If you’re a guy and you’re with someone, there’s an expectation that just never seems capable of being met. Any sort of conceivable gift seems to be either too inexpensive or not thoughtful enough. And if you don’t give her jewelry or a cell phone, then you’re just a fucking asshole.
The fact is that women don’t really care what they get, they just want ammunition so that they don’t get mowed down during the “What’d you get for VD” conversation with their friends, one of whom, statistically speaking, is (a) sure to be such a contrived cunt that she might as well be pacing in front of a giant American flag while wearing a helmet, and (b) always manages to find some guy stupid enough to spend time with her on V-Day. It’s not even about the premise of love, it’s about competing with the Cunty Pattons of the world. And if you’re not with someone, well, this day just blows even more.
So imagine our joy when somebody actually gave US something for Valentine’s Day. Oh yes. KSK self-professed lurker Spiderannn sent us this YouTube masterpiece, featuring some of our favorite images from our KSK playoff posts, a healthy dose of wit bordering on smarmy, and a couple digs at Ufford, which is always fun. Yeah, I guess I’m calling him Ufford now. It’s better than “The Uff,” at least.
Enjoy the movie, while I attempt to track down this young(?) woman and persuade her to conceive my children. Or at least buy her a cell phone. This clip will be our only item for the day, so if you have any sort of VD to pass along, we’d love to hear from you in the comments.
You’ll have to forgive the housekeeping post, but since the season is over I wanted to make a post that linked to my favorite shit during the season. Some of this shit is obvious, some is stuff that amuses me and no one else. If you haven’t read any of these, well then you’re just a fucker now, aren’t you?
PS – I know this list is long. Fuck you. These posts are my children. My very deformed, retarded children. So suck my peepee.
And there’s your clip show. I dare you to find a better conpendium of football-related dick jokes. In terms of bodies of work, this one rates a solid Stacy Kiebler.
The news we’ve all been waiting for has finally arrived, Tiki Barber is set to add some REAL color to NBC’s Peacock. As expected the gregarious ex-Giant will be filling some sort of role with the network’s Sunday Night Football package. It’s still unsure as to whether Tiki will join the broadcast booth, or if they’ll just stick his bronzed visage on the studio set to offset the pre-existing ugly.
If I were NBC I’d put him in the studio (then I’d take over GE in a bloody coup). In fact, I bet he could do the job every other guy they pay to mug for the camera. He’s a smarmy pretty boy like Costas, people in football will open up to him like PK, he knows stuff about football like Collinsworth, and he’s black like Bettis and Sharpe (keep in mind this is NBC talking not me; I don’t think white people should be allowed on television at all).
Besides his jock-obligation to the football broadcast Tiki’s going to fill an as of yet unspecified roll with the Today show. I’ve never seen the program but I’m told it involves semi-literate people from Billings/Duluth/Texarkana holding signs wishing happy birthday to somebody that wishes they died ten years ago.
This is either Tiki and Ginny or Ronde and Claudia. Only they know the truth.
I can’t help but guess that this part of the career move was inspired by Tiki’s lovely wife Ginny (my great aunt will be thrilled to know they’re still using that name). Behind every great man is a woman who knows where the money’s at, and it’s not limited to Tiki. In fact behind a lot of great black men are smart and sexy Asian women (just ask Russell Simmons and Sugar Shane Mosley). As if I needed any further reason this just about settles it…as soon as I’m a successful proud black man I’m gettin’ me a sexy Asian wife (I’m lookin’ at you, Redskinette Lisa).
There should be a press conference at some point today, but you don’t care.
The Chargers GM fired his head coach after tensions boiled over regarding decisions on how Schottenheimer rebuild his staff. Smith’s suggestion to hire Ted Cottrell as his new defensive coordinator, and Schottenheimer’s reply of telling Smith to go fuck himself, seemed to be the last straw. That is, if you don’t count that choke job/reinforcement of je ne suis pas clutch in the playoffs last month. And the year before that. And, like, every year, um ever.
It seemed that Marty wanted his brother Kurt, an assistant at Kansas City, to interview for that position, among others. Smith and team president Dean Wimmer didn’t want Jeff BowdenJay Paterno Marty’s brother joining the staff. Dean went on to explain that his vote of confidence in Schottzie the previous month was based on the assumption that the staff would not be pillaged like a Cincinnati storefront circa 2001.
