But Wait, There's More!

OMFG, are you serious? Look, beloved Whispers is a little bit of a partisan, maybe, but he's not wrong here. There's seriously zero evidence that Brady did anything, and punishing him for telling the NFL to stick it up its witch-hunting ass is bullshit. But as any number of disciplinary cases have shown, the NFL is completely full of shit when it comes to policing those who suck at its teat. It's a private club and it does what it wants.

And really, if you think that the air pressure in the footballs had anything to do with the Indianapolis Colts choking on their own vomit to the tune of 38 points...Jesus, just give me all your fucking money, because you're that fucking stupid.

And now? I've completely blown my lifetime budget for energy spent defending the Patriots, ever.

How To Embed A Tweet

BFF, he means well. There is no malice in him. Unless you're a Republican. Or a Democrat. Or a voter. But these are small matters. Today's lesson in How To Work The Internet was inspired by BFF, who launched a bunch of assrockets--as is his wont and right--about a topic on which he possesses limited knowledge (as he bloody well can, because it's his fucking blog).

By the way, assrockets are the best sort of rockets to launch, in case  you see all this as unkind or something.

Anyway, the topic was Tom Brady, aka Dreamboat, and I pitched a low-grade, non-foul hiss because BFF failed to pay sufficient attention to his Twitter feed to see that I had tweeted a joke that should go viral and make me a famous buttclown.

And then it occurred to me; BFF doesn't know how to embed a tweet. And so:

1. Find Tweet.

2. Click the three dots in the tweet. "Embed" will be one of the options. Choose it.

3. Copy the highlighted text--just like you would when you embed a video from YouTube.

4. Paste the copied text into your post (in HTML)

5. Eat violas:

FL to punish Tom Brady: Roger Goodell will claim droit du seigneur over Giselle. #DeflateGate

— Landru (@landruajm) May 6, 2015

Yes. Yes, I did just throw BFF under the bus for the sole purpose of repromoting my shitty Tweet. That. Just. Happened.

Speaking For Those Who Cannot Speak

Let me be absolutely clear about this: I do not much care for the New England Patriots. There are 6-8 NFL teams I dislike far more, but it is not a common thing for me to prefer that the Patriots win a given game.

I say this to establish my bonafides. Beloved friends Whispers and Jolene are stomp-down sluts for the Patriots, and anything they would say in public on this issue would be perceived as partisan whining. I cannot allow them to remain unspoken for, and so I say this:

Oh, shut the fuck up. Seriously? Underinflated balls? Fuck me in the ear, it was a cold-weather game in which the officials fondled the balls before every fucking play. Are you fucking shitting me? Do you really need Patriots Derangement Syndrome to be as pervasive and as batshit fucking crazy as Obama Derangement Syndrome? Because that's where you are, America. Well, you know, that and utterly fucking addled about a fucking jingo movie about a lying, homicidal, psychopath war hero. But I'm gonna assert that the football is more important.

That is all.

DCU 3-2 FC Yellow

Hey! Did you know the land grant university of the state of Maryland has a football team? It's true! And because their coach is a third-rate bully and a rinky-dink moron who isn't qualified to coach in Pop Warner, it lost its homecoming game today to the same school that never beat us when Phil Rivers was its 4-year starting quarterback!

Hey! Did you know the land grant university of the state of Maryland has a futbol team? It's true! And they've won a whole shitload of games, including one against the land grant university of two states south, last night! In fact, they're ranked number one, and they're undefeated so far!

Hey! Did you know I'm a fucking moron? That's because I deleted two hours of sequential texts to BFF, sent during the course of the game, in effect live blogging the agony and the ecstasy, and I can't recover them!

Which is a shame, because there would be a lot to say if I could remember any of it, but I can't. Here's what I remember:

Edwin Jurisevic is a referee for MLS. He is a dope. One might not infer this from the card count; I think Columbus (FC Yellow) had four, and we had none. All of FCY's cards, and at least two more, were deserved, as would have been two DCU penalty kicks (one when Pontius was tripped at the 18 while carrying the ball, early--the first act of a game-long theme of Pontius getting mugged, unavenged; another when Neal was thugged down near the bottom left side of the box while carrying the ball, sometime in the range of the 80th minute). The fuckface Jairo Arrieta should've gotten a second yellow for mugging Pontius sometime between the 75th and 85th minutes. On the other side, and not to the dope's credit, he missed two clear opportunities to book DCU players, and one of them could, in some universes, have been a red to Andy Najar, who is a compact little sack of sporadically directed aggression and teen angst.

But enough about that, because what almost caused the stoppage-time loss that I documentably predicted in the 85th or 86th minute was DCU's persistent failure to make anything of possession. The box score says Columbus won possession 52.9%-47.1%. I find that really, really hard to believe. I said to Ilse on the drive home that I swore it was close to 60-40 in DCU's favor. It seemed like we were in possession a lot, with the usual concomitant missed shots, easy giveaways, and resulting stupid fouls. And the backpassing remains insane.

