Dear Summer, Please Go And DieS

Drew Magary's Thursday Afternoon NFL Dick Joke Jamboroo runs every Thursday during the NFL season. Find more of his stuff at his Twitter feed.

I took my kid to a playground the other day and it smelled like football. If you've ever played football (or any fall sport, for that matter, but I associate it with football because that was the fall sport I happened to play), you'd recognize that smell. Smells like clipped grass mixed with condensation mixed with OH FUCK YEAH FOOTBALL WOOHOO GODDAMN RIGHT BITCH!

You walk onto any local high school football or soccer field early in the morning right around this time of year and you can pick up that scent, especially if you put on a helmet and lie face down on the grass. When I rode the bench in dipshit prep school, sometimes I'd just sit there with my helmet on during team stretches and stare at the ground, my head suspended in the air by my chinstrap. Sometimes I'd forget to stretch anything and the position coach would come and yell at me and tell me I was a gash. I was not a good athlete. But man, I loved that smell. It's basically there to tell you that fall is arriving, and summer is about over. Thank fucking Christ, summer is over.

I dislike summer more with every passing year. I hate the heat. I hate the humid rainstorms. I hate applying suntan lotion and having to apply suntan lotion to children who won't fucking hold still. I hate carrying around and sitting in beach chairs, and anyone who tells you a beach chair is comfortable is a cunt.

But most of all, I hate that summer is the time when nothing seems to fucking happen. Everyone just fucks off and dies for three months. You go to work and 10% of the staff is always away on vacation, and everyone else may as well be. They've mentally checked out and you don't even know why the place bothers to be open from Memorial Day to Labor Day. But it is, and you have to sit there from 9 to 5 every goddamn day while the world bakes outside.

I don't even like the parts of summer where you DO get to go on vacation. I have kids. Vacationing with kids is fucking AGONY. It's like double the parenting work. You don't have your own bed. They don't have their own beds. You have to fly somewhere, or drive somewhere, and you constantly have to make sure they're all happy and quiet while you're traveling. They stay up late because they don't understand what the hell is going on. There's no relief. There's nothing in the way of rest. You try and convince yourself the whole thing was a good idea when you know, deep in your heart, you're fucking miserable. In fact, the most restful part is returning back home and releasing the kids into the babyproofed section of the house. If you have young kids, you really shouldn't go anywhere. There's no goddamn point.

There are no good sports in the summer, doubly so in a summer where three of the four golf majors are won by assholes whose names I've already forgotten (I'm one of those horrible people who believes, deep down, that any major not won by Tiger Woods is a major fucking wasted). There was the World Cup this year, but that only happens once every four years. And while I try and not be some dipshit soccer naysayer, it's still not my thing. After June, all summer has to offer is baseball. Horrible, horrible baseball. One meaningless, shitty game after the next.

There's barely any good TV in the summer. Ninety-nine percent of the movies that come out are liquefied dogshit conceived by some asshole in marketing at Hasbro. Grilling dinner when it's 100 degrees is never as enjoyable as I always think it's going to be. Bars are crowded with dipshits and hotter than death. Garbage outside becomes rancid within seconds. Old people walk about freely in opened-toed shoes. For real. I walked by some old guy in Tevas the other day and his toenails were all fucking black and rotted. And I didn't want to look at them, BUT I DID AND IT WAS HORRIBLE. Old people should have their feet amputated.

You can't stick your kids in school during the summer, unless you've got the scratch for expensive bullshit day camps they don't really want to attend. No one is around on weekends in the summer. There's nothing to do, especially on weekends. You'll go to the zoo out of boredom and realize that going to the zoo is condemning yourself to walking endlessly and trapping yourself inside lizard houses that smell like a hockey player's taint.

And summer overstays its welcome every year. I got married on September 21st, 2002. It was an outdoor wedding. I wore a tuxedo. It was 88 degrees during the ceremony. I nearly pulled a Korey Stringer at the altar. Once Labor Day hits, it should be 50-60 degrees every day for 90 straight days. This is why I will retire to Canada one day.

Because I've had enough of summer. I smell football in the grass at a playground or on a high school field and it's a cue to me that this endless death march of boredom in the heat is going to go away soon, and that shit will finally start fucking happening again. That's what I like about fall. I like people returning back to their natural stations on the globe and doing shit again. I like the world buzzing and moving and getting things accomplished. I don't like it when everything just fucking stops. It's okay if I do that on a personal level, because I am very lazy. But I don't like it when people around me cease what they're doing and fail to provide me with something to watch or talk about. That fucking blows.

