It's practically a ritual these days to be skeptical about marriage if you're a guy. You hear comedians and columnists and God knows who else bitching about being tied to one woman, yearning to be free to drink and ogle ass as they please. Almost all of that is an exaggeration. I may goof on being married from time to time, but I'd rather be chopped in half with a machete than NOT be married to my wife. That would be horrible and shitty.

But women. How many women do you know that rushed into getting married because all their friends were all getting married at the same time, only to later find out that their husband is actually kind of a dipshit? Because all guys are conditioned to be skeptical about marriage, because we're trained to be reluctant about the whole enterprise, we're 21% choosier about whom we end up marrying. I just made that stat up. It felt right. All of my wife's friends are married. Only half of mine are. Sure, I only have two friends, but I'm not letting that stand in the way of my gross generalization.

Some women, in their haste, end up getting the short end of the marrying stick. I don't want that happening to you, female Deadspin readers. I don't want you screwing up your life by accidentally marrying Daulerio. I don't want you suffering from Betty Draper Syndrome, wherein your husband gets to go to work and go out to dinner and travel and fuck around and have fun while you sit at home seething for 23 hours a day with the kids, hating and resenting your man in equal measure. I've seen it happen. Here now, are ten questions you should ask ANY man before you agree to marrying his hairy, sweaty ass.

1. "Do you want definitively want children?"

You'd be shocked at how many people get married without agreeing on the kid question. You are a fucking idiot, man or woman, if you get married without resolving this issue. And if you want kids, ladies, make sure your guy answers YES without qualifications. None of this, "I think so," shit. Tie that fucker down and make him give you a proper answer.

2. "Do you want multiple children?'

Same deal. If you have one kid, you don't have children. You have a pet. One child is NOTHING. After two kids, all final child tallies can be negotiated WHILE married. But not the second kid.

3. "Do you want a dog?'

Because if you want one and he doesn't, he will end up wanting to choke that thing to fucking death.

4. "Will you help with the kids?"

Will you change the diapers, and feed them, and mouthrape them with the toothbrush before bed every night?

5. "No, I mean it. WILL YOU FUCKING HELP WITH THESE KIDS?"

That means getting up at night to feed them if you bottle feed, and changing the sheets when the diaper leaks, and putting together the crib, and all that shit. I've got parenting magazines lying around all over the place, and every issue has some article featuring confidential gripes from women about all the ways their husbands are negligent scumbags. "He was so nice when we first got married, but now he won't do ANYTHING!" These deadbeats are ruining it for the rest of us husbandfolk. FUCKERS. Gonna spend your life with a guy? Make sure he will get his ass out of bed at night for the fucking kid. Especially if he works an office job during the day. Office jobs are a cakewalk compared to staying at home with a kid, or worse, working during the day and then taking care of the kid at night all by yourself because you're husband doesn't want to help. Make sure the fucker will help. Make him sign a fucking waiver if you have to. Unless he works in a coal mine during the day, he's got the energy.

6. "Have you had any major dental work done?"

Is your fiance gonna need 10 new bridges for $2,000 a pop in the next decade? Jesus, that blows. That means your kid will have retarded teeth you have to pay to fix, too. That's drinking money! In fact, check his entire medical history and his family's medical history. Have all his male relatives died before the age of 45? THEN HE WON'T BE ABLE TO HELP WITH THOSE FUCKING KIDS.

7. "If you don't bother me about frequency of intercourse, I'll look the other way with regards to your Fuck Yeah Tumblr habit. Fair?"

It's fair, for you men out there. Take the deal.

8. "Will you have sex with other people?"

Because that would be bad.

9. "Are you still doing cocaine?"

No? He's lying! CHECK INSIDE HIS SPEAKERS!

10. "Do you lose more than $500 a year gambling?"

When I first got married, my wife and I were thinking about combining bank accounts. I asked my father-in-law if it was a good idea to keep separate bank accounts. "Sure," he said, "If you want to get divorced." Indeed. Make sure that fucker is financially transparent. You don't want him gambling your shit away, or hiding thousands in an escrow account he can easily access once he's fled to the Caymans with the nanny.

We men are not such bad people, ladies. But you have to vet our asses before you agree to spending the rest of your life with us. It's not our fault if you elected to marry us before you realized we like drinking before 8AM every day. You have no one to blame but yourself. Do your homework. Or else, you'll end up in divorce court, staring daggers at Norm Chad from across the room. DON'T MARRY A JACKASS.

This is a very brief message to a very specific set of individuals, namely junior high school, high school and college offensive linemen. Do you play offensive line? Stop. STOP. Quit. Give up. Unless you're good enough to get a free ride and/or a pro contract, you shouldn't play offensive line. Ever. You should demand a position switch to defensive line, or you should quit football and play something else that's fun and awesome.

I don't need to tell you that offensive line is the right field of football positions. You get thrown there if you're too fat and slow to play any other position. And yet, countless newbie offensive linemen in America are being brainwashed by coaches as we speak. Hoodwinked. Bamboozled. These coaches are telling them that playing offensive line is awesome. When you play o-line, all coaches feed you the same line of bullshit about why what you do is so cool:

1. "You get to hit someone on every play!"

This is somewhat true, but you don't get to TACKLE anyone. If you're lucky, you get to catch someone napping and pancake the shit out of them. Otherwise, you don't get to hit people. You get to PUSH them. Or attempt to push them, only to slide off their bodies and fall awkwardly to the ground, at which point your hands get cleated. You don't get to hit someone, wrap your arms around them, and throw them to the turf like the bastards that they are. THAT is satisfying. Blocking people is not.

2. "You are the heart and soul of this team!"

Again, LIES. The one crazy freak athlete you had on your high school team (and most every high school team has one) who would return five punts a game for TD's? THAT guy was the heart and soul of the team. You are interchangeable assholes.

3. "The offensive line is a brotherhood."

Big deal. So is the Lion's Club. At least I won't lose a fingernail when I join their outfit.

Young athletes of today, I'm here today to tell you that offensive is the least enjoyable, least gratifying position in any sport ever. Even the right fielder gets to bat. At least hockey goalies get cool masks. Offensive linemen do nothing cool. You would never play offensive line recreationally. Ever. It blows. There's a reason wide receivers always have to be reminded to block, and that's because blocking is boring and shitty. You can't fully use your hands if you're an o-lineman, which makes you the lone football player who has to act like a soccer player. You never get to touch the ball, or score. You never get to sack the QB. All you get to do is push people, or blow your assignment and get yelled at. You are the fucking extra in the movie.

Many offensive linemen are conditioned to sneer at skill position players, calling them prima donnas and glory hogs. This is because skill position players get to have fun. SHITLOADS OF FUN. If you were a gifted athlete, and you could play guard and quarterback with equal skill, which position would you prefer to play? It's not even a debate. I have no evidence to back this up, but IT'S A FACT: 95% of all offensive linemen, professional or not, don't like playing offensive line.

I am biased here, of course, because I played offensive line for ten years, and I sucked at it. Sucked HARD. I do not know why I played for so long. I really don't. I never played. I rode the bench the whole time. I liked the idea of being a football player than I did actually playing the game, and that's never good. I quit my college football team before my senior year, and my senior year was a GLORIOUS affair, filled with beer and Mario64 and actual hooking up with girls. No more three-hour practices for me! I've got boobs to fondle! I spent my entire senior year pissed at myself that I didn't quit playing football sooner. Now I've got two back surgeries to my name, and I look like an asshole when I walk.

Now, maybe some of you young offensive lineman out there really love it, and are truly passionate about playing the position. My congratulations to all three of you. For the rest of you stuck playing offensive line, QUIT. You aren't a pussy if you quit. You aren't letting your team down. You are walking away from playing a position whose crushed-fingers-to-fun ratio is off the fucking charts. Give it up. Go play soccer, or rugby, or some other sport where you get to run around, have fun, and do cool stuff. Or play NO sports at all. Smoke weed. Did you know I didn't start smoking weed regularly until senior year? IDIOT! HOW COULD I BE THAT SHORT-SIGHTED? Weed is awesome!

Don't make the same mistake I did. Don't spend every fall of your youth trapped on a soaking wet field doing duck walk drills and foot chopping exercises. Offensive line is the chain gang of sports. You are in a PRISON. Quit. Leave. ESCAPE. Go enjoy yourself. LIVE, DAMMIT! Don't waste away on an offensive line. It's totally for suckers.

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

Five Throwgasms

Pats at Colts: The day he retires, shouldn't the Colts fire whoever is their head coach and just make Peyton the head coach? He's more prepared than 98% of the league's coaches. The guy is a fucking savant. He could engineer Russian nuclear missile subs at this point. Hell, he's already the de facto head coach of this Indy team. At the very least, I'd hire him to be an offensive coordinator immediately. I'm telling you, you may as well quit fighting against having Peyton Manning as a constant fixture in your NFL viewing life. He'll be around forever.

Bengals at Steelers: I was watching the 5,000 ads for that Droid phone they keep pimping during games, and I noticed that, in the legal copy, there was this disclaimer:

"DROID is a registered trademark of LucasFilm Ltd."

So, Verizon paid George Lucas untold shitloads of cash for the right to name their phone the Droid. I'm always in favor of someone taking money from Verizon, but that's amazing. George Lucas is such a cash whore, he trademarked a single fucking word and made a mint off of it. He didn't even have to lift a finger, or create some sort of CG jive-talking eel to do it. I don't whether to be in awe, or to go spit on the fucker's house.

Four Throwgasms

Eagles at Chargers: I bought my wife "Twilight" for her birthday. Big mistake. HUGE mistake.

Three Throwgasms

Bears at 49ers: It's your Thursday Night game with Matt Millen. GAHHHHH MATT MILLEN NOOOOOOO! I've heard Millen call a couple college games this year. He's been okay, I guess. But still, you sit there listening to him, and the whole time, your brain is saying, "HOLY FUCK. IT'S MATT MILLEN, THE LOSINGEST LOSER IN THE HISTORY OF LOSING. AND THEY'RE PAYING HIM TO TALK! WHAT THE FUCK?" It's weird. It's distracting. It's like he broadcasts the entire game with his dick sticking out of his fly.

By the way, NFL scholar and very serious person Gregg Easterbrook wrote this week that the 49ers are now losing because they signed Michael Crabtree.

Beware the Crabtree Curse! San Francisco opened the season 3-1, with its sole loss to powerhouse Minnesota on the game's final snap. Since signing Michael Crabtree, San Francisco has lost four straight — the Niners just rolled over at home against the Titans, who came into the contest 1-6. Coach Mike Singletary had San Francisco's players buying into the notion that no one's bigger than the team. Then, suddenly, you can jerk San Francisco around all you want and get $17 million guaranteed as your reward. San Francisco management's cave-in to the me-first Crabtree triggered an instant losing streak, by communicating to other 49ers the message that the team-first stuff was always just empty talk. Caving in to Crabtree may cost the Niners their season.

Really, Gregg? Does Michael Crabtree play quarterback? Or defense? Because the 49ers are horrible at defense, particularly pass defense. What should the Niners have done, Gregg? NOT signed Crabtree at a reasonable level and lose their draft pick? When Crabtree decided to end his holdout because he desperately WANTED to play? And how were the 49ers abandoning team-first principles when they refused to capitulate to the high salary demands of an individual player? Isn't making sure you sign a talented player without busting your cap EXACTLY a team-first thing to do? And isn't it a smart, team-first move to welcome the guy with open arms, rather than treating him like a fucking leper and holding an endless grudge when he arrives? Oh my God, paying a player $17 million RUINS chemistry! Payroll discrepancies never happen on other NFL teams!

Easterbrook says Crabtree ruined the 49ers with "waves of negativity". OH NO! THE NEGATIVE WAVES! I CAN'T SEE THEM, BUT THEY'RE DISRUPTING OUR PRECIOUS AURAS!

Keep in mind: Gregg Easterbrook has used his column to urge everyone to go to church, and to urge people to never leave the house after midnight because bad things happen. Also, he plays poker with Nazi Shark twice a week. He's a fucking idiot. And verily the Dick Joke God chortled at that pretentious dicksmack.

Falcons at Panthers: Thanks God Mike Smith punched someone. Now he finally has a distinguishing characteristic. Mike Smith? Who? Oh, you mean the Mike Smith who tried to punch out DeAngelo Hall? Oh, he's cool.

Cowboys at Packers

Two Throwgasms

Seahawks at Cardinals: YOU WEREN'T MAN ENOUGH, KEN WHISENHUNT. For real, Anquan Boldin played for the Cardinals with STEEL PLATES IN HIS FUCKING FACE, and no one can bother to tell him he's been deactivated? That's semi-Haleyesque.

Jaguars at Jets: Before we get to this week's poop story below, a quick one of my own. I had to wake up to feed my kid at 6AM earlier this week. I got up and got out of bed. It was still dark outside. I went downstairs to make the bottle, and I fed my kid. All in the dark. Before I got back into bed, I realized I had to take a shit badly. So I head to the john, fart, and sit down to take a shit. I got up and put my boxers back on. They were wet all in the bottom, which was weird. I figured I pissed on them somehow, so I chucked them in the hamper, threw on a new pair, and went back to bed.

One hour later, I wake up and it's light outside. I go to the bathroom. There's liquid SHIT all over the bathroom floor. I freak. I run to the hamper and check the boxers I removed. They're drenched in liquid poop. I check the sheets. Poop. Poopy water everywhere, and I have no idea how it happened. I sat down to shit. My asshole was centered over the toilet. How did all this poopy water get all over the place?

So I'm sitting there later that night, eating dinner with the Mrs. When suddenly, in the middle of the meal, I cry out:

THE FART! I MUST HAVE SHIT STANDING UP WHILE FARTING! IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW! I AM MONK!

She never finished dinner. Oh, and that story reminds me of the Jaguars.

Bills at Titans

One Throwgasm

Saints at Rams: Okay, so our Asshole Coach Digest got off to a rocky start with this whole Pat Murphy fiasco. But I'll be damned if I give up on a good idea. This week, we got flooded with story after story from poor souls who were terrorized in their youth by asshole, scumbag coaches WHO WILL REMAIN NAMELESS FROM NOW ON AND WERE DEFINITELY NOT PAT MURPHY, WHO IS A LOVELY MAN. Here's one example, from Nick:

Middle School, so like 8th grade. All wanna-be football players are gathered to sign up. Coach calls us down one by one to fill out our names, address, etc. I get down there and he asks my position. I say o-line. He head-butts me. No helmet or anything. Just grabs my head (hand on each temple) and slams his forehead into mine. Still not sure why.

Or THIS one, from apostles03:

I'm older than most Deadspinners, and physical abuse from coaches and teachers was tolerated a lot more when I was a kid than it is nowadays. We had a head coach in my high school program back in the early ‘80's who wore a whistle around his neck, secured by a leather cord. When he got especially pissed off about something, he would take the whistles off of his neck and literally whip a kid with the cord-often he would hit the shoulder pads, but on many occasions he struck the neck or the exposed back/stomach under a practice jersey. This happened maybe every other practice, at least once, to some poor kid.

I personally had to hide welts from my parents or lie about how I got a mark on my back because I didn't want to have to quit football. My parents never found out, but I'm sure some other parents knew. However, nothing was ever done about it.

One guy (an offensive guard) got hit so many times we called him "Toby". Think of the scene from Alex Haley's "Roots." 80's humor! Slap me five!

I'd sure like to whip his old carcass with a leather cord one time before he dies.

You see? Headbutts? Whippings? We can't let these stories go untold! More responsibly reported and safely anonymous emails on Monday.

Ravens at Browns: Good God. This is the Monday Night game? Holy shit, this is awful. It's rare you see a sporting event that could be ENHANCED by Chris Berman talking at the half.

Chiefs at Raiders: My mailman looks like Tom Cable. EXACTLY like him, right down to the constant sweating. And he delivers the mail the exact same way I would imagine Tom Cable delivering the mail. He just jams that shit into the slot as brusquely as humanly possible. He could give two shits if anything tears or folds. He just rapes the hell out of our mail slot. I really need to buy a mailbox.

Bucs at Dolphins: Our own Will Leitch wrote a rather pleasant and complimentary piece on Bill Simmons this week. I don't disagree with most of what Will wrote. Simmons absolutely created a new style and made old-school sports columnists instantly obsolete. I used to read him compulsively and still read most anything he writes about football or basketball. But I will tell you this: Underneath it all, Simmons still has the same DNA as the Mariottis of the world: thin skin, a steadfast belief that he's a genius when it comes to all things sports-related, bad nicknames for people (Dumbleavy? Really?), and a very small well of repeated joke memes. His voice was completely new and refreshing, but the message is often the same as the old guard. "These coaches don't know what they're doing!" "I told you something I predicted would come to pass!" There's still that self-lionization. And that's the frustrating thing about Simmons. I wish he'd leave those vestiges of the old sports writing world behind. He doesn't need them to be great. I wish he didn't always feel compelled to be the smartest asshole at the bar. Then he'd become an even greater force than he already is.

Lions at Vikings: NFL Shop always has a signature clothing pattern every year. This year, it's the "drift" pattern. Now, this is the ugliest fucking shirt I've ever seen. What is this, 1993? Jesus.

Broncos at Redskins: This game's bad. Know what's worse? A remake of "Paradise City" featuring Slash, Fergie, and B-Real of Cypress Hill.

And friend sent me this specifically to make me angry. Mission accomplished, sir. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

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

"New Fang," by Them Crooked Vultures. Josh Homme. Dave Grohl. John Paul Jones. Yep, that's my band. And you know who's not in this group? GODDAMN FUCKING FERGIE.

Embarassing Mixtape Track I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"Iesha," by Another Bad Creation. Ah, the East Coast Family. This entire group of bands fell off the face of the fucking Earth right before the turn of the century. I don't even see Boyz II Men on the nostalgia circuit. And what about that white band Michael Bivins had in one of these videos? I can't even remember their name (I thought they were in the "MotownPhilly" video, but I didn't see them). They looked like jackasses. I'm glad they never made it. Anyway, as of 2006, ABC still apparently existed. At the playyyyygrooooound…

UPDATE: Sudden Impact! Reader nvasconcelos identified them. Read more about the horribleness of Sudden Impact here.

Open Mailbag Tuesdays
Got something you want displayed for show and tell in the Deadspin Tuesday Mailbag? Dark meat, perhaps? Email me any question or observation you like.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death
Brian Westbrook. Oh, it was only a matter of time before he showed up here, with his brutal late scratch. YOU BASTARD. Aww, what's the matter, Brian? Your poor widdle head hurt? Afraid you'll get post-concussion syndrome? YOU PUSSY. You get out there, and you get your head bashed in. OUR FINANCIAL WELFARE DEPENDS ON IT. It's too late to undo the damage now! You'll be a wreck of a human being in a decade anyway! You'll be wandering the streets naked, squeezing block of cream cheese between your hands. GET ON THAT FIELD AND DANCE, RUNNERBOY!

Suicide Pick Of The Week
Last week's suicide pick of Atlanta was correct, making me 8-1 on the year. That puts the Falcons, Bears, Colts, Eagles, Vikings, Texans, Ravens, Saints and Skins off the board now. We once again pick a team for your suicide pool and something that makes you WANT to commit suicide. This week's pick? The Jets, and Silverstar headlights. I saw an ad for these things during the game the other day. They say they're brighter, and safer for your kids and all that shit. What they don't say is that fancy headlights like these will fucking BLIND every driver on the opposite side of the road. This shit is getting ridiculous. You have to drive with sunglasses on at night now because other assholes' headlights are brighter than the surface of a fucking white dwarf.

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.

"This week, I like the Bears getting 3 points on the road against the 49ers. Hey, you lay off my poker buddy Easterbrook. Know what he calls it when you spike a one-eyed jack on the river? An EISNER. The guy's one of us."

2009 Nazi Shark Record: 6-3. He's back on track!

This Week's Pants Party Winner
Last week's Pants Party winner was J. Burns. He did not come to claim his prize. This week's winner was J. Mullins. Mr. Mullins, come and claim your rant prize. If you're related to Shawn Mullins, I will punch you in the tit. Everytheeeeeng's gonna be allll right, ROCK A BYE! God, I hate that song. I bet Fergie co-wrote it.

Great Moments In Poop History
Regrettably, I said in Tuesday's mailbag that it's probably impossible for someone to clog a toilet with poop alone. Well, I was fucking WRONG. Over a dozen people emailed in to tell me about the triumphant times in which they, or a loved one, stopped up an open toilet drain with a poopy softball with the density of a neutron star. Reader Mike sends in the most harrowing tale of the bunch.

What follows is a bad story. About my mother. If you use this, please exclude my last name.

My mom gets horribly constipated. Cannot go to the bathroom more than once a week, and frequently only has "movement" once every two weeks. It's just the way she's designed, for whatever weird horrible "God is going to punish you for your parents sins" type of reason.

One day she comes out of the bathroom, beat red and crying. The toilet clogged. Well, ok mom, go get a plunger. No, like it REALLY clogged and water was overflowing, my dad, soldier that he is, goes and gets the plunger. I follow from a safe distance. Yes, the toilet is actually overflowing, and I leave the room to get towels to mop off the shit water.

About 30 seconds later as I'm looking for garbage towels to use, my Dad comes back. Direct quote: Plunger won't work, the shit is stuck, I'm gonna have to chop it up, do we have an old butcher knife? Lo and behold, my dad, in about 3 inches of my mom's shit water, had to chop of a large ball of compressed excrement of my mom's lodged directly in the exit hole of the toilet.

God only knows how she got that thing out on her own without going to emergency.

Oh, man. Butchered poop. Are you as horrified as I am? Let us huddle for warmth.

Now, for a proper poop story from reader Darrin. He calls it, "The Poopsicle."

When I was in college attending the fine Fairfield University in Connecticut (which is a terrible state filled with terrible people), we lived in large cookie-cutter townhouses during our junior and senior years. Our group being accepting and jovial drinkers, we didn't really have a problem with anyone. Except, we lived next to a set of thoroughbred guido neighbors. Orange faces, gold crosses, super spiked hair gel. These guys were born, bred, and raised on the Jersey shore. Needless to say, we hated these guys.

Fast forward to Christmas Vacation. My Canadian roommate and I were enjoying an empty campus and a full bottle of Jager. He couldn't pay for a flight home and I'm an alcoholic. We drank for 10 days straight. The digestive system of a human male simply was never meant to process ramen noodles, pizza, and liters of alcohol over a long period of time. Finally, this crested when we were playing some Xbox, and I announced a shit of epic proportions was coming. I bolted to the bathroom, and I heard my roommate leaving the house. While in the bathroom, I was working up to it, as I could feel a mammoth stampeding toward the exit when there was a knock on the bathroom door. The door then opens and a red cooler slides in, and the door closes. "The guidos left their cooler on the porch. Shit in it".

Three simply words. "Shit. In. It." I have never had more respect for someone.

