Wooooo hoo hooooooooooooo!!!!!! Howdy pardners! I’ve given Unsilent Majority the week off because I’m in Las Vegas and I can place bets IN PERSON! That is at least EIGHT TIMES the rush you get if you’re betting online. Hell, I even chose to take a redeye home on Sunday night so I could watch all the games in the sports book. And also so I can collect all my winnings immediately.

Just kidding! I’m terrible at gambling and I don’t know what I’m doing! WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

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Every now and again, we at KSK stumble across something outside the realm of professional football that we feel compelled to share, such as Beaker’s adventures in the nation’s capital. Yesterday, when Unsilent Majority requested a Photoshop of a Nazi-fied Mr. Peanut for the Meast/Least, Christmas Ape obliged with the cheerful anthropomorphized fascist legume you see above. Just look at Nazi Peanut (full name: Stabgsefreiter Johann Erdnuss of the Fuhrer’s Wehrmact) — so dashing, so full of the joie-de-vivre that comes from the extermination of Jews to purify the Fatherland. How can he wear those jackboots and not dance a little jig?

So charmed were we with Herr Peanut that we captured some images of him hangin’ out with his pals, making the Third Reich a happier, more delicious place.

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One of the most important developments in the NFL this off-season was Brad Childress’s decision to grow a beard.  With the simple act of not shaving, he swiftly eliminated one of his biggest criticisms: that he believes in Tarvaris Jackson looks like Gerald McRaney. But not Gerald McRaney in a tough-but-loving Marine officer way. More like Gerald McRaney as the villain in a Lifetime movie. The paleness, the male pattern baldness, the glasses, and most especially the mustache really made you feel like “Childress” was a surname shortened from “children undressing.”

This was Childress last year:

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We apologize: we have not covered the Favre goat story in the two whole days it has existed on the Internet. This is due both to our collective Favre fatigue and the inability of our resident goat-bondage expert PUNTE to weigh in on the subject.  There are some pending criminal charges in South Carolina that keep him from sharing his expertise.

Anyway, it seems like only yesterday we were still talking about the woman who was traveling to Minneapolis with a live purple- and gold-painted goat with the number 4 shaved into its sides tied down in her trunk, with the apparent intent to sacrifice it near Brett Favre’s preseason debut on Friday.

However, as we all know, the goat was saved by fortuitous car trouble and the altruistic mechanics at Tires Plus in Winona, Minnesota — a tough blow for the subset of society that believes in a Chicago Cubs-like curse on the Vikings and also enjoys a good goat sacrifice.  Moreover, the would-be blood offering to the football gods has been named Brett and is now living in Packers country, at the very same Favre-lovin’ farm that chose to make a Brett Favre corn maze last year instead of planting crops. (Native Americans call it “maize”) — it’s a small world when everyone’s insane about the same washed-up, self-centered quarterback.  We can only guess that Brett the Goat will live happily on the farm for several months before he un-retires and ends up tied down in another car’s trunk.  The first step to curing addiction is admitting you have a problem.

As we sift through the untidy aftermath of news stories dedicated to A FREAKING GOAT TIED UP IN A TRUNK JUST BECAUSE IT HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH FAVRE, perhaps the greatest development in this was MyFox New York’s decision to segue this story into a sport that dates back to 13th century Afghanistan.  Because it involves goats, you see:

Goats also play a major role in Afghanistan’s national sport — Buzkashi. Translated into English, Buzkashi means “goat grabbing” or “goat killing.”

Not to be confused with the Irish national sport, Boozekakke.

And finally, no Internet story is complete without mention of fainting goats.  They’re the Tarvaris Jackson of sacrificial goats!

It’s been a little while since we picked on Josh McDaniels, so here ya go.  This is a tribute to Broncos fans, as your anger at the organization keeps us warm and dry on rainy nights.  It was either this or Things to Do in Denver When You’re Out of Playoff Contention.

This week in “Proof that the Media Should Think Twice Before Sending Press Releases to Blogs,” a kindly Director of Communications at Time Inc. made sure that KSK was made aware that Tom Brady is on the cover of this week’s Sports Illustrated (his 11th appearance on the cover! That’s more than Cheryl Tiegs!).

