Jamboroo, Week 5: I Wanna Talk Like A Motherf—kin' Quarterback

Big Daddy Drew's Thursday Afternoon NFL Dick Joke Jamboroo previews the upcoming weekend of the NFL every, well, every Thursday afternoon.

Ever since I was a kid, I dreamed of playing quarterback. Hell, I still dream about it. In an alternate dimension, I've already led the Vikings to six world titles. AND I did it all on a broken ankle. I also own an oceanside condo in Laguna Beach, which I share with Marisa Miller. It's a really nice time. Clooney's coming over Tuesday. You should drop by for some witty banter and a glass of Disaronno if you like.

Anyway, back here in reality ... In the spring of my senior year, I was accepted to the University of Michigan. It was the only school I got into. No other university saw my raw potential. Nor were they awed that I could eat 12 turkey drumsticks in a single sitting. A pity for them. I spent the majority of senior spring imagining myself getting into killer shape (only when I got to Michigan, not any sooner), learning to throw a perfect spiral and walking on to the team as a latter day Johnny U. I'd blow away the coaches, win four national titles and be elected honorary President of every fraternity on campus, even the black ones that didn't allow pledges to speak to white people. I thought it was a really killer plan.

Things didn't quite work out that way. For one, I never got into shape. Blimpy Burger will do that to you. (I liked mine with a fried egg on top!) More important, I couldn't throw a football. Still can't. I can't throw one more than 20 yards. Sometimes I'll wind up with all my might and think to myself YES, this will be the throw that goes 80 yards. It usually lands a good 20 feet from my friend Jeremy's feet. I didn't walk onto the Michigan team. I didn't even come close to trying. I got a hernia instead. I transferred after one semester, which opened the door for a certain fellow by the name of Tom Brady. You're welcome, Dreamboat.

Ah, but the dream lives on. I want to be a QB not because I love the game, but because I like to imagine the money, and the drugs and the incredible amount of available poon at my disposal. Can't beat that. But mostly, I want to be a QB so I can talk like one.

You ever hear a QB bark orders at the line of scrimmage? Fuck, I want to do that. No wonder Peyton Manning takes forever to call a goddamn play. He's relishing the chance to bark out random words as only a quarterback can. You get to drop your voice an octave and get all raspy, and no one questions it. BLUE 59 RAZOR! BLUE 59 RAZOR! SET, HUT! HUUUUUUUUUT! HUT! God, that is sweet.

I played JV football for, like, 10 years. And I could always tell that the kid who played QB was fucking jazzed to start talking like that. ALABAMA! ALABAMA! READYSET! That was the quick snap. Awesome. Defensive players would get in on it too. If they saw a pass, you bet you your ass all of them would yell PASSSSSS! at the top of their lungs. Same with SCREEN!s. And if the offense was unbalanced? Holy shit, that was bliss. UNBALANCED! UNBALANCED! UNBALANCED, MOTHERFUCKER!

Sometimes they'd get fooled. Especially on REVERSE REVERSE HOLY FUCK IT'S A REVERSE! NO, WAIT! PASS! PASSSSSSSSS!

You see those old NFL Films of QB's at the line, and you can tell they just know they look badass doing that shit. I totally want to do that. The closest I ever came was when I worked as a busboy at an Austrian restaurant in Connecticut run by a man who was an obvious descendant of Hitler. Customers couldn't hear you in the kitchen, so I'd run in and shout out the orders in my best QB bark:

"TWO SOUP! TWO CAESAR! AND A MELON WITH PROSCIUTTO, BITCH!"

I was never asked back to that job. It wasn't the same as playing QB anyway. So I dream on. I'm not a quarterback. But I'll be coaching Pop Warner some day. And you can bet your ass I'm gonna show some dipshit nine-year-old how to talk like one. Then he'll outthrow me by 50 yards. Little prick.

The Games

All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.

Jamboroo, Week 5: I Wanna Talk Like A Motherf—kin' Quarterback

Five Throwgasms

Bucs at Colts: Like Cher, you can't stop Jeff Garcia from making a red hot comeback. To beat the Colts, the Bucs will deploy Michael Pittman and Earnest Graham in the place of injured Cadillac Williams. Few people know that Earnest Graham is the son of Earnest Byner and Scottie Graham. Byner is one of the more skilled bottoms among NFL alumni.

Jamboroo, Week 5: I Wanna Talk Like A Motherf—kin' Quarterback

Four Throwgasms

Chargers at Broncos: Records suggest this isn't the most compelling matchup of the week. But this is the last stand for the Chargers. I'm expecting them to show a lot of... what's the opposite of resilience? As for the Broncos, Jay Cutler's parents apparently got into quite the spat during last week's Colts game. Is this the week that they have angry hate sex in front of the Bronco Brat vendor? I'll have my fly unzipped just in case.