So I scooted my ass forward and braced myself on the sides of the cooler. I huffed and I puffed, and I heard a loud plop. The smell was horrendous, I couldn't even breathe. I hopped back onto the toilet to clean myself, and I had to put the lid on the cooler or I wasn't going to make it. I opened the door and my roomate was half way across the room telling me how much it reaked.

I dragged the cooler back to the porch, but I just had to take a look, see what papa made. I looked down and there it was. It looked like it came from an elephant. A constipated elephant. Who hadn't shit in weeks. My roomate is now convinced that I have some sort of bowel disorder, because the evidence in the cooler was inhuman.

We waited, and we waited, and it stayed there for a month, then two. Meanwhile I had told everyone I knew, who would stealthily sneak a glimpse of the turdious maximus. But the cooler never moved. Finally, mid-February, the cooler is the middle of the common area, where it was clearly hurled a long distance, broken open, and, now resembling swamp thing, my magnificence had rolled out into the grass, still frozen in ice that had gathered in the cooler. It was now like a poop-ice sculpture, a poopsicle if you will.

Brilliant.

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*
Jim Zorn
Eric Mangini
Jim Mora
Jeff Fisher
Dick Jauron
Jack Del Rio*
Todd Haley
Lovie Smith
Andy Reid

We welcome Andy Reid to the chopping block with open arms. And we take a moment to acknowledge Dallas Morning News writer Jean-Jacques Taylor, who apparently lives in some parallel universe where Philadelphians adore Andy Reid and wish him nothing but peace and rainbows. "Philadelphia trusts Reid implicitly." It does? Do you even know where Philadelphia is? Are you aware that it's located in Pennsylvania and is filled with impatient dickheads? It reminds me of this sketch.

"And do these lions eat ants?"

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Ants on a log! Do I lick the groove of the celery and then discard it, without ever actually eating the vegetable part? Fuck and yes, I do. Adults always try and get kids to get healthy shit by tossing unhealthy shit on top of it. But kids aren't stupid. Eating big chunks of celery is awful. Like biting into a roll of dental floss.

My wife bought that fucking Jessica Seinfeld cookbook, the one where you make spinach purees and shit and bake them into muffins. The kid took one sniff of the muffin and cast it overboard. Jessica Seinfeld, you can eat hog.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

TESCO! Reader Mark C. writes in:

Last week's Chinese beer selection sparked my memory of the greatest cheap beer in the world. TESCO brand beer (or "lager" if you're some fancy Englishman) is the cheap beer of the world. TESCO is the Wal-Mart of the UK. While studying in Belfast in college, another broke American college student and I were perusing the beer and wine aisle in TESCO looking for the ultimate combination of cheap and drunk. An Irish bum with an incredible dirty beard and even better accent got our attention. He grumbled "Try this shit, it will get you fucked up." It seems TESCO produces what's called "value lager." It's 91 pence (or about $1.50) for 4 pints. That's about 6 twelve-ounce beers for $1.50. Ever drank 12 beers for 3 bucks?

Discounting keg party fees? Can't say that I have. Man oh man, that is some cheap as shit stale piss. Look at those cans. It looks like jock itch spray. Mmmm, frothy jock itch spray. I MUST HAVE IT.

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.

"Baby, my favorite for the NFL's MVP this year is still a TIE between Drew Brees of the Saints and Peyton Manning of the Colts! I was saddened recently to hear that my good friend Denny Hopper is suffering from prostate cancer. AND WHAT A PROSTATE! Big? You bet! That puppy has churned out more Easy Riders than a Mumbai sperm bank! I spent some time with Hop in Aruba when he was directing a short film that no one has ever seen. It was called GIRL ON A ROPE. And it was about a man, played by Hop, who sucked morphine straight from the bag and kept his wife on a rope! And Hop studied for that role by sucking morphine straight from the bag and keeping his wife on a rope! For eight weeks! Dedicated? YOU BET! Crazy as Hell? Goddamn right."

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Browns Fans

A Perfect World. This was an awesome movie. Except for the scenes with Clint Eastwood, which comprise half the movie. Cut those scenes out, and it's fucking awesome. But I didn't like the scene where Kevin Costner has the kid make mayonnaise sandwiches. And then they eat mayonnaise sandwiches. That is fucking horrible and worse than anything in the Saw films.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Come to Duff Gardens, where roaming gangs aren't a problem anymore!"

Halftime Masturbation Kit
-For the guys: Holy Taco's gallery of men staring at boobs. That's good work there, men.
-For the gals: A very shirtless Josh Duhamel. ANOTHER THING RUINED BY FERGIE.

Enjoy the games, everyone.

It's ridiculous to blame Drew for "not vetting" this story as thoroughly as possible given that he's doing a series that's built on first-hand accounts about supposedly asshole coaches. Drew came to me with this story and suggested this one was unique enough to stand on its own outside of the series. I agreed. It was amusing and given Murphy's reputation as a hot-head and the other details of the event that were clearly true, it seemed completely plausible.

Obviously, that was wrong. When you run one-sided versions of stories, which we often do here, the goal is just that — to show one person's side. That's it. It's been my experience, more often than not, that putting these first-person accounts on items reveal a larger truth or open the door to finding out the bigger story. This is how we've successfully done many things on this site over the years from "You're With Me Leather" to Josh Hamilton.

Of course, this is not how traditional media outlets do things. Most people read Deadspin for various reasons but I don't think any readers come here with the idea that what they'll find will be something they'd find in magazines, newspapers, or websites that they'd find elsewhere. This site has been built employing both traditional journalism practices and non-traditional ones, which has tremendous benefits but plenty of risks as well. I don't think it's that difficult to distinguish between when we're practicing journalism and, especially, when we don't. But when facts are wrong, they get corrected, as they should. And unlike other traditional publications, I think we draw a lot more attention to our mistakes than just a 10 word correction buried on page A12.

We've already run the correction on the story and Drew did his best to rectify that situation. This is simply me underlining that fact that he was doing what he was told to do by me and he's not the bad guy in this situation. The real culprit is the misguided fellow who emailed the bullshit story to begin with and, of course, the very elastic editorial policy employed here by Deadspin which is championed by me.

Regardless of this unfortunate incident, I'm confident that we're doing the right thing most of the time. When we don't, well, it has to be addressed. This is me addressing it.

'Til the next episode.

I've removed the story in question, because the guy who sent it in emailed me later on to tell me that, in fact, Murphy never threatened to kick his ass. Instead, I'm going to run this version of the story from ASU assistant SID Randy Policar. What we're left with is the rather sad story of an autograph hound stopping at nothing to get a signature from a very frail and vulnerable boxing legend. A brief warning: the bolded sentence below may cause spontaneous bouts of weeping.

Let me start by saying that there was no "security" at this event, per se. It was all volunteers. It wasn't an ASU event, so I was there as a volunteer as well. When Ali arrived at 6:45, a group of volunteers (myself included) helped get him to the golf cart that he was to ride in. His wife and sister-in-law were with him. There was a group of 10-15 people with items to be signed, and Ali's wife and sister made it clear that A. he was not physically able to really sign and B. he would not be signing anything tonight due to an exclusive memorabilia contract that he had.

Ali was brought up to a suite at Scottsdale Stadium for him, his wife and his sister-in-law. While it is true that Coach Murphy was one of the first to greet him, I can promise you, in no uncertain terms, Pat Murphy DID NOT have Muhammad Ali sign anything for him. I was in there the entire time Coach was, and Murph went in there to welcome him and to thank him for lending his name to the charity event. He asked Ali if it would be ok if he could take a picture with him and his wife, and if his daughter could get a picture. He also asked if Ali would like to meet Dustin Pedroia and Andre Ethier, MLB players who were also in attendance. Ethier and his 18-month old son were brought in and spent a few minutes with him, then Pedroia and his three-month old came in. Ali was very excited to see the little boys and held them on his lap while posing for some photos.

After the players left, fans starting pouring into the suite. Ali's wife became concerned about the number of people in there, but was still very gracious and allowed most of them to shake Ali's hand and pose for a photo. The person who wrote the email, and I know exactly who it is, came into the suite with a giant poster and other items to be signed. He shoved past the other people in the suite and basically pushed a pen and the poster into Ali's face. Ali's wife told the gentleman that Muhammad could not sign, because of contractual issues and because he was doing a private signing the following week. The man started to protest and Mrs. Ali offered to take his name and phone number down and told him she would call him and try and work something out so he could get something signed. He gave her the information and she put it in her purse. She was clearly frustrated at how pushy he was, but she handled it well and no one raised their voice. The man then got a photo with Ali and left the booth. During this time, Murphy was not in the Ali suite, but next door with Pedroia and Ethier.

After Ali was taken down to the field on his cart, they sang the national anthem and woman performed a song to honor Ali. He stood up and waved to the crowd and then greeted some young baseball players who participate in a little league that was founded and originally funded by Coach Murphy. After that, Ali got back in his cart to leave.

At this point, the people on the field at Scottsdale Stadium were either participants in the home run derby, Sandlot All-Star (little league) players and parents, volunteers or media members. During the song to Ali, I saw the emailer jump the fence and come on to the field. Once Ali got onto his cart, this guy once again shoved a pen and a Sports Illustrated into Ali's face. He was told again by Ali's wife and sister-in-law no autographs, but he kept pushing, begging and pleading with Muhammad to sign. Ali's wife reminded him that she had taken his number and was going to call him, but he completely dismissed her. The crowd was all over the guy, yelling at him to show some respect and heed his wishes, but he didn't care at all. Eventually, Ali relented (and honestly, at that point, what choice did he have, the guy was not going to move) and began to sign the magazine.

I swear to you, it took Ali around three or four minutes to sign his name, because of his physical condition. He had to be held up, because he could not stand on his own. Ali did thumb through the magazine, and eventually got into the cart. The emailer's claim that he was thrown into the backstop by ASU security is a patently ridiculous statement. First off, it was not an ASU event, so there was no ASU security or any other type of security, just the volunteers. Second off, I saw it, he was asked to back off and refused. There was no physical assault of any kind. When Ali's cart drove off, one of the volunteers who helped set up the event escorted him off the field and out of the stadium.

I can also tell you that I spoke to Ali's wife prior to the whole incident, and they were planning on staying at the event to watch the home run derby. We already had begun preparations to bring Ali back up to the suite. But after the stunt that the emailer pulled, they decided to leave and not subject Ali to anything else like that. I thought Ali handled the whole situation well, as did his family. This guy was told no by numerous people, was given special treatment by Ali's wife to try and accommodate him, and still didn't like the answer he got. So he decided that the rules didn't apply to him and did whatever he had to in order to get what he wanted. It was a selfish act by this guy, who had already gotten a photo with Ali, something more valuable than a signature if you truly are a big fan. He got his moment with The Champ, but it wasn't enough for him.

To call a guy "the biggest asshole he ever met", the same guy who was putting on a Charity Event is just stupid. This guy clearly didn't care about the charity, or where the money was going, or the point of the event, he wanted Ali's autograph and felt he was entitled to it because he spent $99 to get in. Coach Murphy worked really hard to get Ali to come to the event, in the hopes that having his name attached would help raise money for a good cause, and this guy disrespects Ali and his family all because he wanted an autograph. Pat Murphy put on a charity event to raise money for an organization, The Crossroads, that is near and dear to his heart. He didn't put on an autograph show. Coach has donated thousands of dollars to charities throughout the country, he just doesn't advertise it.

He saved old game balls that were used once and tossed and donated them to inner city schools who couldn't afford baseballs, he donated sporting goods to Boys Town in Omaha so they could have new equipment to use. He's donated over $100,000 back to ASU for facility improvements and to help get his assistant coaches more money, and he started his own little league for kids who couldn't afford to join. He paid for uniforms and equipment and let them use a field for free, just so he could let underprivileged kids enjoy baseball. If those are the acts of the "biggest asshole", then maybe the world needs more assholes like Pat Murphy.

Coach doesn't know I sent this, and I was not directed by my superiors to defend him. I just wanted to set the record straight because I know Coach Murphy and his family and I know what kind of person he is. He can get mad and get heated, but he has a heart of gold, I promise you. It was a great event for a great cause, and I would hate to see his name dragged through the mud and the event tarnished because of half-truths from one person, who ultimately, got what he wanted, regardless of how it was obtained.

Sorry I got a little long winded, but I wanted you to hear what happened from my perspective.

I followed up with the reader (we'll call him Asshole) who sent in the original story for a clarification of what happened. Here is our exchange.

ME: Did you lie when you wrote this, Asshole?

ASSHOLE: I did not, but the details are distorted enough to cause issues. It was a funny story that has gone too far.

(19 minutes later)

ASSHOLE: Some information may be false…

(43 minutes later)

ASSHOLE: Drew, Murphy did not say those things to me...

Well, thanks. I'm glad we cleared that up. You asshole. I hope you get beaten like a redheaded stepchild.

UPDATE: The Pat Murphy Home Run Derby was established to benefit The Crossroads. You can learn more about that charity here. And, of course, my deepest apologies to Pat Murphy an the ASU athletic department.

Before we get to the questions this week, a little rumor about Dan Snyder. I heard this story on LaVar Arrington's 106.7 FM radio show here in DC last week. A fan called in to tell Arrington and co-host Chad Dukes about an exterminator he knew. The exterminator was called to Snyder's house to spray for pests. When the exterminator arrived, the housekeeper instructed him where to go spray. But the exterminator found no signs of pests in the space. He came down to tell the housekeeper there was no need to spray, and he didn't want to take Snyder's money for a service the Redskins owner didn't need performed (clearly, this man was honest to a fault).

The housekeeper insisted the exterminator spray the area anyway, telling the man that Snyder hated to be told he was wrong, and that it would be better for everyone if he simply sprayed the area, took his money, and went about his business. But, he explained, there's nothing there. There's no need to spray. She insisted. Apparently, you REALLY do not want to tell Dan Snyder there are no pests in his house if he believes otherwise. So the man sprayed the area for no reason, took Snyder's money, and left.

And now you know why the Redskins are considering signing Larry Johnson.

Emails away!

Barb-A-Rod:

I'm a 27 year old guy, married for just over a year. We do not have a kid, yet. I smoke some good nugs daily, after I get home from work, and sometimes the wife will imbibe as well. Now, we're going to start trying for a child in the next month or two (she wants the baby to be born around October. Why, I have no idea) so clearly she has to quit smoking for the time being. Does that mean I have to quit smoking too? Can I just cut back? Do I need to get my spermies checked? Does that shit really lower your swimmer count? Do I ask too many unnecessary questions?

And reader JonnyDakota with a companion email:

Any babymaking tips? I've never made one on purpose before. Been trying for a couple months, didn't know it would be a challenge. Wife wants me to quit drinking while we try, but that hasn't and will not happen, certainly not during football season.

It's a law of nature that successful procreation is eighty times more difficult to achieve when you are intentionally trying to make a child. If you were banging a hooker in an alleyway instead, your chances of conception would rise an astonishing 370%. Your wife will do a lot of reading about fertility in the coming weeks and months (and will demand you do likewise), and somewhere along the line she will come across some bullshit advice from a doctor telling her that married couples need to behave like fucking Mormons in order to conceive a child and ensure that child doesn't come out retarded. No pot. No booze. No sushi (something about mercury). No cold cuts. For real. No cold cuts. She WILL force you to stop smoking the weed. It's all but inevitable. I bargained with Mrs. Drew for the right to drink, but she watched my intake like a fucking hawk.

HER: How many beers is that?

ME: Two.

HER: There are eight cans in the recycling bin.

ME: FUCK.

Anyway, I suggest you put up with all these restrictions for now. Once you finally hit paydirt (and that process itself is quite enjoyable), you have a designated driver for nine months. Not a bad payoff.

One other thing: I saw a doctor once while trying to have our second kid, and he told me I needed to cut out masturbation and attempt conceiving with the Mrs. Once every THREE days, and not more frequently. This increases your payload and floods your lady's reproductive system with manpaint. And it worked. But holding out for three days was fucking AGONY. It was horrible. Like being in Nam. I can't do it again, or I will fucking die.

Travis:

If there was a scale of tastiness, what food would have the largest extremes between its "fresh" version and its "leftovers" version? My vote is French Fries. The least extreme? I think it's pizza.

It can't be pizza. Pizza fresh out of the oven is fantastic. Jack Donaghy says preferring cold pizza over hot is CRAZY. Gotta be chili. Chili's even better the more you reheat it. Lasagna, too. But I agree on French fries. Ever get delivery French fries? They're always terrible.

Adam:

What is the proper portocol for taking a giant 12 hours of drinking and eating fried-food type of shit, when you reach for some tp, and you are denied. There's none in the cabinet-fuck my retarded roommate…

FLOYD! FLOYD, YOU USED UP ALL THE TOILET PAPER!

…There is some paper towels, but that's a good 25 foot walk, fuck. So what to do, hop in the shower and let water and gravity do there work and clean the shit out of it later, or make a slow ass clinched walk into the kitchen with hopes of no drips? Or just use your asshole roommate's bed sheets?

No, you gotta hit the kitchen and do that clenched asswalk. If there are paper products to be used, you are, by law, mandated to use them first before any cloth substitutes.

Emily:

Any thoughts on the Final Three of Project Runway? I agree that the cast wasn't as strong this season, but you must have some thoughts. At the very least, don't you think Irina is such a bitch?

Total bitch. It's the worst season in the history of the show. Kors and Garcia are never fucking there. (Imagine if Simon Cowell missed 70% of every Idol episode. If you liked that show, you'd be fucking pissed.) The move to LA was pointless and stupid. The challenges are terrible. The Gawker reviewers are right: they just tell the designers to go to Mood and make some shit. There's no, "Make a dress out of medical waste" type challenges that are cool. And the contestants are shit. How the fuck did Christopher last this long? They take this asshole to the Getty Museum, and he's inspired by algae on the rocks outside of the place? He may as well have been inspired by a fucking parking spot. What a crybaby asshole. He should have been out the first day.

The final three are all underwhelming. Irina's a bitch. Althea has Kirsten Dunst's teeth and makes the same floppy clothes every week. And Carol Hannah totally looks like this one dude I know. No lie. Slap a shitlaod of eyeliner on him, toss on a wig, and you got Carol Hannah. It's unnerving. All of them would get crushed if this were any other season. I think they're all allergic to actual colors. I say Irina wins handily, and then they'll pretend as if this season never existed. Next season, they're back in New York and Kors and Garcia are on for every episode. I think it'll be back to normal.

(Also, Irina is the hottest of the final three. I think. But she looks like the type of person that would lie there and smoke during intercourse.)

John:

If you have a 3-day weekend, is it better to have Friday or Monday off?

Friday. Not even close. More people take Friday off, so there are more people to drink with. You can go out on Thursday, best night of the week, and not worry about work. If you take Monday off, the weekend still feels like it's over come Monday morning anyway. You feel aimless.

Pedro:

My only real goal in life is to clog a toilet with only poop (i.e., no toilet paper). A friend of mine says he's done this, but he's a lying sack of shit. Have you done it?

Nope. Poop is ergonomically designed for easy flushing, with its snakelike contours. I say it's not possible.

Brad:

I bought a $5 footlong and gave my roommate half of it as soon as I opened it up. He took two bites and put it in the fridge. 6 hours later, I'm hungry and it's still there, he's napping. Do I have legit rights to it or would it be a dick move?

Fuck and yes, you do. You paid for it, and that asshole couldn't even be bothered to sit and eat it with you like a proper friend? It's yours. Eat it and then belch in his ungrateful face.

Matt:

What are your thoughts on jerking off while your driving? I am a huge fan of doing said action, but my friends always bust my balls (pun intended). They say it's real sketchy and that other motorists will see me. The thing is, whenever a driver passes me, I just pretend like I'm looking for something in my pocket and nobody gets wise. Please let me know how you feel.

I have done this while driving a handful of times, but only when out on the highway, with no traffic blockages. You're going one speed, there's constant passing, etc. Doing it in the middle of urban traffic? That's fucking repugnant and you should be jailed.

I feel very proud of myself after a highway jerk. Very productive.

Chester Chodums:

Looking at that brazilian tumblr site gave me an idea: Can you rank the varying degrees of NSFW content? NSFW where? What if I work on the set of a porn movie? What if I teach kindergarten? What if I have my own office? What if 23 people can see my computer at any given moment? What's pretty safe for work unless you have an uptight boss. What's kind of safe for work? What's risky but worth it, as long as you time it right? What's brazen and bold and could get you in some trouble? And what's absolutely, positively not to be viewed except in the privacy of your own closet at 3 a.m.?

NSFW just doesn't cut it, and everyone seems to have a different idea of what that is. Movies have ratings. Links to content need more shading and definition as well.

I concur. You'll notice a lot of guys toss in the EXTREMELY NSFW warning when it's hardcore porn you're about to click on. That helps. But otherwise, I suggest we make like the TV ratings and add suffixes that indicate content.

NSFWL – NSFW language. Believe it or not, some offices frown on even bad language on sites. Fucking commies.

NSFWSN – NSFW soft nudity

NSFWHN – NSFW hard nudity

NSFWT – NSFW thong

NSFWCC – NSFW cheesecake (not nudity, but bikinis and lingerie and what not)

NSFWF – NSFW fisting

Parker:

I may be the only person who was happy to have the Favre cam Sunday, as I was stuck in the university library, but was stil able to pull the Favre cam up and get Fox's live game audio at no charge. It was the only thing that saved me from my personal hell of studying all goddamn day.

Fair enough.

Eric:

You're wrong about Randy Lerner. He wants people to think he gives a shit about the Browns, but he really doesn't. He cares more about how people see him as the owner of the team. Given Dan Snyder's nationwide humiliation, it's easy to see Lerner trying to escape the same fate even though his team is by a wide margin shittier.

He probably paid Mike Randall to say nice things about him and BS that he was paying attention to his ideas to give fans the false idea that the franchise is doing OK (and so they continue to pay to see a 1-15 team).

Fair enough again. I was out of turn being nice to Randy Lerner, given what the Browns have done to you over the past decade. He says he wants to bring in Ernie Accorsi, Mike Holmgren, or Ron wolf to fix this thing. If he fails to get any of those men, then I think you're right to go poop on his lawn.

Greg:

I have a question about Thanksgiving etiquette. This year, I'm going to a large gathering of my girlfriend's family - we've been together over a year and I've been to a few gatherings before so I'm not concerned with the "new boyfriend" awkwardness. What I am concerned with is the availability of dark meat and skin at the serving table.

As you know, these are precious commodities and could possibly end up in short supply. In past years, when I've either been at home or a small gathering with my own family and/or friends, I have no reservations about filling my plate with as many of these juicy delicious pieces as possible (Aside: Ever "accidentally" drop a piece into the moat of grease surrounding the turkey before delivering to your plate? I highly recommend it.). (Ed note: Yup.) Anyway, my question is, what's my best strategy for loading up on these wonderful pieces of turkey flesh without looking like a fucking douchebag?