We suspect Marty’s taking the news in stride, despite the fact that the firing comes rather late in this phase of the offseason. He’ll almost certainly be sitting out for 2007, probably to work on his model train set or that tomato garden he can’t stop messing around. A close relative of the former head coach shared this account, regarding Schottenheimer’s trip to a local retail outlet after cleaning out his desk yesterday afternoon:
So who’s replacing Marty? Is the answer Jesus? Cottrell? Bill Cowher, maybe? Former Cowboys coach Jimmy Johnson’s name is being mentioned, even. I’m pulling for Ron Rivera; I think he can take this team to the next level. Besides, I’m sick of seeing a black coach win the Super Bowl every year.
I spent second semester of junior year abroad in England (ten years ago. Fuck, I am old as balls.). If you attend college, and have the means to go abroad for a semester, and do not, you are a fucking moron. Here’s the money clip from Rules of Attraction to give you a refresher on the importance of visiting other countries in order to debase yourself:
My semester abroad was arguably the greatest time of my life. I lost my virginity (to a girl!). I got drunk at the pub every night (50p shots of Beam on Tuesday night!). I sampled the wares of kebab vans the nation over. I watched a soccer game and actually enjoyed it. The tutorial system my program set up meant I only had three classes every two weeks. I smoked hashish and got into an argument with a friend over whether tomato or vinegar was the most important ingredient in ketchup (my argument: It’s Heinz TOMATO ketchup, not fucking Heinz vinegar ketchup). And, I didn’t have to study a foreign language. Foreign languages blow. An amazing stretch. But, for the purposes of comedy, one story stands out above the rest.
The school I went to had about a million not-too-serious rugby clubs that were open to pretty much anyone, even a dipshit American such as myself. Rugby, if you don’t know, is like football, only with more running and cauliflower ear. You start off playing rugby thinking it’ll be cool. You get to run around and hit people. Sounds fucking sweet. Then you find out you have to play Second Row, which means you have to stick your head between the knees of the guys on the front line, grab their shirts by sticking your hands through their crotches, and then groan in agony as the entire scrum tightens and mashes your brain into a bullion cube. Rugby: it’s not that cool.
Nonetheless, I played. My reasoning was that I sucked at American football, so maybe I wouldn’t suck quite so bad at rugby. Wrong. I sucked. But it gave me a chance to hang out with the lads (that’s British for boys!) and get drunk afterwards. So I kept at it.
One night, I was hanging out with a bunch of people from another program at the same school. I struck up a conversation with this dude named Ben. I think his name was Ben. Anyway, it’s not important. So Ben and I were drunk, and he said to me:
“Hey, I play seven-on-seven rugby with a bunch of guys. We have a game tomorrow. Want to play?”
There is no Second Row position in seven-man rugby. This appealed to me greatly. So I agreed. This was a road game, so Ben and I arranged to meet with two other guys and drive out the next morning.
9AM, I showed up. We all packed into the car and took off.
Ben: How was your night, Drew?
Me: Fucking sweet. I got fucked up. Hooked up with a black chick. She was big! But I didn’t give a shit. More to love, am I right?
The car went silent. Oh well, I thought. It was early. Everyone was hung over or some shit. So I shut my trap and stared out the window. About five minutes later, a conversation started up between the other three guys in the car about which churches in the area they liked best.
Ben: I love St. Mary’s. You can really feel the Lord there.
Fuck. They were seminarians. All three of them, priests in training. In fact, not only were they all seminarians, but the team I was playing with that day was also made up entirely of seminarians. As was the team we were playing against. As was every single fucking team in that day’s tournament.
Deep in the back of my mind, I’ve always known that I’m going straight to hell when I die. But I try and keep that thought repressed, just like I do with that Davidoff Cool Water cologne print ad with the water splashing over this really ripped guy that I think I kind of enjoyed. But, when I was hung over and literally surrounded by holy men everywhere I turned, the former point tended to reinforce itself (and since they were all future priests, the latter one did as well). At one point in the game, an opposing player ran into me by accident.
Me: You fucking cunt.
Other Guy: (sincere) Oh, I’m so sorry.
Me: (thrown off by the incredible kindness) What? (immediately jacked up by another player because I let my guard down)
I spent all day at the tournament. The seminarians were, of course, all perfectly nice fellows. Downright jovial, actually. Still, it’s tough knowing you’re the one harlot in the convent, so to speak. I may as well have painted a red A on my chest. It made me think that maybe I should dedicate myself to being a better person. Maybe I should stop being such a self-gratifying dickface and actually contribute something to the world.
When I got back, I drank an entire bottle of Jameson, watched Caddyshack, pissed out the window, and had to be restrained by a friend from walking outside with my pants around my ankles (my exact words: “I want everyone to see my cock!”). Later that night, I masturbated and vomited next to my bed.