Backpassing makes sense under two circumstances, one of them involving immediate danger of a turnover. The other is when, as you advance the ball, the defense is too packed in for you to sensibly continue the advance. You backpass and hold enough to draw the defense out to apply pressure. Then, you break, and attack--quickly. It's that last bit that has eluded DCU teams, dozens of times a game, for the last 5 seasons. It makes no sense to backpass and then restart the advance at a pace that lets the other team catch up and repack the defense (and let's not even discuss the countless episodes of inept backpassing followed by stupid turnovers and goooooollllls). None. I screamed at Tommy Soehn about it, I screamed at Curt Onalfo about it, and it's only fair that I say this: Goddammit, Saint Benny, you stupid motherfucker, stop fucking coaching them to backpass and then build slow. What the fucking fuck is wrong with you, other than that you learned this fucking repulsive horseshit from Soehn and Onalfo? Didn't Saint Piotr learn you better? Can't you fucking stand there, far closer to this abomination in the sight of the futbol gods than I am, and fucking learn from this? Wake the fucking fuck up, dood. I really, really want to believe that you're not still, after two fucking seasons, in way the fuck over your incredibly short head. I really do. Do please provide countering evidence. Soon.

While I'm ranting at Saint Benny: learn to fucking man manage, you fucking twerp. It was sheer bloody luck that two of your three subs were involved in the spectacular and surprising winning goal and reversed my aforementioned prediction. And why you're stuck on the chickenhearted and immobile Lionardo Pajoy utterly eludes me. But fairness demands a respectful concession, too. While you started bringing subs way later than you should have, and the only reason I can think that you would've subbed out Chris Pontius is that he was getting mugged and the whistle guy wasn't doing anything about it, placing Branko up top turned out real well. I'm not gonna say it was genius, because there's no way in hell you anticipated that a late breakaway would be composed of Louis Fucking Neal and Branko Fucking Boskovic. No. Way. In. Hell. But it turned out real well, so thanks. As it happens, it's the only reason why I'm keeping my religion and referring to you in the proper form, your sainthood, Sir.

But Jeebus, Pajoy is shite. He far more often than not shies away from challenges, he has no idea how to move off-ball, and his footwork isn't as dazzling as he and his mom think it is. Santos has returned from whatever pre-injury vacation he took to the land of relatively smart soccer players, and Saint Benny's fucking fixation on two holding midfielders is beyond comprehension. As he lets two designated players sit on the fucking bench. Jesus H Wobbly Crutched Titty Fucking Christ, that's fucking stupid.

The win puts DC in a playoff spot for the first time in 5 years. Thanks, boys. I can't say well done; it wasn't. It was sloppy, and you were very, very lucky that Warzycha and FC Yellow got cocky and took a chance they shouldn't have taken. Your possession is shite, your finishing is fuckawful, and you let Will Hesmer Andy Gruenebaum look like Tim Fucking Howard. But thank you very kindly, and it's about fucking time. Tradition!

Update/correction:  I'd have sworn they announced Hesmer as the starting keeper for FCY, but Ilse points out that the MLS site says that Andy Gruenebaum. So thanks Ilse, and fuck both FCY keepers anyway.

Another update:  16 minutes of texts rescued by Himself, here. It should go without saying that my favorite is:

91:00 HOLYSHIT BRANKO BREAKAWAY LOB TO NEAL GOOOOOOOLLLLLLL 3-2.

The aforementioned prediction of doom ("reeks of losing in stoppage") was, in fact, in the 86th minute. I started bitching about Saint Benny in the 77th. I was clearly pretty despondent from the time DCU equalized, up to the winning goal.

Al Davis

Yeah. It's John Lennon's birthday, life is roasted with turmoil and sauced with grief and regret, I'm still processing whether those occupistas are dirty hippies, slackers, bums, or class heroes, it's the Redskins' bye week and I've no idea what to do about the wide receiver slot in the league where I own both Santana Moss and Jabar Gaffney, and I bought hockey tickets for a night when there's a DCU home game, again, but fuck all that, I wanna talk about Al Davis.

What a fucking genius. Brethren too wrapped up in angst to discuss anything else might label Davis as one of the exploiters (or I might be cruel, and they might be just as likely to enjoy this NFL Sunday as I am). People who didn't like him or the Raiders or his dark glasses or his style are making zombie jokes, and even some of us who liked him only put those jokes in a little box on hearing of Davis' death. I'm not sure what the decent interval for pulling them out is, but I'll get there on the math.

There are a number of salient things to note about Al Davis--a passionate student of the game, an independent-minded coach and owner who loved his franchise and his players and coaches and fans, a man who was the first in our time to hire a black coach, a man who loved to take a giant dump on the chest of the NFL corporate entity (sadly for the angst-ridden, it was mostly in his self-interest to do so). His passion for winning, beyond his passion for the game itself, was hard to match.

Look, when I was a kid, I hated the Raiders, and I sure wasn't fond of them when that little golden prick Jon Gruden was their coach. Sometimes, that sort of historical hatin' holds up under grownup scrutiny; witness my feelings about the Packers, a team from out of my team's division, not a historical rival at all, not even linked in any level of consciousness with my beloved Redskins for anything more than a single game at a time. That's how much I hated the juggernaut teams of the 60s, and it was easy for me to put the Raiders in that bucket.

