Football’s laborious off-season is officially upon us, but there are all sorts of fun things going on outside of the NFL. Here’s a quick roundup of all the football and non-football news you need to know.

-Fidel Castro is stepping down as Cuba’s leader due to his old age and failing health. The Patriots think they’ve found their newest linebacker.

-Zach Thomas is on the move!

-Zach’s former teammate/in-law, Jason Taylor will appear on the next season of Dancing With the Stars. He hopes that ABC’s “hit” show will convince the Pats that he is in fact white enough to join their ranks.

-Roman Polanski is being honored at the Turin Film Festival. He will celebrate by fondling a child under the cover of an old shroud.

-Lindsay Lohan showed off her milky white laters leaving millions to wonder why her freckles are so scared of her tits.

-JE Skeets modeled a football helmet.

-The strangest group photo ever taken outside of a blogger get-together was snapped backstage at a WWE event. I’m convinced that Lohan and Mayweather would make the world’s greatest child. I’m also convinced that Shane McMamahon has had cosmetic surgery to look more like his father.

-LZ Granderson hung out with Brady Quinn.

-Lil’ Stein says that the NFL has a bigger drug problem than MLB. He’s probably just associating long hair with drug use, which is unfair. Robert Gallery is high on bundt cake, not drugs.

-Champion’s League (best theme song in sports) is back, but I won’t bore you with that euro football crap. Instead I give you this picture of Cheryl Cole, who is about to tell Chelsea’s Ashley Cole to go fuck himself. As if that’s new. I told him to go fuck himself when he first showed up.

-ONLY TWO MORE DAYS UNTIL THE COMBINE!

It’s primary day here in the DC area. Due to the fact that I am a registered independent and a convicted embezzler/animal sex offender, I’m not eligible to vote in any of these things. I tried to change my registration, but I was far too late to do so. But, if I were eligible, I would totally vote for this guy, Barack Obama. In fact, I even gave his campaign ten dollars, and I plan on happily voting for him in November. Now, I have political reasons for voting for Obama. I like him, I like his policies, I think he’s a great leader and all that shit.

But fuck all that for a moment. There’s another reason I want to vote for Obama, and it is this. Voting for Barack Obama gives me, a white person, a new and refreshing way to let people know that I am NOT a racist. For years, after making a terrible ethnic joke, I always tried to counter any accusations of racism with the tired excuse, “Hey, I’ve got black friends.”

First of all, this excuse has been beaten into the ground by too many white people (such as me) over the years. No one buys it anymore, and rightfully so. You’re just a boy crying black wolf if you say it. Second of all, I haven’t seen my one black friend in over a year. Which sucks, because my friend Turk (not his real name, nor does he call me JD) may know more about pornography than any man in history. The darkest friend I have after that is my friend Tony, and I only say he’s dark because he wears lots of black and is on lithium. The rest of my friends are whiter than a blank Word document.

So that excuse doesn’t wash any more for my lily-white preppy Bethesda ass. If I want to deflect any and all racial criticism, I’m gonna need something better. And that’s what this knight in shining chocolate armor gives me. How racist can I be if I actively contributed to and voted for a silky smooth black man to be leader of the free world? Answer: NOT RACIST AT ALL!

Did I complain about that fat black woman who was walking too slowly down the sidewalk, whom I could not get around? Sure did. But I’m not racist. I VOTED FOR OBAMA, GOD DAMMIT. Do I know every line of “Blazing Saddles” by heart? Oh, yeah. But I’m not racist. I VOTED FOR OBAMA, GOD DAMMIT. Does my sphincter tighten if I’m alone in a parking garage late at night after a movie and I see a black man approaching? Possibly. But I’m not racist. I VOTED FOR OBAMA, GOD DAMMIT. Do I think that John Thompson may be legally retarded? Good God, yes. But I’m not racist. I VOTED FOR OBAMA, GOD DAMMIT.

You see? With one pull of the lever, I’ve got a whole new excuse for all my minor prejudices and subconscious anxieties towards people who are different from me. And that buys me another decade or so to avoid confronting and trying to fix all those pesky inner flaws. Oh, the freedom tastes so sweet!

AND it gives me carte blanche to accuse OTHER white people of being racist, which is just about the most enjoyable thing in the world. Because, if you didn’t know it by now, the fact is that the most racially offensive thing to call a white person today is “racist”. “Honky” and “cracka” don’t bother them in the least. But call a white person the r-word? Holy shit, do they get upset. It’s terrific fun. Look at all those Massholes. They voted for that white Clinton bitch in the primary. WHAT A BUNCH OF FILTHY RACISTS! If only they had voted for Obama like me, then they would be extremely NOT racist. But they didn’t, so fuck those unenlightened, Klan-rallying racists.