This, to me, is the spiritual beginning of the year. The time of year when I stop feeling like I'm living on the goddamn Equator. Kids are back in school. TV networks begin trying (and failing) again. Stewart and Colbert finally work more than two consecutive days at time. Baseball is almost kinda fairly watchable. Everyone is back at work and suffering equally. Your rich fuckface of a boss isn't always talking about how lovely his weekends in Nantucket are. You can wear jeans. The world finally WORKS again.

And best of all, there is football. No more boring weekends for another five months. In fall, the world around doesn't even take weekends off. It just keeps on churning, and keeps on making you feel productive even if you're aren't doing anything. I lived in New York for a while, and the reason I loved New York was that you always felt like something was happening when you stepped outside. That's a thrill summer doesn't provide. It's hot and languid and still and I'm not built to endure that sort of thing. Not anymore. I'm done with summer. I'm ready for fall. I'm ready for fucking football. SO HIT THE GODDAMN MUSIC.

WOOOOHOOOOOOOOOO! This is your Week One Thursday Afternoon NFL Dick Joke Jamboroo. Let's dig in.

2010 NFL Predictions

I do this every year, because making brutally incorrect predictions never stops being enjoyable. Plus, if one of these predictions stumbles bass ackwards into being correct, then I can totally say I'm way smart for foreseeing it. Like picking the Jaguars to win the AFC South last year. WAS THAT NOT A BOLD AND HEADY CHOICE?!

NFC North
Green Bay 11-5
Chicago 9-7*
Minnesota 9-7
Detroit 6-10

NFC South
New Orleans 14-2
Carolina 10-6*
Atlanta 9-7
Tampa Bay 3-13

NFC East
NY Giants 11-5
Dallas 9-7
Philadelphia 8-8
Washington 7-9

NFC West
San Francisco 9-7
Arizona 7-9
Seattle 6-10
St. Louis 2-14

WILD CARD
Giants over Bears
Panthers over Niners

DIVISIONAL
Giants over Packers
Saints over Panthers

CHAMP
Saints over Giants

AFC North
Baltimore 12-4
Pittsburgh 10-6*
Cincinnati 7-9
Cleveland 6-10

AFC South
Tennessee 12-4
Indianapolis 12-4*
Houston 7-9
Jacksonville 4-12

AFC East
Miami 10-6
New England 9-7
NY Jets 8-8
Buffalo 2-14

AFC West
San Diego 10-6
Oakland 8-8
Kansas City 6-10
Denver 6-10

WILD CARD
Colts over Chargers
Steelers over Dolphins

DIVISIONAL
Ravens over Steelers
Titans over Colts

CHAMP
Titans over Ravens

SUPER BOWL
Saints 37, Titans 26

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

Dear Summer, Please Go And DieS



Five Throwgasms

Vikings at Saints: Now, before we say anything about tonight's game, let's take a second to remind ourselves where we left off last season.

Oh, man. That is fucking great. Never gets old. Until the Saints repeat this year and I grow to loathe them and their hillbilly Louisiana fans who keep shouting WHO DAT or whatever the fuck and always expecting me to love the Saints as much as they do. You fuckers are on a short leash.

Oh, and I fully expect the Vikings to lose this game tonight by about seven touchdowns.

Packers at Eagles: The other day I was at the supermarket when I nailed this one lady in the foot with my shopping cart. I mean, I just bashed right into her. I was in the produce section, trying to find a way out. This isn't always easy in the produce section. Sometimes, you get trapped by old people and parents who let their kids ride in those fucking double wide red car carts from hell. So I saw an opening, and I fucking gunned it. I took a risk that the gap would stay open and I would come flying out, not unlike the Millennium Falcon out of the Death Star at the end of Jedi. And I totally would have pulled it off, if this lady on the phone hadn't unwittingly backed into my shit. So I nailed her ankle and she winced in pain.

ME: (really half-assed) Are you okay?

HER: No, actually!

ME: Oh. (flees the scene immediately and spends the rest of the time in the store making sure not to encounter that woman again)

Anyway, that was totally my fault. Then again, fuck that lady. Not only was she on the phone, but she clearly lacked proper pocket awareness. With good pocket awareness, you sense that cart coming. It's not my fault you're Koy Detmer with your cart, honey. Fuck her. Pocket awareness is crucial.

