Drew Magary's Thursday Afternoon NFL Dick Joke Jamboroo runs every Thursday during the NFL season. Buy Drew's book, The Postmortal, through here. Find more of his stuff at his Twitter feed. Image by Jim Cooke.
I took my family up to New York City last week because I enjoy overpriced food and densely packed crowds of assholes. So we're driving on I-95 up from Maryland and we're making astounding time. We only had to stop once for lunch and potty breaks, and my kids didn't say jack shit the whole trip because I set up a DVD player in the back so they could watch horrible kiddie movies. It was bliss ... until we got to the Lincoln Tunnel.
If you've ever driven through the Lincoln Tunnel into New York, you know that the inbound entrance isn't the most pedestrian-friendly area in the world. The line to get into the tunnel extends in a massive loop with an unholy bottleneck at the end that gets jammed up in an instant, and can take an hour to get through, with no way out of your car until you finally reach Manhattan. It's the perfect opening FUCK YOU salvo from a city loaded with such gestures.
When we had stopped for lunch a couple hours earlier, I got a small drink with free refills, and I exploited the refills to the hilt. I just kept going back again and again, choking down as much Coke Zero as my system would allow. I didn't give a moment's thought to any future urinary emergencies, since traffic had been so light and because I am a stupid person who loves unlimited amounts of carbonated liquid. And I was even more optimistic as we approached the tunnel, because the cunty traffic copter guy on 1010 WINS (who is a LIAR) said the inbound traffic at the Lincoln was nonexistent. This man was wrong. Very wrong. So wrong, someone should take him down from his cushy helicopter with a fucking RPG launcher.
Anyway, we get to the tunnel and traffic is backed up for miles. No way out. And that's when the swelling in my bladder began. It started innocently enough. If you've ever taken a long road trip and had to piss, you know that the initial swelling is pretty easy to stave off until you get to the next toilet. Sometimes, I even get arrogant and skip the next rest stop when I have to piss because I'm confident enough to know that I can hold it in for another 20 miles. I do this so that I can hold off the NEXT piss until we get home, thereby cutting out an extra stop and making me the world champion of improvised single-entrant cross-country rallies.
So my bladder starts to swell and I don't think much of it. Traffic blows, but we'll get through the tunnel at some point and then I'll find somewhere to do my business. Unfortunately, my piss has other ideas. In no time at all, the swelling becomes much more insistent. Once we're halfway through the loop, I feel like I'm pregnant with a 50-pound piss child. The pain becomes unbearable. I start to worry about my urethra exploding inside my penis, sending blood and piss and small bits of penis meat all over the car. So I turn to my wife.
ME: OK, I really have to piss. Like NOW.
HER: There's nowhere to do it.
ME: I gotta piss somewhere. Do we have a bottle or something?
DAUGHTER: Do you have to go peepee, Dad?
ME: Yes. I DO.
I'm driving, so my wife and I switch seats right in the middle of the jam and I empty out a one-liter seltzer bottle onto the road to make way for my piss. I am NOT skilled at pissing into water bottles while on the road. Not at all. First of all, I couldn't stand, so I had take out my dick while seated and piss into a bottle that was tilted downwards, essentially threatening to empty all my piss right back onto me. Secondly, I have a big dickhole. HUGE. I'm not saying it to brag. It's not like anyone is impressed by an oversized meatus. It's just a fact. My dickhole is so big, you'd think I brought my dick to the butcher and asked him to butterfly it. An old friend of mine said I had a "pussy on a stick." So the bottle has this 3/4-inch hole in it, and I'm terrified that my giant Julia-Roberts-mouth-sized dickhole will leak out one of the sides. So I jam the tip of my dick into the bottle. I mean, I really try and stuff the fucker in to make an airtight seal. And even then, I'm scared to death of getting piss all over my seat, mostly because we had just bought the van used a week ago. I'm sure the previous owner pissed all over the thing, but the car was new to me, dammit. I didn't want to piss on it.
