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

It's a jam-packed Jameson-fueled Jamboroo this week, so I'm not wasting any fucking time. I've got puds to pull and douchebag quarterbacks to insult from the safety of my home like the gutless coward that I am. This week's installment also features 40% more gratuitous profanity, which I'm really fucking jazzed about. So let's dive right into the games, shall we?


The Games

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


Five Throwgasms

Colts at Chargers: I watched the Chargers play last week, and I think there's a highly underreported story going on in the NFL this year. And that is that Philip Rivers is a douchebag. Big douchebag. HUGE douchebag. He's the kind of fuckhead that wears Nantucket reds to a cocktail party and then pinches your sister's tits. He's the kind of shit-eating cockgobbler that throws Bacardi Silver peepee parties with JJ Redick. He's the kind of guy who ends up working at an investment bank and spending his weekends beating his girlfriend as she tries to put herself through graduate school. I know the type. I live in Washington, okay? There are loads of these douches here, overcrowding the bars, rocking visors and running the Federal government.

Rivers is the kind of douchebag that, quite literally, stomps his feet when things don't go his way during the game. As Ufford once said, "He looks like the kind of asshole who treats waitresses like shit, then stiffs them." We should make this prick an honorary lacrosse player. Norv gets his fair share of blame for what's going on in San Diego. But Rivers deserves equal ire. IRE, I say! You're ruining LT with your inaccuracy and your cattiness, Rivers! And I'm calling you out!


In fact, I'm gonna give Rivers a new nickname. Rivers, from now on, your name is fucking Marmalard. Don't like it? Well, go cry to the officials about it. It's all you do anyway. Fucking Marmalard. Maybe you and Jimmy Clausen can go bowling sometime.

Cowboys at Giants: Say, isn't this just about the time of year when the Giants suddenly give up on Tom Coughlin? (checks watch) I believe it is. Tank Johnson is back for this game. Michael Strahan has already scheduled a special "Arsenal Consult" with Tank once the game is over. Jean Strahan won the battle, but I tell you, she's not winning the war. I'd let the butler start the car for you from now on, sweetheart.

Browns at Steelers: After having their fun with two teams from the Mountain NFC West, the Browns get a second chance to prove themselves against a Steelers team that curb-stomped them 34-7 to start the year. Ah, but that was before the emergence of Derek "Horse Balls" Anderson! HB isn't scared of you and your brawny, virile coach, Steelers. He had the toes on his left foot sheared off in a Flexible Flyer accident at age 5. Motherfucker didn't even blink. You think that 3-4 defense scares him?


Four Throwgasms

Vikings at Packers: I've heard a lot of commentators (looking your way, JC Pearson) refer to Adrian Peterson as a good "downhill runner." Football analysts have a lot of idiotic expressions, but "downhill runner" has to be near the top. Last I checked, an NFL football field is flat. It is not on a fucking incline. Perhaps one day, moguls will be introduced to the red zone. Then you can boast of Purple Jesus' ability to run down a goddamn slope. But until that kind of topological diversity is introduced to the league (the asshole who thought up the London game adores the idea), there's no such thing as a downhill runner. If you want to say he's so fast he appears to be running downhill, say that. And if you want to say that Shaun Alexander is so slow he appears to be running uphill, go right ahead. Both statements are accurate.


In other Purple Jesus news, I strongly recommend you read Ufford's piece at FreeDarko on the man (now with 50 percent more flowery metaphors!), and purchase yourself a PJ t-shirt from 289.

And lest I get too homerific here, a quick note on the Packers. One of the reasons Brett Favre has been so good this year is that he has his best complement of receivers since 2004, which was Javon Walker's last good year with the team. Greg Jennings does a pretty nice job outrunning people. Surely he should get in on a little bit of the media knobslobbing. He shouldn't have to jerk off in the corner while Peter King works his magic on Favre's "Mississippi Rebel." Share the love, people.


Three Throwgasms

Eagles at Redskins: Uh, shouldn't Andy Reid have quit by now? Oh, your kids were busted running drugs right out of your home, Andy? Well, I'm sure you can find some free time during your 100-hour workweek to set them right. Shouldn't be any trouble at all. Holy Jesus.

One thing Reid could do is fine and suspend his sons for conduct detrimental to the family. Then he could release them at the end of the year. The Dallas metropolitan area has had a real shortage at Crackhead ever since Michael Irvin left, and they're willing to pay top dollar.


Jaguars at Titans: Last week's 1 p.m. games felt extra late because of Daylight Savings Time. I find it interesting that Congress has the power and ability to manipulate time itself, yet they can't pass a simple budget bill without fucking it up.