I too agree that there's never enough dark meat and skin. And I've noticed, over the years, that more and more of my family members have grown wise to the fact that the dark meat tastes incredible and the white meat tastes boring as shit. Thus, the scramble becomes even more fierce. We need to breed turkeys that have triple-sized legs and thighs for this reason. They already bioengineer the living shit out of these things, so I say we go even further in making these Frankenbirds as much of an affront to God as possible.

For now, I suggest simply waiting until your girlfriend's mom tells you to fill your plate (and she will insist you do this at some point). "Oh, Greg! Greg, get some food!" Then, load up all you like. I suggest keeping all your food within the boundaries of the plate rim. That way, it appears modest. Also, load up on meat before anything else. If you need to sacrifice taking extra stuffing for now, do so. You can always go back to come out even later.

Dave:

Ever take a piss with khaki pants on, and you try and get the last few dribbles out, but then you zip up only to realize its bled through your brown pants? Now everyone can see you clearly just pissed and you have to try to cover it up with your hand when you see a co-worker in the hall. Annoying.

Yep. Happens ALL THE FUCKING TIME to me. Usually before a job interview. Then you gotta do that thing where you take your hand and rub the shit out of the spot until it's hand-dried. Brutal. I'm a terrible dribbler. Sometimes I'll finish pissing and half a pint leaks right out and down into the grundle of my boxers. No warning. Just BOOM. Instant wetness. It's the worst thing ever. I am broken. I need a cock cinch.

Chris:

I went to the University of Arizona for undergrad and we had a Chipotle right off campus that my friends and I would frequent at least once a day.

Back when we were freshman in 2002, for $5 you could get an overstuffed burrito with unlimited hot sauce and it would fill you up from lunch until it was time to drink. I had a pretty solid system for getting the most out of my buck too - when the person behind the aisle would ask what kind of meat I'd like, I'd say Chicken, and then as he was scooping a gratuitous amount of supple bird onto my tortilla, I'd quickly change my mind and say Steak, forcing him to just say fuck it cuz he's a Chipotle worker and just go ahead and double meat that baby free of charge. Then I'd ask for every veggie available, which would force the tortilla roller lady to use two tortillas to encase my entire meal. So when I'd sit down, I'd unwrap my meats and veggies, equally dispersing the ingredients into two tortillers, and voila, I'd have 2 burritos for the price of one.

Chris, you sir, are a genius. Everyone take notes. We have much to learn from this very fat and thrifty young man.

Anonymous:

Has their ever been anyone more perverted in sports than mascots? I don't know if you've ever heard these fuckers talk, but I'm pretty sure that they feel dressing up like an animal is THE SHIT, and therefore gives them an excuse to talk dirty in public. I can't how many times I've heard Testudo (University of Maryland), tell a girl he'll only take a picture with them because they've got such a fine ass, and then squeeze it. The worst part? He gets away with it! They giggle! Any explanations?

They're like animated programming. You get away with murder when you look cartoonish. Also, you have more license to act like a filthy lech when you're willing to dress up in a ridiculous outfit. Girls immediately label you as extroverted and fun if you're an asshole in am ascot suit. Is the Maryland mascot really named Testudo? Jesus. Patting asses is nothing. He should be dry humping spectators with a name like that.

Kevin:

How many times do you read over an important email to proof-read it? Isn't there always that one error you want to take back after getting a reply or re-reading it after sending? You can read it 4503 times and still find that error after you hit the send button.

Yep. I can look at a document 700 times and still miss at least five glaring typos. But I hardly think it matters in this day and age. Sometimes I see typos in my email now and just leave them, because I know no one gives a shit. And that is why this world is GOING TO HECK IN A HANDBASKET.

Krampus:

Follow up question to Shane's story about rooting against your school: How do you feel about people who obsess about a college team when they never even went to college? I'm sure this is rampant in SEC country, but my personal experience is with people from Connecticut who won't shut up about UConn basketball - men's or women's. Calm down, fuck face, you have no stake in these proceedings. (Confession: I went to a Catholic school with no football team, and thus casually root for Notre Dame. But I don't get emotional about it.)

Yeah. That is weird. I guess it makes some sense in Connecticut, which has no professional team representation. But if you're firing up the RV and heading out to a Tennessee game with giant orange banners flying from your roof, and you went to Marist, that's a little weird. But what if you were too stupid to get into one of those schools? Or what if you got a scholarship to Harvard despite loving Tennessee your whole life? I guess it's okay. Or something. I dunno. All I know is that you're a douche if you root for Notre Dame, no matter what. FUCK YOU BUDDY.

Dan:

I absolutely love jalapenos on my food, but the fire shits that follow cause me to avoid them whenever possible. Is there some trick to easing the discomfort/pain of crapping molten lava or do I just have to keep denying myself sweet jalepeno goodness whenever possible?

I think taking a Zantac or Pepcid before you eat may help. I too wrestle with the choice between delicious spicy food and knowing my asshole will bear the brunt of punishment for it. And you know what? My asshole loses that argument every time. Every time. It doesn't matter how vehement its argument is. DON'T DO IT, MAN! I'LL BE VOMITING UP BROWN FILTH ALL DAY LONG! No matter. Must… have… chili cheesesteak…

Timmy:

You're completely right about the waterless urinals, they fucking suck. The one exception is the visitor's center on Assateague Island in Virginia. Your piss makes interesting little designs there, and it is mesmerizing and beautiful.

Not unlike the brook trout described at the end of "The Road". Maps and mazes. Of a piss that could not be made right again.

I had a swimming coach when I was four, named Mr. Willamy. During a swim lesson, I was reluctant to enter the pool. Mr. Willamy responded by yelling at me, dunking my head in the water, and holding it there until I was nearly drowning. Mr. Willamy wasn't fired for this, of course. Mr. Willamy kept his job for decades, and was something of an institution. He's dead now. Fuck that guy.

If you've ever played sports (or, in my case, attempted to), you have no doubt encountered your fair share of asshole coaches. BLAZING ASSHOLE COACHES. In fact, I'd argue that most men become coaches because they couldn't be bothered to fill out the application to become a fucking rent-a-cop. You know the kind of coach I mean. Aviator shades. Puffed chest. Drunk with precious authority. Ready to scream at children at the drop of a hat. For every Tony Dungy in this world, there are roughly one million complete fucking scumbags aspiring to be the next Bear Bryant.

Well, it's time to call those gentlemen out. Deadspinners, welcome to our very first edition of ASSHOLE COACH DIGEST. Every Monday, we'll be chronicling real stories about coaches who are arrogant, unpleasant, and downright abusive. You can send me your coaching horror stories right here. I don't give a shit if your coach is BAD. I don't care if he elected to kick a field goal when he was down by seven points with no timeouts and only five minutes left (Hi, Andy!). And I really don't give a shit if he didn't give you enough PT.

No, I'm talking about the Manginis of the world. The slimy, slogan-spouting assholes who just can't wait to put you in your place. It can be any sport. It can be your current coach, or a coach you once had. You can name names, or you can be anonymous. I don't care. All I want is to offer you a bit of payback to any coach who took his bullshit too fucking far. The end goal, naturally, is to get stories about some big name assholes: the Bobby Knights and Todd Haleys of the world. But really, any coach will do. It's time to debunk a profession that is often lionized far beyond what it deserves. Molder of young men, my ass. Take this story, from reader Andrew:

I think I've got 90% of people beat with my fourth grade flag football coach. First of all, guy was this huge, former o lineman who was living vicariously through his fourth grade son. Dude, would have us doing legitimate drills such as leg lifts and ab work for this team. I feel the need to reemphasize the fact here, that this was a fourth grade coach and most of the kids were 9-10 years old and just want to play glorified backyard ball.

Oh and I did I mention the guy broke my collarbone? Yes, yes, my fourth grade flag football coach broke me collarbone. You may be asking yourself right now, "How Andrew, How did your fourth grade flag football coach break your collarbone?" Well, let me tell you, so we were playing a scrimmage in the backyard of our elementary school. Well, one kid on our team, who was lined up at linebacker, had watched some tv and figured out a juke move that he was using on some poor kid who was lined up center. The poor kid was always getting faked out by this move because, he was, you know, fucking nine.

So the coach decides the best way to teach these kids how to stop such a move is to INSERT HIMSELF IN THE FUCKING SCRIMMAGE. So now, there is a forty year old, 200+ lbs. huge dude lined up at center, in the middle of this scrimmage of nine and ten year olds. So the next play from scrimmage occurs and the kid playing linebacker fakes his juke and completely outmaneuvers the coach, the coach dives for where he thinks the kid is supposed to be and instead, lays me out. We're talking, this guy performed a near flawless form tackle on my, tiny, fifty pound self and proceeded to lay on top of me for a good couple of seconds afterwards.

Needless to say my collarbone snapped like a dry piece of spaghetti. Soon after my incident, half of the team quit because the coach was fucking psychotic and his kid moved maybe two years later. But my goddamn shoulder still fucking hurts whenever the air pressure changes to serve a nice little reminder of the great flag football career I had consisting of one fucking game and then a nice stint on the DL.

Or this one, from Jared:

In the spring semester of my junior year in high school there were these rumors going around the school that head football coach was having an affair and was getting divorced. This ended up being true but the next part is the shocker.

He was having the affair with the assistant coach's wife, who also had a son on the football team who was the starting QB.

After each got divorced they started dating and got married that summer. He even kept his job at the school even though he supply fucked her in his office multiple times. The kid even had to keep playing for the jerk-off because his dad couldn't afford to send him to the private school in the area. So the whole season this kid had to play for a coach who fucked his mom and ruined his parents' marriage. The kid's dad, who used to be good friends with the guy and was the defensive coordinator, quit because of the whole head coach fucking his wife thing. The coach ended up leaving after the season when he got new job but the damage was done. He was a total douchbag.

You get the idea. Broken collarbones. Boning the starting QB's mom. This is WHY YOUR COACH SUCKS. Photos, video, and scanned motivational slogans are all welcome.

I once had to spend a day working with a very obnoxious woman in a New York recording studio during the playoffs back in 2001. Every five seconds, this horrible beast of a human being would sit down and shout out to no one in particular, BOY, I TELL YA, IT'S TOUGH BEING A YANKEES FAN! Any time I tried to speak, she talked right over me to talk about the fucking Yankees. That's the kind of person celebrating down in the Canyon of Heroes: worthless sacks of shit who believe the historic superiority of their baseball team somehow makes them more important people than you or I.

So allow me to take this moment to craft a very heartfelt message to the Yankees and their fans today: FUCK YOU. Fuck your team. Fuck your stadium. Fuck your history. Fuck it with a gun.

Fuck you, Joe Delessio. Don't try and tell me that you Yankee fans are sweet little angels who just happen to be blessed with astonishing success.

A common criticism of Yankees fans is that we feel entitled, that we believe we deserve only the best players, and that it's World Series or bust. This criticism has at least some merit. But can you blame us? We have to spend more on tickets, and we have to plan out which games we're going to attend in March if, God forbid, we want to sit in the upper deck without going to StubHub.

OH NOES! You have to spend money! Money that might have to come out of your yearly Paris summercation budget! And you have to buy tickets IN ADVANCE! Oh, the agony! How I wish I could be a Royals fan and wander into an empty and lifeless stadium on a whim!

Fuck you, Jay Z. The fuck are you doing on the float? You didn't do SHIT. And fuck A-Rod's hat. Fuck Billy Crystal. Fuck Joe DiMaggio and Mickey Mantle, and the astonishing number of Yankees Hall of Famers who were drunks, wife beaters, and obnoxious pricks. Fuck the fans who happily overlook the massive character flaws of said heroes because they themselves possess similar attributes. Fuck George Steinbrenner. YOU'RE DYING, AND NOTHING CAN STOP IT NOW. Why don't you go play another game of chess against a roll of scotch tape, you senile old prick?

Fuck New York City bus drivers. Will you please, for once, stop right where all of us are standing, instead of pulling thirty yards further down the curb to accommodate some ghost bus behind you that never arrives? DICKS. Fuck Mike Francesca. Fuck the real estate brokers in your town. THOSE PEOPLE ARE SATAN'S LAMBS. Fuck the subway, especially the 4 train to Yankee Stadium, which fucking blows. And double fuck that piece of shit stadium, and the way you raped an entire city to get it. Fuck the smug investment bankers and lawyers who are the only people who can afford to go and love that fact. And fuck the old Yankee Stadium too. That place was a toilet.

Fuck your secret love for the Red Sox. Why don't you two go hump in an alley and get it over with? Fuck AJ Burnett's stupid necklace. Fuck JackO. Fuck Jeter. Fuck Michael Kay. Fuck Suzyn Waldman. Fuck Bob Sheppard. Fuck the whole of you. When I saw that Al Gore movie and he showed downtown Manhattan flooded by polar ice caps, I fucking applauded.

And fuck your championship. Congrats. You bored us for an incredible 27th time. Take your ugly-ass rings and stick them in the Canyon of Heroes residing between your legs.

I'm sure I've missed someone. Yours in the comments.

People have been trying to crack the "Daily Show for Sports" code for a while now. Versus has "Sports Soup". ESPN had "Mohr Sports," which was worse than prison AIDS. And now, The Onion will give it a shot. AND WITHOUT DJ GALLO! THE NERVE OF THESE PRICKS!

The Onion is teaming with Comedy Central to produce a half-hour scripted comedy pilot based on the Onion Sports Network website.

You have to like the chances of any entity that composes a headline such as, "Bruce Bowen Fouls Back In." Even if said entity is populated by Brooklyn hipsters who probably don't actually watch sports (like Deadspin is!). Bonus points to The Onion if Smoov B and Jim Anchower are hired as field correspondents. Carlos Mencia is already fast-tracking the exact same show idea.

Now, this program will probably require a writing staff. Sure, I‘m told The Onion only pays its writing staff in oats, but still. WHAT AN OPPORTUNITY. I daresay we have some commenters here that would be more than qualified to work for such a program. So let's use the comments section as an audition space. If they don't hire Gourmet Spud out of this, I don't believe in nuthin' no more.

With apologies to the fans currently suffering in Cleveland and Oakland, this has been a banner year for quarterbacking in the NFL. Brett Favre was the Offensive Player of the Week last week after he torched the Packers for 4 TD's. But, endless Favre hype aside, you could have picked any quarterback's name out of a hat last week and probably found someone worthy of the same honor. McNabb. Flacco (he went 20 for 25). Romo. Rodgers. Even Vince Young… VINCE FUCKING YOUNG… shined last week. Every Sunday seems to bring in a new batch of banner QB performances, and if you think it's more noticeable than in years past, you might be correct.

Currently, as we cross midseason, there are SEVEN quarterbacks in the league with a QB rating of 100 or higher (Favre, Rodgers, Manning, Schaub, Brees, McNabb, Big Ben). If the season finished that way, it would be the most QB's in league history to finish with a rating that high, and by nearly double the previous record. This doesn't even count QB's like Tom Brady, Tony Romo, and Philip Rivers, all of whom are knocking on the door of a 100 passer rating and could easily end the season well above it. There are also TWELVE QBs with a passer rating of 90 or better. Again, if that number holds, it would be another league record. Here now, going back to 1999, are the number of 100-rating and 90-rating passers in the league:

2009: Seven 100-rating passers, twelve 90-rating passers
2008: 1, 9
2007: 3, 8
2006: 1, 8
2005: 2, 8
2004: 4, 11
2003: 1, 6
2002: 1, 4
2001: 1, 5
2000: 2, 7
1999: 1, 5

Going back even further, 1989 had one 100-rating passer and two 90-rating passers. 1979 had just one 90-rating passer and no one over 100. And 1969 had no quarterbacks over the 90 rating at all. Of course, quarterbacks weren't allowed to actually throw the ball back then, so that's understandable. Passing has obviously evolved over the decades. But we've been in a big passing era for a while now. Why the sudden jump?

It could simply be the rather arbitrary nature of how the passer rating stat is compiled. But a rating over 100 usually indicates that you're playing some pretty good football. Carp about McNabb being in there all you like, the guy has still has a TD-to-pick ratio of 9-to-1. He's even completing 60% of his passes! GOLD STAR FOR DONNIE!

I remember growing up that surpassing the 100 rating was a really big fucking deal. Only Joe Montana ever did it with any consistency. Then Steve Young duplicated the feat, with Troy Aikman joining him on occasion. Otherwise, a rating that high was well out of reach for most of the league's passers, and has remained that way. So why are so many QB's crashing through the ceiling right now? Why are they, in theory, killing so many defenses?

Well, the answer the league will probably give you is that the QB's are just that good. Four layers of quarterback classes are playing excellent football right now. One very old guy, Favre, is doing well. Brilliant, relatively younger veterans like Manning and Brady are also lighting it up. Then you have the Rivers/Big Ben/Manning class, one of the best in league history, followed by Matt Ryan and Joe Flacco coming of age. That's four different "generations" of QB's all together in the league at the same time, which makes for great football.

But I think something is amiss is a world where Kyle Orton has a passer rating of 95.5, and that something would be rules. Yeah, these QB's are all playing lights out, but it helps when the league has established rule after rule to help keep their jerseys clean. This year, in particular, the number of bullshit roughing the passer calls has gotten way out of hand. How many fucking horrible calls have you seen this year, where the defender was penalized simply for running into the passer just as the ball has left his hand? What's a pass rusher to do? Your job is to go kill the quarterback, and now you have no clue what's gonna get you flagged and what isn't.

I thought this was a good theory. But I posed the question of why passer ratings are improving so dramatically to two men who know football far better than I do: Aaron Schatz of Football Outsiders and Michael David Smith of FanHouse. Here is what Schatz thinks:

I don't think it has to do with rule changes, I think it has to do with changes in offensive philosophy. It's related to the rise of the spread shotgun, because…

a) Shotgun formations are more efficient than standard formations in pretty much every situation, except short-yardage (Ed. Note: Todd Haley is likely unaware of this)

b) Percentage of plays from shotgun have risen at a ridiculous rate in recent years, to the point where the team that uses shotgun the least is using it more than the league average from a few years ago

c) A lot of these passes are short — the slants, smokes, and bubble screens — which has created all-time highs for completion percentages and all-time lows for interception rates.

He's right, of course. Bubble screens account for 90% of the Redskins' playbook alone. MDS says it could also be a result of more goal line passing:

Passer rating's reliance on completion percentage yards per attempt and touchdown percentage favors those short slants from the shotgun. Also, Aaron probably has the data on this, but it seems to me that teams are throwing more in goal line situations which would increase quarterbacks' touchdown percentage — the fourth element of passer rating — as well.

So both Schatz and Smith argue that trends in the passing game have proven to conform with the elements of passer rating formula that get you the most favorable outcome, particularly of late. But that still doesn't account for why there's been such a pronounced jump only this year. And why have so many of these QB's have managed to stay so healthy? Think about it. Of the top dozen passers in the league, only McNabb has missed any significant time. Perhaps it's a result of the Brady Rule working, and quarterbacks staying healthier so they can play better? Schatz:

The change isn't dramatic in one year. Based on DVOA, anyway, passing this year is actually slightly down from a year ago. There's a bit more variation between good and bad quarterbacks, but that's in part because there's more variation between the good and bad teams. Roughing the passer calls aren't really up this year either, and I've looked — good quarterbacks don't really draw more roughing calls than bad quarterbacks. And sacks per pass attempt are actually UP in 2009, so jerseys aren't being kept clean.

Overall, I hate to say this, but this is one where the stats simply don't agree with your conjecture. I know we want to believe that this roughing the passer thing has affected QB play, because those flags are so stupid and frustrating, but it hasn't. It has just created some
stupid and frustrating flags.

Translation: "Give it up, Drew. Your theory is pointless and retarded." Fair enough. The passer rating has been manipulated by short-pass, shotgun offenses, and it isn't giving us a good tool to compare quarterbacks historically. BUT I STILL HATE THOSE STUPID AND FRUSTRATING FLAGS! I SAY THE REFS ARE JUICING THE GAME AND TURNING THIS WHOLE THING INTO A PUSSY CARNIVAL, DAMMIT. I know it in my gut!

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

Five Throwgasms

Texans at Colts: I hate you, Steve Slaton. I hate you so fucking much. Where are you from? Levittown, PA? Well, fuck that town, too. And fuck Immaculate Conception Elementary School, which you attended. Sounds like a dickhead school to me. Wikipedia says that, "Until first grade, congestion in his ears rendered Slaton completely deaf at times." Well, I wish you had STAYED deaf, you bastard. So you'd never hear your name called to come into the game and RUIN MY FUCKING LIFE WITH YOUR FUMBLING RETARDERY. Goddamn no good piece of shit. And I hate you too, Ryan Moats. I know damn well that, even though I got you off waivers, you're never going to duplicate that performance again. Fucking Texans running game. Life is shit.

Cowboys at Eagles: There was no Sunday Night game last night in deference to the World Series, and I really could have used one. I enjoy watching the World Series. But on Saturday, I swear Andy Petitte threw to first to attempt to pick off the runner at least 4,000 times. They showed a stat saying Petitte led the league in throwing to first. ANDY PETITTE DOES NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR EXCITEMENT. There's no limit on such things in baseball, which angers me. In theory, you could throw to first a billion times in a row, literally, and it would still be perfectly legal. The only thing keeping some asshole like Petitte doing it is the threat of angry fans running onto the field to knife him. And I think that should be allowed. Stop your game delay tactics, or get shivved in the goddamn ribs.

Steelers at Broncos: I can't take Jaws and Gruden anymore. I really can't. THESE GUYS… I TELL YOU WHAT… THESE GUYS WOULD BE OUTSTANDING IF I DIDN'T WANT TO RAPE THEM WITH A BACKHOE. They love every player. They never shut the fuck up. And they steadfastly refuse to say anything but the full name of every team. I tell you what, Jaws, THE NEW ORLEANS SAINTS HAVE AN OUTSTANDING OFFENSE. When the NEW ORLEANS SAINTS have the ball, you know THE NEW ORLEANS SAINTS ARE GONNA SCORE! It's one thing to never shorten "National Football League" to NFL, but Christ, now they're doing it with every team they cover? It's horrible. They are a fungus on my broadcast. They get louder and chattier every week. WE LIKE TO CALL ANNOUNCERS LIKE THAT JOKERS, BECAUSE THEY ARE EVIL. JOKER JOKER JOKER!

And Jaws, TALK LIKE A NORMAL FUCKING PERSON. Stop fucking orating. You aren't giving a speech to the goddamn UN.

Chargers at Giants: The TV listings last week showed that BET was showing a movie called Charlie Murphy's Frankenhood. According to IMDB, Frankenhood was directed by Blaxwell Smart, and the plot centers around, "Two guys who work at a morgue enlist the services of a reanimated corpse to better their chances at a streetball tournament." There needs to be a comprehensive listing of comedic coattail riders. Charlie Murphy riding Dave Chappelle's. The Seinfeld cast riding Larry David's. You need a list like that, to warn people to stay the fuck away from any solo comedic projects done by these people. These people are like Belichick's underlings. One of my friends saw JB Smoove do stand-up in New York (jokes not written by Larry David) and left midway through.