By this point, I'm writhing in agony because I have to piss so badly, so I decide to try and let a bit go into the bottle, just to see if I'm getting all the liquid inside. Immediately, a fine mist of piss floats into my face because my dickhole had NOT been properly secured. The whole thing was a fucking FAILURE. Meanwhile, I have to keep a firm clamp on my dick because I know that piss will keep shooting out if I let go. And even with my vice grip, there's still piss leaking out of me and soaking my jeans. So I'm sitting there with a clamped dick and a pissy face and my kid is asking me what's wrong with me and I have to pretend that this is all perfectly normal even though it's WRONG AND HORRIBLE.
We finally get into the straightaway to the EZ Pass booth and I spot one closed-off lane of the road going in the opposite direction. So, without telling my wife, I leap out of the van, sprint into the abandoned lane, and piss all over the side of the road, in full view of every single person going in and out of the Lincoln Tunnel. Hundreds of people must have seen my dick. I easily could have been arrested and hauled off to jail in front of my family. I didn't care. I pissed so hard I could have drilled a fucking hole through the asphalt. I pissed so hard, it felt like my dick was about to be blown off of my body. And it didn't stop. I saw our car get closer and closer to the mouth of the tunnel and I couldn't stop the piss from roaring out of me. I yelled at my dick to hurry it up, finally saw it reduce to a dribble, zipped up, and ran to the car while the last of the pee came streaming down my leg. Then I got into the van and cried.
WIFE: You're insane!
ME: I had to pee. I had to pee so badly, sweetheart. I'm so sorry.
After we got out of the tunnel, we ran into a 40-minute jam on the other side. I hope the Lincoln Tunnel gets hit with a 50,000-ton hydrogen bomb. The next time you go on a road trip, bring a Gatorade bottle with you. Now THERE is a bottle that was built to be pissed in.
All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.
Cowboys at Giants: The Cowboys have lost six straight Sunday Night games, including the game they played against the Giants just four weeks ago. That makes the fact that this game was flexed in to Sunday Night all the more amusing. I hope the NFL informed Jerry Jones about the move using a DEAL WITH IT gif.
Ravens at Bengals: I hate the fact that defenses can't return a blocked PAT to the end zone for two points. As if the PAT wasn't pointless enough, they have to go and outlaw the ONE potentially exciting thing that can happen on the play. Why is the play blown dead once the kick is blocked? Why are you helping out the team that just fucked up a routine conversion? GRRRRRR.
Panthers at Saints: God, Cam Newton is awesome. I feel like he should be allowed to spend the offseason cockpunching every single person who hated on him in the preseason, (ME INCLUDED). No one deserves a cockpunch from #1 more than I do. I can't wait for Carolina to be the undisputed dark horse team of the 2012 preseason. It's gonna be fun thinking I'm the only person predicting a wild card berth for them only to find out that EVERYONE is predicting a wild card berth for them.
Jets at Dolphins: When we were in New York, my kid spotted Mickey Mouse taking pictures with children out on 5th Avenue. So the kid begged to go meet Mickey, and I relented. And then, when Mickey picked my kid up and posed for the picture, I realized that it was NOT an officially sanctioned Mickey Mouse. There was no Disney Store nearby. IT WAS JUST A FUCKING DIRTY HOBO WEARING A MICKEY MOUSE COSTUME. His fucking eyes were scotch-taped on. It was terrifying. I grabbed my son from him, stuffed a dollar in his velvet pouch (ewwww), and ran off. Always make sure your child is being fondled by an authorized mascot.
Chargers at Raiders: I traded in my old car when I bought a used van for my family last week. After the trade-in, I looked on the dealer website and found my old car listed for sale. It's an awful feeling, seeing your trusted old car put up for sale like that. It's like seeing your child sold into the sex slavery business. THAT'S MAH BABY!!!!
I'm also proud to report that I've gone a full week now without wiping a booger on the new van. I never thought I'd hold out this long. Whoever buys my old car is in for some real terror under the floor mat.
Also, every Carfax report for a used car should include a line item that indicates whether or not the car listed has been fapped in, BECAUSE THEY ALL HAVE. I haven't found the cum stain in my van yet, but it's only a matter of time.
Titans at Texans: Every Christmas, someone online gets their panties in a bunch over the lyrics to "Baby, It's Cold Outside." ZOMG IT'S ABOUT DATE RAPE! As if they're the first person EVER to make that joke. Give me a fucking break. Let me explain this in the simplest manner possible:
Forcibly sticking your penis inside another person: RAPE
Trying to convince your tipsy girlfriend to stick around so you two can hook up: NOT RAPE
Nowhere in that song does the girl sing, "Whoa hey, get your penis out of my vagina!" Stop forcibly jamming rape into the holiday classics, people. DON'T YOU SEE THE IRONY OF WHAT YOU'RE DOING?!