Oh, and I think the Packers criminally misused Aaron Kampman and will miss him terribly.

Ravens at Jets: I dunno why they signed LDT, but he's gonna piss off twenty million Shonn Greene owners when he vultures a touchdown or two somewhere along the line.

Dear Summer, Please Go And DieS



Four Throwgasms

Colts at Texans: Every year, it makes sense to pick the Texans to break through and finally get to the playoffs, and every year they fuck it all up. I still think this is because they have the dumbest nickname in the league. They chose Texans from Apollos, Bobcats, Stallions, Texans, Toros and Wildcatters. They could have been the Toros. They could have played "Millionaire" before every game and had fans screaming GIMME TORO, GIMME SOME MORE! GIMME TORO, GIMME SOME MORE! They could have staged bullfights before games and had smoking hot female matadors come out, and cheerleaders riding mechanical bulls while shooting pistols in the air with their tits bouncing around.

Instead, they became the Texans and drafted David Carr. Reap what you sow, assholes. You're never making the playoffs. EVER.

Panthers at Giants: I was playing with my kid the other day and she was sitting Indian style, so I followed suit. Horrible, horrible mistake. You ever try sitting Indian style as an adult? It becomes excruciating after about five seconds. Grown people who voluntarily sit that way, like hippies, disturb and anger me.

Cowboys at Redskins: Holy shit, the Skins aren't ready for the beginning of the year. They need to start the year in, like, Week 8. They're totally gonna start out 0-5 and then limp their way to somewhere below .500.

I don't understand the whole Haynesworth thing. Every NFL team is stacked with turds. Even the Saints have Jeremy Shockey. Good coaches are the ones that find a way to manage the handful of turds they have on any given roster. That's a coach's job. There's some kind of fan and journalist wet dream out there that every team should have 45 quality guys on it, who play really hard and like to go snow tubing with each other and shit. It's this bullshit utopian football landscape that has no chance of ever happening, yet every week you'll get people calling into radio stations demanding whatever team they like needs character. No. No team needs character. Character is an arbitrary idea drawn up by the Baylesses of the world. A team needs talent, and a coach who can manage the talent without getting into stupid pissing matches. Haynesworth won't play a worthwhile down all fucking year for Washington.

Dear Summer, Please Go And Die



Three Throwgasms

Bengals at Patriots: This sounds like a decent game, but I promise you it'll be boring as shit.

Falcons at Steelers: If the NFL had any sense of humor, they'd make Big Ben play the part of the lecher in their employee sexual harassment education video. "No, I'll just wait for you to make those copies, Linda. The view from here is NICE."

Raiders at Titans: I picked the Titans to go to the Super Bowl, which is dumb because I don't even like Vince Young. I mean, Jesus Christ. Did you see this cover? First of all, what the fuck does ESPN have a travel issue for? "Hey, look at all the great places athletes can go on vacation where you can't! Watch as Stu Scott serves them rum punches and massages their balls!" Secondly, what the fuck is Vince Young doing on vacation? You made the Pro Bowl as the 93rd alternate, you dick. Put your shirt on and go drag tires around.

Anyway, yeah. Titans to go the Super Bowl.

Dear Summer, Please Go And Die



Two Throwgasms

Dolphins at Bills: Earlier this summer, I went to Mrs. Fields with my kid and had a cookie cup. This is a cupcake made entirely of chocolate chip cookie, with cream cheese frosting on top. I can't tell you how disappointed I was that there was no frosting in the center. Really seemed like the obvious death blow.

Chargers at Chiefs: Charger fans, your GM is a fucking dick. Look at this picture of AJ Smith. Look at it!

Dear Summer, Please Go And DieS

God damn, he looks like a complete asshole. He looks like he conducts 80% of his business while face down on a massage table. I bet he's the world's worst father-in-law.

Broncos at Jaguars: The Jaguars should really just move already. We're wasting time. There's no reason at all for them to be in Jacksonville right now. If they moved to LA in Week 3, no one would be upset except for Scott Stapp. The NFL shouldn't have a team that's the equivalent of the Memphis Grizzlies.

Also, Brandon Lloyd is on the Broncos roster. I don't know why you trade Brandon Marshall for being a prick, and then go turn around and sign Brandon Lloyd. At least Brandon Marshall is a PRODUCTIVE asshole.