Eventually I woke up and stopped buying mindlessly into villain narratives.¹ I figured out some of the shit Al Davis did in his time as a professional football icon, realized that the Raiders were doing something very different from what other clubs did (and winning their share by doing it), took a look at the names of some of the men whose fabulous NFL careers were linked to his. Holy fucking crap. Look at the plethora of stories on his passing, the list of NFL names associated with him, the things people are saying. One sports bobblehead lands on a gem of an observation: We talk about the modern era of thus and such a sport or pursuit; with a league with no Al Davis, the modern era begins now.

I admit that I only started to be a good neighbor to Raider Nation late in life, specifically when they acquired a number of players fairly dear to my heart. Today, I'm saddened for Raider Nation and for the league.

RIP, Al Davis. Just win, baby.

¹When it pleases me to stop buying in. Fuck you, I'll villainize whoever I damn well please.

A Very Special Message for Whispers

Fuck. You. With all the love in the world, of course.

Fucking Bawston.

Where Does It All Start?

It starts, of course, where everything else does today, with some poor bastards walking down a fucking Baghdad street carrying AK47s nothing at all RPGs either nothing at all or video cameras, depending on their preference. Then they get shot blown to fucking bits by some cracker fuckers in a fucking helicopter gunship. Then the fucking crackers in a fucking helicopter gunship zero in on the one poor bastard carrying a RPG video camera, except he wasn't any more because he had been shot by some fucking crackers in a fucking helicopter gunship, wait for some people to try to help him, and then blast the fucking shit out of him, the people who try to help him, their van, and their children who happen to be in the van, all while giggling and laughing that the helpful people trying to help a guy who was fucking wounded shouldn't have brought their children into the war zone that is the neighborhood where they fucking live.

I'm pretty fucking disturbed by this, beyond the massive swelling of pride in my own white Americanness that this footage instills. So disturbed that it'll be a while before I can get to the point, which is actually about other persons and their effect on my life, in varying degrees of what I do and don't care about. Because when I see cracker fuckers in a fucking helicopter gunship blowing pretty clearly nonterrorist people the fuck up because they think that the video camera that hasn't made any attempt to shoot down their fucking helicopter gunship is a fucking RPG, I get pretty fucking pissed off. I'm pissed off at them for being stupid fucking crackers with no sense of professionalism, despite all I hear about how wonderful and cool and professional our all-volunteer military is, and despite having to stand up and applaud some lucky soldier, airman, or squid who just got back from some horrible place for about five fucking minutes every time I go to a hockey game, just to avoid the stigma of remaining in my seat and applauding for about 10 seconds, which is what the thing actually merits, and despite none of the friends who I've seen off to the war and, thankfully, back home safe, being dumbass cracker motherfucker pigs who jizz their fucking shorts over fucking killing people. In fact, what I'm thinking is what an insult to my friends these stupid fucking pieces of hating fascist shit are, and about how glad I am that my friends do not appear to have lost control of their essential humanity to such a remarkable and reprehensible degree when they went off to war.

Would I like to consider the possibility that the footage is somehow faked? Yes. Yes, I would. But that's not really possible, because it appears that military sources have conceded that the footage is genuine.

But this post isn't about cracker murderers. It's about some people and how they are affecting my life, which is to say that some are, and are very much in the news, and some aren't, really, except in ways that piss me off in a way that is sort of a relief from the kind of pissed off I am about illiterate fucking cracker murderers in fucking helicopter gunships emblazoned with my country's flag, and are very much in the news also. In fact, the whole theme is just an excuse to lump some shit together in one post, a post that was going to be just about various riffs on people who happen to be persons of color until I realized how very, very pissed off I am about murderers in my country's uniform.

Let's start with TBogg, who tells us about dumbass innumerate Teabaggers who think that some Gallup Poll supports a calculation that half of African-Americans are Teabaggers. You see, according to this poll, six percent of Teabaggers are Negroes, and 12 percent of Americans are Negroes, and therefore, half of Negroes are Teabaggers. Punchline: the fucktards to whom TBogg refers are Harvard professors. Fight fiercely.

Let's move on to Michael Steele. Usually I just tell you to throw Oreos about him and gloss over the details. But it appears that Mr. Steele, who was once a footman at my state's Governor's Mansion, is in a big old hurting sack of shit-trouble. This is because it appears that Republicans like kinky sex, and in this case, it really appears that appearances are true. So Mr. Steele approved some expenditures of party money on Republican activities related to watching kinky sex, and now his staffers are getting thrown under buses and the Republican Party appears to have suddenly realized that its leader is a Negro. Not being possessed of helicopter gunships, they're trying to get Mr. Steele hoisted up on a cross, because that way they get to martyr him and blame our side all at the same time. My friend Sasha claims that they're afraid to crucify Mr. Steele; I disagree, because I think they're dumb enough to think they can have it all. In fact, Steele is such a fucking moron that he's probably helping them plan it. The longer this goes without Steele noticing the zombie-like odor wafting from his political corpse, the funnier it's going to be.

The last person, who happens to be of color, of whom I would like to take note is one Donovan McNabb, a man of whom I have some severe internal conflicts of opinion. You'll never hear me say a nice word about a Dallas Cowboy, and my DNA-level hatred of the Philadelphia Eagles approaches my DNA-level loathing of the Dallas Cowboys. Don McNabb, however, is a standup guy. I have noted in these pages that he once threw four touchdown passes on an actual broken fucking leg. He has weathered years of the kind of shit that players only get when they play for Philadelphia teams, and done so graciously and remained a very fine particpant in that community and the national community. I probably have more respect for Don McNabb than I have for any other football player on a team I hate.