Seahawks at Steelers: It's a rematch! Seattle looks to redeem itself after a controversial loss in the Super Bowl two years ago. Will they get revenge? Well, of course not. I mean, Christ, this is just a regular season game. That other game was the goddamn Super Bowl. That opportunity has long since passed, Hawks fans. You lost. Forever. But hey, you'll always have Mudhoney!

Browns at Patriots: Is Derek Anderson for real? If so, it would be the final humiliation for Brady Quinn. God, I hope he's for real.

Jamboroo, Week 5: I Wanna Talk Like A Motherf—kin' Quarterback

Three Throwgasms

Jets at Giants: Bridge vs. Tunnel! Winner gets a month's supply of Dep, Van Heusen dress shirts, and Lee Press-On Nails!

Bears at Packers

Lions at Redskins

Jamboroo, Week 5: I Wanna Talk Like A Motherf—kin' Quarterback

Two Throwgasms:

Falcons at Titans: Michael Jenkins and Roddy White have somewhat flourished with Joey Harrington throwing them the ball. So Falcon fans, you can thank the Federal government now for sparing you from seven additional years of Michael Vick learning to "grasp" the pro-style offense.

Ravens at Niners: Dilfer's Revenge! Brian Billick, did you think you could just leave Trent Dilfer for dead and get away with it? Dilfer will have the last laugh on you and your stupid fucking straw hat! Only Greg Norman can get away with that look! Prepare for a taste of fire!

Jags at Chiefs

Panthers at Saints

Jamboroo, Week 5: I Wanna Talk Like A Motherf—kin' Quarterback

One Throwgasm:

Dolphins at Texans: This game's uglier than the lady in the HughesNet ads. I'll bet anything the chick in those ads is the CEO's second wife.

Cowboys at Bills: Speaking of ads, you'll probably see a lot of the new Miller Lite campaign during this blowout. It features John McGinley as commissioner of the More Taste League. I'm not quite sure how improved taste works in a league format, or why that league would require oversight from a commissioner. All I know is that Miller Lite would be the Buffalo of this league: shitty, colorless, and with nothing but lonely fatasses supporting it.

Cardinals at Rams: Leinart vs. Warner. Blue state vs. Red state. Young vs. Old. Illegitimate children vs. Stepchildren. Douchebag vs. Tightass. Too long holding onto the ball vs. Much too long holding onto the ball. Scary diseases vs. Scary wife. Annoyingly shallow vs. Annoyingly deep. Whining to Internet reporters vs. Whining to talk radio. WHO YA GOT?!

Five Players Who Could Fuck Your Fantasy Team Over

Five Players You Might Want To Think About Starting, Only To Have Them Screw You Regardless Of What You End Up Choosing To Do

These sections are being discontinued. You're not going to listen to my start/sit recommendations. Hell, even I don't listen to them. Last week, I suggested starting Cedric Benson and Brian Griese. You didn't need to read that. That was extremely unnecessary. Frankly, the only reason I wrote these was because I'll read any start/sit section on any site, no matter how stupid the advice is. It's just a nice time-filler. But I'm sick of looking at the schedule and trying to randomly pick a player who I think has a decent matchup. That's way too much research, and I'm not doing research for the $3 a week that Gawker Media pays me, especially when I have to fill out so many forms in order to get said $3. You hear me, Denton? I read you're worth $280 million. Drew wants his piece of the pie, you rich fuck.

But I'm not here to shortchange you, darling reader. I have a replacement section ready to go, and here it is...

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

I'm not here to try and impress you with my musical taste. I still have four Jamiroquai songs on my iPod. I can't get enough of that crazy Jay Kay, with his funky beats and large headwear. He also pioneered the art of walking on conveyor belts in music videos. Suck on that, OK Go! Sometimes, when I've had one mai tai too many, I crank up "Cosmic Girl" and prance around my house in a pink silk teddy. I make a prettier girl than Oscar De La Hoya, that's for goddamn sure. In prep school, I took naps while playing the "Fantasia" soundtrack in my dorm room. Ever masturbate to "Night On Bald Mountain"? It's quite thrilling. I liked to pretend my penis was the winged demon coming out of the mountaintop. I think my penis makes a great villain. But I may be unique in that regard.

So no, I don't have the world's greatest taste in music, nor do I fancy myself as such. I'm not going to try and be Zach Braff here and dazzle you with my love of the Shins, or some other assemblage of twee buttfuckers. I am strictly here to bring you the RAWK. With lots of loud guitars (and double guitars!). This week's pregame song is "How to Handle A Rope" by Queens Of The Stone Age.

