Monday, April 14, 2008
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
In this week's draft we're ridding the world of our most hated songs. The rules are simple: you pick a song, and it vanishes from your life. Once a song's "artist" is selected that entire "artist's" catalog comes off the board. Which Elton John song will it be?!
The draft order is as follows (minus Punter because he was busy olling up aces over kings and check-raising stupid tourists):
1. Maj: Hotel California by The Eagles
If you need any further explanation then you could also use brick to the head. This is a bigger sure thing than LeBron, Griffey, and Peyton combined.
2. Flubby: Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison.
If you hear this song at any public setting where alcohol is being served, you can be assured that in a matter of moments a gaggle of drunken women will soon be assembled to sing an off-key rendition of the chorus. SHALALALALALALALALADEEDA!!! Fuck you very much, Van Morrison. Ya drunkass mick.
3. Caveman: Benny and the Jets by Elton John
Trying to decide between this plodding monstrosity and the childish bullshit of "Crocodile Rock" is no easy task, but I think I hate "Benny" slightly more.
Ape: If for nothing else, the fact that Berman has referenced it.
4. Drew: Another Brick In The Wall by Pink Floyd
I fucking hate this song. I fucking... just... GAHHHHHHH I hate it so very much. Not only does it employ a children's choir, but that fucking choir sings in the most obnoxious English accent humanly possible. Hearing it in my head right now makes my teeth hurt.
Maj: I think they were the same kids from Satisfaction.
5. Ape: The Girl is Mine by Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney
This is possibly the most cornball song ever wrought. From shimmery production to a chorus that goes:
The girl is mine
The doggone girl is mine
I know she's mine
Because the doggone girl is mine
You can forget Jackson bleaching his skin and raping kids and McCartney marrying a one-legged harridan who tried to take all his money. This tarnished their legacy far, far before that. And possibly worse.
CC: Great pick. I fucking hate that song.
Drew: Can I still take a song from Wings, or is all McCartney out the door now?
Maj: Sorry Drew, no Band on the Run for you.
6. Ape: Bitch by Meredith Brooks
In the Lillith Fair milieu of the girl songstress fad of the late '90s, this stood out as the most fake-controversial-yet-palatable-for-mass-audiences-bullshit around. The song's message: deal with my flightiness and refusal to adhere to rational thought! Because we're women! We're allowed to be vacuous contradictions! But not you stupid weak men! RAWR!
Also, for all the mainstream dipshit DJs who'd introduce the track with "Oh my God, a song on the radio with the word bitch as the title? Tres outre!"
7. Drew: Paradise By The Dashboard Light by Meat Loaf
I'm still traumatized by groups of drunken women in college re-enacting all eight and half minutes of this god-awful piece of shit. Especially the STOP RIGHT THERE! part. God, it's just so fucking terrible I can't even put it into words. And some asshole at the bar will ALWAYS put it on, without fail. The goddamn thing never ends. Fuck you, Meat Loaf Aday. And fuck you, Phil Rizzuto. Holy cow, this song blows.
8. Caveman: You're So Vain by Carly Simon
If it made my pet peeve list, it's making my most-hated song list. It's got all the same the faux-femme empowerment of "Bitch," charged with extra bitterness and irrational justifications for being a cunt.
9. Flubby: American Pie by Don McLean
So bye, bye Miss American Pie
When they play it, people say it, until I wanna die
Don McLean I hope those royalties can buy
A coffin if I meet you, guy
That one was on just about everybody's board. Great value pick.
10. Maj: Piano Man by Billy Joel
Fuck you, Billy Joel. You're the fucking devil.
11. Maj:Shiny Happy People by REM
What the fuck is that song all about? I'm convinced that they were just trying to annoy the shit out of me.
Drew: Ooooh, anything by REM is a solid choice
Maj: And they say I don't know anything about white people music...
Flubby: Losing My Religion was a late round pick on my board
Caveman: Wow, I totally forgot about REM. "Losing my Religion" was probably the first song that made me want to hurt people.
Drew: Yeah I fucking hate that song. Stand too. Guhhhhhhhh.
Caveman: God, we could do an entire draft of awful REM songs.
12. Flubby: Fergalicious by Fergie
Maj: That's an actual song? I thought it was a commercial for Vagisil or something.
13. Caveman: Walking on Sunshine by Katrina and the Waves
I hate this song. I hate every movie that this song gets used in. I hate scenes where people dance to this song. I hope Katrina and the Waves all die horrific, grisly deaths.
Maj: Like drowning in flood water?
14. Drew: Silver Bells> by Bing Crosby
My least favorite Christmas song. I don't care who sings it, I fucking hate it. One time, at the gym, they played an emo version of it. My least favorite holiday song sung in my least favorite genre besides country. My heart turned black.
Flubby: Ooh, I could do a whole draft on xmas songs. Starting with "Simply Having a Wonderful Christmastime" by Sir Paul.
Maj: I would have picked all Christmas songs, but Ufford wouldn't have any of that.
15. Ape: Kokomo by The Beach Boys
This song single-handedly kept me from getting into music until almost my teens. I can't even begin to enumerate the number of ways I hate it. But, I was just given one more not too long ago: it inspired possibly the worst parody song ever. And they play it all the time at the stupid divey karaoke bar I go to. This song was a No. 1 hit? Proof positive of America's cultural bankruptcy. Fuck you, Mike Love.
Holy shit, nobody drafted We Built This City!!!
Add your picks in the comments, but play by the fucking rules! That means waiting ten selections before picking another song. And no picking "anything by [blank]" because that's something Drew would do because he's a dick who has most certainly not listened to all 7,431 shitty Grateful Dead songs.
(HT: Mondesi's House)
Name: Vernon Gholston
Nickname: Unknown (meaning I don't know).
Suggested Nickname: Unknown (at least until he says otherwise).
Body Type: After his pro day one NFL coach told KSK (on the condition of anonymity), "that kid's body makes me harder than an enema from my Puerto Rican nurse." And that coach was Monte Kiffin.
Early Aspirations: Before football Vernon was a pre-teen body builder. Meaning yes, even a pre-pubescent version of Vernon could kick the living shit out of your pathetic blog reading ass.
Speed: Big Ten-ish.
Muscles: Medium twitch.
