I’ve never understood why people keep coming back to websites they don’t like. Most people won’t finish a book they don’t enjoy, but they’ll go back to Internet writing that they hate time and time again. Drew reads Bill Simmons time and time and again, and the only thing he gets from Simmons is higher blood pressure and material for Tommy from Quinzee. Unsilent Majority reads The Big Lead just to explore the depths of stupidity. I don’t have that kind of time to waste.
And that’s why I’m continually frustrated by this not-uncommon refrain in the comments of any blog:
Nobody seems to like November, but I do. I absolutely LOVE November. The Marine Corps birthday is November 10th, Veterans Day is the 11th, Thanksgiving comes at the end of the month, and I shamelessly blast “November Rain” any time I see so much as cloud cover. Plus, football season is in full swing, and it’s finally getting cold enough to really enjoy whiskey. I mean, I always enjoy whiskey, but it tastes better in November than it does when you’re sweating your balls off in 95-degree heat.
When I was active duty in the Marines, November was basically a month of vacation. It was like August in France: everyone was gone, and nothing got done. Veterans Day and Thanksgiving were both four-day weekends (God, I miss having a government job), and what work there was got pushed aside preparing for and then recovering from the Marine Corps birthday ball. Or balls, actually — there was always a unit ball, then the Division officers’ ball a week later.
And even though I’m a disgusting civilian now, I still carry November as a month to f*ck off and skip out on work. I’m ditching out early today to go to a fancy-pants black-tie thingamajig for the birthday, and tomorrow is my annual Marine Corps birthday that I throw with another vet so our civilian friends can see the rites and traditions of the ceremony. THEY WILL LISTEN TO THE MARINES HYMN AND LIKE IT. And then we’ll have cake.
Here is a funny thing that could inspire words of derision.
Hey, it’s another week where we woolly headed, scatter-brained, slugabed jackasses at KSK forgot to post the Meast and Least awards until Thursday or Friday. I hope not too many of you killed yourselves in lieu of enduring the wait.
Usually, if one of us feels like putting in a modicum of effort, there’s an introductory rant about some particular annoyance that’s pissing off the author. I don’t have a singular target worthy of an extended tirade at the ready, so instead here’s a grab bag of obnoxious miscellany that’s momentarily stirred me to tepid anger.
- Why is AMC still not available in HD on my satellite package? I want my “Walking Dead” zombies to have sharply defined rotting flesh. Let’s get with it, guys!
- Denise Milani will never show her tits. What is the meaning of life?
- My bank just got taken over by another bank. This new bank forced all its new customers to use its debit card. So I’ve gotten about two dozen warning e-mails from shit I even forgot I’m signed up for asking me to update my payment information. It’s like I just moved and don’t even get the benefit of being somewhere else. Don’t you just hate that?
- I forgot to buy pumpkin Pop Tarts this week. I wanted to try them, but who cares they’re probably not good anyway. We’re all gonna die someday.
- What happened to Tonic? Isn’t high time they released another album where one song is good and the rest is the sounds of a trepan on an infant’s skull?
- How did pumpkin become the official flavor of fall? Yeah, I know, Thanksgiving and Halloween and shit. But there are a lot of cookouts in the summer and I’m not seeing any hamburger flavored beer at the Total Wine. Do they serve pumpkin Pop Tarts in purgatory?
- This f*cking Scott Pilgrim XBox game I downloaded is hard as shit and I only am able to beat it on the lowest difficulty. What a pussy I am.
- I only run errands on weekdays after boxing class because it’s probably the only time I’m leaving the house, which means I’m as sweaty as Andy Reid is any particular context. Sometimes I bring an extra shirt to change in the car if I have to go in a store. But sometimes I don’t even bother doing that. For a while, I got annoyed by the leering looks from the cashiers, but then I went in stores where persistent clerks would normally bother you about needing help. They don’t bother the sweaty guy, though. I like that.
That should do. On with the meaningless awards!
Your Meast for this week is DeAngelo Hall, which brings me no joy because he’s a pain in the ass, but he did intercept Jay Cutler an NFL-record-tying four times in the Redskins victory over the Bears. After the game, Jay Cutler claimed he would have kept throwing it at Hall if he had the chance, which is like this little girl being asked if she would keep yelling “Go!” at the dog and answering with an emphatic “FU*K YEAH BRING IT! BWAAH!”
We also considered both Darren McFadden and Kenny Britt for enraging fantasy owners by putting up huge performances while firmly entrenched on your bench. Do be sure to start them this week when they combine for seven total points.
Your Least for Week 7 is Drew Brees, who somehow threw four interceptions at home against Cleveland. Don’t worry about Breesus though, because I’m dead certain he’s going to rebound and go 25-29 for 350 yards and three touchdowns against Pittsburgh on Sunday night because God wants His quarterback son to do well against Devil Shirt Ben.
Also receiving consideration were Jay Cutler (of course) and Chris Gronkowski, for whiffing on a block and causing his quarterback to miss pretty much the entire remainder of the season. Just say you did it for the Photoshops. That’s what I’ll tell the cops one day.
This is Insane Clown Posse’s video for “Miracles.” In the six months that it’s been on YouTube, it has been viewed over 4.2 million times. It quickly became a widespread meme and even spawned a “Saturday Night Live” parody. EVERYONE who works on the Internet knows this video.
Except our very own Drew Magary, who discovered it this morning and shared this cool new thing with the KSK gay mafia over email. And Twitter.
Anyway, please don’t tease Drew about this, as we’ve already chastised him enough for raising his children instead of being more in touch with web culture. Besides, I’m going to feel bad enough when Drew reads this next March.
