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Author Topic: Finny's week 7 pix:  (Read 474 times)
Finnegans Wake
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« on: Oct 21, 2011 at 15:23 »

You ever start dating someone, and she’s all cute and shit in the early going, and then at some point those little quirky habits start turning, you know, fucking weird, and then a little fucking weirder, and then all of a sudden there’s some major Oh fuck, how the fuck did I miss THAT? moment?  Like, OK, she wears cute little hippy dresses with military boots and has a little dyed streak in her hair.  Quirky!  Adorable!  She likes the outdoors, she wants to show you her parents’ place in the woods, and it’ll be a nice relaxing weekend together where you can shoot guns with her brothers and talk about politics with Dad.  Umm, OK, wasn’t really thinking about meeting the parents yet, and don’t have much of an affinity for guns, but…  So it turns out the family is a bunch of racist survivalist freaks who have a cabin full of artillery and are salting away deer carcasses and canned food for Helter Skelter meets the Trilateral Commission’s New World Order, and your girl feels more comfy with full camo to go with those boots and that little dyed streak in the hair is a months-old remnant of her occasional full-blown camo hair dye “for the ultimate in invisibility,” and Dear OId Dad starts asking you, no, grilling you about your political views and eyes you like, well let’s just say the Fockers have nothing on this guy, and the brothers eat all tensely like dogs ready for the command to attack, and you seriously wonder if you left in the middle of the night if they would come down the dirt and gravel roads and ambush and kill you, but you try to defuse the situation with some humor, and the Dad keeps raising stakes with weird racist commentary and the Mom doesn’t pitch in to soften the situation, instead she’s kind of like going on about some revelation from God, and not the happy Santa Claus God or the God who bestows blessings and the love thy neighbors Jesus-in-sandals feeding the crowds deal but rather the God whose key words are vengeance, smiting, pestilence, apocalypse, Armageddon, blood, hecatomb, and generally a vocabulary that makes your adrenal gland feel like it was shot through with fucking methamphetamines, so you’re sitting there holding your fork and the fork is quivering and the piece of bloody venison or elk or whatever the fuck the brothers Benny and Bobo or, for fuck’s sake, whatever their names are, whatever it is they shot is there on the end of your fork as you imagine you yourself could soon be on the end of theirs, because of God, and the coming end of the world, and FUCK, something about needing to shoot everything, and all you can think about isn’t even how you can gently break up with this chick and change your name, address, phone number, Social Security number, and probably your fingerprints and a few key facial features through plastic surgery, no, it’s already a given that you have to get away from her and any possible means of tracking that these, well, professional trackers would have of finding you, no, all you can think about is maybe you can just tap that ass one more crazy-assed time, but then isn’t that kind of like, you know, delaying the urge to escape so you can sleep with some psycho Nazi chick because, because what, she started out as cute and quirky and you had a few nice sessions with her?

If this has ever happened to you, and I’m sure it has, it may remind you of the odd progression of the NFL this season.

I mean, week one was all clumsy exuberance:  Two kick return TDs for Ted Ginn!  Rex Grossman beats the Giants with a 110 passer rating!  Randall Cobb goes 108 yards for a TD and then gets another one receiving!  Cam Newton has the best opening day performance by a QB ever, with 422 passing yards!  Zing!  Zow!  The unexpected!  And you thought the league would settle into a nice routine, nothing too crazy – maybe Rex Grossman would be a good QB the entire rest of the season for a change, or Randall Cobb would be the next Devin Hester! – but the good teams would shake off losses, the fluke teams would be exposed, everything would be sort of normal.  The nice sort of quirky normal.

But not quite half a season in, I would characterize most of the teams (and all of the teams not named the Green Bay Packers) as having severe personality disorders.  For fuck’s sake, who are the New York Giants?  Is that the team with the QB who posted a 145 passer rating beating the Eagles, or the one with a 70 rating when they lost to the Redskins?  Were the Bills an illusion?  Can the Steelers stop the run any more?  Can the Jets do anything at all?  And then you have Dear Old Dad Goodell at the dinner table with elk juice dribbling down his chin talking about how he needs to fine every player he can think of for any hit that might detract from Final Solution Flag Football, and meanwhile Buddy and Bobo are wrestling shirtless in the living room under the looming shadows of stuffed animal relics and ominous-looking survivalist tomes (You didn’t have to shake my hand that way! … You didn’t have no right to chase me off’n the dinner table like that, idjit!).  And seriously, since we can’t allow violence on the football field, it looks like Goodell is sanctioning violence off the field, and not “sanctioning” in the meaning of putting the clamps on.  It’s fucking genius.  Have all these soap operas like Harbaugh-Schwartz (and Turner-Ryan) take the place of player braggadocio and the usual player threats pretending to the mighty level of, say, professional wrestling.  Now we can have survivalist soap opera!  But just remember that trying to figure out the weird workings of the family in the woods, and betting against the spread in this new, more than slightly schizophrenic NFL, is itself madness.  

