Many people scoff at the idea that God can control the outcome of sporting events, or that He even cares. But those people are wrong. God does control the games, AND He cares a great deal. Today, He explains why He let the outcomes of Week 12 in the NFL happen as they did.

Well, it’s Thanksgiving again. I guess you people consider that a holiday, yes? See, that’s interesting. Because here I thought the point of a holiday was TO WORSHIP ME, YOU UNGRATEFUL SHITS. I created the Earth and the Heavens. The pilgrims sailed a ship into a fucking rock. And you’re telling me they deserve a holiday?

Let me explain to you the point of holidays. It’s right there in the word: holiday. That means HOLY DAY. A day of holiness. That’s God time, baby. You think you can just say some day is a holiday without asking me? WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? I could wipe you people out with an asteroid just like that. Don’t fucking test me.

I’m tired of these non-God holidays. Labor Day? What is that shit? Well, why don’t you just make every damn day a holiday, why don’t you? “Oooh, let’s make April 12th Monkey Day! Hooray! Let’s not receive mail or have our garbage taken away!” You people listen, and you listen good. You will play by my fucking rules, or I will send you straight to my boy Luc down in Hell. And he does not fuck around. He will play your intestines like a damn harp!

So you want to spend a day being thankful, do you? Okay. All right. Two can play this fucking game. Know what I’m thankful for this Thanksgiving? Oh, that’s right. ME. Giver of light. Bestower of bountiful foods and crops. Yeah, you better thank me when you sit down at that table. Want to thank your wife for making those mashed potatoes? WELL, FUCK YOU. I made those potatoes. AND I made your wife. AND I gave her boobs. I WANT MY MEDAMN CREDIT!

Anyway, onto the week. You know what, Lions of Detroit? I’m sorry, but I really am toying with you. Sorry, Can’t help it. Maybe if the folks in your town could make a fucking car that isn’t a deathly eyesore on the planet I created, I’d be a bit more merciful. I also let two teams score over 50 points this week. Why? Who knows? I’m so MYSTERIOUS! You never know what the fuck I gonna do.

NOW WORSHIP ME AND THANK ME FOR GIVING YOU THAT WORKING PENIS, DICKSMACKS.

Hello, my children. A lot of My most fervent worshipers love to argue against the obvious benefits of stem cell research by asserting that man shouldn’t attempt to play God. Let me tell you, that is some straight bullshit. I put you people on Earth to see what kind of crazy shit you could pull off, so I damn well expect you to aspire to My divine level. So if you need a new windpipe, just make one from scratch! You mortals have been sleeping on this ability for far to long, and it’s time to pick up the pace. Remember, I don’t just miraculously heal people. That’s a job for the Christian Scientist’s god, and to be honest, I’m pretty sure he’s imaginary.

So you Me fearing cockblockers need to ease up on your anti-stem cell stance so that the intelligent people can figure out how do repair knee cartilage a little bit faster. I, and my infallible fantasy team, are counting on you. But don’t do it for me, do it for every running back whose career nosedives at 32. Remember Priest Holmes? Wouldn’t it be cool if he were still awesome? Well I’m holding on to him in My keeper league just in case you people wise up and use what I gave you to make him like new again.

Continue after My blessed jump for an explanation of last week’s more curious outcomes.

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Hello my children. Before I get to explaining the outcomes of this past Sabbath I’d like to address the actions of some of the more retarded worshipers out there on behalf of my favorite prophet. Listen up folks, and listen good, because Moses is up here and he’s smashing everything that isn’t bolted down. You stupid confused assholes need to stop worshiping a false idol. Honestly, I thought we’d been over this before, but now you’re back at it, worshiping a giant golden cow. I mean, are you serious? Don’t you remember what happened the last time you pulled that shit? So cut the crap and stick to worshiping Me, not your precious gold.

Please continue after My holiest of jumps for an explanation of the games that were, along with a quick refresher course on the Ten Commandments.
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Many people scoff at the idea that God can control the outcome of sporting events, or that He even cares. But those people are wrong. God does control the games, AND He cares a great deal. Today, He explains why He let the outcomes of Week 8 in the NFL happen as they did.