I’m also hoping this vote gives me an opportunity to broaden my ethnic joke repertoire. Ever notice how Asian people treat other people as if they’re completely invisible? Or that some black grocery store clerks always need the key? Those are topics I’d really like to touch on. Not that I’m racist. I VOTED FOR OBAMA, GOD DAMMIT.

I tell you, playing this Obama card will work absolute wonders for us all. We’re about to enter a whole new world of acceptable ethnic humor, which I think will help unify us all. Can we make it happen? Well, if I may be so bold: YES WE CAN!

UPDATE: Some other asshole had this idea before I did. Well, fuck that guy. He’s a fucking racist.

Apparently, among our demented readership are some of the twisted bastards at Ketchup Friends. In this video they demonstrate one of the lesser known properties of this stalwart tailgating condiment.

Surprise: they’re Lions fans. One thing is for certain, I’m off ketchup for good. From now on, it’s catsup or nothing.

Even the most lay readers of this site know we’re alt.nerd.obsessive fans of The Simpsons, larding nearly every post with arcane references and quotes from the show. I try to make a game of it. I see how many obscure Simpsons references I can make in an hour, then I try to break that record.

Like most of those whose formative years occured during the show’s ascent (for the record, seasons 3-9), I have a lot of personal memories tied up with at least the first nine seasons or so. My best friend and I became close in 8th grade through quoting the Don Homer (“Don Homer, my son, he’s-uh…” “Ah. ah. ah. … That’s-uh good-uh donut.”) bit to death. Even back then, in 1995, we speculated on when a Simpsons movie might get made and what they could do. Of course, had it been made then, it’d have been a brazilian times better.

The show has so dramatically shaped my sense on humor and outlook, it’s hard for me to identify with people who haven’t followed it. Most of the seminal literary or cinematic references of our time I saw on The Simpsons first and then recognized in the actual work they were visually citing. I once forced a date to wait 30 minutes before going out because The Lemon Tree Episode, a personal fave, came on during the hourlong daily block.

My expectations for the movie? None too high. The trailers and spots look a bit like the last seven seasons, pratfall-y and stupid. But I’m hoping the producers just have enough faith in the brand that they don’t feel the need to give away great material from the film in the ads. Still, you know it would take dogs-with-bees-in-the-mouths-and-when-they-open-their- mouths-they-shoot-bees-at-you to keep me away.

So, to mark this sweet moment, we planted this lemon tree, lemons being the sweetest fruit available at the time went on The Simpsons Movie web site and created avatars of the Gay Mafia, offering our readers a rare glimpse (excepting that TV whore Ufford) of our collective animated countenances.

Punter

You had to look at it for a good few seconds to make sure it wasn’t really Kearney, didn’t you? And, yes, when he has a kid, it’s sleeping in a drawer.

Nerdlinger Ape

You’ll notice that’s Scratchy on the shirt. Because I own a cat, in case I hadn’t already mentioned that fact a hundred times too many.

flubby

Little does flubby know Clasina Valkenberg has obtained a trademark on the soul patch.

The Maj

We were hoping Unsilent would make a more accurate avatar. He’s not nearly that tall.

CaveUfford

Someone apparently has a pretty deluded, er, positive self-image.

Drew

He was a little let down by the lack of towel accessories in the avatar feature.

Performed live from the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center in the Philippines. Good seats still available! Thanks to Curly of NY for sending this to us (via poetv.com)

After days of meticulous editing the ESPY’s finally aired last night, although nobody’s quite sure why. The annual event of homogeneous cross-promoting and self-congratulatory nonsense (they totally stole that from us) was ably co-hosted by the Disney Corporation’s resident bad-boy, Jimmy Kimmel. Teaming with the late night star host was the subtle and understated LeBron James.

In the first award of the evening (I think) Devon Hester beat out my homegirl Morgan Pressel for Breakthrough Athlete. Sadly the most interesting part of his off-field persona is his hair.

ESPN tried to stir up the pot with a cat fight when they sent Ashley Judd and Pat Summit to present the inaugural Jimmy V Perserverence Award to the incredibly inspirational Coach Kay Yow of NC State. Yow is in grips of a battle with cancer but she credits God for allowing her to attend the show. Which is more than she could say for those asshole doctors who kept trying to force her in to bed. No other nominees were mentioned, the are presumed dead. Immediately following the show Sidney Lowe went to have his colon checked out.

