I’m one of those New York A-holes without a car, so I end up renting a car every Christmas in order to transport my dog down to my sister’s place in Maryland. This year, that car ended up being a Prius.

I’m okay with this. Saving money on gas is nice, and I just need something with four wheels and a trunk. I don’t need to project an aura of masculine ideals with my rental car. But there are a couple of problems.

First off, having never driven a hybrid, I have no idea how to start the damn thing. There’s no ignition, only a power button. So I press the power button. It turns green. The center display screen comes on, but I can’t put the car in drive. I press all the buttons and jiggle all the levers. So I press the power button again, and it turns red AND the dash display lights up. Ha ha, success! But the car still won’t go into drive. I press the same buttons in different orders and jiggle the levers again. I pray. I tweet. I’m a 21st century ape hitting the monolith from 2001.

For the record, for anyone who may one day drive a Prius: put your foot on the brake and hold the power button down. Some other things about my drive today:

• The rear windshield on a Prius is approximately the size of a loaf of bread. When you look through the rearview mirror, there’s a second mirror that magically doubles how much you can see out the back. But it’s still unsettling. I’ve seen gun ports in bunkers and arrow loops in castles that are bigger.
• Part of the reason I moved to New York from California was specifically so I wouldn’t have to drive. I’m a paranoid, angry, impatient person. Every time I drive I rediscover this vein in my temple.
• There’s something poetic about the dissonance of shouting obscenities at cab drivers, delivery trucks, and pedestrians while listening to Christmas music. “I’LL GIVE YOU A FUCKING SILENT NIGHT, ASSHOLE!”

Anyhoo, your Meast of the Week is Jerome Harrison. Or Josh Cribbs. I dunno. Someone on the Browns. Whatever.

Least of the Week goes to Brett Favre, whose 17/27-224-0-1 line for a 73.7 wasn’t necessarily Delhommian, but here at KSK, we — much like Peter King — understand that there’s more to the game than numbers. There’s chemistry, and leadership, and putting team before self — none of which he exhibited as he defied his coach and refused to leave the game with the Vikings leading 7-6. The Panthers scored 20 unanswered points in the 4th quarter en route to a win.

And just look at Bretty boy after the game. You can just tell he’s so mad at himself.

If these reports are to be believed, Brett Favre’s idea of a cure for an itch is getting the shit beaten out of him by opposing defenses for one more season. I, on the other hand, prefer the sweet relief a deft swipe across the crotchal region while no one is looking. Or sometimes I pretend to tuck in the back of my shirt when I’m really scratching my ass. That move is clutch. Brett really ought to consider giving that one a chance.

[ Video from The Sports Daily ]