Ravens at Bengals: Bill Barnwell of Football Outsiders DID confirm that injuries among all QB's are down this year.

Here's the number of games missed by starting QBs through Week 8 in each of the last three years:

07: 29 (Bulger 2, Delhomme 4, Garrard 1, Green 3, Jackson 3, Leinart 2, Losman 3, McCown 4, McNair 3, Pennington 1, Smith 2, Young 1)

08: 28 (Brady 6, Croyle 5, Garcia 1, Hasselbeck 3, Kitna 3, Palmer 4, Romo 2, Young 4)

09: 14 (Bulger 1, Cassel 1, Edwards 2, Hasselbeck 2, McNabb 2, Pennington 4, Stafford 2)

So then, that's a 50% drop in quarterback injuries from the first half of either of the last two seasons. Might be something to that, although there are some mitigating issues for last year (Lions were looking for an excuse to put Kitna on IR). And injury numbers from ‘06 and ‘09 are the same.

So you could take that sampling and say the Brady Rule has perhaps succeeded in reducing injuries (probably not anywhere near a big enough sample to confirm it, but whatever). But where is the fun in placing bounties on QB's if you know they can't be hurt, I ask you?

By the way, Chris Henry looks like a black version of the blue aliens from Avatar. YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE (does wacky alien sign language). That movie looks retarded.

Four Throwgasms

Dolphins at Patriots: Every time someone goes down with a head injury in the NFL, the TV cameraman will always, without fail, find a shot of a woman in the stands with her hands cupped over her mouth, in apparent shock over seeing someone injured at a football game. It's football, lady. Guys get hit. That's the point. Stop acting like you just saw Kennedy get shot.

Three Throwgasms

Panthers at Saints: I can't find a picture online, but the Saints had a mascot the other night named Mr. Saint who was just a guy wearing a fucking giant head with a massive chin. Everyone in the KSK live blog stopped and said WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? The Saints official mascot would appear to be Gumbo the Dog, who is both stupid and gay. So where did this mysterious, Lenoesque second mascot come from? I DEMAND ANSWERS.

UPDATE: TurlieGirlie comes through with a pic of Sir Saint. Baffling.

Cardinals at Bears

Two Throwgasms

Titans at 49ers

One Throwgasm

Redskins at Falcons: Brent Grimes' pick of Drew Brees on Monday Night pictured here) was the awesomest pick I've seen since Charles Woodson had that skyscraper pick against Michigan State back in '97. So cool.

Packers at Bucs: Bay of Pigs! THAT JOKE NEVER GETS OLD, BOOM!

Chiefs at Jaguars: And here, courtesy of KSK reader Tim Tebow's Girlfriend's Tits, comes a sign allegedly posted outside the Chiefs locker room. LOSERS ASSEMBLE IN SMALL GROUPS TO COMPLAIN ABOUT THE COACHES AND OTHER PLAYERS. WINNERS ASSEMBLE AS A TEAM AND FIND A WAY TO WIN. Just rolls off the tongue. Todd Haley is awful. Hey Todd, here's an idea: How about just cutting Larry Johnson, instead of putting up a retarded sign?

Lions at Seahawks: I keep seeing ads for the Family Guy special. Seth MacFarlane looks like a fucking douche. Semi-Donny Osmondesque.

This Week In The Browns' Collapse
Good news, Browns fans! Your team fired GM George Kokinis! Who? He was your horrible GM! But don't worry! Head coach Eric Mangini says things are totally gonna be cool now:

We felt that organizationally this was the best decision in order to move forward.

The Browns hired Mangini and then let him choose his own GM, which is like taking a piss before you lift the lid. Owner Randy Lerner is already looking for a replacement, with former Giants GM Ernie Accorsi mentioned as a candidate. According to the ever-lofty Peter King, the Browns are now eating the contracts of two GM's they fired in the span of less than a year, to the tune of tens of millions of dollars. Whoever they bring in is virtually certain to can Mangini and start fresh. This is good, until you consider just how many times Cleveland has started fresh since 1999. There were the Policy/Palmer Browns. Then the Butch Davis Browns. Then the Crennel/Savage Browns. Now they're going to start over again in record time, and they have the absolute WORST roster in the NFL, which is saying something when you consider how awful teams like Oakland and St. Louis are.

Owner Randy Lerner has already profusely apologized for the horrible losing, AND he sat down with two Browns fans this week to try and make amends.

Randall said Lerner was receptive to their ideas for improving the Browns' game-day experience at Cleveland Browns Stadium (Ed Note: I bet they wanted wider seats) and even tossed out a few of his own. Randall, who has met Lerner several times, came away impressed with the owner's passion and determination to get the Browns turned around.

The Browns' misfortunes have come at the expense of both rotten luck and bad judgment with their hirings. But at least the owner there seems to give a shit. At least he knows better than to meddle. And at least Mangini is going to be fired. It's a lot more than the lame and empty apology Dan Snyder gave to fans earlier this week. Dan will only invite you to a private meeting so he can burn your homemade sign saying HI to your cancer-riddled child.

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

"Private Hell," by Alice in Chains. God dammit, I can't stop listening to this album. Anytime I find an album I really like, I just MURDER the poor thing by listening to it 5,000 times in a row, and then never listening to it again. Anyway, great song. I can't recommend their new album enough. To think you can lose your lead singer, go on hiatus for 14 years, and come back sounding this strong is pretty badass.

Fun Fact about AIC: One the first names they had for the band was Fuck, The Band. They passed out rubbers with the band name on it at early shows.

WHO GOT THE HOOCH?!

WHO GOT THE ONLY SWEETEST THING IN THE WORLD? WHO GOT LOOOOVE, WHO GOT THE FRESHY FRESHY?!!

Open Mailbag Tuesdays
Got something you want displayed for show and tell in the Deadspin Tuesday Mailbag? Eco-friendly, waterless toilets giving you unwanted splashback, perhaps? Email me any question or observation you like.

Fantasy Players That Deserve To Die A Slow, Painful Death
Matt Forte and LaDainian Tomlinson. Oh, so NOW you two fuckers decide to produce? Nice timing, assholes. I WILL CUT OFF YOUR BALLS AND POUR IODINE ON IT. By the way, every league has at least one team that has a good roster, yet for some reason gets every other team's best performance every week. So they end up 1-7 because the schedule shit all over them, despite being in the top 5 in total scoring for the year or something like that. It's happened to you, and it's happened to me, and it makes you want to poison the world's water supply. The only solution to this is to go to roto league format, but roto league formatting blows.

Suicide Pick Of The Week
Last week's suicide pick of Chicago was correct, making me 7-1 on the year. That puts the Bears, Colts, Eagles, Vikings, Texans, Ravens, Saints and Skins off the board now. We once again pick a team for your suicide pool and something that makes you WANT to commit suicide. This week's pick? Atlanta, and the advent of the Favre Cam. Obviously, the entire idea of the fucking Favre Cam was offensive last Sunday. But the more disturbing question is, who used it? Because someone surely did. Someone out there turned away from the game broadcast for a moment so they could stare at Favre on the sidelines doing nothing. What kind of person would do this? I dunno. Maybe Biloxi Jim. Or perhaps T Dizzle, who loves feet. Regardless, someone out there, bafflingly, was happy for the Favre Cam. We must find such people and gas them out of existence. You know it's the right thing to do.

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.

"This week, I like the Texans getting 9 points on the road against the Colts. I see the Republicans won big governorships on Tuesday night. You know, these constant shifts in political momentum strike me as awfully hollow. It seems to me that most Americans hate ALL politicians equally, regardless of political affiliation. They simply use the election process to kick out one party in favor of another party that they'll end up firing the next go round. The problem, then, is not that Americans choose their leaders poorly, but rather that they have set up a political system that attracts nothing but the most incompetent and arrogant people. Such a shame. Only one group of people could be the architects of a system this evil and corrupt. THE JEWS. Did you know Jews are descended from wolves? Well, they are."

2009 Nazi Shark Record: 5-3. Hmm. Seems Nazi Shark started a cold streak at the exact same time Mr. Bill Simmons did. Coincidence, OR NAZI BETTING CONSPIRACY?

This Week's Pants Party Winner
Last week's Pants Party winner was That Guy. He did not come to claim his prize. This week's winner was J. Burns, who also leads the overall pool. Mr. Burns, come and claim your rant prize.

Great Moments In Poop History
Another week, another steaming pile of pungent stories. This week's story comes from Matt W. I call it, "The Poopgoat":

I was in the 8th grade at a Catholic school, and I played on the CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) basketball team. You didn't have to go to the school to play on the team, so there were kids on the team from the neighborhood that weren't in my class. There were only two of us on the team that actually went to school there. During practice one night, I was struggling to hold back a poop. There was only about 40 minutes of practice left, and I thought I could wait it out until practice is over. Usually if I fight it for a few minutes, the turtle will recede into its shell, and I'm good for another hour or two. Not this time. I was struggling for the final 40 minutes of practice. Crippling stomach pains. I had to run around the court on my toes, to keep from blowing ass all over the hardwood.

Oh, I've done that. Dunno what it is about a full rectum that makes you go tip toe.

The moment practice was over, I ran to the bathroom. As I hustled from the front door of the bathroom to the first stall, I gracefully started to pull down my shorts in one fluid, graceful motion. I entered the stall, and spun around to sit down, ready for the sweet relief. Didn't go as planned. As I spun my ass toward the bowl, I relaxed my bowels a split second too soon, unleashing a torrent of loose stool across the side wall of the stall, and all over the back of the toilet and the wall behind the toilet. I destroyed that stall. Shit everywhere.

The next day at school, me and the other guy from my class that was on the team got called to the principal's office. She sat us down, and explained that someone had defecated all over the bathroom in the gym, and the 8th grade team was the only team to have practice last night. Then she just looked at us. The words hung in the air. "Someone defecated all over the gym bathroom."

My heart sank. I was found out! The jig was up! I decided I needed to confess. I opened my mouth to speak, but I was interrupted by the principal. She said, "Whoever did this is a very sick individual and needs help. This person smeared their own feces all over the walls." What?? I wasn't a sick individual. I just couldn't hold it in. She continued, "I want to know if either of you saw any creepy men hanging around the gym last night, trying to talk to young boys. Because we're now on the lookout. Did you two see anything suspicious?" I was safe!! I made up a lie about seeing some shady men playing pickup games on the outside courts — suspicious looking dudes who looked like they might enjoy smearing poop in public places. The principal thanked me for keeping my eyes open for bad guys.

Not only did I avoid getting caught for pooping all over the place, but I got a fucking merit badge for vigilance.

Well done. Matt W. brings up a salient observation. If you have befouled a bathroom that is NOT yours, you will never clean up your own mess. Ever. I've never known anyone who destroyed an office or restaurant toilet and then volunteered to clean up the wreckage his or herself. Does that mean we're all horrible people? I don't think so. I think it just means we don't like cleaning up our own shit if we don't have to. It's almost a fable.

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*
Jim Zorn
Eric Mangini
Jim Mora
Jeff Fisher
Dick Jauron
Jack Del Rio*
Todd Haley
John Fox
Norv Turner
Raheem Morris
Lovie Smith

For those keeping score at home, Tom Cable has now been accused of breaking an employee's jaw AND being a serial domestic abuser. He's also a terrible coach who hasn't improved Oakland one bit. And the Raiders STILL haven't fired him. I say he test the waters even further. Perhaps blind an orphan. I wonder just what it would take for Cable to be fired, given that no one else would ever want his horrible job.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

M&M's! You know, they say the milk chocolate melts in your mouth, and not in your hand. And that's all well and good. But they don't say SHIT about the dye from the shell getting on your hands. As a card-carrying member of the sweaty-palmed, I can assure you the shell DOES melt in your hands. Especially if I hold a handful of M&M's for longer than five seconds. After that, it looks like I just smacked a clown.

Ever get those mint M&M's during the holidays? I could eat a barrel of those. I tried ranking the four main M&M varieties for today (plain, peanut, peanut butter, and dark), but it's impossible. It's like choosing a favorite child. I can't put the peanut butter ones last. Peanut butter M&M's are unreal.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week
I'm awash in obscure cheap beer, and I couldn't be happier. Longtime DS commenter Silky JohnSTON! brings us the Chinese malted beverage sensation known as… REEB!

Here is my favorite beer of all time: REEB. It's sold in China, and when I went there with my brother for a trip, as we walked the grocery store aisles for food that looked like it came from a "mainstream" animal or processing plant, we saw it, in between tanks of live horseshoe crabs for sale. Never mind the fact that most people in China don't speak English and wouldn't get the joke if it was just called "Beer", but they had to go and put it in reverse!

Easily the top booze highlight of the trip, more so that seeing the bottle of Ukranian Wheat vodka (just threw up a little in my mouth) we had one night at the club. Anyway, hope it entertains you as much as it did me.

Indeed it does. I also liked the use of the phrase "mainstream animals". If you're in an alleyway eating dog steak, you are 100% indie, people.

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.

"Baby, my favorite for the NFL's MVP this year is a TIE between Drew Brees of the Saints and Peyton Manning of the Colts! I heard Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin are hosting this year's Oscars, and I consider both men dear, dear friends. Smart? YOU BET! Crazy after a bottle of Grappa? LIKE WILD BABOONS! In his autobiography, Stevie laid out some precious advice: Don't ask the waitress for her number the first time you go to the restaurant. Get it when you COME BACK the next go round. Sound advice, baby. And that's why Evans gets a little EXTRA service every time he goes drinking at the Ground Round! Thanks for the good times, Beverly, and Cindy, and Rita, and Angie, and Amber, and Kelly, and Anita, and Doris, and Tammy! And you too, Greg! Hey, sometimes you gotta try something new on the menu!"

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Bucs Fans

Pleasantville. I'm not actually recommending this movie. But I never got a chance to complain about this horrible piece of shit when I first saw it, so I'll do that here. Only in Hollywood would they find a way to have white characters be persecuted for being "colored". Fuck you, Gary Ross. Oh my God, the people who are in color are hip and liberated, and the people stuck in black and white are stodgy and repressed! That metaphor isn't telegraphed at all! This movie joins "The Contender" and "Dave" (also written by Gary Ross) in the category of Liberal Message Movies That Make Me Wish I Wasn't Fairly Liberal. I fucking hated this movie, and anyone who likes it is an asshole. (Even you, Roger.)

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Here at Itchy and Scratchy Land we're just as concerned about violence as you are. That's why we're always careful to show the consequences of deadly mayhem, so that we may educate as well as horrify."

Halftime Masturbation Kit
-For the guys: From KOGOD comes the NSFW (but kinda worth the risk) Fuck Yeah Brazilian Girls Tumblr site. Honestly, I don't know why every other country on Earth hasn't volunteered to be a colony of Brazil. Brazil should be the dominant global hegemonic power. They've earned it.
-For the gals: Actor Chace Crawford. Is he giving the double hang loose sign? What a loser.

Enjoy the games, everyone.

Before we get into this week's batch of emails and what not, let us bow before the majestic and totally gratuitous sexism of this Reebok EasyTone shoe commercial:

Goddamn, that is one horrible, awful, WONDERFUL commercial. So crude. So brazen. I adore it. I haven't seen sexual harassment from a cameraman this blatant since the old Bugle Boy ads. Oh, tight workout booty shorts. You are a creation on par with gunpowder, bacon salt, and Tommy Lee's spinning drum kit. That is one fresh-from-the-oven ass on that gal. Oof.

Joe:

I'm a 26-year-old husband and father who has been married for just over a year and has a beautiful 17-month-old daughter (see what happened there?).

Aw yeahhhhh, shotgun wedding!

I earn a good living working in Manhattan and support my wife (a stay at home mom) and kid with a nice home on Long Island. After a long day of work I usually come home, cook a nice dinner, enjoy some sports and throw back a beer or two. I also like to smoke pot. I started smoking regularly in college and I guess the habit/hobby just never went away. Does this make me a bad Dad?

My wife smokes too (she doesn't really drink). We usually wait until my daughter is asleep but sometimes we'll take turns sneaking downstairs in the basement for a couple hits. I'm struggling with weather or not this is a juvenile transgression that I should have given up long ago or a relatively harmless vice that allows me to relax after work. Am I a victim of an unfair social taboo or are you dialing CPS as you read this?

Before my first kid was born, I kept a small cigar box in our apartment with all my weed supplies: a dimebag, a pipe, and a lighter. When the kid arrived, I took the box and threw it out. I figured that was the responsible thing to do.

Here's why that was a stupid idea. First of all, it's a little kid. It's too stupid to know that you're a pothead, and it's too young to give a shit. That's the nice thing about little kids. Most of the parenting you do is physical: feeding, nursing, playing, etc. There's no real emotional parenting to do, and that's why everyone I know that has kids over 13 or older says taking care of a some asshole teenager is 17 times worse than taking care of a toddler. So I say you keep on smokin'. It's not like you have to confront the problem any time soon. I say you quit when the kid turns 10, for reasons that are arbitrary and pointless.

Also, you were able to produce a child, which is proof alone you don't smoke too much pot. If anything, I say you need to buy BETTER weed, because the shit you got now is clearly putting you on edge.

I smoke weed any time it's presented to me these days. Clearly, I'm not THAT interested in being a good role model. Plus, I never tossed out the liquor, which is arguably much worse to have around. I'll lose the kid before I throw out my precious booze.

John:

What DnD class were you? I'm gonna guess Wizard or Barbarian.

Fighter/Magic-User/Thief. Always. I'm not a terribly decisive person.

TheStarterWife:

Which is a better conduit for butter?

a) Popcorn
b) Baked potato
c) English muffin
d) Corn on the cob

I say English muffin, (pools of melted butter in each cranny!), but my husband says baked potato because it's like warmed mashed butter. You?

I'm not that big on baked potatoes because you have to slather fifty pounds of butter, sour cream, steak drippings, and bacon on it just to make it taste like anything. Why is the potato even there? It's just a crumbly, starchy plate at that point. I'll go with popcorn. There's butter smeared on my goddamn wrists after I plow through a tub of that shit. I literally stuff my face when I eat movie popcorn. I'll gladly eat a handful more voluminous than my mouth and trust that I'll be able to compact the handful into something more manageable along the way. I don't even bother to pause and taste it.

Know what else butter is good on? Oatmeal. It's great on oatmeal. And hookers. Hookers and oatmeal.

Daniel:

To use an amusing quote from a terrible source: is this something you might be interested in?

Mastodon scoring Jonah Hex? If it's a suite of songs centered around Megan Fox being paralyzed and having her body possessed by Rasputin, I'm down.

Mike:

Since shitting is such a frequent topic on this board, I thought these true stories might interest you:

A 70-year old man went to a doctor complaining of excessive fatigue. It turned out that for the past ten years, every time he shat, he had an orgasm. While he did not ejaculate, he claimed to experience the same feeling of orgasm as he did during sex. After ten years of defecation-induced orgasm, he apparently couldn't take it anymore, and had a procedure to correct the "problem."

That's a problem? The man was given a gift from God. That would be like LeBron James asking a doctor to cut off his legs. No, no! I couldn't possibly deal with all this joy and happiness!

I can tell you this orgasmic shit-taking is no myth. Ever take a good post-jog dump? One you've been holding in for a good long while? SEXY AS AN APE.

The doctors wrote an extensive case study on the patient and published it in the British Journal of Urology International, or more often [and fittingly] referred to as BJU.

Alternatively, several Japanese doctors reported a patient who'd been taking an anti-depressive drug began to have defecation-induced ejaculation, without orgasm, as a side effect of the medication.

Happy shitting!

I'm sure a soon-to-be-revered Japanese horror film I won't watch is being made about this subject as we speak. The obvious Urbandictionary term for this event would be a Shitgasm, or a shit'n'shoot, or perhaps an involuntary blumpkin. Or maybe UPS, since brown does it for you. Not an easy choice.

Anonymous:

I have never jerked it anywhere other than standing up. 90% of my actions are in the shower (easy clean up, general laziness) and the other 10% is usually at 2 am when I can't sleep (hop out of bed, grab some tissue, stand there for a minute or two, work my magic, then back in bed for a glorious boner free sleep). So, I come to you, as a seasoned vet of 9 years of stroking my shit, am I fucking weird for this, or has my laziness compounded so much that I take the easy way out always?

There's no such thing as laziness when it comes to jacking it. It would be far more disconcerting if you took yourself out for dinner and then tied yourself to the bedpost prior to self-gratification. Whatever floats your boat, brother. I'll do my business either upright or horizontal. Never while seated. You tear your spine in half doing that. Especially if you're watching that Reebok commercial. As Doc Holliday said, "the strain was more than he could bear."

Shane:

I went to the game with my brother-in-law and 10 of his buddies. My brother-in-law and his friends are all PSU grads or fans (or at least I thought). When I show up at 7:30am the morning of the game to head out for the tailgate several of his buddies have on Michigan jerseys. No big deal, wasn't expecting to see Michigan fans since this trip was organized by a pretty rabid group of PSU fans (again, that is what I thought going into this). Come to find out after talking with the Michigan clad group (four of the guys) that they are PSU graduates but that they ‘have always loved Michigan football'. I was stunned, in my opinion it is one thing to pick an NFL team and stick by them, but I really feel like it is quite another to actually attend and graduate from a large football school such as PSU and pull for a rival team, at an actual game, with a group of your PSU buddies? In my mind alma mater trumps childhood favorite. What say you kind sir?

I went to Michigan for a semester, and you wouldn't have believed the number of kids there that were open, out-of-the-closet Notre Dame fans. It's fucking weird, and it made me hate Notre Dame all the more. Root for your fucking school.

Vaughn:

Is the NBA is freaking out over Deadspin putting the Donaghy excerpts up (I suspect yes, just curious if there have been any rumblings)?

According to Craggs, the NBA has NOT contacted him to complain about running the excerpts. I relay this to you knowing full well there are at least twelve sniper rifles trained on Craggs' head as we speak. David Stern doesn't NEED lawyers when he has a personal squadron of former Eastern Bloc mercenaries at his disposal. Craggs will be sure to note all the details of his murder in his upcoming Why Your Contract Killing Sucks series of posts.

Ryan:

ESPN's newest annoying hackneyed writing clutch: "Think X isn't Y? Well you're a fucking dumbass, because..." It's on the ESPN.com front page now: "Think pitching isn't priceless in the postseason? The World Series is tied..." and the other night on Sportscenter: "Think the Top 10 plays in the NFL weren't great?" Who the fuck thinks that? It's lazy. It's stupid. I know it really isn't new, but good Lord is it all over the place with them.

Think Brett Favre's arm isn't still strong? Think Peyton Manning isn't determined to win it all? Think the people of Cleveland don't want an NBA title this season? Think Rick Pitino isn't gonna bend that busgirl over the dish rack an hour from now? WELL, THINK AGAIN, FUCKO.

Mike:

Wanted to get your take on Canada.

