BECAUSE HE’S MOONING THE CAMERA! “NEW MOON”! GEDDIT?!

Aw, of course you don’t.

Zoe noes! Jessica Simpson was spotted wearing a Cowboys hoodie again at some point this week. That might be considered a jinx in some instances (if such thing actually existed) but it will take far more than superstition to counter the staggering collective forces of fail that emanate from the Redskins and their fans who are now finally permitted to wave bitchy signs.

I cry for this couple’s future children. Hell, I weep for all of us. Thank goodness we’re all gonna be wiped clean from the Earth in 2012. Because, really, once you see a bald, schlubby white groom do the spastic Ray Lewis “dance” to greet friends and family with his Flacco jersey adorned bride at their wedding reception, you know there’s no reason for us to wasting God’s splendors.

Besides a shocking paucity of purple camo, I did notice that this is a crowd appreciative of mediocrity (guess they have to be), as you can spot two people in Mark Clayton jerseys and another in a Sam Koch. No Kyle Boller for the estranged in-law everyone hates?

Careful about watching past the two-minute mark. It gets a little tender. [stifles tear]

Poor young saps. They never had a chance. At least once they get divorced, you know they’ll just blame the refs.

[Thanks to reader Alex for the tip]

Donovan McNabb: Damn, man. You couldn’t have waited one more week to get your form back? What got into you?

LaDainian Tomlinson: Wife got pregnant.

Donovan McNabb: How does that work?

LaDainian Tomlinson: sexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsex

Donovan McNabb: And then?

LaDainian Tomlinson: Egg fertilized.

Donovan McNabb: And then?

LaDainian Tomlinson: Cells divide.

Donovan McNabb: And then?

LaDainian Tomlinson: Pee on stick.

Donovan McNabb: And then?

LaDainian Tomlinson: Positive test.

Donovan McNabb: And then?

LaDainian Tomlinson: Surprise in my locker.

Donovan McNabb: And then?

LaDainian Tomlinson: Two touchdowns.

Donovan McNabb: Wow, that’s crazy. I gotta try that sometime.

[Later]

LaTorsha Tomlinson: Oh my god, I’m so excited!

LaDainian Tomlinson: smilesmilesmilesmilesmilesmilesmilesmilesmile

LaTorsha Tomlinson: This is so crazy, honey. I haven’t even told my parents yet. How am I supposed to spring this on them? I know you liked how I surprised you, but I don’t know if my dad could take that shock.

We have so much to do. I had Shaunice over here the other day and she told me what we could do with this room over here.

[Nursery doors fly open]

Philip Rivers: Ya betta ask someboddddddaaaaayyyyyyy!

Congra-tu-fucking-lations, LaExpectingCouple! Hey wifey, you finally let LaToeInjury slip some of his lean meat protein past the goalie, did you? FUCK YES YOU DID, BECAUSE THE GOOD LORD DEMANDS PROCREATION! ANY COPULATION THAT DOESN’T LEAD TO CHILDBIRTH IS SHAMEFUL IN THE LASEREYES OF GOD ABOVE! THAT’S WHY I GOT ME A WHOLE MESS A’ YOUNGINS! I NAMED ONE OF THEM AUDIBLE RIVERS JUST TO FUCK WITH THE LITTLE PRICK!

LaTorsha Tomlinson: What’s this crazy white boy doing here?

Philip Rivers: WHAT? HUH? WHAT? THAT’S REVERSE RACISM! CONTROL YOUR WOMAN!

LaToeInjury, did you ever stop to think why your tentative line-dancing ass was useful for the first time since Marty was running the team into ground? Because you gave God the opportunity to work His miracle of life. And He rewarded you by removing the Curse of Fuckstainery your immoral ways have placed upon you. But the Lord is demanding. HE NEEDS MORE LITTLE PISSING MECONIUM-PRODUCING BEINGS OF LIGHT TO LAVISH UPON HIS WORLD! No more children, no more touchdowns.

LaDainian Tomlinson: But my wife’s already pregnant.

Philip Rivers: She’s only a little pregnant. We can make her full capacity pregnant. With enough fertility drugs, we can make her LaBlackOctoBitch. Each week, more babies AND THUS MORE TOUCHDOWNS! Then, once I get Malcolm Floyd on board with this holy war against the Mooslims, WE’LL BE THE PREFERRED TEAM OF HIS HOLINESS!