Urine Sample: Intensity.
Stool Sample: Steamy.
Who Wants Him: Oakland. But to be fair, they also shown interest in a panda who is purported to have been trained to play right guard.
Who Will Take Him: St. Louis. Because fuck Chris Long, that's why.
Immediate Impact: Bone crushing.
Down the Road: A locker filled with enough steroids to stock a Mexican pharmacy.
Previously on Better Know a Draft Pick...
You probably saw Drew’s eloquent remarks on Deadspin yesterday regarding Rick Reilly’s uninspired commentary about the sports blogosphere, followed by Drew’s subsequent deconstruction of the viewpoint of that “privileged journalist.” Despite being a bit light on homoerotica, Drew’s piece was, as usual, very good.
Too good, really.
Too often we bloggers look at the criticisms of the mainstream press as opportunities, as chances to prove that we are somehow deserving of our audiences, of being in the conversation. Often, this results in an overextension of prose and an overuse of reason. I SHALL SMITE YOU WITH COHERENT, THOUGHTFUL ARGUMENTS! And so we're left with a well-bundled acknowledgment of their bitching and moaning that those types don’t really deserve.
Drew may as well have been reading poetry to a pig yesterday. Reilly is a third-tier fuckhead that’s not worthy of a rational counter-argument. You know what he’s worthy of? Getting handcuffed to a bike rack and shit on. Literally speaking, he deserves a response in kind. And so, I present a little something I'd like to call Rick Reilly Gargles Cocksnot.
Rick Reilly thinks the Concorde is ruining the legacy of trans-Atlantic travel.
Rick Reilly thought Monty Python and the Holy Grail was “just okay.”
Rick Reilly speaks fluent Spanish, but finds it beneath him.
Despite having great access for the Masters, the excutive council at Augusta National insist on denying him entrance to any of the washrooms on the grounds, leaving him only a shallow latrine near the second fairway.
The council has also forbidden women from using this latrine. Mr. Reilly thinks this is bogus, but enjoys the amenities of the club too much to raise any sort of fuss.
Rick Reilly fucked Christine Penner. And loved it.
Rick Reilly is still unsure how those nets are keeping the moles out of
Rick Reilly thinks that, despite Tiger Woods’ Thai heritage, Phil Mickelson is tangier.
Rick Reilly’s nose is 0.017 inches (0.04318 cm) longer than his penis, so we’ve heard.
Rick Reilly wasn’t going to test Sammy Sosa's pee for steroids. He was just parched.
Rick Reilly owns two three-year-old chocolate Labrador Retrievers named “Blackie” and “Is Killing College Athletics.”
Rick Reilly once caddied for Michelle Wie without uttering “Me love you long time,” but later commented privately to friends about how well she added up her scorecard.
Rick Reilly credits his “humerous” style to former president Ulysses S. Grant.
Rick Reilly keeps 2 ounces of cocaine in his ass at all times, just in case Lawrence Taylor drops by.
And it’s not even in a bag. Gross!
Thursday, April 10, 2008
[But Favre conceded he might have a tough decision to make if, say, Green Bay called and asked him to come back because of team injuries.
"It would be hard to pass up, I guess," he said. " . . . It's only speculating. I think the world of that team. I had a lot of fun, not only this year, but over my career. Those guys I played with this past year, a lot of young guys, a lot of fun."]
Tramonto: First we must agree on terms.
Peter King: Name your price.
Tramonto: $25,000 Starbucks gift card.
King: Outrageous. I won't go above 15.
Tramonto: It is a deal.
King: Excellent. I need you to eliminate this one.
[Hands over photo]
[Tramonto drags on cigarette]
Tramonto: I see.
Of what interest is this man to you?
King: Yours is not to ask why, yours is to do and make him die!
He is no one. His life merely is an obstacle to bringing back my Bretty Boy.
But show him mercy. Make it fast. He is, after all, a white quarterback playing for the Packers. His sin is only bestowed upon him by circumstance. Perhaps in another life, he could have been worthy of my admiration.
Tramonto: It is done.
[King laughs girlishly and begins clapping frantically]
At long last, your Kill Kill Kill Tournament comes down to a sadistic zookeeper's dream: Bengal versus Bear. Naturally, we'd be more than content than have the little ones have it out for our love. Take it away, tykes.
Rather, this will be settled in the arena of cereal, the last redoubt of bored slackers like us the world 'round. WHO YA GOT?
- Worthy of extensive history of iconography
-Again, the Godless Killing Machine thing
- Judging from picture, clearly 'roiding
- Dutifully pays the bear tax
-No cereal makes your pee smell more than Golden Crisp.
-Get too many and it's like "A freaking country bear jamberoo"
-Weakness for honey pot
-Often confused for Logan Mankins
-Employs Tiger Style
-Exxon Tiger is bleeding me dry
-Tiger Uppercut most vicious, also fun to say
-Apparently has a boat (SO THAT'S WHY HE BEAT DOLPHIN!)
-Inspired excellent William Blake poem
-Less flamboyantly gay than Tigger
-Frosted Flakes soggy after negative two seconds in milk.
-Also cutting back on sugar to appear healthy. Fuck you. Back to Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs for me.
- Fearful symmetry too symmetrical
-Inspired annoying Comcast commercial
[ Christmas Ape ] 4/10/2008
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Jay Cutler, ever the font of priggish wisdom, has agreed to lend an ear to some readers' most pressing problems.
My mother died late last year. My father, who just retired 10 months ago, is now at loose ends. He was always really committed to work so he wasn't sure what to do with himself once he stopped with his job. My parents had a lot of travel plans set up together, but he's not going to follow through on those alone. And I don't think he's ready to start dating again. I really don't want to have him moping around the house, but it's hard for me to keep him company. My brother has a much closer bond with my dad but he moved across the country for work years ago. I'm close by but I still find it difficult to relate to him. I don't want him to be lonely but what can I do to help if we always feel like strangers to one another?
-Conflicted in Charlotte
I don't know.
I told my parents I'm inviting my new boyfriend over for Passover. They're very excited about meeting them, as we've been dating for some time, but they don't know he's not Jewish. They've always pressured me to marry someone who is Jewish and I feel like I'm making a mistake by making this revelation during such an important holiday. The thing is, we've already made plans to move in together. I know I should have said something earlier, but I've never agreed with their position and they've never given any indication that they are going to stray from it.