Yeah, let's keep that in the present tense. The Redskins' trade for McNabb is bizarre. He's older than Jaime Moreno, in football (pick your flavor) years. The Skins coughed up two draft picks for him. The trade is no less bizarre from the Iggles' perspective; why the fucking fuck would you trade, to a division rival, a player who could very well destroy you, playing for that division rival? Pile onto this some ancient Philadelphia-DC karma: the last quarterback trade between the two teams involved Sonny Jurgenson, who certainly made the Iggles pay for that shit. Why the fucking fuck do you take a chance on a thing that potentially laden with karma?

So, even though the evidence is here, in writing, my official position is that the thing doesn't exist. It's the simplest conclusion. I don't know what day it is, or what time it is, but I'm asleep, and this doesn't exist. In fact, let's just wave a hand and apply it to everything in this post. Mmkay? Yeah, mmkay. Buh-bye.

Dear NFL

Uhm...you could at least pretend to review that incomplete pass by Warner to determine that the officials completely fucked it up and it was not, in fact, anything that even remotely resembled a fumble?

None of which excuses the Cardinals' reversion to the defense that couldn't possibly have gotten them into the Super Bowl. But still, dood. I mean, you could just maybe sort of act like you didn't feel some compulsion to hand the game to those Yinzer fucks?

Holy crap.

The Suck...The Suck

Now that the NFL regular season is over and another Redskins nightmare is in the can, it's time to play, "Who Needs To Be Unemployed?"

AFC East:

Miami: While Tony Soprano, or Steve Spurriano, or whatever the fuck the guy's name is, is a reprehensible thug, and the Phins suck donkey boners, I suppose he can keep his job for edging out the Patsies for an AFC East title.
New England: Hah! HAhahahahahahahahahaha!!!! But seriously, we kid because we love. It's just that we don't love Hoodie Check or the Patriots. That said, they did a lot more with a raw injury deal than anyone, including beloved friend and Pats fan Whispers, ever really thought they would. Of course it's not Hoodie Check's fault, and if he got fired, who would I hate on?
J-E-T-S: No. Eric Mangina, AKA Mike Ocho Pussy (h/t to Whispers, who coined this most appropriate nick one afternoon in the basement of Casa Satanica as we watched our fifth fucking Jets game in six weeks earlier this year), makes life worth living and, now you mention it, he's who I'd hate on if Hoodie Check was gone. But that doesn't mean I'm changing my mind.
Buffalo: Who the fuck cares? Buffalo is a sports sewer, the team is a pack of useless, and someone has to coach there. They're almost too pathetic to hate on. Of course, I said that about their hockey team, the only team in the NHL's Eastern Conference (other than the Caps) that I didn't hate, until I had to sit 12 rows above them the other night. Douchebags.

AFC North:

Who the fuck cares? Every team and coach in this division is either useless or fucking reprehensible. Kudos to the Deathbirds, I suppose--they have no business snagging a wild-card spot. Romeo Crennel is dead meat, and he deserves it, although I can't summon up a loogie's worth of feeling about that.

AFC South:

Titans: I think Jeff Fisher may be the best coach in the league. I really like the Titans, except for Kerry Collins. To be fair, it's hard to imagine that they'd have done this well had Vince Young not flaked out, though.
Colts: Ba'al, I hate Tony Dungy. Homophobe, Republican, dickhead. Fuck him to pieces.
Houston: Couldn't name their coach if you paid me. Useless franchise.
Jags: It's always a shame when the Jags don't pay off. Silky Gerard is fun, and Jack of the River is one of the finest coach names in all sports. Given the number of old guys they're carrying, he gets a pass by me.

AFC West:

Who the fuck cares? Shanahan is detestable, Herm Edwards needs to be roasted on the same spit as his pal Tony Dungy, and I have no idea who's minioning for Zombie Lord of the Universe Al Davis. There is one coach who stands alone: firing isn't good enough for Norv. It's a crime against humanity that teams keep hiring this fucktard. Wassup with that?

NFC West:

Seriously who the fuck cares? Whisenhunt is a douche--he mismanaged the Cardinals to a record two games worse than they might have gotten to otherwise. He's still not going anywhere, since they're in the postseason for the first time since I hated them in Saint Louis. Singletary is a douche, not least for publicly dissing mighty Terrapin Vernon Davis. Mike Holmgren ate Andy Reid ate Romeo Crennel, and he's talking about retiring anyway. And I couldn't tell you who's coaching the Rams, not least because I don't fucking care. Linehan's firing didn't abate the suck, I know that much.

NFC South:

Fox and whoever's running the Falcons (again, don't care, although I'll buy him whatever he wants for knocking the Girlz out of the playoffs) are fine, and safe. Gruden is a super maya maya douche, but he's not going anywhere. He'll just blame it all on his gay quarterback. Payton should probably be fired, but he's probably got another year to suck because he managed an NFC title game out of those wankers and the Saints had a lot of injuries this year.

