IN SUMMATION, THE REDSKINS ARE NOT GOOD AND SHERM LEWIS IS A BETTER BINGO CALLER THAN COACH. Apologies for the lack of a recap last night, but I figure people would want to relive that abortion of a game as little as possible. Plus, I only got three decent screencaps before drunkenness and disinterest caused me to tune out early in the second half. Before the game, we did marvel at the repugnance of Chris Cooley’s adoption of the Eminem look. According to Maj, he was on the radio this morning saying “he was all excited because he wants to keep it and grow it out and keep going whiter and whiter. Then he got in the car last night and Christie basically told him he looked stupid and he needs to dye it back.” Sorry your cheerleader wife doesn’t approve of you turning into Jeff Reed, Chris. Also, here’s the Geico caveman tailgating before the game. No way Daniel Snyder arranged for him to be caught by cameras for money. And here’s a sad ‘Skins fan who’s liable to be the first guy to hang himself with a letter. And, as always, here’s the Matron Saint. Oh Suzy, you deserve better than this game.

You must have some really pivotal fantasy starters in this game (they better be on the Eagles) or else we need to look into some kind of live blog addiction intervention for the lot of you. This game will not be good. It will not be entertaining in the least. Don’t say you weren’t warned. I’m only tuning as a sick form of self-abnegation and to see whether Dan Snyder will dispatch his stormtroopers to cudgel the first poor sap dumb enough to stick a sign in front of an ESPN camera that suggests the team should be sold. Six Flags in PG has been an internment camp for such foolhardy fans for the previous three years. Somehow nobody has noticed.

Brad Childress will only rush him once every three plays inside the opponent’s one-yard-line, but Purple Jesus made the most of his opportunity to flatten Steelers cornerback William Gay (says flubby: FROM… LOUISVILLE!) Of course, Peterson’s truckage was wasted a few plays later when Brett Favre and Chester Taylor conspired to put the ball in Keyaron Fox’s chest* and cost Minnesota the game.

*”Really all the refs’ fault” – bitchy Vikings fans

A reader sent this screencap of sudden receiving threat Miles Austin showing off his ghastly shark-like teeth yesterday. Truly disturbing. It’s like he swallowed the Vampire Fleshlight.

I don’t need to tell any regular reader of KSK what’s in store for them after the jump.

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Because those of us who root for teams that don’t sign Favre in a desperate and misguided attempt at getting a title never have our feelings conflicted. We can still delight in all his failings, especially when they finally surface against our (my) favorite team

MWAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA

/gets Mastodon and Queens of the Stone Age to disband only to ruin Drew’s day further

//includes consolation photo of Vikings jersey customized with the Peterson nickname Drew coined

Airbrushed motorcycles with Scarface and Steelers themes. Only available on display outside Jerome Bettis’ bar and in every exurban shopping mall food court in the country.

And of all the lazy name plate replacements I’ve seen on mid-’90s pre-Steelers-uniform-design Kordell Stewart jerseys, this one is at least among the top 10 most generic.

They wrote books you probably didn’t buy. They like teams you probably don’t like. They’re gormless lazy fapwits who spend many days without pants formulating idiotic one-note caricatures of football players and coaches, all who yell and cuss a lot. It sometimes reaches a kind of crude brilliance, but mostly it doesn’t. But now their teams face one another in regular season battle reeking of quasi-LeBronish import. IT’S A FIVE-THROWGASM GAME! [Quick aside: I will be at this game because, unlike Drew, I don't rely on Gawker (which has its head so far up the ass of some midlevel ESPN employee that no cares about - much better than getting a flight booked correctly) for getting around]. Anyway, WHO YA GOT?

Rob, the Giants fan who transmogrified from regular sweatshirted lumpy guy to a weepy pathetic slimy mess following his team’s loss to the Eagles in divisional playoffs last year, gets a chance at some web redemption tomorrow night courtesy of tosh.0. Just remember Comedy Central producers, WE HAD HIS PATHETIC DISPLAY OF SNIVELING BLUBBERY BLUBBERING FIRST! WE DEMAND AT MINIMUM ONE SCREEN CAP FROM THE BLOG ON THE SHOW! OR EVEN THE CHANCE TO WRITE A PILOT FOR THE NETWORK THAT DESPERATELY TRIES TO COPY THE EDGINESS AND RACIAL HUMOR OF CHAPPELLE’S SHOW AND FAILS MISERABLY! WE’RE UP TO THE TASK!

