As you may have surmised, I’m the sort of person who delights in negativity. I’d far rather read a Worst Movies of 2008 list than a Best Movies of 2008 list. Oh, you liked “The Dark Knight”? Well, no shit, asshole. So did everyone else. Tell me more about what made “Witless Protection” a festering cinematic abortion. I’m not interested in hearing you lavish praise on a bunch of already overpraised actors and directors. I demand BILE. AND BITTERNESS. AND HATEFUL INVECTIVE. I cannot get enough of people talking about how much something or someone blows. It’s a weakness.

So it is in that spirit (and in the spirit of this entire site, really) that I present you with our new weekly award, the Least of the Week. We already have the Meast of the Week for players and/or concealed weapons that have demonstrated excellence in the field of FUCKING SHIT UP on any given week.

But we’ve long needed a flipside to that coin, an award for the week’s biggest piece of pussified tampon lint. There are many great players in this league. But there are also many who deserve nothing less than our most bitter scorn. Players who are little more than douchetastic, short-arming little twatgoblins. They deserve our recognition as well, so that we might cruelly mock them until their reputation and sense of self-worth have all but evaporated. Nice.

But who to name it after? Well, the Meast was first named after Steve Irwin, who never hesitated to jump into an open crocodile mouth for no reason other than for my fleeting entertainment. Then I think we named it after Bill Walsh for a week. Then Kevin Everett. And then, of course, the original meast Sean Taylor, who will hold the name of the award forever more.

So I think whoever we name this award after needs to embody the very opposite elements of meastiness. He must be whiny, and afraid of contact, and underperforming, and easy for us to baselessly accuse of homosexuality. I’d like to name this award after Brett Favre, but since I loathe the very idea of typing his name every week, let’s go with Jeff George! Look at that throwing motion. He may as well be a waiter in Key West.

Your Jeff George Least of the Week for Week 15 is Reggie Bush, who injured himself by avoiding contact last week and is now out for the year. Pussy.

Congratulations, Reggie. You’re a flaming gash. I hope you suffocate while trying to give your girlfriend analingus.

NOTE: Tomorrow is mailbag day, fuckos. Send in all your fantasy football/sex advice questions quick as you can.

Judy: But Mr. Franklin, I already promised my sister I’d look after her kid so she can go work her OWN night shift. I can’t do it tonight.

Boss: Well, this puts us in a real bind. I mean, unless someone walks through that door right now with a sterling employment application, I’m gonna have to call back Tina or Charlie.

(door flies open)

Big Sean: Ha ha. I tell you what right now. I am liking the raw POTENTIAL of this Boston Market.

Boss: Who are you?

Big Sean: Ha ha. Two words, okay? BIG. SEAN. I’m Big Sean, and this is my associate Little Sean.

Little Sean: SMELL FOOD! WOMAN!

Boss: Oh my God! Is that your penis?

Big Sean: Ha ha. I’ll tell you what. When I look at a restaurant like Boston Market, I see chicken. Okay? I know a lotta people say, “Well, they’ve got meatloaf.” Uh uh. This menu is all about CHICKEN. What kind of chicken do you have here? Delicious chicken, that’s what.

(throws the boss an employment application)

Big Sean: Lotta room to grow here. Lotta room for Big Sean to grow. And if that young lady over there sticks around, plenty of room for Little Sean to grow as well.

Little Sean: ONE EYE SEE GIRL!

Boss: Well, I mean, what are your credentials?

Big Sean: Ha ha. Four letters, okay? E-S-P-N. This is the best network in sports, okay? I know a lot of people say, “Hey, FOX isn’t bad!” Uh uh. Not gonna happen this go round. Let me tell you about your sneeze guard. HOO BOY, it is dirty. I mean, it looks like Little Sean here gleeked all over it.

Little Sean: RUB CLEAR PLASTIC!

Boss: Well, I’m very skeptical. You just walked in off the street. And you have your penis out. I’m not even sure that’s in accordance with health codes.

Big Sean: Ha ha. I tell you what, Manager Boy. You get me behind that glass? And you let ME scoop out mashed potatoes to customers? And you see that line goin’ out the door? (playfully punches his shoulder) My oh my, you are gonna be dancing in the streets.

Boss: Where, did you go to college?

Big Sean: Ha ha. Three words, buddy: UNIVERSITY. OF. SOUTHERN. CALIFORNIA. Now I know a lotta people say, “Hey, that’s FOUR words!” Uh uh. When you abbreviate it? And you take out that “of” there? You got yourself a three-word school right there.

Little Sean: SWEATER PULLED TAUT!

Boss: Okay, okay. I guess this can work. Let’s try you behind the counter.

