Mastermind: Ah, at long last! MY EVIL PLAN HAS COME TO FRUITION. Those same people who told me that Kyle and I were FOOLS for believing in John Beck are now the ones begging on their hands and knees for Beck to bring them salvation! MWAHAHAHAHA. Oh, Mastermind. Oh, you’ve outdone yourself this time. Purposely starting Rex Grossman for five games has paid off most handsomely. Now Beck can never be benched! Soon, I shall have “Mister” (snickers) Snyder hand over a $30 million guaranteed contract to our prize pupil, and then the WORLD IS OURS.

(door flies open)

Sex Cannon: Oh, sorry boss. Didn’t mean to interrupt you. It’s just that the HARD-CUMMING, FUCK-STRUTTING QB FOR THE SECOND-PLACE-WITH-A-FROZEN-ROPE-OF-JIZZ WASHINGTON REDSKINS wanted to stop by and thank you for having faith in him. I know a lot of folks out there think the Sex Cannon has lost his touch. And sure, maybe I fired a stray bullet or two last week. That happens. Sometimes, you pull out too early and you end up skeeting in a police officer’s eye. Not an optimal situation, BUT STILL DEAD SEXY NO MATTER HOW YOU SLICE IT.

Mastermind: Oh. Oh, dear. Haven’t you heard the news? You may want to sit down.

Sex Cannon: No can do. I don’t sit. I choose to remain in a Buffalo Stance at all times. That way, if a secretary crosses my path and gives that “take me in the supply closet and plaster the walls with my tits” look, I’m prepared.

Mastermind: Yes well, that’s fine. I need to let you know that we’re going with Beck on Sunday, and for the rest of the season.

Sex Cannon: What? Are you fucking joking? You’re replacing me with SHITT ROMNEY?! Has that guy even touched his tongue to an ovary yet?

Mastermind: We think you’re turning the ball over too much.

Sex Cannon: But don’t you get how fucking hot that is? No one wants a safe, missionary offense. That’s what you’re getting with a fucking Osmond twin starting for you. He’s not gonna give you the DANGER. He’s not gonna be out there living on the edge of a spanking paddle. WATCH THIS.

(grabs ball, throws ball down the hall, where it’s intercepted by six different co-workers simultaneously.)

UNNNNGH! NA NA NAAAAAA!

Mastermind: We’d like to install a more conservative game plan.

Sex Cannon: Oh my God, WAKE UP MAN! You’re stuck in the 50′s with your “conservative” offense. Why not just ask your old lady to give you a handjob while you eat a TV dinner? BORING. The Sexual Football Revolution is upon us! Look out there and what do you see? LONG, DEEP, HARD PASSES, EACH ONE STIFFER THAN THE NEXT. No helmet-to-helmet contact, just HARDCORE BALLS-TO-HANDS CLOSEUPS. That’s what’s getting this league off. You want to roll with Napoleon Dynamite out there? Fine. Go right ahead. I’m sure he’ll be “flippin’ sweet,” handing out postgame tater tots and drying out vaginas faster than DSK walking into a hotel bar.

While you’re at it, why not just throw a fucking burka over the head of every foxy chick in the stands? And why not broadcast the game in black and white, eh? YOU COULD RENAME THE TEAM THE PLEASANTVILLE REDSKINS. The team from the town where everyone is a-ok, and no one enjoys a good fisting. You want to try and repress all the progress we’ve made? FINE. But don’t expect me to be part of it. No, no, no. YOU CAN’T CLIP THIS DRAGON’S WINGS.

(throws ball and hits nearby window washer, who plummets five stories to his death)

You see that? FUCKING FLIRTATIOUS.

Mastermind: You’re fired.

Sex Cannon: Oh, I’m on fire, all right!

(throws ball that literally bursts into flames and causes a nearby child to suffer severe burns)

See how far you get with your blue-balled offense. I’m hauling ass to the UFL, bitch. I’m joining the Vegas Locomotives and I’m gonna throw it 70 times a game. DeDe Dorsey won’t get a single fucking carry. It’s gonna be one cum-stuffed bomb after another, each one exploding with sensuous pleasure upon impact. I’M GONNA CHARGE AN HOURLY RATE JUST SO PEOPLE CAN WATCH ME THROW. So good luck to you and Jon Cuntsman. I’M OUT TO FUCK.