Two Throwgasms

Broncos at Chiefs: A friend of mine who is a Bronco fan would like to point out that the Broncos were 41-17 with Jake Plummer and are 5-8 since his departure. Ah, but my friend fails to realize that those 17 losses with Jake at the helm were just fucking excruciating, with late fumbles and picks and God knows what else Jake had planned for the afternoon. Losing 44-7 to the Lions with Patrick Ramsey at the helm isn't fun, but at least it's over quickly and painlessly.


Bengals at Ravens: Hey, everyone! Chris Henry is back! I heard that Odell Thurman is giving Henry a ride to the stadium Sunday, and that he stocked his '76 Continental with lots of paper towels and Pine Sol. Smart move, Odell.

Lions at Cardinals: Shaun Rogers is still on supplemental oxygen.

Bills at Dolphins

Rams at Saints

Bears at Raiders


One Throwgasm

Falcons at Panthers: Horrid fucking game. Why not focus on the advertising instead? Who doesn't like watching a group of suburban moms ordering a hit on a fictional character for making a double bacon melt no sane mother in the world would serve to her children? Or how about a children's choir dusting off an old Poison gem for Xbox? Fact: putting a children's choir in a rock song makes me 378 times more likely to commit arson.

Niners at Seahawks

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

"Fake Healer", by Metal Church. Thrash metal bands in the 80's raged about a lot of things: parents, the government, cops who bust you for going over 55, being a soldier who's had a landmine rob him of his speech, hearing, sight and limbs. But few bands were ever able to craft a good metal song around the fact that doctors are complete pricks. Well, Metal Church covered that shit and then some. You don't see many lead singers rock a tattered denim vest anymore, and we are all the poorer for it.


I saw "Knocked Up" a few weeks back, and all the hospital shit it in it is accurate, save for one thing. You know that scene where Seth Rogen pulls the asshole doctor aside in the hospital and convinces him to NOT be a dick? I call bullshit on you, Judd Apatow. That doctor would have blown Rogen off like a bouncer blowing me off at Marquee. Doctors are assholes. You can't un-asshole them. It's part of the Hippocratic Oath. It's right there in the text: "Do no harm, and be sure to treat your patient like he's a total fucking nuisance."

One last bitch about doctors. Whenever I call a doctor's office now, it always goes directly to voicemail. And that voicemail always takes five fucking minutes to get to the part where they tell you which button to push if I want to schedule an appointment. And it's usually 4, or some other number besides 1 or #, so I can't guess correctly and push it in order to bypass the voicemail. They totally do that shit on purpose. Fuckface asshole shitboxes.

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"I Touch Myself," by Divinyls. You can't understate the importance of this song to lonely young teenage masturbators such as myself back then. I was insecure and desperate for acceptance. Then this song came along, and it took real load off my psyche. "Oh, you mean other people do it? Oh, thank God! Maybe if I masturbate enough, I'll be cool!" I'm also happy the band produced a video that allows you to masturbate to the song. It really makes everything come full circle.


Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

Frank Gore. Fuck you, Frank Gore. You were drafted in the Top 5 in most leagues, assfuck. That means you are expected to fucking PRODUCE. And so far, the only thing your injured ass has produced is an overwhelming desire for fantasy owners to hunt you down tear out your gall bladder with a goddamn meathook. What happened to you, man? You were a chic pick. Chic, dammit! Now you are passé. That's right. Passé! If there's a more damning thing to call a football player, I don't know what that would be. Fucking anklegrabber.

Five Potential Key Injuries

• Larry Johnson (ankle)

• Travis Henry (pussyholism)

• Tom Brady (bad Opie and Anthony joke)

• Mike Holmgren (lobotomy)

• Ben Roethlisberger (Down's Syndrome relapse)


This Week's Suicide Pick

Last week's suicide pool pick of San Diego was incorrect. Uh, sorry about that. Off the board now are San Diego, Cleveland, Washington, Chicago, Seattle, Denver, Dallas, Green Bay and New England (Record for the year: 6-3). We once again pick a both a suicide pool team and an actual way of committing suicide. This week's pick: New Orleans, and Bunny Suicides!. Each one more inventive than the last! Here's my favorite. It's got a real Australio-Japanese feel to it:


I never realized bunnies were such a hopeless lot. They fuck and shit all day. Sounds like a little slice of heaven to me.

