Wednesday, November 17

Another One In The Books

This season my fantasy team, the Orlando Shibacle missed the playoffs. SHOCKING, RIGHT?!?! My nightmare season was a roller coaster of dry humps; starting off at 0-4, then easily winning the next three, then giving me blue balls right up until last Sunday, when Todd Heap got hurt in the first quarter and Philip Rivers took a runny, steamy shit on my chest.

I tried to keep my analysis to a minimum, and mostly go with Yahoo's recommendations. My match ups were absolutely garbage, and my picks were even worse. No wonder I got my shit ruined. Here are some of the season's worst performers:

WR Mike Sims-Walker: The only person that has earned the right to hyphenate their name is the magnificent Maurice Jones-Drew. Mysteriously, he was unavailable after I drafted Rivers and Rodgers. Mike, your gold-brickin' ass couldn't carry MJD's fucking jock strap if you had a supercharged forklift. EAT A BAG OF LAVA-MARINATED DICKS.

K John Kasay: He's a kicker. He should suffocate under the rotting corpse of a manatee.

RB Darren Sproles: You were my sentimental pick this year, because I somehow believe you could hit the NFL lottery and run back a few kickoffs, while earning NO RETURN YARDS. But alas, you return kickoffs for the San Diego Chargers, which means you fucking suck. You should be melted in a tank of Velveeta and devoured by horny hippos.

DEF Indianapolis: You got me a net of -1 points in week four. MINUS. ONE. POINT. This reminds me of Less Than Zero, Robert Downey Jr's breakout movie about a pathetic druggie asshole. Speaking of assholes, you should re-create River Phoenix's last night in Hollywood and die alone, face down in a urine-stained gutter.

WR Legadu Naanee: In week six, you were injured again with little or no notice. Kindly position yourself beneath a Mumbai shitter ala Slumdog Millionaire and open your mouth skyward. You will undoubtedly be infested with any number of parasites and die a slow, painful death. Just desserts! I call it nature's fudge.

WR Roy Williams: You play for the Crack Wagon and singlehandedly cost them at least two games. This is bittersweet, because I hate to see them win any way. They're branded "America's Team" by the dumb fuck sports media, and they're the most overexposed, overrated team in the history of football. You will be shot into orbit by Hitler's Supergun and imploded in the cold vacuum of space.

RB Benjarvus Green-Ellis: See above. Also, you play for the gaddam Patriots. Since you didn't get the memo about hyphenated names, you will be crucified the Zulu way. You'll never sit comfortably in hell.

WR Hines Ward: Before you got concussed and started dropping passes, you were barely thrown to by that douchebag of a sexual assaulter, Ben Roethlisberger. Let this be a lesson to you rookie fantasy coaches out there: never trust blasians with thousand dollar smiles. Hines, you will be spit-roasted by two furries (no, I don't mean cooked).

RB Ronnie Brown: I'll never forget how you scored six touchdowns against the Patriots ... whenever the hell that was. Another sentimental pick, The Brown Note had larger contracts on his mind and a one-way ticket out of Miami because he wasn't accepted into the gay community. For that, he will be smothered inside Kathy Bates' withered gash.

QB: Philip Rivers: It's only fitting that this asshole screwed me with a horrible performance at home versus the rudderless Raiders. He got picked twice for touchdowns. TWO PICK SIXES! He is sentenced to solitary confinement, where he will stay until next season, when my dumb ass drafts him again. Have I mentioned I suck at this?

TE Anthony Fasano: You were like a autistic ninja through twelve weeks of the season. You did nothing very quietly, then decided to blow the fuck up while you were on my bench. I think you should have dynamite stuck in every orifice and sprayed with a flamethrower. Just for shits and giggles, I'll play a Ke$ha song at full volume while I do it.

I would never force anyone to read anything further about my fantasy football abortions, so instead I'm going to show you. May I present...


Moobies! Here's 25 pictures of men with breasts. I could never picture myself with a set of these. Even though I'm the most lazy person I know, feeling the jiggle of fatty, adipose tissue just makes me want to force myself to puke. I can never understand the men that allow this mutation of gluttony to even begin to show. SERIOUSLY ... GET OFF YOUR ASS. Some of these assholes are rich shitheads and they don't have to worry about looking good if they have a car that's more pricey than my house.

Beauty Pageants for Boys. Here's a clip from The Joy Behar show ... I told you it was awful! Adam Corolla seems to think that we'll all be chicks in 50 years. Here's evidence that we'll all be chicks in 15: Mothers are forcing their male children to compete in these freak shows, because they somehow enjoy parading their kids in front of pedophiles. All of the mothers insist that the kids love it, and are doing it voluntarily. Meanwhile, the fathers have packed up their shit and left long ago (and were right to do so). What the mothers won't tell you is that they withhold their attentions to their sons if they don't participate. Hey lady: you are worse than the mothers of suicide bombers.

Whip My Hair. The evil spawn of Will Smith and Jada Pinkett has emerged as a pop music icon and has produced this abomination of music. It's too terrible to post anywhere near my blog, so I invite you to watch Jimmy Fallon and Bruce Springsteen sing it. Fallon is dressed as Neil Young. It's frikkin' awesome.

Rock hockers. It's December, and that means it's the time of year to remind all you men out there to fork over 20% of your yearly salary to put a rock or series of rocks on your special lady friend's body somewhere. "He went to Jared!"

I saw a commercial the other day depicting two daughters hopeful about their father's choice of blood diamond retailers, loudly exclaiming, "of course he went to Jared!" In another spot, the pretty one says, "Goodbye college...In five years I'll be forced into white slavery, but it's a good thing that Dad got those shiny rocks for Mom!"



See you next year. Enjoy the Super Bowl, fellow Juggalos: PHI 33 NE 28

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