Lions at Bears: I've had two fantasy drafts this summer, and something needs to be done about the end of fantasy drafts. They're unbelievably depressing. Perhaps this is because I don't have a league featuring HORGS! and BLUEBOY! and all my crazy awesome HOLY FACKIN' CRAWSS friends. But the end of virtually any fantasy draft always leaves me wanting to kill myself. All the good players are gone. You're forced to pick from any number of turds and scrubs, and you know there'll come a time during the year when you'll have to start them, which is a horrible feeling. Guys leave the draft room for minutes at a time to get snacks or talk with loved ones. The general air of giddiness is pretty much gone. I need to participate in drafts that are only six rounds long. Because by Round 16, I'm ready to jump off a fucking cliff.

Dear Summer, Please Go And Die



One Throwgasm

Browns at Bucs: If I'm at a bar and someone with me whips out their cell phone to take a call or something, I'll totally take out my phone and send someone an unwarranted text message, or I'll just stare at the four pictures I have on it. Just so I feel as important as the person I'm hanging out with. TWO CAN PLAY THAT GAME, BUB! Oh, and this game blows.

Cardinals at Rams: The NFL clearly took great pains to make sure the four NFC West teams played each other on Kickoff weekend, so that only TWO games are spoiled by horrible play instead of four. I wouldn't be against making this a weekly occurrence somehow.

Niners at Seahawks: By the way, I may hate summer, but there is one thing I like about it: Surly blond teenage lifeguards wearing sunglasses. Oh, surly blond teenage lifeguards wearing sunglasses. You can blow your whistle at me any time.

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

"Mother," by Danzig. I went to a dipshit prep school that forced us to attend assembly three times a week. These assemblies usually featured some asshole coming in and lecturing us for forty minutes. If you skipped out on assembly and got caught, you got a "dickie," which is just as gay as it sounds.

The only relief from this was that, twice a year, the school held a rock assembly, with student bands gathering together to play really shitty versions of Pearl Jam songs. I sang in this assembly twice, and I assure you I treated it with all the seriousness of going onstage at fucking Donington. I thought about the gig (In my mind, it was a gig) for weeks in advance. I pictured myself getting on stage and tearing the fucking roof off the hall. Girls would throw their panties at me. The entire student body would rise up and revolt against the faculty, stabbing them in the eyes and pissing on their heads. Clive Davis would show up unannounced and hand me a seven-record deal. I would be a fucking rock GOD.

Anyway, the first time I sang "Free Ride," by Edgar Winter Group. My voice cracked eight times. The second time around, I sang "No Excuses," by Alice in Chains. I don't know if I sang it well. I don't remember, and no one else does. Because right after I sang, a post-grad student named Grant got up on stage to perform "Mother." Grant was a Mormon from rural Vermont who was born with a cleft palate and now makes his living as an amateur cage fighter. For "Mother," he put on black leather pants, wore no shirt, and donned one of those black captain's hats that looks like a Nazi hat but isn't. He flew out onto the stage and did a perfect rendition of this song from front to back. The whole goddamn place went INSANE. Later on, Grant got accepted to the Air Force Academy and put it off to serve a two-year mission in Budapest. Grant is much cooler than I am.

Embarassing iTunes Library Track I Own That Will Not Fire You Up

"Willy Was A Whale" by Justin Roberts. My computer also doubles as the family computer, which means every fucking kiddie track we own takes up residence in the iTunes library, which means I'm liable to find a song like this immediately pop up right after I'm finished listening to "Blood And Thunder" or something awesome. And I'm far too lazy to sort out my shit into any kind of individual playlist. So let this be a lesson to your future parents out there. Make sure you have your own designated laptop and iPod or whatever. Don't EVER let your library somehow get intermingled with your kid's music library. You'll never forgive yourself.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death
Well, week one hasn't happened yet, so no player has yet shit the bed during an actual game to warrant a selection here. But that doesn't mean there aren't obvious candidates looming (Hi, Steven Jackson!). Also, I drafted Vincent Jackson a few weeks ago, assuming his contract squabble would end soon after camp, as all contract squabbles do. I thought I was all sneaky and shit, getting a top 10 wideout at a low round discount. But I failed to recognize that AJ Smith is a stubborn cock, and that Jackson might seriously be dumb enough to hold out during an entire year that has a lockout looming. So I'd like to murder Vincent Jackson. But really, I only have myself to blame. I should be murdering myself.

Of course, this is fantasy. The whole point of fantasy is to never blame yourself for anything that goes wrong. So go fuck yourself, Vincent Jackson. Take it in the ass and report already.