(one hour later)

Big Sean: Welcome to Boston Market. May I take your order?

Customer: Yeah, I’ll have…

Big Sean: Ha ha. I’m gonna tell you something RIGHT NOW: This is all about Pastry Top Chicken Pot Pie.

Customer: What?

Big Sean: Ha ha. When I look at a customer like you, what you need to have is a strong pot pie. Okay? It’s got the light and flaky top, then it hits you up with chicken and vegetables on the inside. When you get that combination going? With the chicken and the pastry? That is TOUGH to stop. Who’s gonna turn that down? No one, that’s who.

Customer: Actually, I wanted the roasted turkey breast.

Big Sean: Nuh uh. Not gonna happen. Know why? Because you aren’t built for that kind of meal. That turkey’s gonna go right through you. You’ll be shitting pure hydrochloric acid in an hour.

Little Sean: ANAL JELLY BEANS!

Customer: OH MY GOD, WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?

Big Sean: I’m Big Sean, and this is my associate Little Sean.

(Customer runs off)

Boss: You just scared off another customer, Salisbury. I’m sorry, but I have to fire you.

Big Sean: Ha ha. Doesn’t matter, Manager Boy. There’s just not a lotta room to grow here. Now a lot of people said, “Hey! There’s a lot of room to grow there!” Uh uh. Didn’t happen. Okay? When you get into a situation like this, there’s a ceiling you’re going to hit. AND YOU CANNOT GO BEYOND THAT POINT. Just stop right now, ‘cause it ain’t happenin’.

Little Sean: UNDERWEAR CATCH BIG DRIBBLE!

Boss: I think I’d like you to leave.

Big Sean: Ha ha. One thing about Big Sean: YOU NEVER COUNT HIM OUT. Okay? He’s gonna get stronger as this whole thing goes on. Right, Little Sean?

Little Sean: LIKE GUSHY VELVET!

(pinches your cheek)

You look-a so good! And your wife! She is a-ravishing! I put-a my Genoa salami in her cioppino, yes? Bellisima!

(licks your wife’s face)

What is this-a you bring me? A Yellow Tail a-wine? Oh, this-a no good. This shit. I pour it down the sink or use it as a-rat poison. I’mma break out a special Chianti just-a for you. Geppetto!

Go-a get a-my friends the-a Ruffino!

(slaps monkey)

No, no, no! The Riserva, you-a stupid monkey!

I’mma glad you could-a come-a to my house and watch-a the playoffs with-a me, Salvatore! My-a grandma, she come-a straight from-a Sicily to meet you. She-a make you a special meatball! MAMA!

That’s-a spicy meat-a-ball!

Who your favorite team? The Chargers? No, no, no. The Chargers, they are a raw sewage. Listen to your friend, Salvatore: they are-a overrated. You must-a like the Giants. They are-a underrated. They will beat the Cowboys like I-a beat my wife. Because she-s no listen. Some-a-times, I just have to…

(makes dramatic hand gestures)

This why I live-a with my mother for forty years, yeah? We make-a bet, eh? You-a take the Cowboys, and I-a take the Giants. I call a one of my 500 cousins, all of whom are-a bookies. Yes?

(You decline.)

I think-a you no understand me. You TAKE bet, yes?

(You nod.)

Very good! Did-a you meet-a my sons?

They are strong, masculine-a children. One day they learn to make-a leather shoes, like-a me! Now, come and eat! We have a little proshoot. A little gabbagool. A little mootzarell. You-a never taste anything like-a it in your life! ANTONIA! MAKE-A WITH-A THE FOOD, OR I-A PUNCH-A YOU IN THE FACE!

This-a good time for us to talk business. I have 300 brand new Armani suits in my garage right now. I give-a you 4% off-a retail price.

What-a you mean, no thanks? I-a make you a nice offer! Maybe you-a no appreciate your friend, Salvatore! Maybe you-a think we Italians are criminals. Oooooh, I hate-a those cheap stereotypes! Vito! Mossimo!

TAKE-A HIM IN THE BACK AND BEAT HIM WITH-A MY SUSPENDERS.

When we through beating you, we watch-a Goodfellas and read Machivelli a-together, yes? Maybe share-a some scungilli?

MOLTO BELLO!!!!

Jill T., Bethesda: Hi, Joe! Joe, what did you think about the Steelers guaranteeing a victory over the Patriots and then losing so badly? Do you think these lame guarantees devalue your guarantee way back when?