Oh, it's lovely. Very woodsy. Fantastic salmon.

Drew:

MEXICAN GRILLED CHEESE. It's delicious, what you do is spread some salsa on after the first piece of cheese, crumble some tortilla chips on top of that, add another slice of cheese, buttered bread, and then flip. It is re-goddamn-diculous, can also add various deli meats to the middle for extra amazing.

Duly noted.

Justin:

How much bacon do you think you could eat in a contest? Think about it, it's not the least bit filling by itself, and its taste need not my praises.

Judging by the pics I've seen of you at Deadspin, I'll say 5 pounds. I'm a fatty too and have no doubt I could put away 3 pounds minimum (especially if it's Maple Bacon!).

According to this site, one pound of bacon averages out to around 25 slices. Five pounds would be 125 slices. I think that would almost certainly cause my esophagus to dissolve. The winner of this contest in Cambridge won by downing 20 slices. Not even a pound. I'm betting I'd throw in the towel at about a pound, if not before. That bacon… it'll sneak up on you.

Kevin:

RE: Your observation that the FOX robot is always playing the guitar and whatnot. A buddy of mine made an observation: the robot is frequently seen jumping rope, doing jumping jacks, running in place, etc. But why would a robot need to exercise?? It is a fucking robot. That is all.

Because it needs its strength in order to defeat the Burger King.

Dr. Nguyen Van Falk:

I think that when looking for a house or apartment that one should be allowed to use the bathroom facilities before making a final decision. I want to be able to take a "hungover after too much malt liquor and tacos" kind of shit in there followed by a 30 minute scalding hot shower to wash off the shame from the night before. If it can handle this test, I would sign a lease right then and there. Any thoughts?

Can't you do this? I make it a point of using the bathroom of any facility I enter. I grade them for water level and overall flushability. I'd give them Michelin stars if I were allowed. I'd drop everything to become a bathroom reviewer for a major publication. There should also be a Zagat Guide to America's best bathrooms. One time, I took a shit in a model home where we were filming a commercial. It was such a joy, the BJU should study it.

John F:

A lot of urinal talk lately in the mailbag. I have a question. Are you familiar with waterless or flushless urinals? I work in a "green" building managed by hippies that think these are a good idea. They are not. They stink way worse than regular water flush urinals and they rob you of the joy of hearing your piss hit the water to make piss bubbles. These urinals are one more reason why I hate hippies.

Kyle also hates these things:

Here in LA I can find them everywhere. My company just installed these things. No more water! How am I supposed to drill holes in the pink or blue cakes with a powerful stream of whiz?? How can I make a tower of bubbles now? I can't. Now all I can do is make a hollow sounding plastic rebound sound. Look at this thing! Ugh. I am all for water conservation, but this goes too far.

Agreed. And do you know what a toilet that doesn't flush is? It's a fucking port-a-potty. From the website:

Our patented No-Flush™ urinals work completely without water or flush valves. The system is touch-free, easy to install, improves restroom sanitation and eliminates odors.

Well, why not just put out a fucking bucket and be done with it.

Greg:

In college I had a buddy who dressed up for Halloween by donning a red, medical waste garbage bag and smearing himself with Vaseline. He informed everyone at the bar who asked that he was dressed as a clit. Good for laughs all around until the bar got packed and he started getting Vaseline all over everyone (kinda like Tara Reid's clit at that point). He got eighty-sixed, of course, and we came home to find an inebriated clit passed out on our porch.

You should have whipped out a Polaroid and rubbed your dick against against him. BIGGEST CLIT I EVER HAD.

Luke:

Who wants a titty full of beer?

I do! I do!

Of course, you wouldn't have guessed that from the postgame coverage over at ESPN, NBC, and the NFL Network. Those three networks, combined, did their very best to squeeze highlights and coverage of the day's other games into a thirty-second window. I was all set to do my normal thing at 7:30 last night, switching over to NFL Network to watch Eisen, Deion, and Stabby McScissorsNeck go through the highlight package, as they always do. Instead, the normal NFL GameDay Final got pre-empted by the broadcast of a live press conference of Brett Favre after the Vikes/Packers game.

Now, I am a Vikings fan. I'm really happy my team won, and that they lead the division, and that they signed Favre to replace Sage and T-Jack, and blah blah blah. That's all well and good. But YOU, fair Deadspin reader, are probably NOT a Vikings fan. You could probably give a shit. In fact, you probably hate the Vikings with a scorching passion now, since they have served to reintroduce the Land Baron into your life for the millionth time.

So let us make it clear to ESPN and the like right now: YOU NEVER NEED TO SHOW US A FUCKING LIVE PRESS CONFERENCE AGAIN. EVER. They're boring and pointless and no one wants to watch them. There's a reason reporters are sent to press conferences. It's so that they can watch it FOR us, then find the one decent quote uttered in the whole shitty hour, and then deliver it to us. That's their job. It's not ours. We don't want that job, because it sucks and it pays nothing.

What the fuck was Brett Favre going to say in that press conference that mattered? That we had to hear so urgently? NOTHING. Nothing at all. Even if he said something interesting, he would have called another press conference an hour later to change his fucking mind. The only reason to hold a press conference after a game is so that the coach can go off and rant like a crazy person. And even then, I don't have to watch it live. I can watch highlights of that shit. If you're going to broadcast a live press conference, you better be ready to deliver news that will fucking ROCK MY SHIT, such as…

1. "The Los Angeles Police Department, right now, is ACTIVELY searching for Mr. Simpson…"

2. "Because of the HIV virus I have obtained…"

3. Someone fucking died.

That's it. That's the list of reasons. Fugitive status, death, and AIDS. Does your press conference not contain any of those three elements? THEN FUCK YOU. I don't need to hear it. Ever. And I really don't need to hear it on the fucking radio. They do this all the time on sports talk radio stations. Oooh, a LIVE press conference! You mean a coach is giving non-answers to questions RIGHT NOW? As we speak? And I can barely hear what the fucking reporters are asking? HOT DOG!

I know what you're doing, network people. You throw it to some live press conference for an hour, and you're off the hook for work. You get to go take a shit, or have a margarita, or sexually harass each other. Whatever. Well, I am at home and lazy and demand to be entertained. SO FUCK YOU. Cut away from the fucking live press conference. I never need to see a live press conference regarding a firing, a hiring, who got nominated for an Oscar, some shithead high school kid that signed somewhere, or any of that shit. That can all be noted in a tidy press release and on the ticker. Get to the highlights. I'm not here to watch some asshole answer questions at a podium for a fucking hour. DIE.

Yesterday, I noted that Halloween falls on a Saturday this year, and I recklessly declared Saturday the drunkenest day of the week. Ah, but is that always necessarily true? Let's start this exercise by stating flatly that the best day of the week to get drunk is, of course, ALL OF THEM. There's no wrong night to get drunk! That's the beauty of alcoholism! But, for shits and giggles, let's rank the nights of the week for drinking purposes anyway.

I don't drink quite as much as I used to. Marriage and kids will do that for you. It's not that getting married and having kids reduces your desire to drink. Far from it. You parents out there know the exact opposite to be true. BUT… I'm fucking exhausted by 9:00PM every night. Even if I'm drinking, I'm not drinking anywhere near the same amount as I was when I was young and carefree and staying out until 4AM trying to pick up stray pussy. Those are long stretches of drinking I'm too tired to try and match anymore.

But I have plenty of experience drinking and going out on every night of the week. And from all those years of punishing my liver, I offer this hierarchy:

1. THURSDAY NIGHT

Why drink on Thursday Night? Because it's almost the fucking weekend. Hell, it IS the weekend. You're only going to work on Friday for posterity. You're not going to actually do anything once you get there apart from wear sunglasses and pray for grim death. Thursday night is also the best night for TV, which allows for excellent pregame drinking before you go out at 10 or 11. Everyone is fucking jazzed to be out on a Thursday night, getting a head start on their drinking. They're fresh. They're excited. They're ready to fucking destroy themselves. I remember living in New York and having a good number of friends stay in on a Saturday Night because they were so thoroughly ruined from drinking on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday nights.

2. SATURDAY NIGHT

Why drink on Saturday Night? Because it's in the Bible. Drinking on Saturday night is also a natural continuance from all the drinking you do during the day on Saturday. No reason to let up. YOU'VE GOT PETTY FISTFIGHTS TO START.

Also, Saturday is by far the best night to do drugs. (NOTE: Daulerio vehemently disagrees with this. And likely knows better.)

3. FRIDAY NIGHT

Why drink on Friday Night? Work is done for the week. Sure, you already unofficially started your weekend the night before. But still, those first ten Dark Horses taste pretty good when you know you don't have to half-ass it at work the next day.

4. WEDNESDAY NIGHT

Why drink on Wednesday Night? Because the week is half over. So fuck it. Why not down a bottle of Popov and make it all the way the fuck over?

5. MONDAY NIGHT

Why drink on Monday Night? There's both football AND wrestling on. Plus, if you spent Sunday recovering from all the horrible things you did on WED-SAT nights, you should feel relatively functional again by Monday. No reason to stay that way. Besides, it's Monday. It blows. You just need to take the edge off. WHAT'S THE BIG DEAL? DON'T FUCKING LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT! I'M A GROWN MAN AND I HAVE THE POWER TO STOP.

6. SUNDAY NIGHT

Why drink on Sunday Night? Because it's a good night to just mellow the fuck out with a bottle of wine. No need to go out and shit faced. Let's just take it easy and finish a case of Two Buck Chuck here? It barely counts as drinking.

7. TUESDAY NIGHT

Why drink on Tuesday Night? Because no one sees it coming. And frankly, you may as well. Thursday is only TWO days away.

Hey now! It's Halloween on Saturday. Always nice to see a festive holiday fall on the drunkenest day of the week. We call this Calendarial Serendipity. Just kidding. No one calls it that. That's idiotic.

Last year I took my kids trick or treating and came upon a house that was giving out full-sized candy bars. No lie. FULL FUCKING SIZE, BABY. When you're used to miniature and fun-sized candy on Halloween your whole life, seeing a full size Butterfinger in the basket is like staring at something the size of a BATTLESHIP. It's majestic and frightening all at once. No, no, no. I couldn't possibly consume a WHOLE candy bar. That would be piggish. Let me just eat an entire bag of very small portions of candy. Much healthier.

I've never had a good Halloween costume. Ever. One time, in 9th grade, I went to a friend's house dressed in a coat and tie and covered in blood, carrying an axe. I told everyone I was a stockbroker who had to pay alimony. My friend's mom told my mom. Both were highly disturbed by my choice.

Anyway, it's a kickass slate of spooooooky games for you this go round. Let's dive right in…

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

Five Throwgasms

Broncos at Ravens: Given that the Chiefs have worn the old Dallas Texans' uniforms on occasion during the AFL throwback season, AND given the Titans have busted out the old Oilers unis, shouldn't the Ravens wear the Cleveland Browns' uniforms for a home game? That would blow my fucking mind. I'd like to see them do it just to see how long it would take Cleveland fans to drive to Baltimore and begin stabbing the shit out of people. If I were a Cleveland fan, and I saw a legitimately GOOD team playing in my team's uniforms, I'd have a nervous breakdown. I'd also be curious to see how much worse the Ravens play in those getups. I have no scientific proof of this, but it's a FACT. Playing in a Browns uniform makes you 36.8% slower. And 23.4% if you're wearing a Redskins uni. Those are some slowass uniforms.

Everyone has ripped on the Broncos throwbacks of late. However, I kind of like the striped socks they use when they wear them, especially when some players decide to twist them into a spiral. So hypnotic. Reminds me of the Clock King. Also, those are total porn stockings. Slap a pair on Sandra Shine and you've got yourself a twenty-minute self-fisting video.

Vikings at Packers: Let's use this space today to pay tribute to Aaron Rodgers. Rodgers is currently the league's second rated passer, and has an impressive 11 TD's to just 2 picks. He's done all this despite being sacked more than any other passer in the NFL (25 times). Only two other QB's have been sacked more than 20 times: Jason Campbell and Matt Cassel. Both are having horrible seasons. Rodgers was sacked roughly 83 times when the Packers played the Vikings at the Metrodome. I imagine he's rather determined to make up for that showing.

Also, Rodgers looks exactly like BJ Novak. It's unnerving, especially now that he has short hair. I keep expecting him to walk off the field with a ditzy Indian girl.

In Vikings news, the Vikings announced last night that former safety Orlando Thomas died from Lou Gehrig's Disease. This made me very sad, until Thomas called people to let them know that he was, in fact, NOT dead. In fact, he was still very much alive. Let this be a lesson to the Vikings' PR Department: Only declare people dead if they aren't alive enough to protest such an announcement.

Giants at Eagles: Holy Christ, Donovan McNabb is inaccurate. He may as well throw the ball underhanded. Half the time, I think he's lawn bowling. STOP THROWING THE BALL AT THE FUCKING GROUND, MAN.

Falcons at Saints It's Halloween cheerleader week! My boner wishes it could be Halloween cheerleader week every week!

Four Throwgasms

Dolphins at Jets: Merrill Hoge testified before Congress this week about concussions. I'm told his testimony was very good. Here is a small snippet of what he said…

"Mr. Congressman, I believe that with proper funding we have an OUTSTANDING chance to prevent future concussions for athletes young and old alike. Concussions that leave them with short-term memory loss and extreme headaches. Furthermore, VINCE YOUNG KILLED STEVE MCNAIR AND HIS MISTRESS AND I CAN PROVE IT! FLORIO! KING! DON'T LET THE NASHVILLE POLICE HOODWINK YOU! THIS IS ALL VINCE YOUNG'S DOING! FOLLOW THE BLOOD! FOLLOW THE BLOOOOOD! What's happening to my vision? Everything is shaded red! I think I left something in the microwave! DID ANYONE ELSE HEAR THAT NOISE? AHHHHHH! IT FEELS AS IF SOMEONE HAS PLACED A MIGHTY BOULDER UPON MY NECK! PRETZELS! GARBAGE LIDS MAKE FINE SHIELDS!"

Three Throwgasms

49ers at Colts: Enough, Pizza Hut. You aren't fooling anyone with your stupid fucking Wingstreet ads. Or those ads where you serve giant hotel pans of your horrible, overcooked pasta and supposedly real diners think it was flown in directly from Tuscany. BULLSHIT. It's bullshit and you know it. I've had your food, Pizza Hut. It's ASS. Oooh, you tricked chefs from BUFFALO that your wings are good? ZOMG! I'm stunned! I never would have guessed people from that gastronomic capital of the universe would be convinced the food you serve isn't low-grade dog food. Tom Collichio would knife you for the things you cook.

Seahawks at Cowboys: No free fried green beans from TGI Friday's if someone hits the video board this week. Also, a Wisconsin man this week tried to evade a DUI bust by claiming his BAC level was the result of eating a Jack Daniels steak at Friday's the night before. Disregarding the fact that 1) Alcohol in marinades burns off when cooked and 2) There isn't enough booze in a steak to keep your BAC level high 12 hours AFTER you've eaten it, I still like the fact that this man is arguing that any booze consumed in steak form SHOULD NOT COUNT. You can't arrest me! I was eating vodka bacon! That's legal!

Two Throwgasms

Texans at Bills: NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE CAGEY DICK JAURON!

One Throwgasm

Browns at Bears: I'mma call it right now: Shanahan coaches the Bears next year. Some people think Shanahan is waiting until the end of the year to take over the Redskins, but why would he bother with that horrible job when he could come into Chicago, wrest control away from Jerry Angelo, and get to work with a quarterback he loves? It's a lock, I tell you! Lovie Smith can challenge that hiring all he likes! It won't be overturned!

Rams at Lions: You'll spend three hours wondering why the FOX robot is ALSO playing guitar. I'll never understand that. The presence of the robot is odd enough. Why is he playing the fucking guitar? And doing it behind his head? Am I supposed to be impressed? Am I supposed to hold up a lighter for him? He's a fucking cartoon.

Raiders at Chargers: Most people use Yahoo for their fantasy football league. One of the leagues I'm in uses Fleaflicker, and one of the nice touches Fleaflicker adds is that every fantasy game is broken into quarters. The 1PM games are the first quarter. The 4:15PM are the second. The Sunday Night game is the third quarter, and the Monday Night game is the fourth. On its face, this is stupid. But man, does it look fucking awesome when you outscore some asshole who has no players going in the MNF game 28-0 in the fourth quarter of box score. A DOMINANT PERFORMANCE IN THE CLUTCH!

Jaguars at Titans: How about that Sally Reese? For those that missed it, former Titans GM Floyd Reese's wife went on the radio last week to blast the team and coach Jeff Fisher.

Appearing on WGFX in Nashville (via the Nashville City Paper), Sally Reese suggested that Floyd was fired with no notice, that he was given no opportunity to clean out his office, and that his resignation letter was written by Titans senior V.P. Steve Underwood…

"He kept Jeff from getting fired two times," she said. "So if he'd let him get fired, he'd still be there. Hello? That's hindsight. But you know paybacks — can I say bitch? — payback's a bitch."

Ooh, kitten's got claws! Between this and Jeff Fisher rocking the Manning jersey last week, things have gone to shit in Tennessee at lightning speed. It's bizarre. It feels as if the entire season has slipped out of their grasp as a random twist of fate. This team was steady as a rock last year. Then they don't resign Haynesworth, blow the opener against Pittsburgh, get injuries in the secondary, and suddenly they're the Lions. They aren't that different of a team from a year ago. Yet this year, they serve as proof that sometimes, you just get shit on. You really do.

I'm at the age now where I can see a shitty day coming a mile away. By 9AM, if the kids are screaming, and I feel like shit, and I know there's a trip to the fucking post office in my future, I already KNOW to write the day off. It helps prepare me for when everything else goes wrong the rest of the day. And it does. It always does. There are entire football seasons that feel that way. The Titans are having one such season, as Seattle had last year.

Panthers at Cardinals: Delhomme is starting AGAIN! It's getting to be downright irresponsible. It's like watching the Ali-Holmes documentary on ESPN all over again. (It was really good, by the way.) How much shittier could Matt Moore or AJ Feeley be? Those two must be quadruple amputees to not get the nod over Cajun Boy. Delhomme was overthrowing receivers by MILES last week.

This Week In The Redskins' Collapse
People, you really need to start reading Dan Steinberg's blog and see the work he's doing on this Redskins calamity. I fucking hate the Skins and even I find it fascinating. This man is doing Pulitzer prize winning work. IT'S TRUE! Anyway, this week Steinberg got quotes from the Redskins head counsel, playing the role of Baghdad Bob for Dan Snyder, telling fans that all signs have been banned from FedEx Field, lest they INJURE OTHER FANS. That just about killed me.

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

"Waste of Tiamat," by High on Fire. I approve of any song that references Tiamat. I used to play Dungeons and Dragons with my brother when I was a kid. Shocking, but true. Whatever. When you're eight years old and unfamiliar with pussy, dragons are fucking badass. Anyway, I used to peruse the Monster Manual, Fiend Folio, and Dieties & Demigods manuals constantly, checking out all the picture and evil powers all the monsters had. Tiamat was the baddest bitch of the bunch. According to Wiki:

Tiamat is the five-headed queen of the evil chromatic dragons. She has one head for each customary color of chromatic dragon (black, blue, green, red, white), and each head has the powers of a member of the respective race of dragonkind.

I remember each dragon had a specific breath weapon. And wouldn't you know it, there's a D&D Wiki to refresh my memory.

Black – Acid spittle (also known as the Larry Johnson dragon)
Red – Cone of fire
Green – Cone of corrosive gas (also known as the Barney Gumble dragon)
Blue – Lightning
White – Cone of frost (also known as the Dentyne Ice dragon)

But those are not the only colored dragons in the D&D world. Far from it! There are silver dragons, bronze dragons, copper dragons, brass dragons, and even PRISMATIC dragons. That's right! RAINBOW DRAGONS! I used to pretend I was a dragon. No joke. I'd imagine myself as a giant blue dragon, hiss-talking, spitting fucking lightning bolts at those who displeased me. And now I blog for a living. Stunning turn of events. Regardless, I remember all this stupid crap fondly.

Oh, and Tiamat on the D&D Saturday morning cartoon was lame. That whole show was a fucking letdown. They could have centered the show around a chaotic evil fighter-thief who uses all his gold pieces buy more weapons and slay the shit out of everything in sight. Instead, I get a bunch of asshole kids who got stuck in some amusement park ride and just wanna go home. And Venger only had one horn. Retarded.

Embarassing Song I Own That Will Not Fire You Up

"Tears Dry On Their Own," by Amy Winehouse. Amy got a boob job this week. As the immortal flubby notes, that's akin to putting new rims on a ‘78 AMC Pacer.

Open Mailbag Tuesdays
Got something you want displayed for show and tell in the Deadspin Tuesday Mailbag? mid-fry bacon sandwich, perhaps? Email me any question or observation you like.

LondonFAIL
In his press conference after the Pats-Bucs game in London last week, Tom Brady noted that the Wembley crowd did The Wave for ten minutes prior to the game. Roger Goodell, never give these fucking limeys a team. Ever.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death
Larry Johnson. Don't worry, we'll get to Matt Forte next week. But we gather today to commemorate the end of LJ's career, a career that included a grand total of two awesome seasons surrounding by nothing but FUCKING FAIL. I drafted LJ in two leagues this year. I knew it was an idiotic thing to do, and yet I did it anyway. I have no one to blame but myself. BUT THAT DOESN'T ABSOLVE YOU FROM FUCKING SUCKING, YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT. God, how I loathe Larry Johnson. He was always a thin-skinned pussy, and he'll never stop being a thin-skinned pussy, regardless of how many blatantly incorrect SI puff pieces are composed in his name. THIS IS IT FOR YOU, LARRY. YOU CAN'T HURT ME ANYMORE.

/drops LJ in both leagues

God, that felt great. I've been wanting to do that since the day I drafted you. FAG.

Suicide Pick Of The Week
Last week's suicide pick of Indy was correct, making me 6-1 on the year. That puts the Colts, Eagles, Vikings, Texans, Ravens, Saints and Skins off the board now. We once again pick a team for your suicide pool and something that makes you WANT to commit suicide. This week's pick? Chicago, and the Fresh Beat Band.

Oh, you'll pay for piggybacking off the High School Musical fad and turning it into programming for small children, Nickelodeon. You will pay dearly. NA NA NA NA LET'S GO BANANAS! GAHHHHHHH!!! Can't… get… perky melody… out of head…

/sticks two-bit drill into temple

Ahhhhhh…

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.

"This week, I like the Colts giving 12.5 points at home against the 49ers."

What's your Halloween costume this year, Rolf?

"Same as always. Jew Cousteau. I put on a snorkel and swim around with a gold treasure chest. Nazi orca always gets a kick out of it."