-So Hard to Jews
I've been happily married for eight years. My wife and I have sex once or twice a week. But I have a serious problem: I'm addicted to pornography.
I keep a stash of porn in a drawer at work. Three times a week, my lunch hour is spent jerking off in the handicapped stall of a public restroom. And that's only the beginning. I have a fetish for shit. An ideal experience for me is to save up my bowel movement until my lunch hour, go to my favorite restroom, and time it just right so that I empty my bowels right before the moment of ejaculation. An extra bonus is if someone arrives at one of the other stalls and takes a shit. The sound and smell of it excites me even more (I am definitely not gay). And once the person leaves, I finish with a head-shattering orgasm.
After a really good one, I sometimes smear my shit on the walls of the stall. I feel very disgusted afterward. I'm not hurting anyone, but this seems wrong. Should I talk to someone?
-Jackin' It in Jackson
Jesus. It's always something with you people.
Wade: Hoo boy! Preparin’ for this draft certainly has been a mountain of work. Back in my daddy’s day, we’d never have dreamed of this level of preparation: scouting reports, interviews, workouts, background checks, statistical analyses. My, my goodness. I tell ya, it’s nothing like it used to be. Heck, I could work 24 hours a day and there’d still be more to do if I wanted to!
But I tell you what. Ain’t no rule saying I can’t burn the midnight oil without treating myself to a bottle of suds or two.
(opens office mini fridge)
Yep, it’s eight o-clock. Past the point of no return. If I’m gonna be late preparing these here scouting reports, I may as well settle in for the long haul. There’s something about a beer late at the office. It makes work feel a whole lot less work-like, I reckon. I’m sure gonna enjoy this.
Now to simply bring the bottle to my lips and tip it back so that the frosty liquid can, by force of gravity, fall into my mouth…
(door flies open)
Jerry: YEEEEEEEEHAAWWWWWW!!!!!! Yee! Haw! YEEHAW!
Wade: Oh, no.
Jerry: Well, well, well! Drinking on the job, are ya, Chubtard?!
Wade: Sir, I hadn’t even…
Jerry: CHUBTARD CHUBTARD CHUBTARD CHUBTARD CHUBTARD!!!! You like that name, Chubtard?! I thought of it when I was bareback riding my bull over here tonight! I like it because it says you’re both chubby AND retarded! And you are! CHUBTARD!
Wade: I don’t like that name, Sir.
Jerry: That’s what makes it so fun to say, Minister Fudge! Now, what the fuck makes your fat ass think you can drink alkeehol on the job? You don’t own this team! Know who does? Huh? Do you know, Fat The Dripper?
Wade: You do, Sir.
Jerry: YOU GODDAMN RIGHT! THE OL’ DOUBLE-J, OWNER OF THE DALLAS COWBOYS, MOST VALUABLE FRANCHISE IS ALL OF SPORTS AND CROWN JEWEL OF THE GREAT STATE OF TIXAS! TIXAS!!!!!
Wade: Yes, Sir.
Jerry: Hey, Fatlock! Only the DOUBLE-J gets to enjoy his alkeehol on the job! You got me, Faaaatlock?
Wade: Yes, Sir.
Jerry: What kinda fucking beer you drinkin’ anyhow, Chubtard? Bud Light?! BAHAHAHA! That ain’t no drink! (pours self drink that’s one half sarsaparilla and one half skin liniment) Now THERE’S a drink! I do like my sassparilly! You ever try sassparilly, Captain Cumbersome?
Wade: No, sir. Not really my cup of tea.
Jerry: Not your cup of tea? TEA? Jesus, for someone with such a loose ass, you sure are a tightass. You stir that tea with a black cock? Drink some of this, Tubby.
Wade: Sir, I…
Jerry: Just try it. You need to loosen up, Fatty. Matter of fact, put that work aside for tonight. We’re gonna get shitfaced, then we’re gonna head over to the titty bar and get TITFACED!
Wade: But these scouting reports!
Jerry: Oh, fuck the scouting reports! We’re not gonna need those this year, Pop Secret. Double-J’s got a slippery ace up his ol’ sleeve. Now drink, Dumpty! DRINK YOU BIG FAT FAGGOT!
(two hours later at a bar)
Wade: (drunk, singing) You wanna be startin’ something! You got be startin’ somethin’! Mama say mama sah nama moo sah! Mama say mama sah nama moo sah! Mama say mama sah nama moo sah!
Jerry: (also drunk) SING IT, BOY! HOO WEE, YOU’RE JUST LIKE THE FAT CHICK FROM HEART!
Wade: Mama say mama sah nama moo sah! Mama say mama sah nama moo sah! Mama say mama sah nama moo sah!
Jerry: I tell ya, you aren’t such a bad time when you got a little liquor in you, Chubtard.
Wade: Well, you never asked to hang out.
Jerry: Oh, bullllshit, you big fat dicklicker! I invite you out all the time! I invited you to my wife’s daffodil party!
Wade: You made me bartend.
Jerry: THAT’S BECAUSE EVERY GOOD PARTY NEEDS A FAT, FRIENDLY BARTENDER! IN A BOWTIE!
Wade: (does a shot) I never liked you, Jones. You ain’t no better a man than me.
Jerry: Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Chow. I didn’t mean no harm. I wouldn’t keep you around here if I didn’t think you were the right man for the job.
Wade: You mean it?
Jerry: I do.
Wade: Will you shake on that?
Jerry: I will.
(shakes Wade’s hand, knocks him out with one punch)
(cut to one day later)
Wade: Wha… where am I?
Wade: Who are all these children? (phone rings) Hello?
Jerry: YEEEEEEHAW!!!!!! WAKE UP, CHUBTARD!
Wade: Where am I?
Jerry: You are at a home I recently purchased for a young man named Darren McFadden. And, more specifically, for his many various offspring.
Wade: But why?
Jerry: I told you my boy ROMO was goddamn STAR, didn’t I? And I told you he needed more stars, did I not? Well, this young man is a goddamn SUPERSTAR! And we’re gonna make him the next great running back for the Dallas Cowboys! I'm trading all our picks to get him! But I need my boy MCFADDEN to focus! I can’t have him worrying about those little babies scurrying around and shitting all over the place! YOU will get to oversee their growth and what not personally. It’s Fatty Day Care!!!