Drunken Joe Namath: Well, Jill, I’ll tell you. History has that story all wrong. Hold on just a moment. My bourbon glass is only three-quarters full. (fills rest of glass) AH! THERE! Now THAT is a way to spend a morning! Anyway Jill, legend goes I guaranteed a win over the Colts. But that’s not true. What I guaranteed was that I would make Ann-Margaret a real woman that night! And I did! And I’ll do the same for you, Jill. It doesn’t matter if you’re under 18. LEGENDS GET A FREE PASS ON YOUNG ASS! I feel great! Who wants to split a Scorpion bowl?!

Mary J., Brooklyn: We love ya, Joe! Joe, what do you think of Eli Manning and my Giants? Do they have what it takes to go far in the playoffs?

Namath: Well, Mary, I tell you this: that Peyton Manning is one heckuva good quarterback! He’s got the heart of a LION! Say Mary, you sound like quite a saucy little minx. Why don’t you meet me at the Holiday Inn just down the street? Ask for Frank Pentangeli. That’s my code name. They’ll escort you to Room 306 right away. That’s my lucky room! THEY HAVE FREE ICE!

Donna K., Boston: Joe, will the pressure mounting on the unbeaten Patriots cost them in the playoff?

Namath: The playoffs? The Patriots? With Jim Plunkett quarterbackeeng that team? Ho ho ho, Donna! I think not! Tell ya what, sweetheart. Why don’t you come on over and you and I can figure out a fun way of ignoring the Pats’ struggggggles. God, it’s so hot in here! (unbuttons top button on shirt). I’VE NEVER FELT SO TAN!

Beth R., Queens: WE LOVE YOU, JOE!

Namath: And I love you! You gave me goosebumps, Beth. Look at those goosebumps! I can’t keep ‘em down! (drinks jar of Barbicide)

Jane R., Indianapolis: Joe, don’t you think the Colts deserve a bit more credit for their recent play. They’ve dominated, my man!

Namath: It’s true, Jane! Those Colts are outstandeeng at playeeng both on offense and defense. I’m sorry, but did anyone tell you your name reminded them of Jane Fonda? I tell ya, that Hanoi Jane sure knew how to party! When that girl wasn’t sitteeng on tanks, she was sitteeng on other large objects! WHO WANTS A CIGAR?!

Betty H., KC: Joe, what about the Dolphins? They got killed yesterday! Will they ever win a game?

Namath: Will they ever win a game? Lemme tell you sometheeng, Betty Boop! That Don Shula is one heckuva leeeeeeeeader! He’s gonna win a lot of games for you down in Miamee. YOU CAN BET ON IT! Betty, my dear, you got a sexy way of typeeng. How about you join me out on the veranda? I’ve got a bottle of Prosecco on ice and notheeng but free time! My lounges have very thick cushions!

Judy B., Arlington: Joe! Help my Redskins! Should Gibbs stay or go?!

Namath: That’s a tough question, Judy. I’m gonna have to think about that one. (drinks bottle of kerosene) AH! Nectar of the Gods! Judy, lemme tell you about the time I bagged Judy Garland! It was one of her very last tours, and she was a lonely, lonely, woman! But when ol’ Joe took her in his arms, she knew she was in for a special night! Even today, I bet there are still some little Joes floateeng around in her Kansas Twister. WHO WANTS A SHRIMP COCKTAIL! I LOVE RETIREMENT MORE THAN I LOVE MY CHILDREN!

Jenny Q., Las Vegas: Joe, who do you like to come out of the NFC? Dallas is dominating, but the Packers and Seahawks look strong too!

Namath: Jenny, that NFCeeeee is one wild conference! Boy, I tell ya, it’s like the ol’ West out there! And I love how that Brett Favre plays the game. Say Jenny, you’re from Vegas, eh? You must know a lot about discretion. Lemme tell you what Joe Namath really likes. He likes watcheeng women “handle” themselves! I admit it! Kinda crazy! But sitting back with a bloody bull and watcheeng a beautiful girl play her pussy harp is one great way to spend a night? LET’S HIT THE FLAMINGO! I know one of the dealers there. Brown fellow. Always gives me a fair shake!

Jimmy D., Malibu: Hey Joe, I was wondering…

Namath: Next question.

Jenna S., Sarasota: Joe! How about some love for the Bucs!

Namath: Oooh! If you need love, Jenna, ol’ Joe’s here to give it to ya! Why don’t you and I have another drink together? Do you like gin? I LOVE GIN! Is that a karaoke machine? Let’s hit it!

I’ve had the time of my life…
No, I’ve never felt this way before…
Yes, I swear…
It’s the truth…
And I owe it all to you!!!!!

I FEEL GREAT! LET’S PLAY HEARTS! I WANNA KISS EVERYONE!