LaTorsha Tomlinson: LADAINIAN! GET THIS MAN OUT OF MY HOUSE! NOW!

Philip Rivers: WHO HAS PERMITTED THE WOMENFOLK TO SPEAK?! I knew you’d do this to me, you gimpy legged henpecked little fucktaster. That’s why I already tried with Tiny Darren, but he’s too small to please a woman. Then I suggested he swim into a woman’s uterus and fertilize an egg himself. BUT HE WOULDN’T DO IT, THE UNCOOPERATIVE LITTLE SHIT!

THEN JACOB HESTER TOLD ME HE’S ONLY INTO ASIAN WOMEN! AND I DON’T WANT TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR CREATING MORE ASIANS!

Fine.

FINE!

ME THE HIGH SCHOOL SWEETIE WILL CONTINUE TO PUMP OUT THE KIDS UNTIL HER WOMB IS ON THE OUTSIDE! THEN I’LL GET LITTLE AUDIBLE RIVERS UP HERE TO FUCK YOU BOTH IN THE ASS! HE’S JUST ABOUT AT THAT AGE!

Or, alternatively: X MARKS THE RAPIST.

Yes, that’s Shawne Merriman with the logo for something called POWERADE ION4 shaved into the side of his head, because who wants Brent Celek to get away with being the biggest guerrilla marketing whore in the NFL? Puhlease. Who’s he ever forced himself on? I mean, besides my mom.

All you future sexual assailants out there better get with this Powerade stuff, especially now that they’re outlawing Joose (the bastards). It promises revitalized, angry sperm.

Everyone got so swept up in Patriots chokery, it’s like they forgot all about Steelers schadenfreude. Yesterday the Bengals essentially locked up the AFC North by completing a sweep of the Steelers thanks to getting one of those unglamorous tough slog victories that the Steelers are notorious for boring people with. Punte would have a celebratory rant but he’s more quiet about his homerism, which is why he’s a stand-up good egg kind of fellow, and not a raving jackass like myself. Suffice it to say, today I am a sad Steeler fag. And sideways-camera-holding fat guy who wears Oakleys on overcast days clearly did tell us Steeler fags that he would do something crazy this week if Cincy won, like burn a towel or submit a job application. I’d probably be upset if I didn’t do this myself three months ago.

Maybe we’ll be treated to a Saints-Bengals Super Bowl, so Who Deys and Who Dats can get together and finally get some long-awaited answers.

BOLD SUPER BOWL PREDICTION

Dats 30
Deys 23

Sorry, Deys.

/braces for annoying fellow Steelers fans who will claim that this guy just cursed Cincinnati or cursed himself or cursed roads and also cursed fire and placed a low calorie curse on Miller Lite for daring to desecrate a Terrible Towel.

GIVE US THE RAINBOW OF YOUR ZIPPER FETISH! YOU WILL LIGHT THE FIELD ON FFFFIIIIIAAAAAAHHHH

The epic Bill Belichick-Jim Caldwell blood feud is renewed in this, a contest bound to be sorely lacking in superlatives about the quarterbacks involved. But there are so many other intriguing storylines aside from the obvious QB comparison. Is it Laurence Maroney or is it Joseph Addai who is more generally useless? Can Austin Collie’s grittiness unseat Welkah’s on this grand primetime stage? Will Caldwell ever forgive Dwight Freeney for not employing his many spins as a running back at Wake Forest? Why won’t we ever give the Meast to Peyton?

These questions and more will be quickly brushed aside in favor of dick jokes, soft porn and making light of the reinforced stereotypes in that “Precious” movie.

In retrospect, it’s really sad we didn’t have a liveblog of last night’s game. Yes, it was one of those grinding low scoring affairs that people who fetishize offense always complain about. But then there were also FIVE CUTLERF*CKER SULKERCEPTIONS! TWO IN THE ENDZONE! A VERITABLE BONANZA OF KKAKE-INFUSED SCHADENFREUDE! And it’s doubly disappointing because we are absolutely committed to not touching the abortion that is the Ravens and the Browns on Monday night (sorry, but we do it out of compassion for our regulars, so they need not feel compelled to tune in) so it looks like we’re on for Carolina and Miami next Thursday. Wait, that’s no good either. I’m not dealing with a third live blog with 50,000 Wildcat jokes in 10 weeks. Screw it, we’ll just do BradyManningfest on Sunday night. Book it.