(leaves, goes to parking lot, accidentally stick car keys inside girlfriend)

The NFL primetime games this week aren’t particularly great, at least on paper. In fact, they’re pretty bad. But that’s never stopped us from tuning before. And who knows? The games might even be entertaining, in their own sloppy, derpy way. Best case scenario: through in odd combination of events, the Vikings blow yet another huge lead in the second half while Cutler’s linemen allow him to be dismembered by Jared Allen. Other than that, there’s not much for those who don’t have Matt Forte or Purple Jesus in fantasy.

With that in mind, let’s focus on the more amusing moments from today’s action, shall we?

LeSean McCoy punching Andy Reid in the gut after icing the game with a first down run is instantly my new favorite gif/image/whatever. This even eclipses the DeSean Jackson-Andy Reid chest bump attempt from ’09. No small feat.

via Jose3030

Meanwhile in DC Raljon, MD, the Sex Cannon was benched for throwgasming four times to the other team.

John Beck took over from there, and played about as well as you’d expect John Beck to play. He did, however, go a long way to making sure that the security at team headquarters finally recognizes him. Because he had a name tag on during the post-game press conference.

via The Bog

Obviously, the “skirmish” between Jim Harbaugh and Jim Schwartz will be fodder for all the talking head football etiquette experts to wring their hands, knit their brows and evacuate their bowels over. Not me. I love coach fights. Coach fights should serve as a playoff tiebreaker. Maybe not the first one, but at least in the top three. It should go: head-to-head, record vs. conference then coach fight. If the fight results in a Street Fighter-esque simultaneous double KO, keep going down the list.

That was a Hitler salute away from a Josh McDaniels-style gloat-splosion from Harbaugh. Later on, Harbaugh attributed all the drama to his handshake being too firm. TOO MUCH MAN FOR YOU, SCHWARTZ!

Just included this to point out that Jim Harbaugh has sideline gigolos.

Troy Polamalu suffered approximately the 900th concussion of his playing career today when his helmet collided with what Gruden would call one of Maurice Jones-Drew’s “thick lowers”. It certainly didn’t help that Ryan Clark felt it necessary to headbutt Troy after the play. James Harrison is sure to be upset when he isn’t the first Steelers player fined for causing a head injury in a teammate.

Cam Newton paid an homage to Deion Sanders after running in a TD against the Falcons. Because swag monster respect swag monster.

also via @Jose3030

Wooftastic derpfest, all around. Between Steelers-Colts and tonight’s game, this was a banner week for closely contested football of extremely poor quality in primetime. We are a nation in need of flex.

For our three hours of viewership, we were awarded with nine field goals, four turnovers and a touchdown pass in the flat to Tim Hightower that was still almost dropped. Oh, and an inexhaustible amount of Tony Romo fluffing. Yes, yes, the ESPN booth is packed to the gills with starf*ckers, so we shouldn’t be surprised. But the herculean lengths that Jaws went to to excuse Romo for every Cowboys mistake. He wouldn’t even try that hard to save his family from a burning building. Unless Romo accidentally started the fire and Jaws didn’t want Romo blamed for any fatalities. Possibly then.

Let’s use for an example, say, an underthrown ball in the end zone to Marty B. Marty is covered by a DB at least eight inches shorter than him. Rather than throw a jump ball, Romo tries to drill it in Bennett’s chest.

SPIN IT JAWS: “Martellus Bennett simply has to anticipate that his quarterback is suffering from a rib injury and is therefore unlikely to get the ball where it needs to be. Disappointing effort there by the tight end.”

AND THIS 30 SECONDS OF CRAZY STRAW QUAFFING FROM ROMO’S URETHRA WHEN THE COWBOYS TOOK THE LEAD! NOT ONE SOLITARY TOUCHDOWN SCORED! AND YET THIS! GAHHHHHHHH!

I will grant that not every mistake was on Romo. See? Fairness! Phil Costa is already being mishandled into an unmarked grave outside Cowboys Stadium. We will forever remember the best two-yard gain ever, however. Your legacy lives on, Costa.

Anyway, back to Romo and how odious he is. OH THE MATURITY! OUTWARDLY BLAMING HIS TEAMMATES ON NEAR PEYTON-ESQUE LEVELS! WAH WAH WAHHHHH!