Ladies and gentlemen of the internet, I regret to inform you that God could not be with us this week. Actually that’s not correct. Of course He could be with us, I mean, He is God after all. I guess it would be more accurate to say God had better shit to do this week. Mostly he’s just been masturbating. Yep, that’s right, God masturbates. He masturbates just like you do, only he’s way better at it than you could ever imagine. You know how God’s voice makes your head explode? Well if you saw God stroking it your balls would melt and run down your leg forming a puddle at your feet. But I digress.

Joining us in His stead this week is none other than His Son of Sons, Jesus “Hominum Salvator” Christ!

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Many people scoff at the idea that God can control the outcome of sporting events, or that He even cares. But those people are wrong. God does control the games, AND He cares a great deal. Today, He explains why He let the outcomes of Week 6 in the NFL happen as they did.

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Everybody knows Christmas is just some date that was assigned as Jesus’ birthday by Pope Bellicose V to coincide with some pagan winter solstice sodomyfest. But December 24 carries actual significance in the Christian calendar, for it was the day Jesus took a knee for our sins and created the most holy game of football.

Before the advent of the sport, bands of pagans amused themselves by catching fatal diseases, trying soccer and getting bored or playing Scrabulous on Facebook. People were getting restless with this “Son of God” business, saying that if he really was something special, he’d find a way to win in the playoffs after finishing the regular season with 13 wins every fucking year.

In his 20th year, joined by his 12 Apostles, Joe Gibbs, Jon Kitna, Tony Dungy, Mark Brunell, Kurt Warner, Deion Sanders, Adrian Peterson, Mike Singletary, Jason Elam, Tom Landry, Reggie White and Mike Huckabee, Christ did create the continent of North America so that the 13 of them could convene at a field house in Canton, Ohio.

“Behold, my brothers,” Jesus did say. “I give you football.”

He held aloft the oddly shaped object fashioned of cowhide leather but referred to as a pigskin. The Apostles wept as they regarded it. Tom Landry didn’t take off his hat, though, because he was a disrespectful asswipe.

“With this ball, shall ye line up 11 on 11 and attempt to take the ball to the opponent’s end of the Earth.”

The Earth back then was only 100 yards long.

“All that I ask of you is that you thank me for each win and each touchdown and not fault me for losses, fumbles or drive killing phantom holding calls.”

The Apostles agreed to do so.

“However, Man is not yet ready to accept this divine gift. Therefore I will create a race of lesser men to keep the grass of this continent in good shape - well, except Pittsburgh - until a football playing race of men is able to slaughter them and establish a multi-billion dollar league dedicated to bringing it to the masses at exorbitant prices. The Washington franchise will be given a name insulting to this breed of lesser man.”

“One more thing: you should slap each other’s asses while you play it,” Jesus said.

“Really? Slap each other’s asses? What are you, Jesus, gay?” asked Jon Kitna.

“Actually, yes. Yes, I am,” replied Jesus as he tongue kissed Esera Tuaolo.

As has been mentioned in this space recently, we six of KSK have been toiling away at this for round about a year now, with little reward or recompense beyond basking in our own pissed excellence. Sure, there have been awards, drugs and a measure of blogosphere fame, but what does it all mean without a connection to the progenitors of our efforts? Those two noble, buoyant souls who formed a totemic dyad - sideline reporter and debauched former quarterback - that inspired unspeakable things in all of this.

Caveman caught up with our blogfather back in February and snapped a photo with him before Namath could say he was going out for a pack of smokes and be out of our lives for good. But Suzy? She has been defined by her silence, her absence, her nose. Long have we waited for some motherly validation from our Patron Saint.

Well, shucks, here it is.

The incident made Kolber something of a cult figure. She’s now the namesake of a sports blog called “Kissing Suzy Kolber.” She said she’s seen it, but “I rarely, even beyond rarely, read anything about myself.”

Now, flattering as it is that the Patron Saint is vaguely, even beyond vaguely, aware of the occasional football satire and commenter drafts being carried out in her name, one gets the idea that her take on it is that this blog is some sort of chronicle of the goings-on in her life. I’d like to think that that’s what she wants it to be and is miffed that it isn’t. Certainly there have been times that we’ve wondered about ol’ Suze but, on the whole, she doesn’t make up much of our content. Clearly, she’s frustrated about not reading more about herself and is hellbent about doing something about it.

What then, dear commenters, will Suzy be doing to garner our attention?