Your Meast for Week 4 is Patrick Chung, the numbell one smaltest Chinese-Jamaican safety in the NFR, mon. On Monday night, Chung blocked a field goal and a punt then intercepted a pass which he returned for a touchdown. Randy Moss immediately became expendable as soon as the Patriots figured out they could count on 21 points per game from their special teams. NO ONE DENIES THIS! Speaking of which, Chung’s performance helped get Dolphins special teams coach John Bonamego fired on Tuesday. More like John Bonvoyage, am I right? Eh? Ehhhhhh…
Anyway, Chung attributed his performance to “woosa,” a thing from Bad Boys II that is essentially Hakuna matata for grown-up bros in pressure situations.
At least it’s Asian-sounding. Awfully kind of him to make our childish stereotyping that much easier. And look, we’ve righted a grave injustice. Maybe PK won’t hate us so much now.
Your Least of Week 4 is Nate Clements, who made what appeared to be a game-sealing interception against the Falcons with 90 seconds left, except he was stripped of the ball while making the return. The Falcons recovered and drove down the field to make the winning field goal. So how did all of Chicago’s early season luck transfer to the Falcons? Atlanta got Garrett Hartley to miss a 29-yard field goal in overtime when they played the Saints, and this past week Clements gave them a second chance by putting the ball on the ground. New Orleans voodoo guy needs to try something new.
The preseason NFC West favorite Niners have dropped to 0-4. Now, kneejerk clueless assholes like me think the Rams have a legitimate chance at making the playoffs. Which means of course that Sam Bradford will get his shoulder shredded this weekend and they’ll lose 10 straight. Delusion was fun while it lasted.
Oh, and we considered giving the Least to the Bears offensive line, who are certainly deserving for giving up nine sacks in the first half alone on Sunday night to the Giants, but we like to give it to individuals when possible and that was such an incredibly shitty performance from all involved that it was impossible to do so.
This is the season that Hollywood, which is generally at least five years behind any sweeping social change, is going forward with a bunch of stupid projects to capture the “social media” phenomenon now that it’s been successfully codified into even the most clueless corners of mainstream society. For whatever reason, there is a clear division between what each particular trendy site can produce from creative types. Facebook-related projects get made into movies while Twitter-inspired projects get made into TV shows. Foursquare-related projects don’t exist because anyone who uses it is too occupied trying to become to mayor of Richard Branson’s prostate. I don’t know why this division exists and I don’t particularly care.
I watched “Random Assemblage Of Punctuation Marks My Dad Says” on CBS and it was about as shitty and warmed-over as any CBS show, but apparently lots of other people watched it because it was inspired by a Twitter feed and is thus “of the moment.” Last weekend, I went to see an independent movie called Catfish. Now, if you watch the trailer, Catfish is made to seem like it’s an awesome horror movie where a f*ckwit New York hipster douche stupidly drives to Michigan to meet a girl he’s been communicating with on Facebook. With daaaaangerous consequences.
Oh man, “shattering conclusion!” Ominous music! That asswipe is going to get butchered horribly! I can’t wait!
Except no. Nothing happens. After one halfway creepy scene when he arrives at the farm at night, he comes back the next day, where a fat old woman admits that she made up a fake profile of a hot, young girl to trick people because she’s lonely and fat and lonely fat people have to rely on deception to get love. The rest of the movie the hipster filmmaker douches and the fat old bitch sit around and discuss why she might have created this ruse. No death. No staple gun through his dick. Nothing. Catfish tries to pass this ending off as a profound message that no one really knows anything about online identities, which people would have said duh to in 1995. And, yes, I hope I spoiled the shit out of that movie because it’s pointless and I just saved you time and money. You’re welcome.
So now I don’t even want to see The Social Network, which is dumb because it’ll probably be good, but in a conventionally boring way that will force me to forget about it two hours after I see it. And with that, all the stupid, pointless things our generation holds dear will have been subsumed into the mainstream, leaving us with nothing but humdrum years of knowing that the superficial things that define us produce nothing better than the same shit that already was.
On that note, here is your Meast and Least for Week 3.
It’s Friday (weeeeeee!). Discussion has already moved on to this weekend’s slate of games, yet even the combined force of all the KSK writers overpowering laziness (and, yes, that includes Punter’s too) cannot let a full week pass without awarding our pointless individual honors to the best and worst of the previous week’s action. So, without further delay, your Meast and Least of Week 2.
Today is September 15th. Not a huge deal for most people, but for us freelancers — “independent contractors” — it means it’s time to pay quarterly taxes. Unlike many people, I’m happy to pay taxes. Sure, I’m aware that some of my money goes to pork-barrel politics, but it also pays the salaries of cops, firefighters, teachers, and people in the armed services. It probably makes me sound like a crazy liberal, but I think public school teachers deserve to be paid a living wage.
That said, paying quarterly taxes is like getting kicked in the junk four times a year instead of getting kicked in the junk REALLY HARD once a year. Honestly, if I had a choice between “get raped violently” or “get raped four times, but not as bad,” I’d go with the former. But that’s just me. I’m not a huge fan of rape.
I do believe congratulations are in order for our 2009 Meast of the Year! And wouldn’t you know it? It’s Chris “Black Drexl” Johnson, who got 1,589 votes, or 34% of the total voting. MEASTERFUL. No one ever caught him. That’s what happens when you have get-away-from-Gus-Johnson speed.
Before we name our Meast and Least of Super Bowl XLIV, allow us to bestow the first-ever Larry Fitzgerald Memorial Honorary Meast of the Playoffs on – who else? – Tracy Porter, who singlehandedly saved a grateful nation from a Favre Super Bowl appearance and a second Fetushead championship. It is silly for us to think we could pay tribute to Porter commensurate with his deeds, but we have tried with the video above. Felicitations, good sir. We are forever in your debt.
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