Wade: So this is why you got me drunk? So you could trap me here!
Jerry: That’s my boy Wade! Always figuring out shit AFTER it’s happened! Way to go, Tits-fer-brains! Now listen, those octuplets need formula on a staggered rotation of every five minutes! And you better get it to them soon! Darren ain’t been home for seven days! Look how pale those little bastards are! They're barely half-Negro anymore! There’s also three more kids upstairs. And six more in the basement. And his latest, Superb, is due from the hospital later today. Oh, and there’s Maury.
Wade: Who’s Maury?
Jerry: He’s Darren’s oldest son. Make sure he gets his Weetabix in the mornin’, or he gets feisty!
Maury: Where’s my cereal, bitch?
Wade: But who will take care of the team while I’m doing this?
Jerry: You can talk to him yourself.
Garrett: Hmm. I was told those children needed a father figure. But you’re more figure than father now, aren’t you?
Wade: You dirty snake!
Garret: Oops. Gotta run. Ta!
(passes phone back)
Jerry: Enjoy the not-quite-miracle of foster fatherhood, Chubtard! YEEEEEHAWWWWW!!! WOOOO HOOOOOOO I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!
At what point does opting to take pictures rather than helping the cow constitute evil animal porn? Is there any chance this is just a role-play thing that these two do every Wednesday afternoon? Do cattle get freaky like that?
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Name: Darren McFadden
Nickname: Run DMC. Sorry Darren, but I hear that name might have already been taken by one of those hippity hop trios out of New York City
Other Nicknames: D-Mac, D-Dawg, Eric Calvi, Butter Boy, and Humanity Advanced.
Rejected Nicknames: McBabyDaddy, Big Mac, Big D, McDeezy
Parents: His mother Mini Muhammad successfully kicked her crack habit, but his father Graylon McFadden left years ago to pursue his dream of opening a bar for insufferable douchebags attending George Washington University.
Siblings: At one point growing up he had one brother in the Crips and one in the Bloods. It was just like that episode of The Brady Bunch when Peter agrees to be Bobby's slave for life, only Bobby takes advantage of the situation and pisses off Peter to the point where the boys have to divide the bedroom into territories. Yep, just like that episode.
Urine Sample: Clean like a mountain stream.
Sperm Count: 50 million per milliliter, and they all swim like Michael Phelps with flippers.
Cause for Concern: Let's just say it doesn't take his kid blowing a mini-golf match to get him in a frilly dress.
And speaking of kids, he may or may not have a few of em.
Mainstream Comparison: Purple Jesus
KSK Comparison: Travis Henry
Who Wants Him: Jerry Jones, no matter what that crazy asshole might tell you.
Who Will Take Him: The Jets, followed by a chorus of white men booing.
Immediate Impact: He'll hit the ground running.
Down the Road: His body is going to fall apart like a piece of furniture assembled by a clumsy Jew.
Previously on BKADP...
Who gets to face the Bengal in our Kill Kill Kill Championship? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t rooting for the bear, because I bet a quick YouTube search could find me a bitchin’ Bear vs. Tiger fight. But first, the Bear must beat the tourney’s overall #1 seed, the dreaded Titan. Let’s rig it! We go right to the pros and cons and ask you, the fan, who would win in a fight… to the death! Indeed, QUIEN ES MAS MACHO?
NOTE: The poll is at the top of the sidebar to the right. Voting for each contest is open until the end of the day that it's posted.
The Titan you’re voting on is Phoebe, Titan of the moon. Lame. According to myth, she gave birth to Leto. I’m assuming that means Jared Leto, who’s a total douche. Look at this fatty.
Way to gain 5,000 lbs. for a shitty Mark David Chapman biopic, asshead. I guess Leto is a Method Douche. He received classical training in douchebaggery from Lee Strasberg himself.
The Bear you’re voting on is famed Marvel comic mutant Ursa Major. By day. Mikhail Ursus is your garden variety Soviet Super-Soldier. But by night, he’s a goddamn BEAR! With claws and fangs and all that shit! He grew up in the wild, so he knows the terrain! Also, according to Wikipedia:
In the space of a few seconds, Ursa Major can, at will, turn himself into a bear-like creature, larger and more anthropomorphic than an ordinary ursine. In this form he possesses super-strength and animal-like senses while retaining his human intelligence and speech, although his behavior and personality become more beast-like.
Take that, Ant Man! Fag!
Bizarre side note: I used to have all the Marvel Universe comics when I was a kid. Those were the comic books that listed all the Marvel characters in alphabetical order and detailed their history and all their abilities. I loved checking them out, but I hated ACTUAL comic books. I liked reading about all the awesome shit Marvel heroes could do, but I was bored out of my fucking mind seeing them in action. Go figure.
Voting closes at the end of the day. Let the battle begin. ENTER THE OCTAGON!
Monday, April 7, 2008
Following up on today's earlier Favre-as-Barbaro post, 289 has crafted this photoshop of the ol' Gunslinger. What a beautiful, innocent animal. He's like the child in all of us. I look forward to Favraro spending his retirement helping a giant ogre rescue Princess Fiona and learning to appreciate the value of friendship.
Reader DaveR suggest changing Brettbaro to Favraro. Agreed.
By reaching the Final Four of the Kill Kill Kill Tournament, we've pretty much exhausted all available jokes and references for the mascots remaining. Trolling through the Sunday funnies yesterday, I found a good angle for our first semifinal contest. Hopefully The Comics Curmudgeon doesn't sue us.
-Considerable longevity despite complete lack of humor
-Stone-sized feet can deliver lethal blow
-Facial hair disturbing even to an animal
-Not sure what separates Vikings from the other warriors in the above comic
-Above comic not funny
-Not as horrible as shrewy wife
-Inexplicably wears white shirt under what appears to be a straw toga
-Sword awfully stubby, looks like made of cardboard
-Wry observations on human nature
-Established record of fooling humans
-Excellent pouncing ability
-Appears in actual good comic
-Access to a transmogrifier
-Only mobile when Calvin is around
-Named after philosopher (Pretentious!)