2009 Nazi Shark Record: 5-2.

This Week's Pants Party Winner
Last week's Pants Party winner was douchenozzle22. He gets free rant space here:

Dear LA Dodgers fans,

You are the biggest collection of front-running, unknowledgeable lemmings I have ever come across. Having made the trek to LA to see Game 2 of the NLCS with 3 of my friends, we were ready for a whole bunch of shit talking directed our way, along with an occasional airborne pint of budmillercoors piss. All we got were any combination of various tenses of the words "suck," "fuck," and "Phillies" with an occasional peanut thrown in our direction. Not to mention the only time you cheered was when your piece of shit I-pod looking scoreboard told you to.

This week's winner was That Guy. That Guy, come and claim your prize.

Great Moments In Poop History
Another week, another batch of slick, wet poop stories. One reader suggested we take all the poop stories and create a Deleted Stains post for Fridays. Not sure if Daulerio would be wild about that idea. Anyway, this week's story comes from Matt. I call it, "Marley And Me And Poop":

I was maybe like 13 or 14, somewhere around junior high age, and taking my dog for a walk. We lived in the Philly burbs and had a nice stretch of woods that went all the way to the river where I'd take my dog for walks. I'd had him out for maybe 10 minutes or so, and as he was taking a dump, I realized that I had to go too. It literally only took about a minute to walk back to my house but I figured I'm already in the woods so why not just take a shit there.

So I dropped my shorts and started taking a dump with my dog. Our eyes locked as we both pooped and it was a beautiful bonding moment that I'd never had with my dog before. Anyway, he finishes before I do, makes a bee line towards me as I'm still going, dives right into my turds and starts rolling around in it. Not sure what looked so attractive about them to him but I had never seen him so excited to be rolling around on the ground. He literally had shit, my shit, all over him from his head to his tail, just covered in it. It was funny at first but started to get really gross and I nearly puked.

So finally I take him home and lie to my parents and tell them that he for some reason decided to roll around in his shit. Which confused them because in the ten or so odd years the dog was alive he never had that problem. Then I laughed to myself as I watched my parents hose my crap off of our dog in the front yard for 20 minutes.

Oh man, you made your folks clean it up? You little shitty shit!

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
Jim Zorn
Eric Mangini
Jim Mora
Jeff Fisher*
Dick Jauron*
Jack Del Rio*
Todd Haley
John Fox
Norv Turner
Raheem Morris
Lovie Smith*

I'm telling you. Shanny is measuring Lovie's windows as we speak.

Gametime Halloween Candy Of The Week

Reese's FastBreak! I worked as an account executive on the Hershey's business for an ad agency named DDB for three years at the turn of the century. Every week, we had to rent a car in Manhattan and drive out to Hershey, PA, to meet with clients about various matters of business.

When you go to a meeting at the Hershey's corporate offices, there's candy EVERYWHERE. In giant bowls when you walk in the door. At the reception desk. Lining the hallways. They have candy IN THE FUCKING FILE CABINETS FOR REFERENCE PURPOSES. There are boxes upon boxes of candy lying around in meeting rooms when they can't find anywhere else to put it. And every meeting room has a giant bowl filled to brim and above with candy. Any time the candy in the bowls leveled off – not emptied, but simply came flush with the top of the bowl – an assistant wheeled in a new, overflowing bowl to replace it. People were eating candy at 9AM or earlier. And everyone who said in the car that they wouldn't start eating candy the second they walked in the door failed.

Best of all, as the company's agency of representation, we got test product. TEST PRODUCT! FUCK YEAH! This was the candy they invented in the test kitchen and sampled among themselves to see if it was worth mass producing. One of the test products I first got to eat was FastBreak. They gave us a giant white box of the bars, all with plain white wrappers. Let me tell you something. Candy is great. But TEST PRODUCT candy fucking rules. It's new, and no one else gets to eat it but you. It's awesome. It's candy from the fucking FUTURE.

We got to brainstorm names for FastBreak as it was being developed of the market. The earliest name for it was the Reese's Peanut Butter Bar, which no one argued with. But they decided that name was too boring and wanted something more energetic. They almost named the bar Growler, which really would have been unfortunate. Instead, they named it FastBreak. Because when you think of a point guard rushing down the court to take advantage of a 3-on-2 situation, you think of peanut butter nougat and peanut butter sheathed in milk chocolate.

FastBreak was one of several different products they came up with while I worked on the account. Hershey's Bites was another one. Ever have Heath Bites? HOLY SWEET BABY MOSES, those are good. And they came out with filled Twizzlers when I was there too. They were called Twist-n-Fill, and I don't think they sell them anymore.

Any time we made the trip to Hershey, the client always let us into the company's employee store, where you can get all their candy, in bulk, for next to nothing. The store may as well have had a chocolate river flowing through with Oompa Loompas dancing around. Before we made any trip to the store, we had to go around the agency and take an inventory of any and all candy people wanted. Because there was a ton of shit in the Hershey's employee store that you couldn't get at a regular store: Zero bars, chocolate Twizzlers, watermelon Twizzlers, Cookies n Mint bars. Anything you wanted. We looted the store for everything and would bring back entire trunks of the stuff back to New York for everyone else. Whenever it was Halloween, or Christmas, or Easter, the load would double. And so the agency itself became a kind of Hershey East, with shitloads of kickass candy all over the place.

Don Draper got all the booze and stray pussy he liked. I got candy. Not terribly fair, but still. It was good candy. Man, I could go for some candy right now.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week
Reader Gabriel sends in easily the coolest terrible beer I've seen yet: Dark Horse High Gravity Ice Lager.

Sure, Beer 30 is great. The clocks on the can all point to Beer 30 time, and hey, guess what, it's always Beer 30 time. No sense in NOT having a time to get hammered. Also, the price was unbeatable, at $10 for a 30 rack.

That is until Dark Horse High Gravity Lager rammed it in the balls and took over as reigning shitty beer.

Look at this can:

Dark Horse High Gravity Lager (HIGH GRAVITY!). Note the dark horse, the lightning and the icy mountains set on a glacier in the background. Also, the gothic text. Also — for emphasis —THE FUCKING LIGHTNING. It's easily the best bang for your buck, coming in at $6 for a 24 pack. The ultimate beer for college kids who just want to get plastered.

I don't care if it says it was brewed by some horrible corporation called GJS Sales and has a deal with the Taliban to keep it so cheap. I don't care that it tastes a little metallic and gives the worst hangovers imaginable. Nor do I care that, because it's so cheap, it's unquestionably giving me dick cancer. When you're broke and need cheap beer, there is no better answer than the Dark Horse.

Gabriel is RIGHT! $6 for 24 cans? Good God, it may just be ethanol with yellow food coloring. And it's ICE brewed! For extra booziness! And that is one truly majestic can. It's like the cover of a Sword album. Well played, Gabriel. VERY well played.

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.

"Baby, my favorite for the NFL's MVP this year is still Peyton Manning of the Colts! Polished? You bet! Accurate? Like John Toll's eye for shooting grassy fields at 5PM! Oh, Halloween. My, my, my. We've had some pretty memorable Halloween shindigs at Casa Evans over the years. One year, Ann-Margaret came to the house completely naked, save for a pendulum she hung from the folds of her womanhood. Baby, I said, what kind of costume is that? Evans, she told me, I'm a metronome. I keep you tickling my ivories in perfect time. Sassy? YOU BET!"

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Rams Fans

Anvil! The Story Of Anvil. Greatest movie ever? Greatest movie ever. I don't even know which part to single out. Was it Lips trying to get Thin Lizzy guy to remember him by mentioning that he used to play the guitar with a vibrator? Was it Cut Loose, the Anvil fan you see above, who looks like a mongoloid and runs a telemarketing company? Was it the fact that Robb's sister was named Droid? Was it Robb's painting of his own shit? I think it's Robb's painting of his own shit. I loved this movie and would happily watch a 36-hour cut of it.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"We have places your family can hide in peace and security: Cape Fear, Terror Lake, New Horrorfield, Screamville…"

Halftime Masturbation Kit
-For the guys: Sexiest Woman Alive Kate Beckinsale. Kate married her "Underworld" director. And now you know why so many assholes go to film school.
-For the gals: Becky sends this link of shirtless hunk Cam Gigandet. Sexy pull-up!

Enjoy the games, everyone. Happy Halloween.

Before we get into this week's batch of emails, we turn to the always entertaining fallout from this week's Redskins defeat. This morning, there are numerous stories going around the web about FedEx Field security kicking out patrons for holding up anti-Snyder signs and even starting anti-Snyder chants. We start at Mister Irrelevant (credit to them for the above pic):

After the Skins gave up the big touchdown to Jackson in the third quarter, one of my friends and I took out the banner and were holding it up. Next thing I know, four security guys are coming up both sets of stairs and headed right for us. They take my banner and tell us we have to leave the stadium… Once we got to the concourse area they asked for my ID, which I quickly tried to pass off to a friend. One of the security guys snatched my wallet and wrote down my drivers license info in his little black book. I guess that means means I'm banned from the stadium or something.

And then there's this account from Extreme Skins:

Me and about 10-12 other guys moved underneath the MNF booth in the 2nd half and in the 4th quarter we started a "We Want Gruden" chant. Gruden and Jaws were looking at us and laughing, and then Gruden stood up and flashed his Super Bowl ring at us. After a little while security came over and said we were not allowed chant "We Want Gruden". The guy left and then a little while later we started a "Danny Sucks" chant. The MNF booth is right next to Danny's box so there is no question Danny heard it. A few minutes later Danny sent down his goon squad, cops and all and told us we had to leave. There was about 1 minute left in the game, so no big deal, but pretty funny.

Jesus. What a fucking thin-skinned dipshit. Hey Snyder, those people there last night are the last people on Earth devoted enough to still pay money to see your terrible team in your terrible stadium. Perhaps you should consider LISTENING to them, instead of throwing them out and covering your ears like a fucking third grader. Then there's this quote from Steve Coll in the New Yorker (via Steinz):

The general atmosphere around the team suggests Zimbabwe—a failed state, an intractable dictator, and an impotent and suffering populace

No doubt Snyder would hack off your child's limbs with a machete if maintaining power required it. I daresay we are in FIRE MILLEN territory with this franchise. It's been fascinating to watch the Redskins scratch and claw at the basement floor for new trap doors to plummet down. Each week, the fans get angrier and management grows even more oblivious. It's fantastic theater, I tell you. And it gets crazier by the hour. I wish they could stage an impromptu season of "Hard Knocks" with this team for the final nine weeks of the season. It would be fucking RIVETING.

Now, to the inbox. SR:

Maryland really calls the DMV the MVA? Really? MVA is medical shorthand for a car accident ("motor vehicle accident"). If you see someone sniggering like Beavis and/or Butthead while in line at the MVA, it's probably a trauma surgeon.

Another fun fact about Maryland: The battered women's shelters here are formally known as Treatment for Women And Toddlers.

Kevin R:

What are your feelings on shitting in a bar? Obviously there are certain circumstances in which you must drop trou, especially during daytime outings which usually include some sort of wing consumption, but what about at night? As you know, most men's rooms are within a few feet of the women's. You don't want to be labeled all night as the guy who laid a bomb, effectively ruining your chances of speaking with any women without having to immediately deny that the rancid stench filling the bar earlier came from your ass. Find somewhere else nearby? Find some matches? Or be a fucking man and fire one out with pride?

PS - I just realized I spent 10 minutes, at work, proofreading an email about taking a shit.

I've never heard of someone avoiding a bar toilet because they don't want to offend the women in the next room over. It's a much more common circumstance to avoid a bar toilet because some bar toilets will make you question your very faith in humanity. You know the ones of which I speak…

No, thanks.

Kevin brings up a useful point here about matches. Mrs. Drew ALWAYS lights a match in the shitter after I've used it. I never knew about this trick when I was single. It really does work. That burning match smell just covers the poop smell right up, like paper over rock. It's amazing. Thus, now whenever I poop, I get the added bonus of playing with fire afterwards. Don't let anyone tell you lighting a match isn't fun, even when you're 33 years old. It's awesome. I'd light matches all day if I could.

John:

Drew, I've turned to you to save my Halloween. I need a Halloween costume idea. Not just any idea. One that, when I walk into a party, would send everyone into a frenzy of laughter. Or just one that would get me a lot of attention, preferably from the ladies. Also the costume would need to be simple and somewhat cheap. Those are my only stipulations. And yes, I'm completely unorignal when it comes to this stuff. I don't wanna end up going as a golfer or pirate or some crap. Any ideas? Please help. Thanks.

Brother, you have come to the wrong fucking place. I have kids now, which means I NEVER have to dress up for Halloween ever again. It's the best thing ever. People should have kids for that benefit alone. No more buying fucking costume shit at Ricky's, or knowing someone will upstage you with something kickass. That all ends when you have a little kid.

Obviously, John has many dead celebrities to choose from this year: Jacko, Farrah, Ed McMahon, Billy Mays (whose family has already endorsed the idea of people dressing up as him this year. Those people never stop marketing), Bea Arthur, Swayze, etc. Here are some fairly rudimentary ideas. Otherwise, I suggest the following:

-Peter King (stuff a pillowcase under your shirt, carry around a Macbook Air and cup of coffee)
-Steve Phillips (staple an ugly female friend to your body)
-A colon (cut out two dots, place them vertically on your clothing)
-Josh Hamilton (Rangers jersey, cross, powdered sugar on your nose)

Those are all awful ideas. But that's Halloween for you. Nothing but one giant fucking creative headache. I trust our commenters have far more reasonable ideas.

Brian:

Have you ever used a japanese toilet? With the built in bidet? Magical.

No, but I have barfed on a Japanese hotel tatami mat.

Anonymous:

You need to lame it up, sir. THIS is the Twitter feed of Letterman's head writer.

Egads.

Wow. Holy crap. Check out some of the Scheftian humor from Eric Stangel:

NBA season begins tonight. Out of habit Isiah Thomas is coming up with his list of excuses for why the Knicks stink

NFL: In a desperate attempt to get back in the playcalling loop, Jim Zorn has changed his name to Sherman Zorn... Redskins

Mark McGwire joins Cardinals as hitting coach & will be back in uniform... a uniform 3 sizes smaller than when he played

That's the man in charge of making sure David Letterman is funny every night. GOT ANY GUM?!

DanyHeatleySpeedwagon:

Alright question for you. I've been married for a year and a month now. How long until your wife got "the itch", and how long did you hold her off? Was there any good stalling tactics? I've been told getting a kitten will only intensify her need/want for a child.

Christ, don't get a kitten. Kittens become cats. That's worse than having a kid. I think most women who marry under the age of 30 start pressuring you for kids a year after marriage. All men deserve at least a year (I'd argue two) of regular marriage before having kids. You need that time to enjoy yourselves as a couple. Also, you need that time to figure out if you should get divorced BEFORE you have kids. Always a good rule of thumb.

After that, you're living on borrowed time. Marriage is just a series of your wife pressuring you to do something until you finally capitulate. Having kids. Moving. And such and such. Once she wants that kid, she WILL get it. All you can do is offer a time frame and negotiate down from there.

Tom:

In response to Donovan, my nephew was a little monster when it came to diaper changing. In one motion he could arch his back and grab the diaper from under himself (at which point things would degenerate like a Russian hostage rescue.) He was also fond of grabbing a handful of poop and rolling like an alligator.

Here's the process they settled on:
Put the kid on the floor on a stain-proof pad.
Sit on the floor with the kid between your legs.
Pin his upper arms under your heels.
With one hand, grab both of the kid's ankles and hold his ass completely off the ground.
Change the diaper with the other hand.

It also works to put the kid on a table, grab his ankles with your left hand (assuming the kid's head is to your left) and pin his arms with your elbow and body by leaning across the kid so his chest is under your left armpit.

Wait, are you changing the kid, or are you fucking it?

Steven:

Just installed the newest version of Internet Explorer and realized it now has a function called "InPrivate Browsing" that leaves no electronic trail of what you did while online - i.e. fully eliminates the chance of my wife "accidentally" seeing sites I've been to by checking the history. This has to be the most important technical advancement since, well, ever.

Let's all congratulate Steven for being the last person on Earth to use Explorer. You could have been surfing for porn anonymously with Firefox two centuries ago, kid.

Dave:

Why does everyone go apeshit for Breast Cancer Awareness Month? As in, why does breast cancer get its own month and even its own race? You've got these little pink ribbons all over shit, you've got NFL players wearing pink armbands and gloves... what the hell? Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for beating breast cancer, but I'm also for beating ALL cancer. Where is non-hodgkins lymphoma awareness month? Or testicular cancer awareness month? Or pancreatic cancer awareness month? What in the shit is so special about breast cancer?

What's the reasoning behind this? Is it like some girl power type thing where women rise up and gather attention for only the type of cancer that they can get? Isn't that a little fucking selfish?

Breast cancer is the most common cancer among all women, and kills more women than any other cancer (the other big killer cancers are lung, colon, stomach). So wear a pink ribbon and shut the fuck up.

Chad S:

I do not like pants. I am lucky enough to be able to wear jeans and a t-shirt to work. What's the protocol on wearing the same jeans? I usually wear the same pair of jeans for a week or two unless they get really dirty. Is this ok? Jeans fit really well around Day 3.

I too hate pants and wear mesh shorts around the house at all times. If forced to leave the house, I wear jeans. I never wash my jeans unless I spill something horrible on them, or my wife demands they be washed. This can mean a period of weeks, and even maybe a month, goes by without me washing my jeans. I am a repulsive person and I don't care who knows it. Pants are for suckers. Plus, jeans really DO fit better the dirtier they are. Ever wash your jeans and suddenly they fit all weird? Annoying. Only happens to fat people, I imagine.

Jeff:

Chocolate Riesen is number two on my list. Number one is Toffifay. If you haven't had one, try it, they're fantastic.

I've tried them, and I agree. Remember when Toffifay used to be a parting gift on Sale of the Century? Weird.

Dan:

I most often eat waffle fries at Chick Fil A, and I have also noticed and enjoyed that waffle fries are, as you put it "ketchup nets." My issue with ketchup packets is that I always have to open 8-10 of them to have enough ketchup to go around. Why does ketchup come in such tiny packets? Think about it: mayo- huge packet. 3 times the size of a ketchup packet. (Almost) no one eats that much mayo in one sitting. Another example, the wonderful dipping sauces at Chick Fil A. They come in glorious little tubs, and each probably has 4-5 ketchup packets worth of goodness inside. How easy is it to get to? Just rip the top off. It's harder to open a condom than it is to get into the polynesian sauce. So why the FUCK does the #1 seed of condiments, ketchup, come in such tiny packets designed only to frustrated fat fingered fast food fans? FUCK!

Everyone loathes ketchup packets, of course. I don't know why ketchup is so precious that they have to be rationed into little packets more suited to contain fucking Sweet N Low. If anything, you end up wasting ketchup by grabbing far more packets than you know you'll need, lest you end up short. This means you end up not using some of the packets and throwing them away, which is criminal. And ever go to a place where the ketchup is behind the counter, and the fuckers only give you two packets when you ask? AND WHAT IS THE DEAL WITH AIRLINE FOOD?

But yeah, I put fifty pounds of ketchup on most anything I eat, and demand all restaurants be equipped with pump containers and Big Gulp cups to accommodate my ketchup needs.

Ryan:

Actually, if you ever taste Beer 30, you'll understand why it makes no sense to package it in groups of 6, 12 or even 24. Only the worst carpet-pissing, sink-pooping alcoholics find the taste of Beer 30 worth the spike in one's blood alcohol level, and those folks find 30 beers far superior to any smaller number. I've swilled/bonged/sipped-with-Ramen plenty of Schlitz and Natty Ice in my day, but Beer 30 tastes like 1 part Hamm's and 3 parts gerbil piss mixed in with the cigar ash and rodent corpses that are no doubt rampant in Beer 30's production facility (most likely a cottage in Brainerd, MN).

Also, many readers pointed out that Beer 30 is only sold in 30 packs, and that the clock on the can is meant to signify that the time is now Beer:30. I approve of both tactical moves. It's Beer:30 somewhere, people. Reader Mike also said Beer 30 tastes like grape soda if left unattended for too long, which he finds unsettling, as do I.

B:

An important poop question, have you ever dug your own hole?

As a veteran of many a backpacking and overnight canoe trip, digging your own hole to poop in is an experience I am quite familiar with.

I have dug and hole and pooped into it. I've done the wiping with leaves or a rock and all that camping stuff. I agree there's something to be said for digging a hole in the woods and pooping into it. It makes me want to draw a treasure map leading to it.

Oli:

Recently I was cooking a bacon and scrambled eggs breakfast, which is a key part of my weekend schedule, usually falling between my Saturday morning dump and my Sunday afternoon shower.

It was in making my delicious meal that I stumbled across what I am claiming as my own invention: the "mid-cook meal".

Basically, I was super hungry, so while I was cooking the first two pieces of bacon I threw some bread in the toaster, and when the toast was made I threw in some ketchup and had myself a delicious bacon sandwich, WHICH I ATE WHILE I COOKED THE BACON AND EGG BREAKFAST.

Blew my mind.

That's good obesity, right there. I too go into any cooking experience knowing full well that I'll be eating a great portion of my ingredients long before the final meal is prepared. Say, where did all the shredded cheese go for the lasagna? To heaven. That's where.

Brian:

I can't believe this didn't get mentioned the last time the topic of kids tv came up, but Geneveve is one fine piece of latin ass. Thank you that is all

He's right!

Bob:

During an awful road trip I came up with a fun juvenile discussion point. Rank the order you want someone to do the following on you: shit, piss, bleed, cum, and puke. Personally I go 1. piss 2. vomit 3. blood 4. shit 5. cum. Any thoughts? I won't feel bad if you don't run this.

Well, blood ranks first, of course. I love having blood stains on my clothing. Makes me look tough. Cum is an easy second, because it doesn't smell all that terrible and there's never as much of it as the rest. If you can get over your own homophobia, cleaning up cum off your body is a snap. Been doing it with my own for years now. Piss is third. Vomit is fourth. Poop is last. You never want poop on your body. I get kiddie poop on my hands at least once a week. It never stops being revolting.

Craggs:

So I'm reading Pete Hamill's Sinatra book and come across this, from an anecdote about hanging with Frank at P.J. Clarke's.

"You know what I love most about this joint?" Sinatra said. "Taking a piss. Those urinals ... You could stand Abe Beame in one of them and have room to spare."

I believe your phrase is "Fuck and yes."

Craggs is just the best, isn't he? Only Craggs would be reading THAT book right now for no reason at all. I have no idea who Abe Beame is, and yet that metaphor still feels perfect.

Jonathan R.:

So I wanted to get your opinion on one of mankind's longest traditions. Whistling. My girlfriend fucking HATES it when I whistle, and I kind of do it a lot. I blame my grandpa for whistling often when I was a youngster, and I just kind of picked it up and enjoyed it. Anyway, yeah any time I'm in a car with the radio on, when there's a lull in a conversation, or sometimes when walking down the street, I'll find myself aimlessly whistling. Which then brings the wrath of the ladyfriend to cram it. I think she should calm the fuck down. So what do you think: annoying and outdated trait, or no big deal? Thanks for the guidance.