Gametime Snack Of The Week


Goldfish. Why buy Cheez-Its when you get them in seafood form? Goldfish are disturbingly edible. I could eat about 7,800 goldfish in five minutes and not even realize what I've done. I like seeing how many I can fit into one handful, then cramming them all into my big fat piehole at once. It's real hit at cocktail parties. I also like to pretend the goldfish are begging for their lives before I mercilessly chomp them into little tiny bits. Again, it's a real crowd-pleaser.

Goldfish also make a fine college snack. As you college folk know, there's nothing more exciting then going to the grocery store with your mom before the semester begins, loading up with every fucking snack item you can find in the place and then sticking her with the tab. I threw everything in the cart: Goldfish, chips, soda, beer, applesauce, raw ground chuck. I cleaned that woman out twice a year. By the end of the first week up at school, that shit was all gone. Guaranteed. One time my roommate came back with a giant milk carton pack of Goldfish. It was gone in two days. I turned orange.

If you're in college, you also know that this is not the only goldfish you might be eating. Who's up for a Doghead?! Huh? Anyone?


When you go to school in Bumblefuck, Maine, you make your own entertainment! They're wiggly in my tummy!

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week


BEAST! Ah, yes. Milwaukee's Best. The cheapest beer in the whole land. Beast comes in three varieties: Beast, Beast Ice and Beast Light. Why is there a Beast Light? Your guess is as good as mine. A fourth variety of Beast, Beast Urinal, is due in 2009. I remember getting quarter barrels of Beast in college because getting quarter barrels of Budweiser was just too darn pricey. You know you've got one shitty beer when Budweiser seems fancy and unattainable by comparison. Fact: Beast goes flat within two minutes of popping the can. It's also the only beer in the world that tastes the exact same with or without a cigarette butt floating around in it.

I'm an avid fan of sleazy beer posters like the one above. I enjoy the unapologetic sluttiness of them. Oh no! This greased-up lass can't fix her muscle car because she's a girl! And she's drunk! Will YOU help her, good sir? Perhaps, as your reward, she will share her frosty Beast Light with you and show you the backseat of her Correte! That Correte is one hot car!

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Dolphins Fans


Tombstone. Fuck and yes. A lot of modern Westerns, like that one new Brad Pitt movie, like to turn the genre on its head, stripping away traditional Western myths and deeply probing the real psychological ramifications of gun violence in early America. Well, FUCK THOSE MOVIES. Tombstone's all about hopping on a horse and going to fuck some shit up, and that is A-OK with me, man. Plus it's got Jason Priestly rocking a fake beard (looking good, Jason!), Powers Boothe rocking a real mustache (I wish my name was Powers. Then I could be a private investigator with a robotic hand), a fat Billy Bob Thornton getting his shit ruined by Kurt Russell ("I said throw down, Boy!") and lots of helpless women. Fucking sweet.

Oh, and it's got one of the most badass characters in film history. God, Doc Holliday kicks ass. "My dear, you're not wearing a bustle. How lewd." Nice. I wish I had tuberculosis.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

"If you don't like your job, you don't strike. You just go in every day and do it really half-assed. That's the American way." (Are you listening, Writer's Guild of America? It ain't like you were busting your ass on the job to begin with. I saw 30 seconds of "'Til Death" once. You clearly aren't putting your heart into this shit.)


Halftime Masturbation Kit

• For the guys: Transformers star Megan Fox. Megan is engaged to Brian Austin Green. Really? Jesus. I'm gonna go drink a liter of battery acid now. Megan has Brian's name tattooed on her stomach, which I assume provides a useful target for her fiancée. She also has a tattoo quoting Shakespeare: "We will all laugh at gilded butterflies." Not one of Shakespeare's better quotes. I bet one of the 1,000 monkeys in his workshop coined that one.

• For the gals: Reader Erin M. submits this shirtless pic of Paul Walker. You remember Paul Walker. He played that guy with no personality in that movie you forgot about five seconds after leaving the theater. A quick glance at Paul's lower abdomen reveals a distinct ridge of muscle running along the crest of each hip. I totally have abs like that. I call that feature my "Love Parabola."

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

WE HEAR... that The Eagles will play the halftime of this year's Super Bowl. It's the perfect musical accompaniment to a 57-point Patriots blowout.

Three Questions Sideline Reporters Should Ask But Won't

• "Philip, mind if I call you Marmalard? Fucking Marmalard."

• (to anyone) "Seriously? Megan Fox is boning Brian Austin Green? That's fucked."

• "Reggie Wayne! Your mom's name is Euwayne Wayne. I don't have a question, I just thought I'd make fun of that fact."


Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend

"No time for tiddlywinks."


Enjoy the games, everyone.