Chiefs at Broncos: I went to church on Christmas Eve and I swear to you that the reverend was thissssss close to throwing a "Tebow" into his Christmas sermon. He talked about the Virgin Mary for a while and I started to tune out and then he ended up talking about how it's difficult today for pro athletes to profess their faith in public without being subjected to scorn, and I nearly stood up and yelled IT'S TEBOW TIME, BITCH! He never did utter the name Tebow, but every person in that church knew damn well that it was on the tip of his tongue. Fucking Tebow. YOU RUINED MY CHRISTMAS.
By the way, Tebow's lips are the exact same color as the rest of his skin. It disturbs me. I don't trust him.
Colts at Jaguars: If Jim Caldwell manages to go 0-13 and then fuck Indy out of Andrew Luck by winning three straight to close out the season, he should fired TWICE. What an asshole.
Redskins at Eagles: And if Andy Reid manages to keep his job despite going 7-9 or 8-8, then he should be fired FOUR times, once for each lobe of FUPA he possesses.
Bills at Patriots: My kid was singing the jokey version of "Jingle Bells" the other day and butchered it completely.
HER: Jingle Bells, Batman smells, Robin did ballet...
ME: No, no. It's "Robin laid an egg."
HER: No, it's not. It's, "Robin did ballet."
ME: No, it's not. That's stupid. Why would he do ballet? The joke is that he laid an egg, because a robin is a bird. Get it?
HER: You're wrong.
ME: FINE! FINE, GO OUT ON THE PLAYGROUND WITH THAT POOR JAPANESE TRANSLATION OF THE REAL THING! SEE IF I GIVE A SHIT.
Seahawks at Cardinals
Bucs at Falcons: I think I might be the only heterosexual male on Earth who gets a boner for fresh sheets. Anytime I get into a bed with fresh sheets, I become positively aglow. "Are these fresh sheets?! WOOHOO, FRESHIES!!! LET'S HAVE SEX ON THEM RIGHT AWAY."
Rams at Niners: Before we get to the rest of the Jamboroo, big thanks to Leitch and Justin Halpern for guest hosting this past week. Wasn't it nice to have Leitch back? He even made a dig at Simmons! I like it when Leitch stops being Mr. Corn Farm Boy and starts getting REAL.
Bears at Vikings
Packers at Lions
Browns at Steelers
Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall
Reader Andy submits "The Reckoning" by Iced Earth.
Ripper Owens is a great vocalist, but he must be a huge tool, because he's never put out more than two studio albums with any band he's been in. Either that or he accidentally punches them in the face one too many times while onstage.
Can't it be both?
Embarrassing Song I Once Liked That Will Not Fire You Up
"Holocene," by Bon Iver. The end of the year means it's time for my annual ritual of checking out Pitchfork's list of Top 50 albums and seeing how many of the albums in the top 10 I've actually listened to. This year, the number stands at an incredible one, which is up from my normal annual tally of zero. The best part is when you click on the audio preview and think you're about to hear something really cool and what comes out is total SHIT. These lists also bring out the maximum amount of Pitchforkitude from the writing staff. BEHOLD.
When the Weeknd magically appeared from the internet ether, there was something truly total about it all...
...its uncensored visions of nocturnal saturnalia soothing and disturbing in equal measure...
...Martin Courtney casts a wistful (but not too wistful) gaze back to his more guileless years, nodding to something like a lost innocence...
...Oneohtrix Point Never project has become one of the new synth-music underground's most reliable purveyors of trippy, arpeggio-heavy psychedelia...
...Though Merrill Garbus' percussive w h o k i l l pulls from a variety of genres and cultures, when listening to it I kept coming back to Walt Whitman...
...it turns out these open-ended instrumentals are the perfect foil for Bejar... Indeed, he recalled recording some of the album's vocals "while lying down on the couch."
I hate myself for liking Bon Iver. I really do.