Whistling is that rare thing people do that's fun to do if you're the person doing it, and agonizing to listen to if you aren't the person doing it. There are people in my gym locker room who break out whistling sometimes, and it completely weirds me the fuck out. The fuck are YOU so happy about, asshole? You're naked in a room with ten other men. Stop that right now.

So yeah, don't whistle around the lady.

Jeff:

I work in a reasonably professional environment. In the can we have a two urinal (with divider) set-up, and we have a significant number of guys who insist on taking a step back to hit the small amount of water at the bottom to make as much noise/foam as possible. Isn't the basic 45-degree angle against the porcelain called for here?

See, I'm one of those guys who will take the step back to make the foam. I love doing that. It's like a contest, trying to make the most piss bubbles. Who likes taking a quiet piss at work? You don't have to clean that shit. Part of the joy of pissing is hearing that shit blast the water, especially when you really have to go. It's immensely satisfying on a spiritual level. I say you bring the fucking DRAMA.

Greg:

I know that I am late, both in seeing this and sending it to you, but I was watching Top Chef from a couple weeks ago and the competition was to cook for a charity event called Pigs and Pinot. I don't know what the charity is for, and I don't care. All I know is that I get mouth orgasms from a pig roast with cans of PBR, and this is an event where great chefs cook delicious pork meals and give you wine. Who cares about the Vikings, you need to get Gawker to send you there.

Agreed. I saw that episode. Charlie Palmer looks like a kiddie rapist from a 1930's film noir. Also, Kevin is winning the shit out of that thing. You can't stop that man.

Why, tell the entire world that Bill Simmons is only the super smartest basketball expert on Earth who really SHOULD be a GM, of course. I took a look at a copy of the book this morning. It's girthy, that's for sure. But it's clear right from the get-go that this is less a book than it is a resume for Simmons' basketball credentials. Let's go right to the opening paragraph of Gladwell's little reference letter…

Not long ago, Bill Simmons decided to lobby for the job of general manager of the Minnesota Timberwolves. If you are a regular reader of Bill's, you will know this, because he would make references to his campaign from time to time in his column.

Let's stop Gladwell right here and correct him. Simmons has been pimping himself as an NBA GM candidate since well before that Timberwolves job opened. He devoted plenty of column space to demanding the Milwaukee Bucks hire him. And he didn't just lobby for the T-Wolves job from time to time. He tweeted about the idea incessantly, and even devoted podcast time to it. He interviewed with Mike Rand to lay out his qualifications. There was even a Facebook group created specifically to advance the cause.

But if you are a regular reader of Bill's column, you also know enough to be a little unsure about what to make of his putative candidacy. Bill, after all, has a very active sense of humor.

Indeed he does, for someone who has seen a grand total of eight movies in his lifetime.

He likes messing with people, the way he used to mess with Isiah Thomas, back when Thomas was suffering from a rare psychiatric disorder that made him confuse Eddy Curry with Bill Russell. Even after I learned that the Minnesota front office had received something like twelve thousand emails from fans arguing for the Sports Guy, my position was that this was a very elaborate joke. Look, I know Bill.

No. Apparently, you do not. Because it's a classic Simmons move to do something like lobby for an NBA GM job, go to great pains to illustrate how many people support him and why it would be crazy awesome for a team to hire him because he inherently makes things more interesting, and then deflect all criticism of his efforts by saying he was only joking. He does this constantly, and it's one of his worst qualities. Because it means he's either being disingenuous, or just fucking obnoxious. Even in his excerpt from the book…

I explained the purpose of my column, how I write from the fan's perspective and play up certain gimmicks — I like the Boston teams and dislike anyone who battles them, I pretend to be smarter than every GM…

He keeps up with the "pretending" bullshit. Let's go back to Gladwell:

He lives in Los Angeles. When he landed there from Boston, he got down on his hands and knees and kissed the tarmac. He's not leaving the sunshine for the Minnesota winter. Plus, Bill is a journalist, right? He's a fan. He only knows what you know from watching games on TV. But then I read this quite remarkable book that you have in your hands, and I realized how utterly wrong I was. Simmons knows basketball. He's serious. And the T-wolves should be, too.

ZOMG! He was serious?! I'm SHOCKED! That wasn't the impression I got at all when I first thin sliced him!

Let's get a few things straight here. I don't think many people doubt that Simmons is a devoted basketball junkie who knows the minutiae of his favorite sport as well or better than most people. I certainly don't doubt it. The NFL is another matter. But yeah, I'd say the Sports Fella knows himself some basketball. And I don't even need to read his book to tell you it will be both entertaining and informative, and that it deserves to sell the zillion copies it ends up selling.

But the guy has spent his entire adulthood being either a writer or a fucking bartender. And wouldn't you know it: NBA General Manager is a job position that requires you to fucking MANAGE people. Isiah Thomas knows a shitload about a basketball. But guess what? He was the fucking worst manager of people in the history of everything ever. So while Simmons may clearly have the basketball IQ to warrant consideration for such a position, that's not the only skill you have to master in a job that requires hiring people, firing people (perhaps people you may feel affection towards), getting people to work together in harmony (Simmons feuds with his editors all the fucking time), being a canny marketer, not banging the office Hundley, and dealing with striking beer vendors or whatever the fuck else those poor schlubs have to do.

Oh, and it probably requires one other thing Simmons may lack: fucking humility.

Special thanks to Craggs, who provided the book excerpt and Napkin Gladwell.

From Chris Mortensen's Twitter feed comes this rather odd story about the Vikings head coach.

So coach Brad Childress dressed up like a female flight attendant, high heels, wig, blue hose, wig...and still a beard on the flight.

I'm told Childress had given a little lecture earlier to the team, reminding them to show the utmost respect to all flight attendants.

Um… okay. I guess flight attendant etiquette would be a good idea for a team like the Vikings, lest Bryant McKinnie decide to head into the bathroom with one and eat her pussy out over the sink.

But I'd prefer it if Childress spend less time putting on blue pantyhose and making players reach for their in-seat vomit bags, and more time finding ways to NOT FUCKING SIT ON THE FUCKING BALL WITH FUCKING FOUR GODDAMN MINUTES LEFT IN THE HALF. FUCKING DIPSHIT.

For example, Jon Gruden begins every sentence with the words, "THIS GUY". Every one of them. Give a listen next time around, or go ahead and gut out your inner ear with a fishhook. Mark Schlereth (and plenty of others) begins every sentence by saying. "When I look at the (team name here)." You may also substitute the word YOU in there if you like. "I tell you what" is also a big one. What will you tell me, guy? Why not just get right to the what immediately, and spare me the needless clause upfront?

And then, of course, you know about pervasive use of the words NATIONAL FOOTBALL LEAGUE instead of the simpler NFL acronym. This is usually preceded by something along the lines of, "To be a (position here) in the NATIONAL FOOTBALL LEAGUE," These guys, when I look at them, I tell you what, they might just be fucking retarded.

And then there's Peter King, who of course has entire library of clichés all to himself. Lofty clichés. They define gay. Anyway, here's King this week on Texans QB Matt Schaub:

It's possible that Matt Schaub leads the NFL in normalcy. Nice guy. Not impressed with himself.

Yes, that's right. Normalcy. Matt Schaub defines normal.

This comes on the heels of King and Gruden declaring that various quarterbacks lead the league in intangible categories that really can't be measured. Gruden said Jake Delhomme leads the league in grit, an opinion that is somehow both meaningless and breathtakingly incorrect. King said Tony Romo leads the league in smiles. Indeed, in the hands of Gruden and King, it seems there is no pointless metaphorical category into which you cannot throw an NFL quarterback. So let's go ahead and do that now.

Brett Favre, as you may have guessed, leads the league in fun. He's the fun baron. Mark Sanchez leads the league in poise. OR DOES CHAD HENNE? Let's go through the rest:

Quarterback: Jay Cutler
Leads the league in: Frowns

Quarterback: Matt Stafford
Leads the league in: Spunk (can be employed literally if you like)

Quarterback: Aaron Rodgers
Leads the league in: Perseverance

Quarterback: Eli Manning
Leads the league in: Innocence

Quarterback: Donovan McNabb
Leads the league in: Resolve

Quarterback: Jason Campbell
Leads the league in: Passivity

Quarterback: Matt Ryan
Leads the league in: Upside

Quarterback: Drew Brees
Leads the league in: Underappreciation

Quarterback: Josh Johnson
Leads the league in: Wildcardedness

Quarterback: Kurt Warner
Leads the league in: Grizzliness

Quarterback: Matt Hasselbeck
Leads the league in: Toughness

Quarterback: Shaun Hill
Leads the league in: Guttiness

Quarterback: Marc Bulger
Leads the league in: Patience (he gets sacked a lot)

Quarterback: Ben Roethlisberger
Leads the league in: JUST MAKING THINGS HAPPEN

Quarterback: Derek Anderson
Leads the league in: Fearlessness

Quarterback: Joe Flacco
Leads the league in: Unrattledness

Quarterback: Carson Palmer
Leads the league in: Fortitude

Quarterback: Tom Brady
Leads the league in: REAL poise. Let me show you what real poise looks like right here.

Quarterback: Trent Edwards
Leads the league in: Fortitude

Quarterback: Peyton Manning
Leads the league in: Passion

Quarterback: Kerry Collins
Leads the league in: Adversity

Quarterback: David Garrard
Leads the league in: Quietness

Quarterback: Matt Cassel
Leads the league in: Mysteriousness

Quarterback: JaMarcus Russell
Leads the league in: Girth

Quarterback: Kyle Orton
Leads the league in: Game management

Quarterback: Philip Rivers
Leads the league in: Touch, douchiness

As you can see, every quarterback in the league has a special, unique character quality only they could possibly lead the league in. You can apply this to experts, too! For example, Peter King leads the league in being a fucking shithead.

Mike Shanahan is probably coming back to coach in the NFL in 2010. Stefan Fatsis says the former Denver coach has been preparing to return to the league by watching five hours of a tape a day (I assume he spends the rest of the day felling redwoods with that mouth of his). Wherever Shanahan ends up, if he ends up in your town, do me a big favor. You walk right up to that man and punch him right in the cock.

People have bitched for years that Shanahan is anecdotally responsible for popularizing running back committees. Well, six weeks deep into this NFL season, we have empirical proof. There are only, currently, five NFL running backs averaging over 20 carries per game: Adrian Peterson, Cedric Benson, Mike Bell (who figures to drop off this list shortly), Steven Jackson, and Michael Turner. Benson leads the league with 21.2 carries per game. Over the past decade, that's the lowest average number of carries needed to lead the league.

Since 2006, there has been a dramatic decrease in the number of running backs leaguewide who get fed the ball 20 times or more per game. Here is the number of 20-carry running backs in the league year-by-year over the past decade, with the league leading carry average highlighted:

1999: 9 backs (22.1 led the league)
2000: 8 backs (25.2 led)
2001: 8 backs (22.1 led)
2002: 7 backs (23.9 led)
2003: 13 backs (24.5 led)
2004: 12 backs (24.6 led)
2005: 11 backs (24.0 led)
2006: 9 backs (26.0 led)
2007: 4 backs (21.5 led)
2008: 4 backs (23.5 led)
2009: 5 backs (22.1 led)

So, since 2006, the number of backs who usually get more than 20 carries per game has been effectively sliced in half, the workhorse back being phased out for those delightful Marion Barber/Tashard Choice/Felix Jones platoons that make you want to dunk your head in a vat of fucking battery acid.

I don't begrudge coaches for doing this. There's more than enough evidence out there to show that running a single back 5,000 times in a single season doesn't do wonders for their durability. BUT… not all running backs are made equal. For example, Emmitt Smith ran for over 20 carries a game for seven of ten seasons during the 1990's, and that doesn't even include postseason appearances. Rotating running backs in and out of the game keeps them fresh, but it also may prevent them from getting into a rhythm. Great backs like Smith were famous for getting their biggest gains as the game wore on. The three and four yard gains they got in the first quarter often turned to six and seven yard gains in the fourth as they got a feel for the defense and knew how to exact the most damage upon them.

You don't see many running backs have games like that anymore, where they get 35 carries for 175 yards or something and completely OWN the fucking game. Games like that may take their toll on some backs. But sometimes there are anomalies like Smith, who remained an effective runner over the course of decade despite taking heaps of punishment. And, judging by his speaking skills, those hits have taken virtually NO TOLL on his mental facilities. None at all!

So quit pussyfooting around, NFL coaches. If you think you've got a potential workhorse back in your stable to thoroughly beat into the fucking ground, USE THEM. They're gonna get brain damage anyway! Come on! They're not pitchers. Don't treat them so goddamn gingerly. I'm sick of running backs being as statistically inconsistent as wide receivers. I don't wanna live in a world where people have to start Brandon Jacobs on their fantasy squad every week and then cross their fingers that he'll get more than eight goddamn carries.

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

Five Throwgasms

Falcons at Cowboys: I'm a huge fan of the NFL Network's postgame show. They show nothing but highlights instead of talking, and Rich Eisen is so fucking awesome right now, I could kiss his head stubble. As they opened on footage of a kickoff return TD last week, Eisen said, "Now, why would we show you a kickoff? Either someone scored, or someone made a booboo." It's the little things.

BUT… as tolerable as I find Deion Sanders on this show, he deserves shit-giving last week for saying, and I paraphrase, that the Redskins woes are not Dan Snyder's fault, because Dan Snyder goes out and pays for "the best players". Now, I wonder why Deion might feel that way about Dan Snyder. Couldn't be the $8 million signing bonus Snyder gifted to that fucker at the end of his career. Oh, Deion. Just when I was starting to warm up to you. FUCK YOU, COCKBREATH.

Cardinals at Giants: Eli Manning is a complicated man. One second, he's angrily berating Ahmad Bradshaw on national TV for failing to pick up the blitz. The next…

He was met outside the locker room on his way to the team bus by his father Archie and mother Olivia. His mom hooked her arm through his and they walked off together.

Would it surprise you in the least if it turned out that Eli occasionally performed amateur taxidermy and stabbed drifters to death while sobbing? No, it would not. Such a quiet boy. Such a good boy. Those are always the ones.

By the way, any time I now meet someone named Olivia, I immediately picture her as a sassy talking pig-child. Best kids' books ever? Best kids' books ever. Even the author's name is cool.

Also, big ups to Arizona last week for pulling off the surprise pooch kickoff, the cooler version of the surprise onside kick. Surprise pooch kickoffs are fucking awesome.

Vikings at Steelers

Four Throwgasms

Saints at Dolphins: From the still hungover Matt Ufford comes Awful PR Quotes. Nice. It's like Access Hollywood in print form.

Bears at Bengals

Three Throwgasms

49ers at Texans: Your top scoring player in fantasy football after six weeks is Mr. Matt Schaub of the Texans. Mr. Ufford has Schaub and Tom Brady on his fantasy team. He never knows which one to start any given week, and he always ends up choosing wrong. And he's terrified that he'll end up trading the wrong one. This situation will henceforth be known as Uffy's Choice. If you see Ufford on the street, be sure to hug him. Maybe offer a free dry hump.

No matter how the Texans finish this season (8-8 ahoy!), they certainly are one of the league's most enjoyable teams to watch. Owen Daniels is a goddamn MONSTER.

Two Throwgasms

Pats at Bucs: And here's your London game for the year. Nice game. Honestly, why not just bomb these people?

I take this moment again to remind you college folks out there that, if you have the opportunity and parental means to spend a semester abroad, DO IT. Don't fucking question it. Don't hesitate for a fucking second. Get on that plane and go. The rest of the world loves getting drunk and fucking and getting naked in public even more than we do. IT'S TRUE! When you go to London, there are pictures of tits visible at any newsstand. People are drinking in the pubs at 9AM without a shred of guilt. Great Indian food is always within a ten-block radius. (Including fresh naan. Oh, naan. You are everything pita bread wishes it could be). It is a GLORIOUS place, and one day I will retire there and spend the rest of my life at the bottom of a pint glass, a copy of Mayfair tucked into my back pocket.

Eagles at Redskins: The intrepid Dan Steinberg (intrepid is always the word people use for reporters. I do not actually know what the word means) reports that Tony Kornheiser, freed from his pesky ethical obligations as a Washington Post employee, joined Redskins owner Dan Snyder in his luxury box during the loss to the Chiefs last Sunday. Would you have guessed – IN A MILLION YEARS – that Kornheiser and Snyder would watch a game together? Is that NOT A STUNNING HAPPENSTANCE? Anyway, TK says…

"But at the end of the half, there began a chant—Sell The Team. Sell The Team. Sell The Team.—that everybody in the box heard. The people in the box were stunned. I don't know that he heard it, because he wasn't there, but the people in the box were STUNNED."

Holy shit. Really? People in Snyder's box were actually surprised that fans were displeased with his stewardship of the fucking team? Have these people spent the past decade living in a fucking box? Are you NOT STUNNED THAT THEY ARE STUNNED?

One good thing Snyder has done? Sell beer in the stadium bathrooms. What once was an intimidating wait for the urinal trough is now a leisurely delight.

By the way, I'm really excited for the inevitable hosannas that Gruden and Jaws will be heaping on Jim Zorn during this telecast. Last year, as the Lions were wrapping up their 0-16 season, announcers practically fell over themselves to be nice to Rod Marinelli. Oh, poor Mr. Coach Man! He tried so hard! He's a good man! Bullshit. Fucking bullshit. Quit coddling these pricks, announcers. They make shitloads of money and get to boss around football players all day. They don't need a verbal rubdown from you every time they're about to see the axe swing.

Last thing about the Skins: New play caller Sherm Lewis doesn't know protection schemes and blitz pickups yet, so all his play calls will be routed through assistant coach Sherman Smith on their way to QB Jason Campbell. Hope you enjoy delay of game penalties, everyone.

As for the Eagles, at least once a year they have a game like last week where it appears as if McNabb and Reid are doing this whole football thing for the very first time. It's baffling. I know cooler heads will tell you that the Eagles are better off with those two around. But, as a fan, when your team, year in and year out, finds ways to DO THE SAME FUCKING STUPID SHIT THEY ALWAYS DO, you can't be blamed for eventually wanting to rid yourself of them entirely. At the very least, a new coach and QB would have the courtesy to fuck up in some new and different way. Maybe they'd RUN the ball too much. I'm sure Eagles fans would welcome such recklessness. Fourteen runs? Against Oakland? Holy Jesus.

One Throwgasm

Packers at Browns: Linda Hunt is back on television! Want better stamina in the sack? Picture Linda Hunt banging Anne Ramsey with a strap-on. Toss Poltergeist lady in there if you have to. THIS BONER IS CLEAR. Also a good boner killer: Meryl Streep in "Doubt". Ruins the whole kinky nun thing.

Chargers at Chiefs: My kid makes me watch lots of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse every day. I am now certain that Goofy hails from Kentucky. GORSH!

Jets at Raiders: Go, little pigeon! GO!

He's twice the receiver James Jett ever was!

Colts at Rams: Well, ESPN Horndog Day was fun, wasn't it? I have only one question in light of all this, and that's this: Who the fuck thinks "I would like to fuck you" ever works as a come on? Has that line EVER resulted in success? Has the woman ever taken that in and replied, "Oh hey, that sounds great!" Never works to try cutting the crap and propositioning a chick right off the bat. Especially if you're drunk at a bar. And perhaps a junior-level ad exec living in New York. TRUST ME.

We need to stage a phony press conference in honor of Steve Phillips. Rachel Nichols and Jeremy Schaap could be in attendance, and ask Phillips all sorts of important questions. Steve, what first attracted you to your mistress? Was it her BIG FUN t-shirt? Steve, isn't this yet another searing indictment of your personnel evaluation skills? Steve, seriously, why not just stick your dick in an overflowed toilet?

Out of respect for DJ Gallo, we will NOT be publishing all those emails we got about Gallo fucking the Syracuse Orange in the PJ Clarke's urinal.

Bills at Panthers

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

"Abra Cadaver," by The Hives. DEAD! DEAD!!!!! THEY TRIED TO STICK A DEAD BODY INSIDE OF ME!!!!

Embarassing Discography I Own That Will Not Fire You Up

The entire Snow Patrol album catalog. I like Snow Patrol's music a lot, and I have no excuse for it. Liking them is barely a step removed from liking Coldplay. I know that. They have, arguably, the worst name in rock. It doesn't even sound like anything remotely resembling a band name. It sounds like a group of people who tow injured skiers to the chalet in one of those ski patrol sleds. I've always wanted to be carted around on one of those. If I were rich, I would travel exclusively by being ski-hauled.

Anyway, back to the band. They serve as the soundtrack to Grey's Anatomy, which gave the world Katherine Heigl. Their lead singer, Gary Lightbody, has a gay porn star name. The used to put environmental poetry on the splash page of their official site. They're lame in so many ways. In EVERY way.

And yet, I love some of their songs (like the one above). I can't help it! Don't you see? It's so pretty! Like a puppy wearing a Santa outfit! CAN'T RESIST… MUST… RESIST…

/switches over to Slayer record
//switches back to Snow Patrol when no one is looking

Open Mailbag Tuesdays
Got something you want displayed for show and tell in the Deadspin Tuesday Mailbag? Pork loin omelet recipe? Email me any question or observation you like.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death
Darren McFadden. Awful. Horrible. And now out until at least Week 10. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. What's the matter, prick? Too busy making bastard kids to bother staying upright? YOU PIECE OF SHIT. I HOPE ALL OF YOUR BABY MOMMAS GIVE YOU THE HUNDLEY TREATMENT, HOUNDING YOU AND YOUR LOVED ONES FOREVER AND EVER UNTIL YOUR SPIRIT IS CRUSHED AND YOU LIVE OUT THE REST OF YOUR DAYS PRAYING FOR DEATH TO BE KIND AND SWIFT.

Suicide Pick Of The Week
Last week's suicide pick of Philadelphia was incorrect, making me 5-1 on the year. FUCKING ANDY REID. This is the time of year where I again remind you that joining suicide pools is a fucking idiotic endeavor and that you should spend that $20 on your cocaine slush fund instead. That puts the Eagles, Vikings, Texans, Ravens, Saints and Skins off the board now. We once again pick a team for your suicide pool and something that makes you WANT to commit suicide. This week's pick? Indianapolis, and Slate writer Jonah Weiner, who has now penned not one, but two different Slate pieces telling you that a nu metal band everyone knows is terrible really isn't that bad. First he tried to defend Limp Bizkit. Now he tries to do the same for Creed. Look at this sentence. FUCKING LOOK AT IT.

"Higher" might turn out to be the nu-grunge "Don't Stop Believing": dismissed by cognoscenti on arrival as bludgeoning and gauche but destined for rehabilitation down the road as a triumphant slab of ersatz inspirationalism.