NFC Central:

Minnesota: Ned Flanders must die. I've hated the Vikes since I was a kid, although not to Girlz/Pack/Buzzsaw/Eagles/Giants standards. That has nothing to do with it. Flanders is simply fucking inept. There's no way in hell the Vikings should've been struggling to win that division this year, not with their defense, Purple Jesus, and a couple of reasonably good receivers. And Flanders has no fucking clue how to call plays or manage a game. From a generalized fan perspective, the Vikings are one of the most frustrating teams in football right now, and it's almost all Flanders' fault (I operate on the assumption that Tarvaris Jackson is his fucking fault, too).
Chicago: Lovie Smith must die. The Bears hurt for receivers, but Rashied Davis and Devin Hester/whoever the fuck else they string wide aren't that big of a suck. Orton is a quality quarterback, the line isn't bad, Matt Forte was a great find, and the defense is as solid as any, most of the time. I conclude that Lovie Smith can't call plays to save his life, and that he couldn't win a division where his main competition was Ned Flanders is the final nail in his ineptly constructed coffin. I hate the Bears for atavistic reasons, and have been forced to accept them into my heart a little bit because of my wife's confusion over how many football teams she's allowed to call herself a fan of. There's no reason they should be that bad, except that Lovie Smith can't run an offense.
Green Bay: Mike McCarthy is a hateworthy figurehead for a hateworthy team.
Detroit: Who cares what corpse is running this club?

NFC East:

Giants: Scream scream scream. Coughlin isn't going anywhere, and shouldn't until Eli Manning is exposed as a fraud. The morale genocide of being a New York team will do it, in time; the cracks are showing. But Coughlin's also managed to stoke some quality talent to plaster over the cracks.
Iggles: I will be genuinely sorry if Andy Reid, who ate Mike Holmgren who ate Romeo Crennel, really retires. He's been a worthy adversary, and the relationship between him and Don McNabb is one of the great coach/QB stories in NFL history. I struggle to hate the Eagles, who represent the city of my birth, although I manage just fine, in the long run. It'll really be a shame if Reid goes away. Special thanks to the Iggles for pasting the Girlz today, for utterly assraping them in their own filth, laughing as they did it and posting the pics on a humiliation porn site. The only thing better than the Girlz losing is a 747 full of Steelers fans crashing into a Girlz-Pack game.
Girlz: Lard Tits is dead, and I sure hope that Crazy Jerry replaces him with smug bitch Jason Garrett, mostly so he can take the hit when people finally conclude that that choking pussy Tony Romo is a choking fucking pussy. I mean, anyone whose opinion is worth spit has already concluded that; I'd just like Troy Fucking Aikman, who should NEVER be allowed to work an NFC East game, and Joe Buck, who should be gibbeted on the Hall of Fame, to actually notice that Romo is a choking fucking pussy. Crazy Jerry would, objectively, be right to flame Lard Tits; while the Girlz' defense is a pack of whinging crackheads, they and the offense--holy SHIT, Felix Jones is a good ballcarrier, and I thought TO had the best hands in the league this year--should've been solid enough to salvage a playoff spot. Blame Fudgy the Coach. Or thank him, as I do.
Skins: I hate Zorn; he's Gibbs Lite, and I hated Gibbs. The only reason I don't want Zorn fired is that I'm afraid DannyBoy will dump a shitload of cash in the lap of a certain cocksucker who used to coach the Steelers. And if that happens? I'm outta here. Seriously. If the Skins hire Cowher, that revolting blob of dried Western Pennsylvania spooge, I will kneel down in public and proclaim, before Ba'al and everyone, my undying (until DannyBoy's gone) allegiance to the Philadelphia Fucking Eagles.

Oh yes I will.

Bill Belichick and Jim Zorn Are Fucksticks

I'm writing this quickly, because I have to go meet up with peeps to go to a hockey game, but there are things that cry out for bloogery goodness and a healthy dose of self-righteousness.

The flagellation of the masses over things Super Bowl cannot be ignored. I have these things to say:

1. Yes, Bill Belichick is a total fuckstick. There's no quibbling, no denial, no hiding, no nothing. He is a cruel person, incapable of graciousness. This separates him from other NFL coaches...uhm...not at all? As a fan, you have limited options here; love your team, and laugh at the fuckstick, or leave your team. I suggest the former. Your coach's downscaled humanity does not invalidate your team-love. Yes, we hate your fucking coach (and your prancing pony princess quarterback, while I'm on the topic). We have good reason. He provides it, especially when he doesn't get a win to which he thinks he's entitled. Can we please start laughing at stuff again?

2. KSK is, in fact, funny. It's a humor blog. What the fuck else are they going to talk about this week? They're gonna worship the Giants? I think not. I think it's reasonable to expect them to slip in some Pats-hating around references to a Giants lineman shitting on hookers' chests, until they've got something better to laugh at. And they will. By the way, did you notice how gently they treated the Bears and Colts last year? Funny, that.

3. Have I mentioned my team? Any of my teams? Like, say, this one? Look at me, I'm laughing. Jim Fucking Zorn? Are you fucking kidding me? After all that and hiring coordinators before coaches and doing your best to emasculate anyone who might want to come work for your blatherskite organization and waving your schlong at the Rooney Rule, you hire one of the fucktards you've already hired? Don't get me wrong, it's a step up over Jim Fucking Fassel. But Jim Fucking Zorn? Fuck you too, Dan and Vinnie. Fuck the fucking fuck outta you. It's not like you wouldn't do it to me. What am I saying? You are doing it to me. Fucksticks.