Gregg Easterbrook Is A Haughty Dipshit
Every year, Greggggg unleashes his list of "unwanted All-Pros" and every year the list makes less and less sense. In fact, the preamble to this year's list was especially obnoxious:
Tuesday night the NFL announces its Pro Bowl rosters: Megabucks glory-boy types will hear their names called.
I have to ask: What does "glory-boy type" even mean? Is that different from an actual "glory boy," or are the two terms interchangeable? What IS a glory boy, for that matter? I think Gregg has some kind of bizarre beef with football players who play the game for both money and adulation, which eliminates EVERY football player who has ever played ever. Gregg won't be satisfied until there's an entire NFL roster stocked with former XFL players.
In most of life, hard work and determination are more important than social status or talent.
Again, Gregg's stupid little list suggests that first-round draftees do NOT work hard, nor are they determined. The truth, of course, is the exact opposite. Most first-round draft choices were drafted in the first-round BECAUSE they work hard and are determined. Also, Gregg's list implies that undrafted players aren't talented, which is also bullshit. The average rookie NFL free agent is a world-class athlete who can bench 400 pounds and outrun you with a fucking piano tied to his back. But no no no, let's let Gregg have his little Horatio Alger wet dream and pretend that a triple amputee can make the NFL if he just outworks all the GLOREE BOYZZZ.
That's why Tuesday Morning Quarterback lauds hard work and determination on the part of football players who were not born into success, but reached success through constant effort. They set a good example.
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS MAN? Since when is being a first-round pick or winning a lucrative free agent contract a birthright? Adrian Peterson's father was in prison for the majority of his adolescence. His brother was killed by a drunk driver. Do you think that Peterson was any less dedicated to become a pro football player than an undrafted success like Arian Foster? Gregg Easterbrook is a fucking idiot.
Recently, I submitted a recommendation letter for a student applying to an Ivy League school.
"It's come to my attention that Grayson Blakely Cornishgame IV would like to attend your esteemed institution. To him, I say KUDOS. The fact that he prized a proper education over attending a big bucks football factory with a WEASEL COACH shows that he has true grit. P.S.:I hope that your science department has seen fit to decry atom smashers."
In past seasons the undrafted James Harrison has made the All-Unwanted All-Pros. This season Harrison seems so determined to convince people that he is not much of a human being that he has been disqualified from consideration.
Oh no! JAMES HARRISON HAS THE CRABTREE CURSE! Seriously though, this makes no sense. You can't make a blanket statement that undrafted players work harder and are generally better people than other players, then turn around and banish James Harrison just because he doesn't fit with your incredibly wrong positive-stereotype stereotype.
By the way, about the only thing James Harrison did wrong this season was curse out Roger Goodell (fine by me) and concuss Colt McCoy (also fine by me). Where the fuck does Gregggg get off deeming him a rotten human being? FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE. Reader Andy would like to point out the Ahmad Brooks made Gregg's All-Unwanted team despite the fact that he was once arrested for punching a woman in the face. NO GLORY BOY PUNCH, THAT.
Defensive line: Andre Carter,* New England (had his best year at age 32 after being let go twice); Jason Babin,* Philadelphia
Both these men were first-round draft picks.
Charles Woodson, Green Bay (let go by Oakland as "too old," now wears Super Bowl ring and is likely Hall of Fame entrant)
Charles Woodson was let go by Oakland because he feuded with his coach and because he spent his final four years in Oakland missing 18 games due to injury. He was also a first-round pick and a Heisman Trophy winner.
Running backs: Cedric Benson, Cincinnati (practically propelled out of cannon, Chicago was so anxious to waive him); LeGarrette Blount, City of Tampa (undrafted, rushed for 1,000 yards as a rookie).
Cedric Benson was a first-round draft choice who was arrested for drinking and boating. LeGarrette Blount went undrafted because he punched an opponent in the face. People get waived and go undrafted for a reason. Gregg praises unwanted players for making a constant effort and setting a good example and all that other political "son of a mill worker" wet-dream bullshit, and then he vomits up Cedric Benson as an example. The day before Benson was cut by the Bears, he was probably Gregg's perfect example of everything wrong with the big bucks NFL players. The day after? UNDERDOG. I want to write this team out on paper in longhand just so I can wipe my ass with it.