Under Armor just got my pants very interested in amateur female athletics.

I’m gonna need about another minute here.

Christian Slater is in attendance… HEY THAT’S MICHAEL PHELPS’ PUBLICIST!!!

Kimmel on the glittery star adorning TO’s white blazer: “I didn’t even know you were Jewish.”
TO: (Laughter) [whispering to date] “What’s a jewish?”

There’s nothing quite like the awkwardness between the athletes and celebs backstage. Maria Sharapova and Josh Duhamel just spent an awkward fifteen seconds killing time on camera before they could sneak away to start humping. Hey, that Aryan superman isn’t going to create itself.

Samuel L. Jackson is up on stage talking about violence in Ireland, because why the hell not!

The theme of the evening seems to be group showers, and why the hell not, that’s why all guys play sports to begin with. First came the non sequitur skit involving Kimmel, Danica Patrick, Street Sense, and Jerry Tarkanian sharing a group shower. Kimmel was flirting with the Shark but a blind guy could he was eye fuckin’ that horse.

Disney’s new anti-hetero agenda really got legs when Kimmel invited LeBron into his home, and bathroom, during his time in Los Angeles.

I swear to god Taryn Mowatt just said she wanted to cup my balls. I’m super cereal, not even bullshittin’.

LeBron thinks he’s having fun with Bobby Brown, but I’m pretty sure this is all a producer’s practical joke that went a bit too far. Well Annika Sorenstam seems to be enjoying it, who am I to argue? Thank God Jimmy’s there to make rehab jokes.

Dane Cook ALERT: This is not a drill. Parents should now secure their 15 year-old girls before he gets too many laughs. On a serious note, I hope Dane Cook suffocates on a horse’s cock.

I swear I can’t remember the last time they gave out an award to somebody who doesn’t teach kids of different religions to play soccer without blowing each other all the way to Wales (I’m just assuming Wales is far away). I just don’t get you gentiles. Don’t you all pray to the same Jesus?

Hey Boise State won their second award. Good thing too because the NCAA just took the first one away from Ian Johnson.

I think Shaq wants to grab a shower with the OG Blazer.

Apparently there was a storm in New Orleans, Tiger Woods’ dad died, and two African American coaches led their teams to the Super Bowl. They must all be related because they just shared a moving montage . Jesus Christ ESPN, that’s some racist ass shit. Are you trying to say that two African American coaches going to the Super Bowl was a tragic event or was that just your stock African American montage? Does anybody have dibs on FireNorby.com.

Backstage clip from after LeBron’s performance: “Was that fun? Alright, now let’s go shower together.” I told you it was a theme.

Chris Berman is on stage with Jamie-Lynn Siegler, let the shitty Sopranos jokes and lecherous downward glances begin!

They inexplicably saved it for a montage but Landon Donovan won Best MLS Player. MLS MVP Christian Gomez might as well start tying the noose.

Remember how the Florida Gators won the football and basketball championships in the same year? Apparently ESPN doesn’t. Editor’s Note: OK, they just showed them in a montage of champions set to the music of some band so fucking cool that their existence cannot be confirmed or denied.

Tony Dungy accepted the Best Team ESPY on behalf of the Indianapolis Colts but for some reason he didn’t extol on the virtues of group showering.

Just what the evening needed, Jimmy Kimmel scrubbing Mike Tyson’s tattoo in…wait for it…a shower!

That’s it! DVR or no DVR, I can’t watch any more of this shit. I’m taking a bong hit and going to bed. If anything relevant happens I’ll post about it in the morning. It’s not as if this shit is timely.

Update: Fuck! I forgot to watch Common’s performance. I knew there was some reason I was watching this crap.

Ladies and gentlemen I’ve got a big announcement for you. Today is my birthday (please hold your applause until a time at which I can hear you).

I’d eat the candle wax out of her ass
Normally I’m quite low-key on this holiest of days. To me there’s really nothing worse than a birthday party, unless it’s a surprise. What kind of sick vindictive bitch could invent such a treacherous form of birthday sabotage? Hey everything’s going your way, now we’ll just throw you in a room with a group of people that you never really liked that much to begin with. Fuck that. Instead I choose to focus on the spiritual nature of the birthday–the wishes.

The wishing.

Every year the true believers are rewarded with a special birthday wish to use as they see fit. It’s your day and you can wish for anything you want (says so in the Bible) be it the death of Cosmo Kramer or the company of a buxom model.