Gotta go watch hockey. More Death to Zorn later on.

They Can't Be Giants

I really owe it to two beloved friends to try to be gentle about this, and I'm really gonna try. The thing is that Patriots fans, with the absolute exception of my two friends who know who they are, are total fucksticks. Even my two beloved friends, who know who they are, couldn't help spending the weekend taunting God. And yet, I really don't like seeing them suffer along with the millions of douchebags with whom they have to share a football team. I very nearly hurt for them. In fact, I do hurt for them, even though the Patriots and all but two of their fans are fucktards.

Many of you know that I am all about the schadenfreude, and about the haterade, at least when it comes to sports. And politics. And people who piss me off. And dogs. And those kids on my yard. And that fucking Elmo video that Bam-Bam wants to watch over and over again.

But I digress.

This is way different. It is true that they had it coming, all of them, the fucksticks (who are simply fucksticks), the Patriots (who are insufferable asshats), and my two beloved friends, who couldn't stop taunting God despite their best efforts and the fact that they are not, in any way, fucksticks.

It is true that it is sad that they didn't see it coming. I considered stopping it, I really did. I gently and passive-aggressively tried to get them to respect Elisha, even a tiny bit just to offset their complete lack of unconfidence. But they couldn't do it, and honestly, it's hard for me to blame them. I mean, c'mon. Eli Manning? Get the fuck real.

And yet? And yet? They taunted God.

My Freestate homies--one of whom knows and loves my two beloved friends--understand this concept, to their very bones. It is the obligation of every Maryland fan to hang his or her head and steadfastly declaim any chance that any Terrapin team in a revenue-producing sport will ever win so much as a game of tiddlywinks, ever. In this way, we once-in-a-lifetime win the NCAA tournament, or a basketball game in Cameron, or even perhaps a football game against your sister's Girl Scout troop. It's an important obligation, one that every fan of any sporting endeavor should embrace, especially this guy when he's contemplating the potential fates of a certain greatest football team (Vamos!). It's why nobody but me knows that I sorta thought the fucking Giants might pull this off; I kept my fucking mouth shut. I freely admit that it helped that I hate the fucking fuck out of the fucking Giants, too, but that's a stumper; I kept my fucking mouth shut because I didn't want to jinx the fucking Giants? WTFF?

But I digress. It's simple. Don't taunt God, kids. She'll make a beeline for your afterquarters every single time.

And peace out to my two beloved friends who gracefully and good-humoredly sat through an evening of being tormented by fans of the fucking Giants and even bigger fans of schadenfreude.

On the Record

Lessee...douchebagowner-hired offensive coordinator? Check.

Douchebagowner-hired defensive coordinator? Check.

Black coach to carry message slips, make ownership look like something other than a pack of tawdry insenstive fucks, and take the rap when the defense reacts inevitably to the long tall piss management's been taking on them since their homie got blowed away in his bedroom? Check back with us next Tuesday.

Fire Jim Fassel

Thanks to Sasha for pointing out this spiffy new blog.

I've been pissed at the Redskins organization for a long time. Their extension of the idiot Vinnie Cerrato's contract was the key message from the organization for this off-season; everything else is just Dan and Vinnie dumping on the chests of the fans (a pursuit best left to certain Giants defensive linemen, but it's not like we have any control over these things, izzit?). Firing a popular and completely blameless defensive coordinator (in addition to not selecting him as a perfectly worthy successor to El Senor Jesus Gibbs) is just a guarantee that the defensive roster will pretty much unnecessarily turn over in the next two seasons.

Further, with new offensive and defensive coordinators hired, it's clear that whatever tool is hired as coach is just keeping the seat warm until the Two Stooges decide he's to blame for their moronic decisions. I can't imagine anyone other than Norv Turner taking that job.

The Fall of the King

In a watershed event today for the entire Chesapeake Bay...uhm...Watershed, Joe Jesus El Senor Christo Super Mayamaya Jefe Gibbs of the Crazy 21s announced that he actually has been dead for the last 3 years and is now going to crawl back into his coffin. For this we thank Jeebus. The real one, I mean. Whether or not he can hear us.

Crazy 21s owner Cliched Irish Ballad commented that he would interview a brown person, as required by NFL policy, then hire either failed mad scientist Gregg Easterb Williams ("C'mon, man, they were the freakin' Bills!") or Todd Collins' topdom Al Saunders, unless he decided to piss off Landru's wife Ilse by hiring Brian Billick, or just go for the gusto and piss off Landru by hiring Belligerent Fucktard Bill Cowher. For their part, all 88 of the Crazy 21s said they dug Williams' hip vibe and would shit on Sean Taylor's grave if C.I.B. hired the douchebag Saunders, who was personally responsible for the 21s' acquisition of Todd "Sorry, I've Only Got 19 Competent Quarters In Me" Collins.

In a thoroughly precedented development, all Washington area media outlets refused to cover anything else so they could jerk off over El Senor's corpse. The New Hampshire primary was cancelled on orders of The Liberal Media's Washington headquarters.