If only you’d have had one more drive in you, Rexy. Or one fewer fumble. Either way, this will probably trigger a sequence of events that leads to John Beck starting miserably in a few weeks, because, as we know, nothing fun can stay.

Bless you, NFL.com writer Jeff Darlington. In his debut piece for the site, Darlington profiles The Cumslinger, who is either finally righting an erratic career or enjoying a brief stint of competence before fumbling his way out of the league. Either way, Darlington earns an eternal place in KSK’s cold, unfeeling black heart by forcing Sexy Rexy to read Drew’s brilliant first Sex Cannon post.

I asked Grossman if he’s ever seen the popular (albeit crude) blog post on KissingSuzyKolber.com known as “Unleash the Dragon.” [Editor note: actual post title contains more cuss words] It’s a satirical essay that’s composed as if Grossman wrote it.

“Making a bunch of big throws in college made me addicted to that kind of stuff,” Grossman said. “So I think I had the same mindset in Chicago. And you know what? I did make a bunch of big plays. But I also made a bunch of plays I shouldn’t have.”

That right, Rexy. You give the diplomatic answer. Before we know it, you’ll be running wild through Jerry Jones entire collection of sky pussy. “Susan Skaggs, unhinge your crotch. THE DRAGON’S BEEN UNLEASHED!”

Oh, hello there. Don’t be alarmed. I know, for you ladies out there, things just got a little bit steamier in your office cube just now, but don’t let it frighten you.

It’s okay. Being aroused is a perfectly natural phenomenon. It’s what makes us human, and what makes us want to grab each other by the ponytail and fuck each other against the shower door. So don’t freak out over the hormones raging through your system at the sight of the Sex Cannon. Just calmly walk to the bathroom, slip off your soaking wet panties (Are those from Bloomies? Classy. I like them), take the end of your hairbrush, and frig yourself until there’s straight clotted cream pouring out of you.

Better? Good.

I’m here today because I just wanted to clear a few things up. I know a lot of people were taken aback by my comment that we were the best team in the NFC East. I know a lot of people were surprised, and titillated, then EROTICIZED by my scandalous comments. I think our society is a little bit upright about BOLD, THRUSTING predictions, predictions that lay out there hot and naked for anyone to consider. I don’t know why our puritanical society has singled me out for something we all do, baby. I’m just puttin’ it out there. No need to keep my insatiable, some-might-say fetishistic hunger for a division title to myself. If that makes you uncomfortable, then maybe you need to go to your closet and jack off through a hole in your electric blanket.

Sure, some people say I came into Redskins camp in less-than-perfect shape. And I admit, I have been overeating a bit. ON HOT GASH. I’m sorry if the lockout drove me to feast upon a buffet of pussy that makes your local Golden Corral look like a fucking soup kitchen. I can’t help being who I am. Besides, this arm you see here? THIS DRAGON? THE DRAGON NEEDS TO FEED. You can have your pickle juice and your little faggoty bags of G3. I’ll be bulking up the old fashioned way: with 100% pure teenage smegma.

Besides, I like being a bit heavier. When you fuck four women at a time, you need more to ration out. You want that sweat. You want that FUNK. You want your titties flapping in the wind as you go to town on the roof of a CVS. So excuuuuusee me if I happen to be in what I consider prime game shape.

And sure, some people say I may not even beat out John Beck for the starting job. I guess these people forgot that John Beck is a MORMON. You really want to entrust your offense to a guy who will practice DOWNFIELD ABSTINENCE? The next time that guy sees his own jizz will be when one of his sister-wives asks him for a fertility test. He’s not ready to lead a pro offense. He’s not ready to take risks. He’s not ready to LIVE ON THE FUCKING EDGE OF THROWGASM. I am. I so am. When you need someone to throw it 60 yards downfield into double coverage only to have Anthony Armstrong drop it, YOU GO WITH REX.