Jeff Reed has once again reinforced his rock-solid reputation as douche of the drunkenist order by getting a police citation yesterday after the Steelers win at home against Cleveland. But this time it was really 10-foot-tall blocking deficient backup tight end Matt Spaeth who initiated the problems by having cops catch him peeing on an SUV.

Skippy only made things bad for himself when he [premature facepalm] unimpressively tried to challenge the officers to a bit o’ the fisticuffs.

The officer went to Mr. Spaeth to issue a citation when, police said, the Steelers kicker got out of the vehicle.

He refused to get back into the vehicle, which was driven by his father. Instead, Mr. Reed put up his fists and got “into a fighters stance,” according to a police affidavit.

The confrontation was swift as one officer put Mr. Reed in an arm lock while a second officer forced him to the ground.

Nicely done, Skip. I bet Daniel Sepulveda would have at least gotten a punch off.

via.

Welcome to the Friday Five, our unimaginitively-named Friday afternoon post where we provide you with five things the KSK staff is looking forward to this coming weekend. It was a tough week of empty balloon watching and SkiFree reminiscing, but we made it through intact. And these next two days are our reward. Why, there are actually good games this weekend. A showdown of unbeaten teams! A face-off between the faggy purple-clad franchises! Stacy Andrews-Tom Cable punching spree! And so much more!

This week, what we’re looking looking forward to most is…

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The unbeaten Giants travel to the Superdome Sunday to play the undefeated Saints. It’s a supremely consequential game that could play a large part in the eventual make-up of the NFC playoff picture. But let’s not that allow all that meaningful subtext to get in the way of petty grudges one player holds against the team that made him a star. But it’s not just any former player – it’s a heroic douchebag that the more obnoxious members of the Giants fanbase still cling to as though he invented chin strap facial hair and chain smoking. Meanwhile, that player is promising to have his best game of the year against his former team. Since he’s already has two TDs in one game, he must be promising three. Will he deliver. WHO YA GOT?

How comforting is the embrace of Maiden Victory!

I wish I could describe the ardor of her bosom as I shake my face violently into it. Pillowy is an apt descriptor. And it is this pillowy sensation that tells me that the Bengali Tygers are a force with which to be reckont. Few considert the prospect of success against the Metallurgists of Pittsburgh or the Recidivist Murderers of Baltimore. But slain they both were by our efforts!

Oh, We did feast on pillows those nights.

Still: all is not sunshine and heaving Victory bosoms in Cincinnatus. The townsfolk do not fill the galleries to their capacity! I do not think it is the work of the vainglory to suppose that a team that has achieved as ours has would be a spectacle to behold. The traveling show of oddities and wonderments must be stationed nearby. Personally, such things do not capture my attention for long, but then I am not a native-born Cincinnatan.

What is more, the thriving play of Good Sir Palmer has compelled my haymakers to reside in mothballs. I need not tell you that is not the natural state for haymakers. They ache for satisfaction, but I cannot grant them indulgence. Each night at rest, dreams show me targets for the haymakers, but the mighty arms are manacled to the wall. For this, I sometimes fear sleep. Sensing my anxiety for activity, ownership bade me into the streets to gather the townsfolk into his makeshift “jungle” dwelling. Perhaps if they espied my keen sense of excitement and bulging musculature, the women would be brought to a point of hysterical arousal and would force their male associates to escort them to the “jungle”.

I askt the ownership whether I would be furnisht a mode of transport to move about the townsfolk. Dirty though it may be, Cincinnatus is a sizeable place. Yes, he exclaimed, you shall ride shank’s pony.

Such flippancy.

So my endeavor begins. Venture I must about Cincinnatus displaying the bulges that invite arousal in the muliebrities. First, there is the arm bulge. Observe its distinct slope and veiny articulation. This is usually enough to excite most maidens. When the arm bulges prove insufficient, the pectoral bounce. See the torso bulges bound and be astoundt. A snake charmer taught me this tactic in a foreign land and it has failt on only three occasions. It was on those three when I was forced to employ a special, secretive nether bulge.

Polite discourse does not allow me to speak of this one.