music like a man In the interests of bettering his community, Kaczur offered up his dealer– engaging in some controlled buys while wearing a wire.

The dealer’s lawyer would have us believe his client is guilty of nothing more than being an overzealous, starstruck fan who warned Kaczur of the danger of his behavior. If he wasn’t charging him $3,900 for 100 pills, we might be more willing to believe the dealer was doing it out of the goodness of his heart. If being a snitch isn’t bad enough, Kaczur tried to run the okey-doke on the Globe reporter who broke the story:

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, bro,” Kaczur said repeatedly, in response to questions about the investigation. “I don’t know where this is coming from. I don’t know what you are talking about.”

I wonder if they had asked Kaczur about his team’s historic collapse in the Super Bowl if his memory would be so cloudy, “I don’t no nothing about losing the Super Bowl, bro. I’ve never even heard of David Tyree.”

Today is Patriots’ Day in New England. And as a testament to the fighting spirit of the revolution, the New England Patriots aren’t going to let something as minor as losing the Super Bowl detract from the marketability of an undefeated season.

The fearless muckrakers at The Smoking Gun reveal that not only have the Patriots not abandoned their quest to trademark “19-0” since the Giant Snatch, they have amended their original application. Before we dismiss this legal wrangling as mere wishful thinking on the Patriots part, maybe they know something we don’t. Maybe the stinging defeat at the hands of the Giants caused Bill Belichick to redouble his resolve to build the Patriots into an unstoppable gridiron juggernaut that will finish the 2008 season without a blemish. Or maybe Belichick has added Doc Brown and Professor Peabody to the coaching staff and plans on tearing the space/time continuum asunder. Only time will tell.

[int. Robert Kraft's office]

Bob: Oh boy, that was some wicked good chowdah!

[door flies open]

Bill: Hey shitstain we need to talk, so quit licking that fucking bowl and listen up.

Bob: Hi Bill, I take it you’re still steamed about that Super Bowl?

Bill: Shut up you dumb fruit, we have more important things to worry about than a game.

Bob: What could be more important than the Super Bowl?

Bill: You know god damn well that I’m talking about out little “weekend research project“.

Bob: I’m sorry Bill, but I’m afraid I’m not sure what you are referring to. If you’ve gone and done something to get yourself into trouble then I am sorry, but I have nothing to do with any of that business.

Bill: Like hell you don’t, you froggy throated nancy boy! Don’t forget, those are your signatures on the checks made out to Walsh and Beeks.

Bob: Hey, you hired the guys. I’m the happy-go-lucky executive, and you’re the evil genius at the controls. Just ask the media.

Bill: You son of a bitch, you can’t set me up to take the fall. I’d sooner lose with dignity than to go down alone.

Bob: Don’t worry Bill, it doesn’t have to be that way.

Bill: So what do you suggest?

Bob: Well that all depends on how far you’re willing to go, my friend.

Bill: Are you talking about a bit of wetwork?

Bob: Well, we have to do whatever it takes to keep this thing from unraveling any further.

Bill: You know me Bob, I’ll strangle the life out of an orphan if he slows me down on the sidewalk.

Bob: Excellent, because I don’t need to tell you what happens if any of this comes back to Mother Russia.

[hidden door swings open]

Vlad: No, we certainly can’t have that. Eliminate the short one and the others will fall in place.

Bill and Bob: YES SIR!

Well, who else can I root for?

What’s this you’re showing me?

Sharp stick in the what? Eye?

Ouf. Hmm. Does look kinda painful. Awful pointy, too. And my eye? Really? Sounds like that might hurt. Couldn’t just jam it under my shoulder blade, huh? Okay, I suppose those are the rules. I do have two eyes, after all. And fuck pulling for Brady, Welkaaaaah, HGHarrison, Belicheat and Kool Aid. And fuck Marmalard, Norval, The Gigantosaur and whiny ass LT. Cromartie’s kinda cool, but whatever.

[Piercing screams]

Whooo. Ahhhh. Omigodomigodomigod. That hurts like shit. But, y’know: It’s not so bad, all things considered. Much better than that Chargers-Patriots shit.

Update: I was thrown out of the Patriots bar because I was the only one rooting against the Patriots. What sorry pathetic bitches you Pats fans are.

“Shouldn’t've ordered all that dick”

Which is only slightly less gay than carrying the dog around in this bag.

Even though we revel in bagging on the guy whenever possible, Simmons’ column this week was actually, truth to tell, pretty good and well-reasoned. That must be his first one this season. If you’re a Pats fan – and fuck you if you are – that’s gotta be a troubling sign.

But leave it to The Onion to trump him with the concise and very real insight into the minds of Pats fans this week. I’m sure Silky Garrard will receive only the most levelheaded and gentlemanly of heckling from the Gillette Stadium crowd.