Well it’s officially the off-season and since I didn’t watch the Pro Bowl I got a chance to watch a fair amount of ESPN’s college basketball bukkake (I still can’t believe they called it that). Here are some of the day’s results along with my thoughts. If you hate college basketball (or me) you might want to just scroll down, feel free to check out the archives. Last season’s team previews are quite entertaining.
Those kids sure love their gangs.
West Virginia 70 – 65 UCLA
In the monster upset of the day the mountain dwellers get their fleeting revenge on the evil Hollywood Jews ruining the country. Morons…Jordan Farmar plays for the Lakers now.
(6)Pitt 74 – 68 Providence Friars sponsored by Dunkin’ Donuts
Aaron Gray had another dominant performance, some late lottery team is gonna be awful disappointed this time next year. Then again I’ve been doubting the big non-jumping whitey for years. I thought he’d be a fucking disaster when I read about his recruitment on my laptop during some a for some class I barely passed. I kinda miss that place-except–or not (Merton Hanks didn’t even play for the Steelers).
Wright State 77 – 64 Butler
A thrilling display of why Butler probably shouldn’t be in the top ten.
Shrooms 2 – 0 Gonzaga
That’s gotta hurt. Gonzaga just lost arguably their best player Josh Heytvelt (and some redshirt) indefinitely after they got busted with pot and shrooms in the car. If I were a college student in Spokane I’d probably be shrooming. Hell I did it in Pittsburgh…in the front row of the opening game of Peterson Events Center. That was an interesting experience–I was not counting on the lasers.
(13)Air force 60 – 51 New Mexico
Air Force was dropping bombs all over New Mexico. In other news, there was a basketball game. (23)Georgetown 76 – 58 (12)Marquette
Georgetown wins thus ensuring even higher levels of public drunkenness at the pizza place around the corner.
And a big thanks has to go out to ESPN for actually filming ONE of today’s games in HD. Too bad it’s the Florida/Kentucky showdown that’s going on currently. It’s a great game but the HD broadcast is being thoroughly ruined by the assholes in Kentucky wearing all white; the glare is really getting to me. This further proves the theory that Kentucky fans are pigfuckers; Punter has video of Ashley Judd fucking Babe.
Good luck enjoying your first Sunday of the off-season, feel free to let us now exactly how gay you find college basketball in the comments (I told you not to stop reading!).
It’s quite the quandary for the most popular sports league in the country to have the most boring exhibition of its elite players. It’s a most drab affair, this Pro Bowl. That is, unless you’re actually in Hawaii. Then it’s boring but warm, which makes it immediately appealing to my freezing ass. Nonetheless, the game is a meaningless rigamarole that’s as tedious to watch as it is for the players to pretend-compete in.
Baseball likes to imagine that it inoculated some consequence into their Midsummer Thing That They Do After the Home Run Derby a few years back by putting home field advantage in the World Series on the line. It’s not a terrible idea, even, except that it doesn’t end up affecting anything as none of the World Series that have been held since the rule was implemented have gone to seven games. If football wants to do baseball one better, they’d make it so that all the teams in the conference that loses the Pro Bowl have to play all their interconference games on the road the following season. Draconian, you say, but it’d get me to tune in.
Saving that, the most anyone can hold out hope for are clashes between players with seething hatred for each other, preferably if they’re on the same team. UM will be laying out prop bets on the likelihood of each.
Dwight Freeney and Jason Taylor vs. The Gigantosaur
Shawne Merriman tires of Jason Taylor’s snooty homeschool morals, resolves to no longer use banned substances to gain an edge. Rather, he decided to build strength the Ravenous way. Merriman consumes Freeney and Taylor whole, only slightly unnerved by how much Freeney spins on the way down, and thus gains their strength. Momentarily impressed with the results, Merriman concludes that, fuck it, he’ll go back to steroids.
LaDainian Tomlinson vs. Bill Belichick
LDT swears he’s put his bitter feelings about the playoffs behind him. It seems sincere until he intentionally dives helmet first into Matt Light’s leg on his first carry. Belichick mutters, angrily avoids shaking his hand on the sideline.
Bill Belichick vs. Troy Polamalu
Bill notices the enticing tresses of his strong safety and realizes he hasn’t yet marked off an island girl on his lifetime scorecard of worldly fuck conquests. Bill asks him to don a hula skirt and sprinkle bacon and pineapple bits onto himself. Even though he hasn’t had a good hair pulling since Larry Johnson, Troy calls him a haole dicksnot and throws a lava rock at him.
The Brothers Barber vs. Roy Williams and Roy Williams
Tiki starts in early on with the “I’m seeing double here! Four Roy Williamseseses!” It quickly devolves into Tiki and Ronde spoiling for a fight to prove their brotherly supremacy throughout the league, whereupon they’re reminded that the Lions’ Roy Williams is not related to the Cowboys’ Roy Williams. Tiki makes note of this and plans to drop this factoid during every pregame broadcast next season. Moved by his football savvy, the Lions give him a senior position in their organization prior to the 2008 season.