Carlos Rogers, San Francisco (shown the door in Washington to free up money for megabucks corner DeAngelo Hall, whom Rogers has outplayed)
Carlos Rogers was also a first-rounder who dropped interceptions like they were covered in AIDS paste. Were the Skins supposed to know that he would suddenly become useful once he left via free agency? (Furthermore, Rogers was actually replaced with low-priced free agent Josh Wilson and not Hall.) In fact, Gregg's list includes eight former first-round picks by my tally, and makes no mention of the fact that many teams were RIGHT to part ways with the players they didn't want, and that only a change of venue could have prompted many of these players to finally realize their potential.
Next year, I'm compiling an ALL-WANTED team of NFL players. It'll be QB'ed by Aaron Rodgers and it will beat the shit out of Gregg's team.
Suicide Picks Of The Week
Last week's picks of Pittsburgh, New England, and Houston went 2-1 (39-9 on the year). Time to pick three potential teams for your suicide pool and something that makes you WANT to commit suicide. This week's picks? Arizona, Tennessee, Atlanta, and sitting in traffic on I-95 two days after Christmas. Ever sit in traffic for so long that you have a nervous breakdown? I have. I was sitting in the middle of a traffic jam that stretched on for miles and miles and all I could think about was the idea that traffic would NEVER advance forward. We'd be marooned in fucking Aberdeen, MD, for the rest of our lives and forced to kill and eat other motorists around us. I began to target specific drivers around my car for sacrifice. There was a family of fat Ohioans that I thought had real potential on the killing altar.
Postmortal Book Tour
If you got food recommendations for Tobacco Road, hit me up. If it doesn't involve a dead pig slathered in some type of vinegary barbecue sauce, I'm not interested:
Jan. 19: Washington D.C. (Dodge City Bar, time TBA)
Jan. 31: Chapel Hill, N.C. (Flyleaf Books, 7 p.m.)
Feb. 1 (tentative): Durham, N.C. (The Regulator, 7 p.m.)
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 Giants giving 3 points at home against the Cowboys. I am personally offended that Bill Maher would link the Fuhrer and Tim Tebow in a single tweet. Hitler was far more accurate when rolling out of the pocket. And Hitler was far more open about his hatred for Jews."
2011 Nazi Shark Record: 8-7.
Great Moments In Poop History
Reader Jake sends in this poop story I call DEEP IN THE POOP OF TEXAS:
I was in a touring band, and one night after a show in Texas I decided it was a good idea to drink 15 beers and do numerous shots of whiskey in a span of 5 hours and try to hook up with a random female. Obviously it didn't go well, and the next morning I woke up at 8 a.m. from a severe black out on the hotel floor, with a debilitating hangover. I crawled into the shotgun seat of the van we were driving and tried not to throw up for an hour. The hangover was so bad that even looking outside at moving objects made my head hurt more and made me dry heave, yet I can't look inside the van because I get motion sickness. Pure hell.
We were on our way to some other shitty Texas town, and it was pouring down rain in the middle of winter. Halfway there I realized I was about to blow beer and whiskey out of my asshole, so I told my band mates I needed to find a gas station/McDonalds or whatever. FAST. Of course this is fucking Texas, the shittiest state in the union, so I went a good 35 minutes before an exit came… which had nothing on it. 10 minutes later I saw a sign that said "Rest Area" and thanked God.
We pulled over and I jumped out in the pouring rain and ran to the men's bathroom. I opened the door and to my surprise, the bathroom only had HALF A ROOF. It wasn't under construction… it was just built that way. Only half and it was slanting up at a 70 degree angle. Who the fuck does that? I look in the stalls, and the toilets are prison toilets…cold solid metal (even the seats) and dripping wet…. and they are wrecked by a decade of trucker diets. I have no other options. I pick a random one and slam the door, then decide it's pointless to even put paper down because I'm about to shit my pants, and plus the toilet's wet, and I don't want a wet bacteria salad of toilet paper sticking to my thighs and butt.