Holy Jesus. It's like I'm reading Slate and Pitchfork together at once. Inspirationalism isn't even a fucking word. Only Slate could make the idea of liking Creed's music a pretentious endeavor. I hate that fucking band even more now. You go to Hell, Jonah Weiner. IF THAT IS YOUR REAL NAME.

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.

"This week, I like the Falcons getting 4 points on the road against the Cowboys. Hey, I had an article published by Slate once. It was titled, ‘The Third Reich: Hey, At Least The Trains Ran On Time.'"

2009 Nazi Shark Record: 5-1. People, time to start listening to the shark.

This Week's Pants Party Winner
Last week's Pants Party winner was PK's Mile High BM Club. Reader Alan F. gets free rant space here:

Quit bitching about Favre and your poor 6-0 team. I'd have the Lions field a team of 53 Matt Millen's if it meant not sucking for one goddamn year. And while you'll have to "suffer" through the Land Baron and his 105.9 QB rating, we Lions fans last had a Pro Bowl QB in 19-fucking-71. I was negative 8 years old. So piss off!

That's more than fair. I'll shut up about the Vikings now.

This week's winner was douchenozzle22, who already mailed in a rant. SO PUNCTUAL! It'll be in here next week.

Great Moments In Poop History
Another week, another HUGE payload of fantastic poop stories. This one comes to us from Landon L. I call it, "Sinky Dinky Doo":

A few years back, my little brother was fresh out of the army, newly married and was renting a little junk house. One bedroom, kitchen, living room and one bathroom that you had to go through the bedroom to get to. So my brother has a few friends over sitting around and getting drunk.

At some point, as everyone is leaving, it is decided that our friend, totally wasted, couldn't get home and needed to crash at my brother's place. No big deal. There's the couch, have at it.

Morning rolls around and my brother wakes to find our friend passed out in his own puke on the couch. My brother isn't happy, but apparently his wife hated the couch anyway, so he wakes my friend and tells him that they need to haul the couch to the dump. Not a big deal. On the way there, my friend will not stop apologizing to my brother. He is saying sorry so much, it becomes annoying. My brother keeps telling him he doesn't care about the damn couch. Finally, our buddy admits the puke on the couch is not the only issue. He took a shit in the kitchen sink.

BOOSH!

Apparently, in a drunken haze, needing to shit and not wanting to wake up my brother and his new wife, he decided that shitting in the kitchen sink made sense. So he climbed up on the counter and did it. It is hard to comprehend how someone would reach such a decision. Obviously the easiest thing to do would've been to go through the bedroom, wake up my brother and his wife, take the shit and be done with it. Or take a shit almost anywhere else. Outside, on the floor, in your pants. But he picks pretty much the worst place to shit, the kitchen sink.

Is it really the worst? At least there running water right there. I'd rather someone shit in the sink than on the carpet, or in the cookie jar, or in the veggie crisper.

Needless to say, my brother is pissed off. Unfortunately, there are also some dirty (now very dirty) dishes in the sink.

Look, Madge! I pooped in it!

The situation is so completely fucking weird and gross my brother doesn't even know how to address it. So he calls my dad.

That part killed me. "Hey Dad, you're old. Surely you've dealt with people shitting in the sink." That's like when I call my dad eight times every time I do my taxes.

Great conversation I'm sure. Anyways, it's decided that the dishes need to be thrown away, obviously. And the sink needs to be cleaned thoroughly several times. My brother drives our friend to the store so he can buy every bleach-based cleaning product available on the market. A long scrubbing, spraying, sanitizing of the sink ensues.

Finally, still ragingly pissed off. My brother decides that some additional inconvenience charge is in order. He demands $300 from our friend. With no precedent for the situation, our friend had little choice but to pay up.

I once had a friend who was a full-fledged alcoholic. The real deal. Drank every morning and all that. He stayed at our apartment once. In the middle of the night, my wife tripped over him on the way to using the bathroom. He had fallen asleep in the hall without his pants or undies on, and had pissed on the carpet.

I wish I had thought to charge him $300.

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
Jim Zorn*****
Eric Mangini
Jeff Fisher*
Wade Phillips
Dick Jauron*
Jack Del Rio*
Todd Haley
John Fox
Norv Turner
Raheem Morris

I don't think there's any chance Raheem Morris gets fired after this year, but so many angry Bucs fans demanded he be included on this list, I had little choice. Go to any Bucs message board, and your odds of finding missives from disgruntled Republican fans that compare Morris to Obama is 100%. THIS MAN IS BLACK AND LACKS EXPERIENCE!

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Waffle fries! Mmmm… waffle fries. So fried. So ridged. So crisscrossy. So good for ketchup retention. It's like a giant fucking ketchup net. I could squeeze out the entire Heinz bottle onto one of these fuckers.

Gametime Beer Of The Week
When I started the Jamboroo, this section was originally titled Cheap Beer of the Week. But I pretty much ran through every terrible cheap beer I could: Black Label, American, even the malt liquors. But reader Craig O. has come across a cheap beer I was unfamiliar with until now. That beer? Beer 30 Light.

Beer 30 light should be your game time beer of the week. Not only is it cheaper than that swine piss known as Natural Light, but the vibrant purple can perfectly match any Vikings apparel you choose to wear.

Agreed. What a fantastic cheap beer. Why is it called Beer 30? Why is there a clock on the can? "Thirty seconds are up. Time for another!" I also like how there's a mountain on the can, to trick you into thinking you're buying Busch or Coors Light. If you've got a mountain on your can, you are selling one god-awful beer.

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.

"Baby, my favorite for the NFL's MVP this year is still Peyton Manning of the Colts! You know, this whole Balloon Boy business reminds me of the time Warren Beatty and I took Quaaludes and accompanied eight nude Swiss prostitutes on a hot air balloon ride across the Alps! That was a good day for Ol' Beatty and I. Champagne? YOU BET! Orgies in a large wicker basket? YOU KNOW IT! Beatty was right about those Swiss girls, they really do fuck like clockwork. Very precise."

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Rams Fans

"The Golden Child." Long regarded as one of Eddie Murphy's biggest flops, yet it now looks like the goddamn Godfather compared to his recent output. Plus it has bloody oatmeal. Can't go wrong with bloody oatmeal. TO MONTY!

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Isn't it amazing the same day you got a pool is the same day we realized we liked you?"

Halftime Masturbation Kit
-For the guys: Continuing the Golden Child theme: nude screengrabs of star Charlotte Lewis. (Site NSFW) Charlotte is half-Irish, and half Iraqi-Chilean. She could practically declare war on herself.
-For the gals: Sean Faris. RAWR.

Enjoy the games, everyone.

Before we get into this week's batch of emails and tweets, let us all gather to congratulate our own Bobby Big Wheel for scoring a column over at the National Football Post. It's always heartening to see lawyers find a creative outlet and take a moment away from being horrible, horrible people. Kudos to you, good sir. I've never met you, but for some reason I assume you look like Philip Seymour Hoffman. I always assume anyone online – male or female – looks like Philip Seymour Hoffman.

Thomas:

Drew, attached is a photo of a urinal at NYC restaurant PJ Clarks (above). Please comment.

Hey, I've pissed in that urinal! It's fun. It feels like you're pissing in Ancient Rome. I bet Sinatra banged a girl in one of those urinals. Giant old urinals, these days, can only be found in restaurants or very old municipal buildings and schools. It's practically worth getting arrested just so you can pee in an old courthouse. Like pissing directly into history. I bet that urinal weighs 75,000 pounds.

Sometimes you get old bowl urinals that are 500 years old and six feet deep. They're impervious to splashback, and I cherish them when I happen upon them.

Laremy:

Did you hear Gumbel/Dierdorf mention Favre could still throw far and was having fun??!! NFL announcing = full frontal lobotomy.

I thought those two were fairly restrained during the first half. Then the second half arrived and it all went to shit. As Laremy points out, you will NEVER make it through a Vikings telecast this year without closeup shots of Favre throwing up both hands and smiling, and then going to hug his teammates, followed by the word FUN used in many various iterations. And you won't make it out without the analyst telling you that last throw by Brett Favre PROVED that he's still got it.

There was also this chestnut from Dierdorf on Sunday: "There is no doubt now that Brad Childress is an offensive mastermind." He also castigated fans for booing when the Vikings settled for a field goal at the end of the game. Also, Dan Dierdorf has AIDS. It's true. He has full blown AIDS and you shouldn't touch him unless you want his AIDS breath on your skin.

Craig:

Is there a better movie theater snack than popcorn with a box of Bunch A Crunch thrown in? My high ass has yet to find one.

Craig, as you may have surmised, was recently kicked out of the Kwik E Mart for sneaking Jolly Ranchers onto his donut.

Stephen B. Awesome:

Since you know shit, I figured I'd ask you this question about Halloween. My wife and I have a child who is ready for his first time trick-or-treating. When this happened with your daughter, did both you and the wife go with her? Or did one of you have to stay home for other trick-or-treaters? If we do both go, I'm considering buying a terrible candy to put in a bowl and leave at the door while we're out. Is this the best solution? And what terrible candy would you recommend that is bad/cheap enough that you wouldn't care if it was gone? Because we know someone will just take the entire bowl for themselves.

Congratulations, buddy. You are about to be FUCKED. My kid never ate fucking candy until her first Halloween. Now, EVERY FUCKING DAY, it's all, "Can I have a lolly? Can I have a lolly? I can have a lolly." No, you can't have a lolly, you little shit. YOU ARE BANNED FROM CANDY FOREVER. Halloween is just another example of the world fucking parents over. I had this kid under firm control. Now I have a lollipop stalker. God DAMMIT.

Anyway, my wife and I both went with the kid trick or treating in a large group of other kids and parents. Someone usually brings beer, which is awesome. I like drinking enough during trick or treating to not care whether or not my kid gets nailed in the dark by an oncoming motorist. At the beginning of the night, you stay close to the kid and try and rein them in. But after a six pack, you'll happily let them scale pool fences and disappear for hours at a time. It's a delight.

I leave candy out in a dish at the front stoop. Most every kid who trick or treats early is accompanied by a parent who will fucking murder them if they try and take more than two pieces. And even if someone did hog all the candy, I could give two shits. That's candy I don't have to worry about anymore. Whatever you do , DON'T GET SHITTY CANDY. Kids aren't fucking stupid. They'll leave that shit and stick it with you for eternity. Don't think you can get away with leaving out Smarties, or plain Hershey bars, or rusty razor blades. You'll never get rid of it. The whole goal of Halloween is to have no candy left at night's end.

jimmyu72:

What's up with all the frosting the put on cupcakes now? If I wanted that much buttercream, I wouldn't bother with the cake part.

You're complaining about extra frosting? What are you, a fucking Mennonite?

Ryanreal:

Once I asked George Wendt, "What's the best candy?" He replied "Caramel and toffee." Your thoughts?

Together? In some sort of Skoramello product?

It's hard to single out one candy as a favorite above all others, particularly if you're as girthy as George or myself. I enjoy all of it. But you know what's a solid candy that doesn't get a lot of play? Chocolate Reisen.

Oh, Chocolate Reisen. I will make chocolatey love children with you.

Jessen:

The UPS guy is a Creative Director at The Martin Agency. I don't know which I hate more. The ads, or the jackass he cast to star in them... Himself.

I was aware of this, and have actually seen Andy Azula walking the streets of Richmond on occasion. The story is that Martin Agency couldn't find an actor who did the whiteboard stuff as well as Andy did. That's a standard ad world trick. "Christ, none of these guys can do it as well as me. Tell you what, guys, why don't I do it for you? You'd only have to pay me SCALE AND A HALF!"

Bobby Big Wheel:

Have you ever had pumpkin beer? To paraphrase Dave Attell, it's for when you're thinking, "I want to get drunk, but I also want some pie." You'd love it.

I got a lot of pumpkin beer recommendations this week, a couple weeks after getting bitched out for having an apricot beer in the Jamboroo. So to recap: Fruit-flavored beer = gay. Gourd-flavored beer = acceptable.

Adam:

If you google Will Leitch and cat pee, you get over 5,000 results.

Drew Magary and cat pee yields over 260,000 results. My name and cat pee gets 18,000 results.

... and that bastard published a story about cat pee.

Yes, but google Leitch and Ankiel pee, and you get over 5,000,000 results. DON'T IMAGE SEARCH IT.

ZP:

As I'm sure you read The New Yorker, whilst casually sipping of the finest port, you're familiar with Malcolm Gladwell's new article about how linemen are basically guaranteed brain trauma, and no doubt you're familiar with the recent wave of studies saying the same thing.

I didn't read it, but I assume it all ties in with the mating habits of Chilean llamas.

I've always between a little uneasy enjoying a sport that exposes its players to such injury, but before these recent reports I could at least plausibly tell myself that the risk was limited to really serious blows, and that hopefully some new helmets would fix most of the problem. But now it turns out that even limited-contact practices are a non-returnable ticket to dementia.

How do you personally deal with this sort of unwelcome knowledge?

I don't. LALALALA CAN'T HEAR YOUR SPINE SNAPPING LALALALA

I'm sure you're not boycotting the NFL anytime soon, but do you feel guilty? Watching the games this week, I kept wincing on every snap and mouthing "Easy, easy!" to the players.

No, I don't feel guilty. I don't even think twice about it. Those players are compensated handsomely to bash each other's brains out for my amusement. And thankfully, once they become old and infirm and punch drunk, they're cloistered well away from the public spotlight, so that I may conveniently ignore the devastating effects of the Faustian bargain they have stricken. Good stuff. LET'S WATCH THAT WESLEY HIT AGAIN. IT WAS DIRTY AND ILLEGAL AND THAT'S WHAT MAKES IT SO VERY SEXY.

Donovan:

Help a fellow father out? How do I change a shitty diaper when my daughter is kicking more than a kangaroo on crystal meth! Do I need some sort of crane to hold her feet up? Now that her arms are longer, she can reach down and grab a nice, big handful of iron laced, black gold.

Oh, that's the worst. The second they grab that poop, it's all over. And the little fuckers NEVER stop turning. They won't stay on their back, even if you try and nail them to changing table, which I've attempted. Your only hope is a distraction. Give the fucker a toy and pin them down with all your might.

Brian:

Fuck the Jersey DMV for calling it the MVC when the rest of the world calls it the DMV, sperm burpers

Maryland also doesn't call it the DMV. They call it the MVA. I assure you this is a cheap branding exercise, because they think the initials DMV connote negativity and changing the initials will somehow lesson the blow. WORDS ARE EVIL THINGS, PEOPLE.

Ethan:

Just writing to say that I ate this shit called Pasta Al Forno, which is rigatoni with vodka (cream sauce), meat, and an insane layer of cheese. It tasted like an orgasm, but my stomach is about to say fuck this shit and explode all over the fucking place.

Do you subject yourself to unhealthy fare like me at such an alarming rate?

Sure do! Like Louis CK says, "I eat until I hate myself." Every weekend, I eat and drink until I feel like my heart is going to burst into flames and send boiling plasma shooting through the rest of my body. And I always swear to myself that I'll never be so piggy again. And then I take a Zantac and do it all over. HEY, SOMEONE DIDN'T FINISH THIS BAG OF CHOCOLATE CHIPS. THAT'S A MISTAKE THEY WILL SOON REGRET.

Bellwether Johnson:

I have eliminated home shitting. Completely. I now shit exclusively at work. My friends can't understand this, and despite my very well thought out and salient points (of which I will shortly espouse), they continue to be dumbfounded by the very thought.

1.) I work in a small retail environment, which means that we get cleaning crews three times a week. Do you clean your shitter three times a week?? Fuck no, you don't.

2.) I only work with one other guy, which means only one other person is using my work toilet. I have the "public" toilet in my apartment, which means visitors are always pissing all over it.

3.) My body has adapted to a shit schedule that consists of one large post-lunch dump per day, which is glorious.

So what do you think?? This epiphany of work-shitting has changed my whole life, and yet everyone I talk to is so skeptical as to outright dismiss the thought as lunacy. I feel like Bill James circa 1981. Please help!

I once roomed with two other guys in a studio apartment in Manhattan, and one of my roommates steadfastly refused to take a dump in the place. He found the conditions appalling and saved all his pooping for work. Frankly, I think any male toilet snobbery is fucking stupid. You're a man taking a shit. You're already filthy in ways far too numerous to count. What makes you so important that you need a fancy shitter to unload in? I'll shit anywhere: restaurants, gas stations, home, the gym, at the stadium. My ass, which is repulsive, has no right to complain about anything.

Anonymous:

When I watch a show on demand, it saves automatically for 24 hours....Showtime, as you probably know, has soft core porn on demand. I happen to like free porn so I watch it when I can....since I also put on a lot of my son's shows from on demand...if I accidentally forget to manually erase my DVR, sometimes I'll go to the saved feature and it will look like this:

Sesame Street
Mickey's Clubhouse
Lust Sessions
Super WHY

Needless to say, it's sort of embarrassing when say, the babysitter is over and puts on TV for my kid.

No Happy Scrappy Hero Pup?

Robbie:

Oh what I wouldn't give for DirecTV. I'd gladly take the couple minutes of disruption here and there over the daily ass raping I get from Time Warner. My cable bill is $150 a month. ONE HUNDRED FUCKING FIFTY A MONTH. It's high crime. This is bullshit. Not to mention I can't get the Sunday Ticket. So I'm forced to watch Broncos games in the company of drunk, middle aged, overweight, douchebags in replica Steelers jerseys pounding leaky nachos and yelling. These assholes have taken over every sports bar and it's hell. HELL. So fuck you and your winey disruption in your palace in Maryland. Stop turning into Peter King.

Good response. Lofty response.

Fogg:

Here's an item to add to your unknown/surprise benefits of having a kid: wiping your ass with baby wipes vs. regular toilet paper. Unbelievable. Pre-kids, a perfectly good shit could be ruined by an extended wiping process. I'm talking about those ones where you keep waiting for the toilet paper to come back clean, it never does, and you finally just say fuck it and pull up your pants.

Baby wipes cannot be defeated by even the worst wipers. It's like taking a shower after every shit.

I too enjoy using baby wipes (Daulerio also swears by them when shitting). Very cool and refreshing, AND they prevent chafing. Also, they're excellent for scouring for dingleberries, because you get a better crack feel with them. One time I caught a berry that was the size of a RAISIN, I tell you. I could have had it bronzed. Looked like a Furby. BUT BEWARE. Baby wipes don't degrade in water the way toilet paper does, which can end up clogging your pipes and forcing you to pay some plumber to snake the toilet. I know some people who use baby wipes and then throw them into the garbage afterwards, and that is sickening.

Rand:

For the second day in a row, I am making for a late breakfast/brunch/work from home special:

leftover pork loin
fried up
with diced potatoes
mixed later with
salsa verde
and
jalapenos
left to simmer, then adding
three-to-four scrambled eggs
thus tying the whole thing together
salt and pepper to taste

Rand wrote it out like that. I think he was trying to make it look like a poem. Best goddamn poem I've ever read.

It's the kind of thing that makes me so happy while I'm eating it that I am alternately praising myself for the concoction while also trying to simply enjoy it. Ever have that problem?

Yes, and my wife always gives me shit for it. I'll cook something and then, as I'm eating it, I'll keep saying, "Damn, this is REALLY fucking good," or "I think this turned out well," or some other insufferable shit like that. If I could bang a pot of chili while eating it, I would. AND I HAVE.

For all the drama in places like Atlanta and Minneapolis yesterday, little can top the burgeoning clusterfuck going on in the Washington locker room. First, on the field: The Skins lost to the previously winless Chiefs and noted dickface Todd Haley 14-6 in a game you didn't watch and are glad you didn't. The Redskins played this game with a patchwork offensive line, cobbled together by GM Vinny Cerrato after the original starting line (which SUCKED anyway, mind you), suffered multiple injuries. Dan Steinberg perfectly describes what watching that line was like:

It looked like a cold, wet, smashed hot dog bun that's been run over by a Hummer, stomped on by a marching band, doused with lighter fluid and then smeared onto the side of a porta-potty.

I would still eat just such a hot dog bun. Jason Campbell was benched at halftime of this whale abortion. Meanwhile, coach Jim Zorn was summoned to Cerrato's office after the game and stripped of his play-calling duties, which will totally solve everything. Cerrato did not immediately name a new play caller, instead choosing to discuss who would be the new play caller WITH Zorn today, which is akin to the time Richard Pryor's mother asked him to go out and find a switch for her to beat his ass with.

That new play caller turns out to be Sherman Lewis, who has been out of football for five years and was hired by Washington last week without Zorn's knowledge (though Cerrato has openly lied and said the hiring was Zorn's idea), and without the team having a clear role for him. Lewis was working as a bingo caller in a senior center at the time of his hiring. No one expects Zorn to last much longer. In fact, media speculation is simply focused now on trying to pin down an exact date for Zorn's ouster.

Now, Jim Zorn is a terrible coach who was never qualified for his position to begin with. But that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve to be treated with some modicum of respect and professionalism. He's a perfectly nice man who is being thoroughly and needlessly humiliated. I remember once taking a job and showing up the first day being told that the person I was supposed to replace was still there, and that they hadn't fired her yet, and that I should pretend I wasn't replacing her until they finally managed to fire her. All the while, the two of us were assigned to do the exact same shit. If you've ever worked in an office, you know jayvee shit like this is done ALL THE FUCKING TIME. But it's still shocking to see it occur at the highest level of sport, orchestrated by someone who somehow managed to become a billionaire.

Indeed, this entire Zorn episode, which has been a monkey-fucking-a-football disaster since it began less than two years ago, is indicative of just how amateurish Dan Snyder can be, and just brutal it's gotten in DC. And DC fans are beginning to voice their blind, searing hatred. FedEx Field was barely half-full yesterday, and the people who were there attended mainly to flip Snyder the bird and/or walk around shouting things to no one in particular:

There's something sort of eerie, walking around a massive asphalt expanse filled with garbage, seeing people mumbling to themselves, or shouting out in anger, or chanting slogans, while listening to a saxophone belt out funeral songs. That's not what sporting entertainment is supposed to feel like, exactly.

"I'm yelling at the whole damn system" screamed Tony Peden of D.C., when we chatted inside the stadium. I found Tony just kind of ambling around the 400-level concourse, yelling. This happens a lot, nowadays.

In many ways, keeping Zorn around is about the only thing keeping the Skins interesting these days. As long as he's around, DC will remain delightfully pissed off about this entire affair, and John Riggins will post lots of videos of himself lecturing the team from a pile of logs.

"Jim Zorn, you are not a head football coach in the NFL. High school? Definitely. You can coach in high school. You can coach my son in high school anytime. Anklebiters, for sure."

I think he just called his son a queer. But I digress.

Once Zorn's inevitably pushed out (along with with Cerrato possibly joining him), and the team begins its funeral march to the end of the year with some temp replacement, the juicy drama will be gone, and all that will remain is the malaise. And Albert Haynewsworth sucking on an oxygen tank like it's a titty. Fun times in DCtown, everyone!

Screencap from Steinz