Fat Man's Head In A Circle of Flowers

Memes circle their prey. Take this meme right here, which I first propagated 376 days ago. I gave up on it after a time, because in spite of Ralph Friedgen's fat but empty head, the football Terps ended up not all too bad last season. But we're back. I once again want Ralph Friedgen's fat but empty fucking head impaled on a stake in the middle of the M Circle as a warning to his kind. A very tall stake. And I want it right fucking now.

Back on Satan's birthday, a birthday he shares with his father-in-law...shit, I'm so pissed off at that fat stupid twat I'm talking about myself in the third person.

My father-in-law and I have the same birthday, and on that day (which this year really sucked pretty fucking fantabulously, because my stepson has the same birthday too, and being a reasonable and kind person I was absolutely deferential about who came first, that day) my wife and my mother-in-law gave us tickets to the Maryland homecoming game, against Virginia, a game that was just played, this very day. My in-laws are, you see, Motherfucking Hoos Fans, in addition to a few other faults I am forced by common decency to forgive. Last time we did this, two years ago, the Hoos were a total suckjob and Maryland won by something on the order of 30 points.

This evening, Maryland dominated the first quarter, didn't lose a lot of ground in the second quarter, sucked but basically held in the third quarter, and spent the fourth quarter putting itself in a position, thanks to the Fat Man's ill-placed cockiness, followed by unfathomably ill-placed gutlessness, to lose the game by a single point on three consecutive questionable calls in the last two minutes of the game. Should all three calls have gone the Hoos' way? I have no idea. They only show you the replay once, inside the stadium, if at all. This is probably a reasonable riot-control measure. I will leave it to Sasha to weigh in on this, if she happened to be watching this nationally televised disaster.

Should any football team go for it on fourth and one at their opponent's 35-yard line with 6 minutes left in the game? Let me rephrase the question. What kind of fat fucking pussy of an inept excuse for a fucking Division I football coach doesn't go for it on fourth and one at his opponent's 35-yard line with 6 minutes left in the game and a 5-point lead, at home, on Homecoming Night?

Ralph Fucking Friedgen, that's the fuck who. Dribbling fucking idiot.

And another thing: the University of Virginia Band must die. Die die die. I suggest public sacrifice on the intramural athletic fields at Route 1 and Campus Drive. Y'know, just below the M Circle. While we're impaling Ralph Friedgen's fat but empty fucking head on a stake in the middle of it. Soon. Cocksucking, chicken-bucket swilling, lard-brained sack of wasted protoplasm.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

Fuck.

Update (7 hours later): Fuck.

Hallooooooo

Yeah, yeah. I don't blog, I don't phone, I don't email. The Earth's rotation appears to be unaffected. You still, in all likelihood, ate dinner last night. It's even possible that, since you last gazed upon these works and despaired, you got laid. Woot.

Bullets:

-bDr is mining old Star Trek pics and can't stop. An intervention is scheduled.

-The New England Patriots are cheater cheater fofeaters. NBC spent four fucking hours last night justifying Coach Hobo's decision to spectacularly and remorselessly cheat by showing carefully constructed footage of legal football espionage. Let me do the math for you, Whispers and Jolene: everything your little "football team" has ever "done" constituted the "fruits" of cheating. The two of you have personally made Jesus cry, a thing which both of you, for different reasons, do with stunning regularity (and come to think on it, it's past time I introduced you two crazy kids--Whispers, that's Jolene, she's a scorching hot Boston lawyer chick transplanted to a convertible in Southern Cali; Jolene, that's Whispers, a sexy math geek who speaks three languages and lives on two continents. Jolene's only flaw is that she's just too fucking brilliant. Whispers' only flaw is that he once failed to bet on the Patriots to win the Super Bowl at 150-1 even though he knew perfectly well that they were cheating. You both commit unnatural acts with Boston sports teams. Have at it.).

-In other sports news, the US Womens National Futbol Team is in China. They need your support, even though their overall hotness level dropped staggeringly when Mia Hamm allowed herself to be penetrated by Nomah Gahciapahhah. Get up on Tuesday in time to provide it as they play Nigeria in their last group stage game, having stomped a bunch of hot Swedish girls, some perfectly ordinary Swedish girls, and some downright mannish Swedish girls into the Chinese earth, and having shamed themselves by allowing dirty Red Commie Koreans to tie them. This is important. bDr agrees, although he's just in it because he wants to splash Abby Wambaugh's bones. To each his own.

-Have I mentioned that the Patriots cheated?

-My Terps suck. Look it up yourself. Factually incorrect Terp-bashing here, which is a shame, because the facts speak for themselves.

-The Patriots are cheaters.

-Shh. DC United has been playing well.

-Bill Belichick is an unindicted felon.

-Politics: Just shut up. You're making me very, very tired. Every word written about politics right now saps my will to live. Seriously. Every time someone writes about Petraeus or the Justice Department or the Small Business Administration or right-wing fucktards, God kills a kitten, and every time God kills a kitten, a little part of me dies inside.

-All Boston sports teams are blights upon decency and upon humanity itself. And their best defense is that they're not the Yankees. Fie on you, I say! Ka-plah!

-How am I? Tired. Really, really fucking tired. And put upon. And tired. Really, really fucking tired.