The best plan is to escape.  Without getting one last session with the soon-to-be-dumped girlfriend, but rather just getting down that dirt road as fast as fucking possible.  But since you can’t just haul out in the middle of dinner, best to just swallow that bloody elk, watch the mayhem, and feign understanding.

Just nod your head and pretend to be on board.

Bears (-2) at Bucs.  In London.  So really, “at” Bucs?  Bears, perfect example of this crazy fucking season.  Dominate one week, be dominated the next.  Charting their season is like making a graph of mood swings.  Bucs get blown out 48-3 one week, come home and knock off New Orleans by picking off Drew Brees three times, which is the worst secondary in the NFL picking off one the league’s most accurate passers, you know?

This game’s featured survivalist soap opera brawl isn’t between someone on the Bears and someone on the Bucs.  It’s between Jay Cutler and Mike Martz.  Cutler was caught on mic saying Tell Martz I said fuck him…  And this has me completely incensed.  When the hell is Ben going to say this to Arians in the middle of one of those classic BA mindfucks, where his playcalling appears to be the product of someone who just walked in the path of a speeding semi and left half his cerebellum flapping off the grill?

When you think of the Bears, you think defense, right?  So why are they dead fucking last in run defense YPC at 5.4?  Pittsburgh’s 4.6 YPC seems downright stout by comparison.  In fact, the Bears are awful in just about every statistical category, whereas the Bucs are firmly ensconced in the middle of the pack (pass D excepted).  That Cutler-Martz hoedown is only the tip of the iceberg.  And since the Bears have followed every win this season with a loss, last week’s win over the zombified Vikings spells trouble.  Bucs 24, Bears 20.

Redskins (+2.5) at Panthers.
 We all knew Rex Grossman would implode one of these days, so the Redskins turn to Fumblin’ John Beck, who Kyle Shanahan at one time considered a top-10 draft pick.  I sit in a fucking cubicle week in and week out and sneak off to find little bits of draft data when I have 10 fucking seconds, it’s not like I’m living as an NFL coach with actual scouting info at my fingertips and shit, and even I knew that shit was whack.  Seriously, Beck has 68 completions and 6 fumbles in his illustrious career.  Of course, Kyle Shanahan is the same idiot who has Chris Simms’s initials tattooed to his leg.  And Chris Simms has Kyle Shanahan’s initials tattooed to his.  Utter gayness of this shit aside, who the fuck does this?  How fucking drunk do you have to be?  OK, this valuable data disinterred, do you really trust Shanahan’s faith in John Beck?  

This matchup’s survivalist scrum is already over, and the casualties are offensive linemen for both teams.  Panthers RT Jeff Otah, out for the season.  Redskins LT Trent Williams, out with a high ankler.  LG Kory Lichtensteiger (sounds like the punchline of a dirty joke), BAM, torn ACL.  Cam moved the ball well against Atlanta, but the Falcons got some turnovers to salt away the game.  The Redskins defense may be a little better than the Falcons, but I can still see the Falcons moving the ball well.  And the Redskins’ OL issues allowing the Panthers D to look better than it really is.  Could be a lot of sloppy play, but I see the Panthers eking out their second.  Both teams are coming off draining divisional losses, but I don’t know.  That whole Shanahan-Simms tattoo thing still creeps me out.  Panthers 26, Redskins 20.

Chargers (-2) at Jets.
 Rex Ryan started off the second coach catfight by saying if he had been hired by the Chargers instead of Norval, the Chargers would have a couple of rings by now.  Norv sniped back that Rex has said the same stupid shit about the Jets, and that and a fiver will get you a pumpkin fucking latte at Starbucks.  A few weeks ago, I said the Dolphins and Chargers were basically the same team, except the Dolphins have been snake-bitten.  I mean, they were in that Chargers game, but Chad Henne ripped up his shoulder and, barf, there goes that game.  They should have been up on the Jets 21-0, but three times in the RZ yielded a 6-7 score.  This is why Tony Sparano will soon be fired and the Cowher to Miami rumors are already in full swing.  The football season hasn’t really gotten underway until the annual Cowher-to-wherever rumors are out there.

So the Chargers are basically Miami, but better.  They aren’t the Chargers team of a few years ago, which people sort of forget.  Antonio Gates may be back, but curb your fucking enthusiasm.  Even though the Dolphins moved the ball well for a half against the Jets, and the Jets run D has been uncharacteristically soggy, the Chargers won’t be marching down the field and plunking down 7 every possession.  When the Chargers have the ball, Mark Sanchez and that passing game are fucking dreadful.  It’s like, connect the fucking dots, junior.  So for as over-rated as the Chargers are, this Jets team is also way under-performing.  