This year I thought I’d share the experience with you, the glorious reader. Help me choose the ultimate birthday wish. I’ve included my finalists for your perusal.

I wish Sarah Shahi would share that cake with a Jewy sports blogger

I wish Roger Goodell and Gene Upshaw would just fuck and get it over with

I wish Chris Berman had aphonia

I wish Al Davis was alive

I wish Roger Clemens wasn’t

I wish Allison Stokke was looking at me on the internet

I wish Schrutebag’s ex-wife was more like Jean Strahan

I wish John Clayton would tear out Sean Salisbury’s heart with his bare hands

I wish Mike Vick was haunted by dead pit bulls

I wish Abe Pollin would bake me a cake with a naked Susan O’Malley inside

I wish Brenda Haywood had man-hands to go with the rest of her mannish physique

I wish Caron Butler would come to my house for my birthday

I wish I could procreate with Gilbert Arenas

I wish I had a kryptonite cross, because then you could keep both Dracula and Superman away

I wish Dan Snyder wore a top hat

I wish Keyshawn took Tony’s job (then Tony could get back to his real job and Key could tell us if whether or not a given player is in fact an Uncle Tom)

I wish Big Daddy Drew answered my fan mail

I wish I had a stalker

I wish Clinton Portis would come to his first press conference covered with fake blood and dog fur

I wish I could see through my eyelids

I wish the season would just fuckin’ start already

So let me know what you think in the comment section and feel free to offer up further suggestions.

I’m not even going to try to pass this off as something obliquely NFL-related by connecting Cadillac the Unicorn to Cadillac Williams, or by saying that the gay 8-year-old boy has a passing resemblance to Eli Manning, or that this looks like something Brady Quinn dreamed up. Some things (like lolcats) are just amazing to behold, and as soon as noted commenter Brooklyn Becky sent this to me, I felt an immediate need to share this with everyone I knew. I sent it to my boss, who posted it on GorillaMask. I showed it to the Gay Mafia, who to a man declared its brilliance. I held my dog’s head to the computer screen and made her watch it.

And now, I share it with you, beloved KSK readers, the finest assemblage of drunks and college dropouts and pothead NFL fans whose lives are quickly going nowhere. God bless all of you, and enjoy.

Christmas Ape, as you may or may not know, is our resident journalist / NPR-listener, and as such his off-season duties include staying abreast of new Noam Chomsky writings and reading Women’s Wear Daily, which he claims is a great source for journo-industry news. (Sure, buddy. At least I’m transparent about my embrace of women’s fashion.)

However, to Ape’s credit, he uncovered a cabal of New York Times writers trying to infringe on KSK’s turf: they got dubbed the Gay Mafia:

Does a scattershot list of gay Timesmen a mafia make? According to Out magazine’s media-heavy Power 50 list, which ranked several New York Times reporters a collective seventh on the list, it does, even if many of its made men don’t actually know each other. “Yes, there really is a queer cabal in the Eastern elite media, and it works on West 43rd Street in New York City,” reads the accompanying text, citing T magazine editor Stefano Tonchi, assistant managing editor Richard Berke, national correspondent Adam Nagourney, advertising columnist Stuart Elliot, style reporter Eric Wilson, theater critic Ben Brantley and restaurant critic Frank Bruni.

As for the use of the ‘M’ word related to the assorted journalists, Aaron Hicklin, editor of Out, told WWD: “The Times still has an old-fashioned power that I think the Web has tried to replace but been less successful at. It’s still a cultural arbiter….Should we have used the word mafia? Only inasmuch as mafia is shorthand for people whose combined weight is fearsome.” And according to Out, these Timesmen are “one group you don’t want to run into in a dark alley.”

Oh, is that right?

Well, guess what, New York Times Gay Mafia. You ain’t shit. Men preferring you to that shrike Maureen Dowd might make you a big deal in Manhattan, but that’s a tiny little island, and Kissing Suzy Kolber has a monstrous gayness that covers four states and a crappy district. What have you done as a collective gay mafia besides have sex with men? You’ve done dick. You homos haven’t lived anything as gay as Peter King’s lust for Tony Romo. Where’s YOUR exposé of the top 30 gay quarterbacks in the NFL?

So, suck on that, Out Magazine. Suck on my big, throbbing, aching member. That’s right: the KSK Gay Mafia will happily meet the New York Times Gay Mafia in a back alley, and we will collectively fuck them in the ass. Fuck them hard and slow until we’re satisfied and exhausted.