It’s the first extended interview Dreamboat’s given in almost a year, and SI turned to its biggest non-stroke-impaired NFL writer for the heavy lifting: Peter King.  (”That Brady’s so cool he keeps Kit Kats from melting on a summer day!”)  From the press release:

Exuding confidence in his surgically rebuilt left knee, Brady tells SI that his recovery is on schedule and that he is running and cutting without pain or restricted movement. King writes: “He was convincing when he said he was ‘as confident as anyone could be that I’ll be ready to play, back to playing normally, when the season starts. I’ve done everything I could to push myself, sometimes too hard. Right now, I’m doing everything. Literally everything. There’s nothing I can’t do.’ ”

Brady tells King that he has learned much about himself during his forced layoff and that he is so anxious to play again that he looks forward to the grind of two-a-days. “‘When I was playing every week, I bitched about the little things,’ he said. ‘Like, God, we’ve got to go outside today? It’s raining! Or, why is Bill dunking the ball in soap? Or, why do we have a meeting at 7:30 to talk about everything we’ve already talked about. Geez! Then when you’re not playing, you realize that you would [gladly] do any of that—whatever they wanted me to do.’ Brady drew an analogy based on his parenting experience with his 21-month-old Jack. ‘I don’t see him everyday”—Brady shares custody with former girlfriend Bridget Moynahan—‘and we play when I change his diaper: lifting his leg up, playing with his toes, biting his feet. There’s a different appreciation. If you had him every day, you’d go, Let’s just get this done. But when you get him, say, one week a month, you’re like, This is so cool!’ ”

“If I had to be a parent every day, it sure would get boring!”

In addition, Brady tells King that he’d like to play for 10 more seasons: “I want to play until I am 41. And if I get to that point and still feel good, I’ll keep playing. I mean, what the hell else am I going to do? I don’t like anything else. People say, ‘What will you do after football?’ Why would I even think of doing anything else? What would I do instead of run out in front of 80,000 people and command 52 guys and be around guys I consider brothers and be one of the real gladiators? Why would I ever want to do something else? It’s so hard to think of anything that would match what I do: Fly to the moon? Jump out of planes? Bungee-jump off cliffs? None of that s— matters to me. I want to play this game I love, be with my wife and son and enjoy life.”

Hmmph.  All in all, he sounds disgustingly well adjusted for a two-time Super Bowl MVP/baby-daddy of a Hollywood actress who instead got married to a supermodel.  And that’s probably the most infuriating thing about Brady: for all the “Best Dressed Man Alive” articles and goat-holding photoshoots, he never comes across as an ignoramus or a total asshole.

Which is why we should hate him even more.

Well, here we are.  Another week of people revealing their weird fantasies and oversharing their messed up lives.  Oh, and asking football questions.  Can’t forget about the football.

I’m relieved to say that there’s no discussion of HPV this week, but you can catch everything else after the jump.

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After the runaway success of Marty B’s blog post on ladyfarts, a few readers noticed a subsequent entry in which he proclaims the tight end combo of he and Jason Witten to be “Rice and Beans.” Well, they weren’t the only ones. Execs in the television industry were piqued with the possibilities of a serial cop drama.

Coming this fall to FOX, following the two-hour block of Cops on Saturday night:

Jason Witten is… KENNY ARROZ!

Martellus Bennett is… JEROME FRIJOLES!

Together they are:

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This should work well. If there’s one thing Marvin Lewis is good at, it’s taking players who’ve had trouble with the law and shaping them into a team of winners. In that they win four to seven games. (And sometimes tie!)

EDITORIAL NOTE: The KSK staff apologizes for the lack of “Bengals Add Firepower to Lineup” headlines.  We felt disembodied ghost heads encouraging Tank to kill — KILL!!! — had greater priority.

Hi, folks! I’m Alonzo Spellman, former defensive lineman for the Chicago Bears and top secret government operative for King Narudi of Jurumba. (KING, THE HEADS YOU REQUESTED ARE IN MY BAG.) You might remember me from the time I got arrested for roasting my girlfriend on a spit, or the time I defecated in Dave Wannstedt’s wallet, or the time I was caught on a surveillance camera trying to have children with a flowerpot. WHERE ELSE WOULD FLOWER CHILDREN COME FROM?

You also might remember me from such successful products as Alonzo Spellman’s Clown Burgers, Alonzo Spellman’s Tit Wrench, and Alonzo Spellman’s Baby Razors. Now I’m BACK, with an even better product!

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