Suicide Pick Of The Week
We once again pick a team for your suicide pool and something that makes you WANT to commit suicide. This week's pick? Tennessee, and taking out the garbage. God dammit, I turn around and that garbage can is always fucking full. It's like a little genie is parked at the bottom, and any time a new bag goes in, he magically conjures four hundred banana peels and a dry cleaning bag. Fucker.

Nazi Shark's Vegas Lock Of The Week
Lots of sports sites, to demonstrate the arbitrary nature of gambling, like to have animals like monkeys pick games to see if they can outwit their human counterparts. There's no reason we at Deadspin can't also get in on the fun. So we've asked National Socialist German Workers' Party member Rolf, who also happens to be a shark, to pick one game a week. Take it away, Nazi shark.

Dear Summer, Please Go And DieS

"This week, I like the Eagles getting 3 points at home against the Packers. I'd like to issue a giant FUCK YOU to the German POLIZEI for shutting down my group's youth summer camp. You scoundrels had no right to invade our compound and take all our shit. These campers are fine, hardworking, WHITE young men who spent the whole summer learning how to knit armbands and water ski on a lake of Jewish baby stem cell fluid. HOW DARE YOU TAKE AWAY THEIR RIGHT TO BUILD CHARACTER?!"

2009 Nazi Shark Record: 9-11. Like the other 9-11, this too was orchestrated by David Geffen and his minions.

Great Moments In Poop History
Time again for you folks to round up your finest poop and/or fart stories and send them in for this space every week. Reader George sends in this story I call DEF POOPARD:

Back in the late 90's, when I was in college, I lived with a buddy of mine that happened to be in a local band. His band would play clubs around the area on the weekends, and myself and other friends would go watch and get hammered on Miller Lite and try the ever-futile "I'm with the band"-type lines on the generally uninterested womenfolk. Any night said band was playing was a great excuse to party, right? Sometimes on those occasions, old high school friends, or friends from other towns would travel in to hang out and get drunk with us.

So one night, about four hours before showtime, band-guy and I are sitting around the apartment and band-guy has to take a shit. He goes into the bathroom and starts shitting with the door open. So to help him stave off boredom while taking the browns to the superbowl, I regale him with a tale my uncle once told me about a guy who took a shit and pulled it out of the toilet and threw it in a cat's litter box, and went on to convince the cat owner that his cat was extremely sick, dropping an enormous human-sized deuce like that.

So band-guy thought that was pretty funny, and decided that he needed to do something similar with his own shit log. So when finished, he eschewed flushing, bare-handed his shit log, placed it on a piece of bread, and put the piece of bread on a plate. He proceeded to mold the shit like Swayze in Ghost until it was in the shape of a 1/4 (or maybe 1/3) pound hamburger patty. So, now he's got an open-faced shitburger, to which he takes a butter knife and lovingly adds "grill marks". Then he added cheese, mustard, and ketchup (naturally). I still have a mental image burned into the back of my brain from that day. It is a memory of him with his tongue touching the ketchup, and the ketchup touching the shitwich. Why this was done, I don't know. Band-guy is in a band, so he's weird.

Anyway, he leaves the open faced "burger" sitting out on a 3-foot high speaker that was sitting on the living room floor of our apartment. Eventually it stinks the entire place up, so instead of getting rid of the sonuvabitch, he sets the speaker next to a window and uses a fan to blow the stink out the window. His plan, to be carried out in the next few hours, is to trick some friends that are coming in from out of town for that night's gig to... I don't know… potentially… bite into it… I guess?

So, when one out-of-town guy (OOTG) shows up (now 2-3 hours after the shit was born), band-guy moves the fan into another room. OOTG subconsciously notices a terrible smell, but no doubt chalk it up to college life. OOTG proceeds to sit on the floor, next to the window/speaker, nose just inches from the poopy melt. OOTG asks, "whose burger?" clearly famished from his travels and wanting a bite. I can barely contain myself, and let out a mild guffaw, which tips off OOTG to the "burger's" nefarious genesis. Slowly but surely, OOTG realizes what he is actually face-to-face with, but is too terrified or disgusted to utter the unspeakable, and instead lets out a meek, newborn piglet-like squeal. He simultaneously shoves the speaker with both hands (sending the poopwich flying to the ground) and vomits. Whether the puke or the poop hit the carpet first, the world may never know. Some people are terrified of clowns. Some are scared of spiders. This guy obviously had a very deeply-rooted fear of feces-dressed-up-like-foodstuffs.