-causes scientific process to go boink
-Possibly gay for himself (Link is kinda NSFW)
[ Christmas Ape ] 4/07/2008
I’ve been meaning to cancel my subscription to Sports Illustrated. Do I really need to know what Kristis Yamaguchi’s favorite food to microwave is? No, I do not. (She said “leftovers,” which isn’t even a fucking specific food. What a whore.) But I need something to read while I’m burning 5 calories an hour on the elliptical at the gym. (It does all the working out for you!)
But it’s clear now that I should spend my gym time reading whatever copy of Redbook someone left lying around instead. Because this week’s issue of SI contained a handful of letters to the editor regarding Brett Favre’s retirement that made me want to swallow my own head. And since I had to read this incredible dogshit, you do too.
Watching his play and his life for 17 years, we didn’t just see Brett Favre in that Number 4 jersey. We saw our uncle, our brother-in-law, or our fishing buddy. No, Brett wasn’t the greatest quarterback ever to have played. He was just the greatest GUY to ever play quarterback. We’re going to miss you, Brett.
-Scott Powell, Rexford, NY
I… I can’t even… must fight… homicidal urges…
ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME? YOU MUST BE SHITTING ME. YOU BE OPENING MY MOUTH RIGHT NOW AND SHITTING DIRECTLY INTO IT.
Here’s who Brett Favre was, Scotty. He was a very good, durable quarterback. Many times, you may have enjoyed watching him play the game with great skill and creativity. When he wasn’t throwing more interceptions than any player in league history. Other than that, you, Scotty Powell, KNOW FUCKING DICK ABOUT BRETT FAVRE. He’s a fucking stranger to you. For all you know, he boned your niece back at Southern Miss after hitting the ‘shine bong. YOU AREN’T FUCKING RELATED TO HIM. HE’S NOT YOUR GODDAMN POKER BUDDY. “Oooh, look at Brett! He likes to hunt! And he has stubble! He’s so much like me, it’s scary!” Jesus.
“Do you know Vince Vaughn? Have you ever met him? I feel like we’d really get along well. I just… he seems like a fun guy. I feel like we’d hang together well.”
There’s no tangible evidence that Brett Favre is a better person than Trent Dilfer, Jim Kelly, or hundreds of other people who have played the position. Maybe one day, I pray, we’ll be able to do a blood test for Kindness and Warmth. But, until that day, KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF.
But wait. There’s more.
People would laugh when I said “we” won or lost a game because “You’re not part of the team. You didn’t win or lose.” But I always felt like Brett Favre played for me, the fan, so, yes, we did, win and lose together. Every emotion I felt, I felt with him. Brett, enjoy your retirement. We love you, respect you, and, most of all, we will miss you.
-Anna Garcia, Arbuckle, CA
Actually, Anna, the people laughing at you were on to something. For you see, Brett Favre signed a contract with the Green Bay Packers that stipulated he play football in exchange for money and possible health benefits. It’s in writing. I SWEAR. I’m quite sure Favre was pleased to see fans happy with a Packer victory. Know who else felt the same way? EVERY OTHER PLAYER ON THE TEAM. “Omigod! He won that game just for me!” “Omigod! He felt sad after a loss! I felt the exact same way!” “Omigod! He’s jumping up and down after a touchdown! I DO THAT!”
The NBA will never replace Michael Jordan, and the NFL will never replace Brett Favre.
-Craig Earl, North Logan, Utah
Actually, Craig. They replaced him well before he retired. Ever watch Tom Brady or Peyton Manning play quarterback? They’re just like Favre, only they don’t throw 500 ill-advised, back-breaking interceptions a year! Who knew you could have your cake and eat it too?
Do you know what’s happening here? Brett Favre has officially become just like fucking Barbaro. A bunch of retard fans, easily swayed by the “special” status bestowed upon Favre by the media, have begun making all sorts of baseless emotional connections with him. He was more than a quarterback! He was a family member! He attended my wedding in spirit! We have imaginary children together! Our lives are incredibly intertwined!
Enough already. You didn’t know Brett Favre, and he didn’t know you. He played for the team you liked and he was good at it. So much so that he became your favorite player. That's neat. But you wouldn't have known him any better if he had been a fucking horse. You admired him from afar. That’s it.
If that isn’t enough for your emotional needs, buy a fucking dog.
After trudging through a pretty chalky procession through the first two rounds, we had two top seeds go down in the Elite 8. We're hoping to bring the Kill Kill Kill Tournament to a close by the midpoint of this week, because, well, with the actual tournament getting done tonight, it loses its already tenuous relevance in a hurry.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Before another week draws to a close, I wanted to extend a hearty 'up yours' to the NFL owners who overwhelmingly rejected reseeding the playoffs to allow wild-card teams to host playoff games, at the expense of division winners with better records. There are valid reasons to support or oppose such a change, but the company-line reason owner were spouting this week was essentially, "It would unfair to our fans, who have grown to expect they will host a home game if their team wins a division." Bologna, I say!
If the owners were so concerned about the fans, they wouldn't subject them to these meaningless end of season games where division leaders rest the good players that fans bought tickets to see and we get stuck watching Jim Sorgi or some shit. GAAAAAH!!!!!
Now ogle these hot twins.
Shannon was born in Jackson, Mississippi, where her home has been preserved. She was educated at the Mississippi State College for Women, the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and Columbia University's business school. She later became a photographer of some renown while working for the Works Progress Administration.
But her true love was literature, not photography, and she soon devoted her energy to writing fiction. Her novel The Optimist's Daughter won the Pulitzer Prize in 1973. In later life, she lived near Jackson's Belhaven College. She died of pneumonia in at the age of 92, and is buried in Greenwood Cemetery.
This week's draft is pet peeves we want ridden from the world.
Important note: PEOPLE CAN'T BE PET PEEVES. "Ugh, I hate it when people bite their nails." That's a pet peeve. "Ugh, I hate Jews." That would be racism.
With a nod to this McSweeney's piece, we went four rounds (and could have gone 70), so there's no additional commentary today.
1. APE: Prefacing a demand or another question with a question
A favorite of women and relatives. "Can I ask you a question?" "Can you do me a favor?" I'm not signing onto something rhetorically without knowing what it is, so just fucking come out and say it. More bothersome is when someone asks you whether you plan on a certain course of action then demands you not do it. "Are you doing such and such today?" Yes. "Well, I really don't think you should."