Pat Williams vs. Casey Hampton
It’s too hot for these fat fucks to fight. Toss a big slab of meet between them and you’ll see something even more disturbing than the Snickers Super Bowl ad. But sheer gluttony overcomes homophobia and they roll with it.
Robbie Gould vs. Tony Romo
Gould doesn’t mind so much Romo fumbling all the extra points, but he just won’t shut the fuck up about Anna Nicole Smith. Gould finally snaps and tells him to worry about the dumb, still living Texas broads that won’t sleep with him. So Romo drops him.
Torry Holt, Shawn Andrews, Jammal Brown, Olin Kreutz, Jeremy Shockey, Brian Urlacher, Lance Briggs, Tommy Harris, Brian Dawkins and Lito Sheppard vs. Philip Rivers, Jonathan Ogden, Willie Anderson, Richard Seymour and Al Wilson.
A battle royale for all the players too wussy and lazy to suit up. The NFL needs some face time out of you Snoozin’ Susans and nothing spells ratings like a cripple fight. If this one strikes you as heavily tilted in favor of the NFC, well, hey, it’s about time they won something.
Captain Caveman is safely back in the confines of Brooklyn, but he’ll continue sharing stories from Miami until… probably forever. Today: Saturday afternoon’s visit to the Motorola Mile.
Following the bizarre misadventures of Friday night, I wake up at the crack of 2 p.m., sharp as a cloud of fog. Vaguely aware of some event on the beach that had models or cheerleaders playing volleyball or Jell-O wrestling or something, I decide to get out to soak in some Super Bowl culture.
Well, the beach is dead, but one block away and parallel on Ocean Drive is the Motorola Mile. As you can see, it’s a goddam zoo:
(Click to enlarge)
I fucking hate crowds. I steer away from the masses of Bears jerseys, Bears hats, the guy marching down the street playing “Bear Down Chicago Bears” on a trombone (not rusty), and three or four people in Colts paraphernalia and walk toward a large stage that’s been set up.
What’s on stage, you ask? Not music, that’s for sure. There’s not a chance in hell there’s any decent music here. Not with Middle America and corporate sponsors out in force, anyway. So what’s going on? Well, my friends, the answer is corporate synergy! In redhead form!
(Not too shabby, right? I mean, I’d pay rent to live in her ass.)
If you look closely, you’ll see the Crunch gym logo on her little tank top, and indeed, Crunch had a little fleet of hotties doing some kind of dance routine (with one muscled dude getting in the way of the sexiness).
And I says to myself, I says, “Self, these pictures are sexy, but you know what would be sexier?”
“What’s that?”
“Video.”
“Yeah, too bad I don’t have — ohhhhh.” And then I realize what I was trying to get at: my little digital camera takes video.
After sealing my fate as a lifelong creep by taking video of women shaking their asses for a website supposedly about football, I need to shake up my day a little. Something to revitalize me. After all, I’ve been wandering around on the beach all afternoon without any water, and my hangover is starting to get loose, throwing roundhouses instead of jabs — and taking the gloves off to do it.
…nominated for the best rolled L’s And they wondered how he dealt with stress so well Wild guess? You could say he stay sedated Some say buddha’d, some say faded
Some times drug use isn’t funny…typically when heroin is involved. That’s why we’re steering clear of the mess involving Andy Reid’s family, some things just aren’t ripe for mockery. Reid’s got a lot on his plate right now…no, joking would be wrong, let’s just move on.
How about a round of applause for the Simms men? Yeah Phil’s not the best in the business but compared to Bill Maas he’s a fucking wunderkind. Then there’s Chris with his measty toughness and his compulsion to validate his man-love in the most permanent of fashions. That right there is a pretty solid NFL Father/Son combo, plus they’ve got as many titles as all three Mannings.
More recently we’ve seen the emergence of another one of the Simms clan. Matt, the baby of the family, is a quarterback heading to Louisville. You might remember him for acting like a total douchebag in a high school football game. It was starting to look as if the Simms family had found its black sheep, somebody who offers nothing in the form of entertainment. Well shit done changed and I have a new favorite Simms.
Mmmm…that looks like it’s gonna make one hell of a tasty blunt. And as everybody knows, it’s not a party unless you’ve got your Goose on.
Matt Simms, we salute you…unless you’re just breaking up weed for the black dude to twist, in which case you’re still a bitch. You gotta be self-reliant if you’re going to college.
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