Keep in mind while all this is going on it is pouring down cold, wet rain, right into the stall, and I'm soaking wet and shivering. Plus I have the worst hangover I've had in my life (up to that point). So I decide to hover and brace myself on the wet, metal stall. I specifically remember my legs shaking as I'm trying not to let my hands slip so I don't fall on top of the toilet. I let it rip. It burned. Like a jet engine. I don't even think half of it made it into the bowl. I had too much elevation. The blowout gets all over the back of my pants. I dry heave. It's everywhere. I feel like a wounded animal. I take what's left of the toilet paper, which is wet, and try to clean myself and my pants (fuck the toilet). I exit the stall and find a rest area worker with a poncho on and a broom just staring at me. Complete eye contact. I will never forget that young man's face. I casually make my way outside, thinking "I will never see this person again, I will never see this person again etc". Made it back to the van and made my way to the back seat and quietly changed my pants without anyone noticing. I laid down and thought about the most physically and emotionally punishing dump I had ever taken. I hope that man quit his job right there. I almost quit my life.
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 potential 2011 chopping block:
• Jack Del Rio - FIRED!
• Todd Haley - FIRED!
• Tony Sparano - FIRED!
• Jim Caldwell
• Rex Ryan
• Norv Turner
• Chan Gailey
• Mike Shanahan
• Andy Reid
• Raheem Morris
• Pat Shurmur
• Tom Coughlin
• Steve Spagnuolo
• Jason Garrett
I had to put Rex Ryan on here for the first time. By the way, if the Colts lose the top pick and end up NOT trading Peyton Manning to the Jets, then I think Jets fans should pay to have a military bomber dump 7,000 pounds of rabbit feces on Jim Caldwell's house.
DeSean Jackson Memorial Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death
Reader Matt is pissed that Eli Manning cost him a playoff game two weeks ago:
I know you're an inbred mouth-breathing Neanderthal, but even you should know this was NOT the week to lay an egg. Watching you today was like slowly eating a turd-filled hoagie over the course of three hours, each bite colder and soggier than the last. We've had our ups and downs, but the timing of this aborted fetus of a performance is the final straw. You throw seven touchdowns and 1,100 yards in the last three games while riding the pine, I bench Cam this week and you reward me by getting 4 points at home? FOUR FUCKING POINTS?!?!?! This cost me a championship berth you ball-gargling fucktard. There is a special place in fantasy football hell for you my friend, an inner circle where Roger Goodell's hell hounds will gnaw at your genitals while Mean Joe Greene and Bill Belichick take turns sodomizing your eyesockets.
Who benches Cam Newton? HATER.
Gametime Nog Of The Week
Gingerbread Egg Nog! I had this on Christmas and it was everything I ever dreamed of. Someone on Twitter also pointed out the existence of sugar cookie egg nog. The people at Hood dairies should be given a fucking Nobel for their work in the field of nog.
Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week
Boxer Lager! Reader Matt sends in this fightin' Canadian brew:
My friend had this at a Christmas party. The guy at the beer distributor recommended it, as it is the most beer for lowest cost available there. It comes not in a case, not even a 30-pack, but a fucking 36-pack, for $13.99.
Oh, and it tastes like a cocktail of skunked High Life and seltzer.
The website for Boxer says that the beer is brewed in Biggar, Saskatchewan. If that town's motto isn't "Everything's bigger in Biggar!", then their mayor should be fired.
I have great admiration for the advent of the 36-pack. That seems like a needed expansion of the regular season beer case schedule. I say we go to 48-packs. I don't think it will dilute fans' enjoyment.
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 Aaron Rodgers of the Packers! And oh, what a Christmas we had at Woodland this year. It had it all, baby! Champagne? YOU BET! Nicholson jumping out of a giant gift box wearing nothing but a streak of red paint down his ass crack? AN ANNUAL TRADITION. You would not believe the sex toys and kitchen utensils that I got in my stocking. Did you know that you can mix and match those items? A dildo does wonders for coffee stirring, and a meat tenderizer is perfect if you like fisting but hate the mess."
Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Colts Fans
Beats, Rhymes & Life: The Travels of a Tribe Called Quest, which is a very good documentary about the hip hop band that all rich college kids in the 1990's listened to. I bet Q-Tip has rapped in front of more Bowdoin graduates than any other human being in history.
Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"From this day forward, I pledge there will be no pork chop too succulent! No donut too tasty! No pizza too laden with delicious toppings to prevent me from reaching my scientifically-determined ideal weight! As God as my witness, I'll always be hungry again!!"
Enjoy the games, everyone.