2. MAJ: Answering the question "What do you want to do?" with "I don't know, what do you want to do?"
I asked you first, god damn it!
3. DREW: Chipped and/or ugly nail polish
I fucking hate dark nail polish on women. But worse than that, by far, is chipped nail polish. Fucking disgusting. I can't look at Britney Spears' fingers without wanting to throw up in a bucket. Buy some acetone, lady.
4. UFF: Multi-tasking while on your cell phone in public
There are so many things about cell phone use that bother the shit out of me that I had to make this intentionally vague. You're ordering something from Starbucks? Get off the fucking phone. Driving a car? Get off the fucking phone. Watching a movie at the theater? Why is your phone even on, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE. You are NOT that important.
5. PUNTER: Groups of people that refuse to walk single file down the sidewalk when other people are coming.
You're not in a parade, and no one's filming you. MOVE!
6. FLUBBY: People who are waiting to turn left at an intersection controlled by a light, but refuse to scootch up into the intersection once the light turns green.
It prevents people who are behind them from turning right and increases the chance nobody will get through before the light changes. Even if you are a selfish prick like me who doesn't give a damn about anyone else, rolling forward into the intersection guarantees that you will make it through the light. Gaaah!! Just thinking about it makes me want to break stuff.
7. FLUBBY: People who start a story or explanation with the word "basically."
Don't say it; it adds nothing to whatever you're saying and makes you sound like a damn fool. You might as well use a verbal pause like "duhhhhh" or "durrrrrr." If anything, when you hear the word "basically" you can be assured that the following story will not be just the basics, and will probably be some meadering bullshit you will tune out after about four seconds. Basically what I'm saying here is die is a fire, asshole.
8. PUNTER: People that dress slutty and then get pissed off when I start staring.
Somebody needs to explain this to me. If you don't want me looking at your tits, put them in an actual shirt, one that actually buttons up to at least your sternum. I'm gonna look. It's not a crime until I bend you over the sink in the ladies' room, and even then, you still have to say no.
9. UFF: People blocking others from walking up (or down) an escalator.
"Yay! These stairs move! Who cares that it's at one-fourth the pace of a physically fit human being? I'm tired." Then you best clear the fuck out of my way, fatty. I got places to be, specifically: Not-standing-still-on-an-escalator Town.
10. DREW: Not using your turn signal.
I DON'T FUCKING HAVE ESP. GIVE ME A GODDAMN HEADS UP.
11. MAJ: Arguing with children
Not only are children stupid, but they don't play by the established rules of arguing. Trying to reason with a child is like trying to masturbate when you're too drunk to stand up. Eventually you just realize that it isn't happening, so you might as well pass out.
12. APE: Homeless people who approach you with a spiel
"Oh, heyheyhey. You look like a good person. I'm in some trouble, can you help me out? I'm a veteran of six foreign wars trying to get on my feet. I just need money for the subway to get over to the Housing Department. If I don't get to the court by tomorrow, they're going to throw me in prison. Tell me, can you help me out?"
13. APE: Greedy fucking homeless people
This happened in Georgetown a few months ago: I gave some dude busking on the street a dollar and he asked if I had a five or a ten. Like, really pressed me about it and almost got it my face. I was about to reel back and fucking hit him. Also annoying is when homeless people want specific change. "Hey thanks for the nickels and dimes, say, could I have a quarter instead?"
[NOTE: Technically, they're panhandlers. But the motherfuckers should still DIE.]
14. MAJ: Christmas
I'm not going to paste Maj's reasoning here, because that's an asshole pick. Hey, don't like Christmas? Move to Israel. See if you can get courtside tickets for the Wizards there.
15. DREW: Fucking up my takeout order
These days calling takeout means I have to sit on the phone with the person on the other end, who does not speak good English, and repeat my order at least two times, then asking them to repeat it back to me. And they STILL fuck it up, Panera being by far the worst perpetrator. DO THESE PEOPLE HAVE SHIT IN THEIR EARS? And they fucking put mayonnaise on my sandwich when I specifically said I didn't fucking want it. Is this England? Fuck you and fuck your fucking mayonnaise. Fuckhead.
16. UFF: Disturbing my peace on the subway
This includes teenagers attempting to blast tinny music from their Verizon phone, panhandlers, loud conversationalists, and people who wear headphones but listen to them so loudly that you can't help but hear their music. Just fucking sit there and zone out like the rest of us normal human beings.
17. PUNTER: People who don't RSVP
How are you so goddamn important that you can't give me some sort of notice? Yes, I'm coming. No, I'm not. Fuck your stupid poker night. It takes five fucking minutes.
18. FLUBBY: Good beer in frosted glasses
I'm hardly a beer snob; I drink too much overpriced Bud at sporting events to claim otherwise. But I absolutely hate it when I order a Sierra Nevada or whatnot at a bar and they serve it in a frosted glass. Look shithead, macro-brew American lager needs to be kept and consumed ice-cold otherwise it tastes like horse piss. Good beer does not. In fact, the cold glass takes away much of the taste. One time a bartender actually served me a Guinness in a frosted glass. I still hate that bastard.
19. FLUBBY: The Miami Dolphins logo.
It's positively mystifying. Look at it, the dolphin is wearing a helmet with a big letter 'M' on it? Whose helmet is that? If it was a Miami Dolphins helmet, it would have another logo on the side, not a big orange 'M'. Just what exactly is this dolphin's problem? If that old bastards Shula and Buoniconti want to do something useful, they need to get off their asses and get to the bottom of this.
20. PUNTER: When I make a declarative statement about something, and then I'm IMMEDIATELY ASKED for my opinion about that something.
Her: Look at my new jacket.
Me: That looks great on you.
Her: Doesn't it look great on me?
Me: Yes, you deaf whore; I just said that.
21. UFF: "You're So Vain" by Carly Simon.
"I bet you think this song is about you, don't you? Don't you?" Of COURSE he thinks it's about him! How many of her boyfriends could possibly have horses winning at Saratoga? Oh, but HE'S vain because he's able to recognize personal details from his own life? What a fucking bitch.