I greatly admire the craftsmanship of this poopburger. But he should have used A1 instead of ketchup. A1 makes poopburgers taste like steakburgers!

Fire This Asshole!
Is there anything more exciting than a coach losing his job? All year long, we'll keep track of which coaches will almost certainly get fired at year's end or sooner. And now, your updated chopping block:

Tom Cable
Gary Kubiak
Jack Del Rio
Lovie Smith
Eric Mangini
John Fox
Raheem Morris
Tom Coughlin
Norv Turner
Chan Gailey
Wade Phillips

That's the working list of guys who, if shit goes really wrong, probably won't be back next year. So let's hope in our hearts of hearts that everything DOES go wrong for them. Because I love me a good firing.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Dear Summer, Please Go And Die

Pub cheese! I like pub cheese because it's not actually cheese. It's Dorito dust mixed with partially hydrogenated soybean oil. Oh, man. SO GOOD. It's like a spreadable Planter's Cheez Ball. It's a great way to class up a cocktail party with something that isn't really classy at all.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Dear Summer, Please Go And Die

Cerveza Caguama! Straight from the pristine waters of war-torn El Salvador! Reader Steve writes in:

It looks like a harmless enough little beer, and it has a cute turtle on the label. Then you take a sip and you're be certain that turtle pissed in the bottle. Skunky smell, skunky taste, and the worst part is it's not even that alcoholic, clocking in with an ABV of 3.2%. Dreadful all around, except that its easy on the wallet.

Let's take a look at their sales copy!

Legend has it the fishermen of Central America sought the Great Loggerhead Turtle in warm tropical waters.

Warm tropical seawater? Large turtles? I think someone just gave us a glimpse into their brewing process.

It was tribal belief that this powerful turtle also known as the "Caguama," symbolized good fortune for the fisherman's village. It is our hope that you too will experience the good fortune of the Caguama when you experience this award-winning Latin beer.

Nothing lucky can come from swilling that bottle of turtle piss. A six-pack of that will have you licking sand within an hour.

Robert Evans' MVP Watch!
Time to start thinking about who the leaders are for the NFL's MVP award. So every week, legendary Hollywood producer Robert Evans will join us to give us his assessment. Take it away, Mr. Evans.

Dear Summer, Please Go And Die

"Baby, my favorite for the NFL's MVP this year is Drew Brees of the Saints! Oh, children. What a grand, grand summer your dear Evans has had! A Windjammer barefoot cruise around Corsica? YOU BET! Tennis with the legendary John Davidson of Hollywood Squares? YOU KNOW IT! A clandestine meeting with Bill Murray in the cocaine room at one of Ibiza's hottest hotspots for hot people? INDEED!

"Oh, Murray is a HOOT! What company that devil is. You know he has no agent? To reach him, they say you have to dial a 1-800 number. But real insiders like Evans know the best way to reach old Billy Boy is show up at the local muni with a bag of coke-molded Titleists that dissolve in vinegar! Two sniffs of those beauties and suddenly the world is your Cinderella Story! Oh, can Murray pull the ladies. They think he's so mysterious and dour. They don't understand why he likes to cuff them naked to a donkey stable and then leave them for 20 hours at a time. He loves to keep them guessing! Old rascal!"

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Rams Fans

Three O'Clock High, submitted by a reader whose Twitter handle I can no longer locate. Anyway, I remember this movie fondly as the last legitimate movie Cinemax would play every weekend night before finally getting to the porn. And sometimes I'd be so horny that I'd jack off to the scene where the teacher tells Casey Siemaszko her favorite book is "Turn Of The Screw." She doesn't take off her top or anything, but I was so bonered up by that point I'd just finish out anyway. Speaking of soft core porn, Richard Tyson plays the bully in this movie. He also nailed Sherilyn Fenn in "Two Moon Junction" and was the bad guy in "Kindergarten Cop." He also looks like a fat Michael Hutchence. Quite a diverse resume.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
" There was an optics festival and I wasn't informed?!"

Halftime Masturbation Kit
-For the guys: Hot Jews! A gallery of 76 Israeli beach babes. Even Nazi Shark approves!
-For the gals: Hey look! It's Richard Tyson! Now you see what made Ms. Fenn swoon.

Enjoy the games, everyone. The NFL is back.