I spend a lot of time each day having to endure the children's music my daughter listens to. Shit like this, or this. After listening to this soul-crushing crap for two hours each day, I feel compelled to listen to the darkest, most sinister music I can find. And this song fits the bill. "I'd rather open up my wrist, let it go"? Oh yeah, baby. I am so THERE. The riff also fucking owns. It's like: duh-duh-duh-duh-DUH-duh-DUUUUUUUUUUUH-duh. When I imagine myself as a rock star while riding the elliptical, I play this riff spectacularly. I get lots of titflashes on that one.

Five Potential Key Injuries

• Cadillac Williams (rear suspension - HEY-O!)

• Tom Brady (bounty)

• Marvin Harrison (insecure sexuality)

• Alex Smith (shoulder goblin)

• Brian Leonard (white)

This Week's Suicide Pick

Last week's suicide pool pick of Dallas was correct. Off the board now are Seattle, Denver, Dallas and New England. We again pick a suicide pool team and a way of committing actual suicide. This week's pick: Green Bay, and trapping yourself under a portcullis. I'm a big portcullis fan. When I sell the right to the Jamboroo to Google for $250 million, my Scottish castle will have a portcullis in every doorway. I want to keep the help on their toes.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Jamboroo, Week 5: I Wanna Talk Like A Motherf—kin' Quarterback

Barbecue potato chips. Jesus, I could eat these things by the case. A lot of people throw out the bag of chips once there are nothing but crumbs left. DON'T! I'm a big believer in the mixture of chip crumbs and powdered barbecue residue at the bottom of every bag. I just pour it right into my mouth. It's good because it tastes like salt!

We never keep barbecue potato chips in the house, which is a wise move. But if I see a bowl at a picnic or something, I am on it like Vick on weed. I'll just camp out right next to the bowl. Sometimes I'll eat 10 at a time. They're crunchier in greater volume. Sometimes the BBQ coating gets trapped under my nails. That makes for an extra special treat later in the day.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Keystone Light. Large companies like to spend millions of dollars in focus group research for the explicit purpose of determining what is known as a Brand Proposition. The Brand Proposition presents a specific problem the customer has that your product can help solve. Now, I find it hard to believe that thousands of focus group subjects all told the Keystone Brewing Company, "You know what my problem is? It's this darn bitter beer! It causes cartoonish facial deformities in both me and my dog!" I don't ever remember bitter beer face being such a horrible epidemic. And I find it even more incredulous that Keystone, which is a fucking disgusting beer, would be the one beer that could solve that problem. Drinking Keystone makes my asshole pucker.

Sunday Afternoon Film Of The Week For Rams Fans

Jamboroo, Week 5: I Wanna Talk Like A Motherf—kin' Quarterback

One False Move, written by Billy Bob Thornton and starring Billy Bob Thornton in the role he was born to play: Shady Drug Dealer With Rattail.

Anyway, for those of you that haven't seen it, One False Move is a very light-hearted, feel-good road comedy, with a hilarious opening sequence where three drug dealers enter the house of a delinquent user. Do some wacky misunderstandings occur? You bet! A woman gets slapped until blood pours out of her mouth. A man gets suffocated with a plastic bag. And another woman, as she pleads for her life, is stabbed to death. It's a hoot!

Don't forget to stick around for the utterly devastating ending. It'll make you happy to be alive!

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

"Oooh! Fiddledeedee! That will require a tetanus shot! I'm not going to swear... BUT I AM GOING TO KICK THIS DOGHOUSE DOWN!"

Halftime Masturbation Kit

• For the guys: Yvonne Strahovski, who plays the lead female role on that show Chuck. That's actually a stage name Yvonne is using. Her real name is Yvonne Strzechowski. Let me offer a quick word of advice to all you aspiring actresses out there. If you have an incredibly confusing, Krzyzewski-style Polish name and you want to use a stage name, don't half-ass it. Yvonne's stage name is barely different, and just as difficult to Google. Why not go with Yvonne Jones? Or Yvonne Firmness? Or Frenchie Johnson? Please make your new name as easy to search as possible for us American masturbators. Thanks.

• For the gals: A young and shirtless Peter Gallagher. Little known fact: when Peter Gallagher cocks an eyebrow, it shows up on air traffic control radar.

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week

WE HEAR... that Vikings coach Brad Childress ALSO enjoys masturbating to "A Night On Bald Mountain."

Three Questions Sideline Reporters Should Ask But Won't

• "Matt Leinart! Paul Zimmerman here. Why badmouth your team over a glass of Sauvignon Blanc? Why not a Pinot Grigio? I know wine!"

• "Eli, is Matt Ufford as smug and self-assured in person as I've heard?"

• "Tony Romo! Michele Tafoya. Will you bear me a second child while I'm still drunk?"

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend

"See, you sat in the right seat because, when the show don't be funny, I take my dick out and piss. So this is called the Garden Row."

-Richard Pryor

Enjoy the games, everyone.