22. DREW: The growing national pussification with regards to mildly inclement weather
It's particularly bad here in DC. I have a 40,000 word rant about this in my brain for later. All I'll say for now is that school was closed here in MD a month or two ago because it RAINED. That's it. People have been taught by local government and retard weathermen to freak out when they see a goddamn speck of sleet. It's fucking pathetic.
23. MAJ: Undecided voters
In our draft thread, Maj quoted four stanzas of Dante to let us know he doesn't like indecisive pussies.
24. APE: The phrase "Talk about..."
It's an aw-gosh broadcasting trope that makes zero sense and infuriates the bejesus out of me. "Talk about threading the needle!" That's not an exclamation. It's a request.
There are no fewer than 800,000 other things that also piss us off, but we'll stop the draft there so y'all can tell us about your gripes.
Our last regional final could easily have been the championship match had we not been so arbitrary in our seeding. Alas, these two behemoths square off right now. Who takes it? Whose cuisine reigns supreme? We go right to the pros and cons and ask you, the fan, who would win in a fight… to the death! Indeed, QUIEN ES MAS MACHO?
The poll is at the top of the sidebar to the right. Voting for each contest is open until the end of the day that it's posted. Voting in this contest is closed. The Titan won with 66 percent of the vote.
-One of Saturn’s most noticeable moons. It has lakes of methane! Just like my toilet after a bowl of lentil soup!
-Poop the size of a goddamn battleship
-Sometimes goes by cool nickname “Big T”
-Clears out a Pizza Hut lunch buffet like no one’s business
-Knows an excellent preparation for Blackened Child
-Hogs all the fried calamari to himself
-Come on, man. You’re gonna vote for the odds-on favorite? BO-RING
-Cronus lookin’ a little long in the tooth there
-Eats the baby’s heart first when everyone knows the brain is the best part
-Needs entire Alaskan glacier to relieve hemorrhoid pain
-Judging by this painting, doesn't exactly look all that big. I expected a titan to be bigger than Bill fucking Walton. I think it's because Europeans is so goddamn tiny, especially Europeans back then. "OOOH! Look at that six foot tall man! He's a TITAN! Sacre bleu!"
-Knows the distinct odor of an Englishman
-Makes a grand entrance at any gala event
-Wouldn’t you love to see a giant man fight a giant monkey, like King Kong vs. Paul Bunyan? God, I’d love that
“Big Guns,” Skid Row (“She got the BIG GUNS! Pointin’ at my heart! BANG BANG SHOOTIN’ LIKE A FIRIN’ SQUAD!”)
Voting closes at the end of the day. Let the battle begin. ENTER THE OCTAGON!
[ Big Daddy Drew ] 4/04/2008
Thursday, April 3, 2008
The Chief has already withstood one battle against a band of seafaring marauders in addition to the anguish of killing one of his own. Now, it's back to the seafaring marauders, just this time they don't have guns. Apparently you voters have taken an about-face on the top seeds and Chief is the biggest underdog going into the round. Who advances to meet the TIGAH!?
The poll is at the top of the sidebar to the right. Voting for each contest is open until the end of the day that it's posted. Voting for this contest is closed. The Viking won with 61 percent of the vote.
-In pairs, have amusing viral videos.
-Makes a nice refrigerator
-Again, probably named Leif
-Ragnarök an effective spell in Final Fantasy III
-Is Ralph Wiggum in Dreamland
-Just signed Gus Frerrote (Again!)
-Thor movie will probably suck
-Beloved by Drew
-Inspired the Nazis (probably all that blond hair)
-Rare breed of extinct white people
-Cigar store Indian very imposing
-slang for smoking weed
-Would like to clear up the myths about this scalping business
-Headdress distractingly flamboyant
-Leader of side that lost
-Defined by job title
-Can be used as patronizing term of affection
-Rain Dance of little use in this case
-Possibly named Chief-Loses-To-Viking
[ Christmas Ape ] 4/03/2008
(car pulls up)
Order Box: Welcome to Burger King. May I take your order?
Order Box: Hello?
Ocho: I’m here.
Order Box: Can I take your order, Sir?
Ocho: I don’t know.
Order Box: You don’t know?
Ocho: Exactly. I DON’T KNOW.
Order Box: Okay.
Order Box: Would you like a hamburger or something?
Ocho: (sighs) I’ll take a Whopper and large fries. And an orange slice.
Order Box: Is Fanta okay?
Order Box: Sir?
Ocho: Who said Fanta? See now, this is exactly the kinda shit I’m talkin’ about.
Order Box: Sir?
Ocho: ORANGE SLICE.
Order Box: But we only have Fanta, Sir.
Ocho: Exactly. That's all you have. That's all you can do for Chad. And Chad has to decide if that's good enough for Chad.
Order Box: But it's the same soda. It’s still orange.
Ocho: That’s not the issue. If this is the way we’re going to continue, then that’s the way we’re going to continue.
Order Box: What?
Order Box: How about I just scratch your drink order? That way, you can find an Orange Slice across the street at Arby’s. Is that okay?
Ocho: Arby’s? Who said anything about Arby’s?
Order Box: Sir?
Ocho: I didn’t say anything about Arby’s.
Order Box: I know you didn’t.
Ocho: Why are we talking about Arby’s? This is fucking Burger King.
Order Box: May I complete your order, Sir?
Ocho: (sighs) Whatever.
Order Box: Your total is $6.79. If you could just pull around, Sir.
Ocho: THAT’S IT?
Order Box: I… believe so. Was there something else you wanted? Would you like a Jr. Sundae?
Order Box: Sir?
Ocho: You know what’s good? Spiral pasta. I would like some spiral pasta.
Order Box: But, we don’t have that on our menu, Sir.
Ocho: Why not? Why are you so set in your ways? Do you really believe that things will improve the way you’re going?
Order Box: Uh… Your order is ready at the window, Sir. If you could just pull around.
Ocho: THAT’S IT?
Order Box: I think so. Was there something else you wanted to discuss?
Order Box: Sir?
Ocho: I don’t know. Did you know there are some rocks that are, like, 500 years old?
Order Box: My manager said your order’s getting cold, Sir.
Ocho: He said that?
Order Box: Yes.