This has been another edition of Death by Free Association.

Ketchup

Busy week.

These not-bunnies are sleeping after eating Landru's blogging time this week.

But the world refuses to sit still as I don't blog it, so I'll catch up a bit here.

John Edwards (the Presidential candidate, not the other douche): What a spineless fucking piece of shit. Granted, he eventually expressed something vaguely resembling support for Amanda Marcotte and ShakesSis, who he had hired to reach out to the netroots. But he waited 36-48 hours after the faux explosion around them (caused entirely by noisemaking right-wing fucktards), before acting. Sasha points out (privately) that Edwards is either a complete pussy, or merely an ineffectual one. To the extent that it was possible that I'd support Edwards in the primary any more, it ain't now. That a so-called progressive candidate could find himself at odds with the "sentiment" of various posts by unshakeable feminists is not exactly what anyone would call progressive. And the outrage over girls saying "fuck" is sheer hypocrisy. I'm not a big fan of either blog (ShakesSis is linked here, because I occasionally mosey over and get a dose of whatever they're peddling), but this shit is way over the top.

Anna Anna Anna Anna Anna Nicole: I don't want to laugh at this tawdry tart's misfortune. It's hard for me to sit here and write that she was dumb, or something; she parlayed those tits and that ass into megawealth. On the other hand, I just heard the first "choked on her own vomit" story of the ensuing media frenzy. While Anna Nicole Smith was and is pretty much irrelevant to me, I must simply remind you that you can't dust for vomit.

Looney Astronaut: Sasha and I were discussing how this week's news alone should be outstanding fodder for TreyStoneParkerMatt, but sadly, they're not producing new episodes of South Park at the moment. Hopefully a wacky astronaut chick driving hundreds of miles in diapers to fuck up a workplace rival (and remember, Wacky Astronaut Chick says she wasn't involved with Studly Astronaut Boy) will remain topical until they start cranking some new stuff. And if there was no fucking involved, Victim Chick must leave quite a mess in the ladies' or around the coffee machine, to be provoking that much hatin'. This story is, by the way, the funniest. Thing. EVAR.

The Super Bowl: I think I done said all I'm gonna, in the game-night posts. The Cum Cannon just couldn't sling enough spooge to get the job done, and that's sad. From a high comedy perspective, the game rated about an A minus; the rain was a hoot, bashing the Cumslinger is a hoot, and it just doesn't get any better than 5-6 turnovers before halftime in the Super Bowl. The commercials this year neither heightened nor diminished the thing's comedy potential, although it was a pretty lackluster set of commercials. And Prince with a shadow demon penis? Priceless.

Futbol: Of course, blackDogred has addressed this thoroughly and essentially without fault. The U.S. mens' national team played a friendly against Mexico the other night, and it was massively entertaining. Unfortunately, I've gotten to the same point with USMNT that I've gotten to with the Terps; I dislike almost as many of the USMNT players as I do Maryland basktballers. While this is sad, it doesn't keep me from spewing bile when our boys play the Mexicans, who are aging, melancholy, unsportsmanlike pussies. The good news is that I can forget about this a few weeks into DCU's upcoming season and focus on hating Bruce Arena (who was in the booth with Eric Wynalda for the Mexico game, and THAT, friends, was pure comedy gold).

And in closing:

Greg says, "Fuck you, Michelle, Gun Counter Gomer, and Dan Riehl!"

On The Other Hand

I gotta give the guy TAFKAP props for hanging in and doing an electric show during a monsoon.

But then again, that whole demonic shadow penis thing gets us right back to planet-scouring.

Can I have my football comedy gold back, please?

Dear Aliens Watching The Super Bowl Halftime Show

Yes. He's an embarrassment. I cannot fault you for scouring us from the face of this otherwise perfectly good planet.

Pregame Show

I have previously opined muchly about football. It is time to come to a conclusion.

While Rex Grossman is a testosterone-drenched cum cannon dressed in a Bears uniform, spraying footballs all over the Orange Bowl (or wherever they're playing this game) to sublimate his need to inseminate everything in America, and the Bears are despicable sons of bitches, their defense led by a steroid-crazed bag of herpes who actually stuck his dick in Paris Hilton, the Colts are far worse. Peyton Manning is a closeted homosexual Republican party supporter, and Tony Dungy hates fags. There is no doubt about the outcome of righteousness here; God wants the Bears to win.

But God doesn't have time to influence the outcome of the Super Bowl (beyond maybe dumping a few gallons of rain on South Florida, demonstrating that, like many bettors, God took the points). God is, like the rest of us, busy eating greasy appetizers and cursing CBS' coverage of the game.

The simple fact is that the Bears still haven't played anybody. When they've played teams that approach being somebody, they've squeaked by. Victories over Seattle and the Aints to get to this here game are simply not all that compelling. The Colts, on the other hand, have managed victories over the best teams in the league during their march to the big day. While the game should, by rights, be close and low-scoring, even my stark disgust with Manning would not prevent me from picking him over the Cumblaster in a close game for all the marbles.

Of course, I'm rooting for the Bears; we've covered that. And the only game outcome that would surprise me would be the Bears blowing out the Colts. But I think it most likely that the Colts are going to win tonight.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go eat some deep-fried cheese sticks.