You know, metaphorically.

It’s tournament time, and thoughts of football are distant at best. But, if there’s one figure in basketball who perfectly embodies the football fan ethos, it is former Utah coach and ESPN analyst Rick Majerus. In a special KSK exclusive, Majerus offers you the fan some pointers about his favorite extracurricular activity.

I love basketball. Everyone knows that. But few people know that my true love is masturbating. There’s something so pure about masturbation, so self-contained. All you need is a hand, your cock, a couple free minutes, and an iron will. And, given a modicum of seclusion, you can do it anywhere! In fact, masturbating in public is easier than you think, and I’ll show you how! It’s so gratifying, and not just in a self-gratifying way. Having an orgasm in public makes you feel like you’re getting away with something, and you are! Plus, there’s always the possibility that someone is watching you, and man is that a turn-on. Here are some of my favorite public places to help myself to myself:

Public Bathroom: Okay, so this isn’t very creative. Everyone masturbates in the shitter at work. But there is some proper etiquette YOU need to be aware of. First, always jerk in the crippled stall. You get more room that way, and the crippled stall is usually farthest from the bathroom door, which gives you time should anyone walk in. If someone does walk in, you must STOP masturbating. It’s guy code. You can’t masturbate with another man present. That would make you queer. Unless you’re right at the end of your jerk, in which case feel free to have a disappointing, way-too-contained orgasm.

The Ocean: If you swim out far enough, you just look like another guy enjoying a leisurely dip in the water. But under the surface? Oh, it’s a whole different story! The trick is to find a sandbar. This way, you can masturbate without having to tread water. There’s no way I can do both! One bonus of masturbating in the ocean? No cleanup! Your seed disperses in a matter of minutes! I like watching it. I sort of feel like I’m giving back to the sea.

Car: Nothing breaks up a long road trip like busting a nut at Mile 200. But you can only masturbate on an open freeway. No traffic jam masturbating. That would be weird. And doing it in city traffic? Even weirder. No, you need a wide-open interstate if you’re gonna get the full roadie on. I like to play “Hot for Teacher” and think of the sexy video! Make sure you have tissues in the glove compartment. And please: automatic transmission drivers only!

Airplane Bathroom: “Occupado”? I’ll say! If I see a stewardess with a hemline that goes past mid-calf, I’m masturbating the second the Fasten Seat Belt sign blinks off. One problem: airplane bathrooms are small, and for big guys like me, that means maneuverability problems. Luckily, thanks to my basketball acumen, I know to keep a wide base. Beware turbulence! You may accidentally end up sticking your cock in the sanitary napkin disposal unit. And that’s a turn-off.

Broadcast Booth: Tirico hates it when I do this. But sometimes you see Ashley Judd in the crowd and you do what you have to do. I managed to get Tirico to join in with me once, but that was about it. What a prude that guy is!

Department Store Fitting Room: The men’s fitting room at Bloomingdale’s is almost always barren. Plus you get the bonus of a full length mirror! I like to strip down naked, just me and “The Rick”. Again, bring tissues, or else you’ll have to use those Dockers you brought in to “try on”.

Public Park: There aren’t as many secluded woodland areas in a public park as you might think! My advice to avoid public parks and head straight for the woods. Leaning against a big tree gives you leverage, plus there are any number of leaves handy. Beware chipmunks. I learned the hard way!

Study Hall: You kids have it so easy. “Quiet time”? That’s prime jerking time! This stunt requires you to manipulate yourself through your trousers, which means you don’t ever get to touch your penis. Kinky! You really have to concentrate to make this work. Think real hard about Jenny Davenport two rows up, scoot real close to your desk, and stare at your textbook as hard you possibly can. You’ll have to fight through cramping, but it’s worth it. Also, you get no opportunity for cleanup here. So I hope you pre-masturbated before class. Otherwise, you risk the dreaded “wet spot”, plus potential “gluing” to the old Fruit of the Looms.

Health Club Steam Room: The steam gives you cover, plus the heat gets you worked up fast. If someone walks in, you can usually stop and hide your steam-on with little effort. But do be careful. I’ve passed out 5 times doing this. And there is no greater tragedy than an unfinished jerk.

On Stage At A Pep Rally: I don’t suggest this. Ralph Friedgen also tried it with poor results.

I’m sure Rick missed a few. (And I missed the Berea Public Library! Idiot!) Why not let him know in the comments after you’ve finished throwing up?