By the way, if it came down to an actual alley fight between Norv and Rex, who would win?  You’d think Norv would have the mobility but he lacks the killer instinct.  Rex would be panting and sweating after a few minutes of Norv dancing around, but if he could just latch onto him and fall on him, it’d be all over.  Hey, that might be the exact metaphor for this game I was looking for!  Jets 23-17.

Seahawks (+3) at Browns.
 Crazy-assed Seahawks.  Crazy.  Motherfucking crazy.  Still cannot fathom how the Seahawks went East Coast and beat the Giants, until you consider the manic season the Giants are having.  Whenever I write about HC Pete Carroll and his frenetic antics, I want to use the word gooble, which I guess is a Portmanteau of gobble and goober.  He’s flapping along the sidelines like some gobbling goober, hence:  goobling.  

This is another matchup where the survivalist throwdown already done been thrown down.  The Browns top CB Joe Haden is out again, and the Seahawks best CB Marcus Trufant is done for the year.  That means Colt McCoy gets to attack CBs Brandon Browner, who literally looked like the worst CB in the history of football when the Steelers played them, and the inexperienced Walter Thurmond.  

Both teams are seeing their divisional footing slip away, both are equally bad and, I guess, desperate, so the home team should have some slight theoretical edge.  Tarvaris Jackson will be replaced by Charlie Whitehurst, played by Aragorn from the Lord of the Rings movies.  Seahawks can stop the run and Peyton Hillis is out, so they’ll force Colt McCoy to do more than dink and dunk.  I seriously hate to bet on the Goobler, but have a feeling Marshawn Lynch paces the offense and WR Doug Baldwin makes some big plays.  Where did this guy come from?  Seriously?  Seahawks 27, Browns 24.

Texans (+3) at Titans.
 The survivalist wrasslin’ match would have been awesome if Cortland Finnegan and Andre Johnson could go at it again, and seriously, who wasn’t rooting for Johnson to beat the shit out of Finnegan in that game?  Should be a good divisional slugfest anyway, with the Titans coming off the bye to defend a half game lead over the Texans, and the Texans coming off a loss in Baltimore after losing Andre Johnson for a few weeks and Mario Williams for the season.  Funny thing is, Texans hung in against Baltimore for the most part, and I can see them making the Titans offense one-dimensional now that Kenny Britt is out.  

Seriously, Brandon Lloyd just got picked up for a pack of smokes and some used dental floss, and the Titans did nothing to improve their receiving depth?  Good game between two evenly matched teams.  Suspect the Texans are hungrier right now, and pull the mild upset.  If Kubes’s boys do win, will he pull his shirt up and give Munchak an overly-zesty slap on the back?  And will Munchak race after him, forcing players and security to intercede?  Yeah, that’s happening.  Kubiak’s the pill Schwartz and both fucking Harbaugh brothers need to take.  Texans 20-16.

Broncos (-1.5) at Dolphins.
 If either of these teams were playing anyone else, they’d be huge dogs.  Seriously, gouge my fucking eyes out.  As noted before, the Dolphins are to the Chargers as Shemp was to Larry.  Matt Moore was pretty abysmal last week against the Jets.  But then you have that fucking Tim Tebow, who annoys the piss out of me.  All those fuckheads in Denver putting up the Tebow billboards, and all the gooblin’ folks waiting for the Rapture who think Tebow will come down some sunshine sliding board with a Post-It from Jesus, just please shut it, and shut it now.  

The Broncos wisely decided to trade away their best receiver, apparently to spite Tebow.  But the death match this week will be Sunglasses Sparano against Dolphin management, as Sparano is dispatched in some anonymous marsh and his cannoli unceremoniously lifted.  The loss to the Jets spent the last reserve before the inevitable collapse.  Broncos 31, Dolphins 13.
« Last Edit: Oct 21, 2011 at 15:27 by Finnegans Wake » Logged

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Finnegans Wake
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« Reply #1 on: Oct 21, 2011 at 15:26 »

Falcons (+3.5) at Lions.  In this remake of Rashomon, we find Jim Schwartz and Jim Harbaugh’s versions of the handshake brawl lead us to a philosophical discussion of perspectives, perceptions, and the nature of reality.