Ocho: Cold? Why he say that?
Order Box: Because he saw it and it's cold, Sir.
Ocho: So? Listen, I got someone else who needs to order.
Order Box: Okay… May I take that person’s order?
Gary Busey: Why are you taking orders? This is not Poland. We don’t take orders here. You have a nice voice. I’ve been looking at you. I’ve known you since you were a baby, only we’ve never met. Let me touch your ears. Did you know there’s aggression in all of our hearts? I want the raw liver of a horse. And some chicken fries. And I want you to serve it on a tray that’s balancing on your head. THERE IS NO REALITY!
Order Box: I quit.
NSFW language, animated jizz
In case Big Daddy Drew's Peter King fan-fiction gay erotica just isn't doing it for you anymore, the twisted sickos at ZubazPants.com have unleashed this tale of wanton lust. We may have to do two cheerleader posts this week to atone for this.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
We’ve already had one upset here in the Regional Finals of the KSK Real Mascot Kill Kill Kill Invitational. Can the pesky Bengal tiger put the underdogs at 2-for-2? Or will the mighty lion assert his dominance? Judging by the above video, he’s a cutter and runner! We go right to the pros and cons and ask you, the fan, who would win in a fight… to the death! Indeed, QUIEN ES MAS MACHO?
NOTE: The poll is at the top of the sidebar to the right. Voting for each contest is open until the end of the day that it's posted. Voting is closed on this contest. The Bengal won with 63 percent of the vote.
-King of the jungle
-Just a gangsta stalkin’
-Living life like a firecracka, quick is his fuse
-Makes the woman lion do all the work. Good stuff
-Needs couwage. COUWAGE!
-What’s with the mane, Simba? Are you such a pussy that a light breeze necessitates a permanent shrug made from your own hair?
-Wait! Waaaait! He never had a chance to love you!
-Always asleep behind a fucking bush during daylight hours at the zoo when I paid good money to watch him feast upon a fresh elephant carcass
-Guitarist Vito Bratta more interested in dazzling technique than good songcraft
-Gets all whiney when the children cry. One united world under God? What a douche.
-Nittany lion? Gay.
-When I was a kid, I used to go to a video store run by a creepy dude named Lion who had the WORST fucking recommendations for movies. He was always saying shit like, “Hey, have you seen ‘That Old Feeling,’ with Bette Midler and Dennis Farina? Hoo hoo. What a movie. I mean it. What. A. Movie.”
“Gold Lion,” Yeah Yeah Yeahs
-Makes totally awesome imaginary friend
-Staying in one of those hotel on stilts in Nepal where the tigers are roaming around underneath? Dude, they totally know you’re up there.
-In the forests of the night
-What immortal hand or eye
-Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
-Excellent golfer despite bizarre Cablinasian ancestry
-Handles Siberian winter with good cheer
-Stripes make great camoflauge. Where’s the tiger? Where’s the tiger? CHOMP! You’re fucked
-Couldn’t finish Roy off
-Forgot to maim Siegfried
-Frosted Flakes get soggy in milk after 4 seconds
-Often confused with taiga, type of barren land dominated by conifers
-Orange color caused by hideous spray-on tan job from Charlize Theron’s stylist
-Ragged Tiger joined forces with Seven to help create subpar Druan Duran album
-Overexposed as college mascot
-That Tigger sure is one lazy tigger
IT’S THE EYE OF THE TIIIIIIIIIGER!
Voting closes at the end of the day. Let the battle begin. ENTER THE OCTAGON!
[ Big Daddy Drew ] 4/02/2008
I miss Mike Vick. Sure he killed some dogs, but, dammit, he made last year's off-season slightly less miserable. This year we have nothing. Well, nothing except mocking Pats' fans and the occasional comic relief from YouTube.
Maybe I'm over-analyzing this video, but marketing a weed-based breakfast cereal seems counterintuitive since stoners sleep past noon and tend to skip breakfast. Still, it's not difficult to imagine Mike Vick getting high and staring into his Alpha-Bits looking for a message telling him how he's going to get out of the mess that his life has become.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Shawne Merriman: Aw, fuck, again!? This is the second one that's been torched in the last few weeks. Can't be having this shit.
Dexter, man, you gotta help me out with this.
Dexter Morgan: Well, usually I only handle murders. This scene here, though, it's remarkably clean. Expertly done. Almost as though they're trying to send a message? But to whom?
Oh my God. There seems to be some sort of inscription here.
"Get hence, the hearse is at your door—the grim black stallions wait—
"They bear your clay to place to-day. Speed, lest ye come too late!
"Go back to Earth with lip unsealed—go back with open eye,
"And carry my word to the Sons of Men or ever ye come to die:
"That the sin they do by two and two they must pay for one by one,
"And . . . the God you took from a printed book be with you, Tomlinson!"
Okay. Okay. Before we jump to a quick conclusion here, I'd...
[Merriman charges off in a rage]
[Sigh] Just like my dad.
[Chargers training facility]
[Merriman slams him against locker]
Tomlinson: Aw, man, my threads, baby!
Merriman: Why make car go boom? Why make car two go boom?
[Door flies open]
Philip Rivers: Ya betta ask somebodddddaaaaayyyyy!
LaKneeInjury, what've you done!? First you sabotage our team by being Gimpy Longstocking at the end of the year, now you go all Ralph Wiggum on our personal property? I have half an ACL to take this boot up your ass.
Is this how you thank one of our defensive stalwarts? Huh? Is it? Huh? FUCK YOUAnd, hey, loogit what I found here in LaArsonist's locker:
Oh, howdy there, Professor Gas Can. What's that, teach? Holding a lecture on a practicums of SUV explosivity?
Think you're so secure now that Michael Turner's gone, you can go what you want, Viceroy Vizio? WELL YOU CAN'T, COCKBAG! I WON'T HAVE YOUR POWER GRAB!
Tomlinson: No, no, that's that mine. I've never seen that. I couldn't!
Rivers: Je accuse, LT! Je buttfucking accuse! Your visor can't hide your guilt, dammit!
Norv Turner: [Entering] Hey, Phil, what'd you say you needed this vehicle registry for team members for?
[Throws down smoke bomb. It suspends in the air for about 25 seconds, taking a few loops, before gently touching down]