You could say I’m cocky for saying we’re gonna win this division. You could say I’m arrogant. Frankly, I do regret saying that we’d win the division. Because we’re gonna do MORE than win this division. We’re gonna bend this division over and make sweet buttlove to it. We’re gonna give this division the reacharound and have it begging to take the ice cream scoop out of its gaping asshole. I feel bad for other people who are soooo impressed with other teams in this division. I guess Tony Romo hasn’t spent enough time prematurely ejaculating all over the fourth quarter. I guess Eagles fans loved having their cocks teased by Michael Vick until he takes one stern paddling too many and leaves them for the operating before they have a chance to bust a nut. Dogfellater. I guess Giants fans are resigned to a loveless sexless marriage with Eli Manning until they fucking die. OH ELI! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! THANKS FOR A GREAT NIGHT HOLDING HANDS AND SHARING AN EGG CREAM AT THE SODA FOUNTAIN! I’M YOUR STEADY GAL! I GUESS YOU’LL NEVER THROW ME AGAINST YOUR VAN, PICK UP MY LEGS, AND EAT ME OUT IN FRONT OF THE BOWLING ALLEY!

I guess you may be intimidated by that murderer’s row of limpdicks, but I am not. A lot of people counted Rex Grossman out. But I’m counting myself IN. WAY IN. NUT DEEP IN YOUR LADYFRIEND. We’re gonna shock the world. We’re gonna SHOCKER the world. We’re gonna slip two in the pink and one in Afghanistan. Then we’re gonna pump and pump and pump until that division title comes spurting right out. BELIEVE IT. DON’T EVER DOUBT A MAN WITHOUT PANTS.

Sex Cannon: Oh, hi there. I’m Rex Grossman. If you aren’t sure who I am, you should know that I’m the guy who jizzed over Jack Del Rio’s playoff hopes and instantly replaced Graydick McNabb in the hearts and vaginas of DC football fans the world over. And I’m here to cordially invite you to my New Year’s Eve party, here in DC. We’ll be celebrating 2011, which is the Year of the Cannon in Chinese folklore. I know that because I humped a Chinese girl once until her heart stopped beating and fried rice came flying out of her ears.

Drunk Girl: Can I come to your party, Rex?

Sex Cannon: You sure can, Drunken Rich Georgetown Girl. If you’re between the ages of nineteen and a half and twenty, and you’re drunk, and you hate your Catholic parents, there’s a spot on the guest list for YOU.

Drunk Girl: Will there be any drink specials?

Sex Cannon: Yes, and they all come from this tap.

(points to crotch)

You can drink all night long. The crowd can go eight deep though. AND NO CANNON DONG FOR ANYONE WITHOUT A BLUE WRISTBAND. Late Night Cumshots policy.

People, I’m gonna lay it out for you right now. I know you think I’m just a temporary quarterback. The fluffer of the Washington offense, as it were. I know you’re just aching to have Jake Locker come in here and fumble all over the place. But in 2011, the Sex Cannon is gonna show you just why he became a GIANT-COCKED STAR to begin with. You’re going to see me throw longer. Harder. NASTIER. I’m gonna throw so hard, you might even feel a little nauseous watching it.

And I’m not gonna stop there. I’m gonna double-penetrate the defense. That’s right. They say you can’t throw two balls at once. WELL I CAN. I will throw seven balls at the same time and split that defense like Annabel Chong. It’ll be so sexy, you may have to seek counseling afterwards.

I’m gonna introduce entire new objects to insert into the defense. Cucumbers, flashlights, small trees. You name something I can stick up the defense’s gut, and it’s going in there. It’s going to be the most hardcore passing game you’ve ever seen. Will Anthony Armstrong be able to take on so many balls and strings of thrown anal beads at once? WHO CARES? What matters is that I will be the one with the stones to throw them. After you see that, you’ll never go back to missionary-style throwing with Ryan Mallett. That’s a guarantee.

So join me as I ring in 2011 with a thousand of my closest people-who-are-not-friends-because-I-will-have-sex-with-them.

Drunk Girl: Is there a cover charge?

Sex Cannon: Only if you’re covered, sweetheart. Only if you’re covered. Now take that top off and come get yourself a free sip.

I can honestly say that today is one of the greatest days in Redskins offseason history. This totally makes up for Bruce Smith, Deion Sanders, Dana Stubblefield, Adam Archuleta, and all of the others. The Sex Cannon is a Redskin.

Get ready, ladies of Houston, because the Sex Cannon is heading your way. Want to know what that physical will reveal? That the cumslinger is 210 pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal, and he’s ready to go deep, all damn night.

Is this like Snake’s hair on The Simpsons? Or does the neck beard know to transfer itself to whoever the starting quarterback is? No matter what, it’s a little eerie.