Of course, I’m gonna go ahead and say there’s no fucking chance in hell Jacksonville wins this game. Are they just plain not good enough to beat the Pats? Perhaps. But more so because the league will do whatever it takes to ensure that the New England-Indianapolis AFC Title Game goes down. If this game is even remotely close, be sure to take a shot every borderline call (or non-call) that goes the Patriots’ way. Just don’t have your relatives sue the site when you die of alcohol poisoning.

AFC 1st Seed — New England Patriots (*-0)

[Jan. 19, 2002]

Phil Simms: A season hanging in the balance. Here comes the ruling from Walt Coleman.

Walt Coleman: [On PA] After reviewing the play, the quarterback went through a forward throwing motion, brought the ball back into his body, then fumbled it. Therefore, the ruling on the field stands. First down Oakland.

Greg Gumbel: And it’s all academic from here on out. Charles Woodson forces the Brady fumble and the Raiders fall on it. A fine season from New England’s young quarterback, taking over early in relief of starter Drew Bledsoe, but it will come to an end here this evening. Meanwhile, the Raiders will move on to meet the winner of tomorrow’s Steelers-Ravens game in Pittsburgh. And head coach Bill Belichick falls to 1-2 in three career playoff games.

[Six years later]

[Quincy Bean Cannery]

Robert: Ay, ay, loogit what I found in little Tommy Brady’s lockah. Under all the straaaberry rubbahs and pahsitive pregnancy tests.

Brady: Aw, come on, man. Stay out of my stuff. I’m trying to stay up on Manu Chao.

Mike: Bet ya’d like tah git ya some a’that, eh? Ya fackin’ Caleefourkneeah queeah.

I know I’d tear that ass up right propah. She’s good and rail thin, but she could benefit from having a little less of the ethnic in her, ya know? Waaaa’s she from, Brazil? She might be some jungle bitch a’ something. Have a caaaapybarrrra a’ something crawl outta the cunt. Like my dick should be wearin’ a pith helmet.

Robert: Ay, Brady. What’d I tell ya abaat wearing Yankees shit ahn tha jab? Ya think cause yoo use’ta play a little bawl with the Paytree-uts, the rules dan’t apply to ya?

Mike: Like the Paytree-uts are even a fackin’ team. I ain’t never even been ta one-a their games. Fackin’ loosuhs. Haaadly worthy of my loyal allegiance.

Robert: Face it: If ya ain’t on the Sawx in this town, ya ain’t shit, pally. If you play for the Paytree-uts, should should prahbabbly just kill yaself. Like that one colored who showed his face here last week and killed hisself by getting his car door slammed in his face a couple dozen times or so.

[both laugh]

Mike: Ay, Tommy. I need to see ya the break room.

Brady: [exhales hard] Not now, man. I’m trying to get some work done.

Mike: Am I fackin’ askin’ ya? Move ya shit, shitbawx.

Robert: You fackin’ tell ‘um, super Mike. Super Mike Forevah!

[break room]

Mike:[opening refrigerator] Those ya tacquitos right there?

Brady: [peering in] Uh, nope. Not mine.

[Mike pulls knife around Brady's neck and bends him over a table]

Mike: Good. So I’ll have something to eat after ya give up that ass!

[Pulls down Brady's pants and forcibly enters him]

Brady: [stifled screams under Mike's hand]

Clarence: Ddddrrrreeeaaammmmboat.

Brady: Clarence!

Clarence: What a horrifying turn of events. I can make it all as it was, Tom. I just need to know that you’ve learned the values of fairplay and humility. That you’re ready to stop headbutting your teammates and pretending like you’re a major badass so long as you have some Norse woodsman protecting your blindside.

Can you forswear the avarice and lustful pride that twisted your once pure spirit? And for fuck’s sake, are you done with the pageboy caps and velvet blazers, Nancy?

Brady: [breaths bated by the continuing penetration] Oh, I have learned those things. I am prepared to live by that code. I’ve changed, Clarence, really I have.

Clarence: So we’re ready then?

Brady: No…no.

I’m pretty sure I’m good here, actually.

Clarence: But, but, Tom! The accolades? The titles? The fame? The glory? The Andrea Kremer restraining orders? Riches attending a legacy that will live on for generations? Don’t you see a mistake it would be to throw it all away? All this you would abandon in favor of occasional coerced buttsex in a bean cannery break room by a galatically douchey Masshole?

Brady: That’s about the [winces sharply]…ooof, the long and short of it, yeah. I mean, so long as he shares those tacquitos.

I’d like to thank the Giants for pissing away their playoff chances for my entertainment this evening. Already, they’ve lost a linebacker and an offensive lineman. And a really, really dumb challenge.

Still, there’s something to be said for running into this brick wall of a game head first and trying to knock it down. Yeah, the task appears futile, but those in the vicinity appreciate the spectacle.