Harbaugh’s Version[/u]
I was excited, you know?  So damned excited.  Our guys had turned in probably the best defensive performance I had ever seen, we went on the road and defeated an unbeaten team, it was just great, just phenomenal.  I mean, can you blame me for being pumped up?  These guys finally believe in themselves, and when that happens, you win games.  So yeah, I pulled my shirt out and was gonna belly bump, and then I see Jim [Schwartz], and it’s not like a faucet, I can’t just turn off the emotion, so I head over and I was like Woooo, what a game!  And I figure, we’re done here, so I give him a nice pat on the back and I’m looking for more of my guys on the field, and then I’m kind of heading for the tunnel when I notice Schwartz is running sort of parallel to me, you know, looking all possessed or something, and he’s frothing man, I mean, seriously frothing.  And he’s shouting stuff like What the fuck did you say to me? and That was very disrespectful!  Guys are holding him back and the next thing I’m thinking we’re gonna have a riot on our hands, a brawl or something, but the guys, the players, they kept their cool.  I don’t know what put the bug up his ass, maybe he forgets what it’s like to lose or something.

Schwartz’s Version[/u]
So of course I was disappointed, but hand it to them [the 49ers], they played a very good game.  So I just want to offer my respects and get off the field and have my post-game.  The decent thing is, you meet the other coach on the field, you exchange a handshake and maybe a few niceties about Good game, Good job or whatever.  Even if you don’t see the other coach in the confusion, it’s, you just, the one thing you never do is be disrespectful, never.  You don’t rub it in a guy’s face.  So here comes [Jim] Harbaugh, and he’s pulling out his shirt and acting sort of, you know, juvenile, but here he comes and he’s going to be a man, right?  He runs right at me yelling That was a fuck yoooouuuuu game!, and he like pushes me out of the way and runs past me before I can even say anything.  And I’m standing there stunned.  So I turn around and I’m like What’d you just say?  And he knows he’s done wrong, because he just keeps laughing and running away from me, so that just pisses me off even more.  So I’m running kind of the same direction getting angrier and angrier and yelling Hey, Harbaugh, what the fuck did you just say to me?  Then there were dozens of guys crowding in, because I guess they figured I was going to tear his head off or something.  Then he’s all cocky in that press conference.  What a fucking asshole.

Brandon Pettigrew’s Version[/u]
Coach [Jim Schwartz] was like a few yards away, and everybody’s doing the handshakes, it’s like, you lost, you’re kinda down, you’re dog tired, the lights seem even brighter because you’re tired.  I don’t know, I hear [Jim] Harbaugh right behind me run past yelling Fucking WOOOOOO, some kinda game! and then I see Coach start running after him yelling What the fuck you say?, and man, you could see he was pissed, so I run up along with him and see one of the Niners linemen just trying to keep guys back, cuz it looked like some serious shit was about to blow up.  And Coach keeps yelling at Harbaugh and Harbaugh’s kinda hanging back, which I can’t blame him.

Vernon Davis’s Version[/u]
It just all happened so fast.  We were heading off [the field] and I see [Brandon] Pettigrew running over, and I’m thinking he wants to say something, and then I see everybody’s running over, Coach [Jim Harbaugh] is running, all smiles cuz we won and whatnot, and then here comes Jim Schwartz and he’s like all ready to fight Coach?  He’s yelling and saying fuck this and fuck that, and I don’t know, it didn’t seem all professional.  I’m just a young guy in the league, and I can tell you you don’t act that way.  And then [Commissioner Roger] Goodell don’t even fine him or nothing.  That’s all I’m gonna say, cuz you a player, you say too much, Goodell comes asking for a check.  You a coach, rules don’t apply.  But I didn’t say that, you know?  But anyway, Schwartz looked like he was serious.  Like that man looked like he wanted serious, serious shit.

Buddy Kurtzweiler’s Version[/u]
Buddy Kurtzweiler, 54 years old, retired from Detroit’s finest, I been working Lions games the past 10 years.  Not much of a perk, seeing those games, believe me.  So we always have a field detail, you know, the fans run down there all the time, mostly it’s harmless, but you never know.  One guy once, he’s down there and we pat him down, he has a knife.  How’s he get a knife in past security?  He says it’s a hunting knife, he always has it, but you wonder if some Fruit Loop is going to do something.  So I’m approximately 8 feet from the point where the coaches have their handshake, which is why you don’t see me in the video footage, but I’m looking their way so I see and hear what happens.  That [Jim] Harbaugh is wound up like a rubber band, and he’s bouncing all over the place like a kid, high-fiving, and every one of his guys gets a high-five and Fuck! Woooooooo!, and then he pulls his shirt out, and I don’t know what that’s about.  Like does that inspire his guys, to see his belly button?  And then he come bouncing over to [Jim] Schwartz and says Fuck! Woooooooo! That kinda game!  Wooooo!, and off he goes.  Next thing, Schwartz is going ballistic, and so I sort of follow the action because I can see it’s moving fast, these guys look like a fight is gonna break out, but then I think better of it.  I stay back a ways.  These guys are big.  Maybe if it was one or two of them, and I have backup, but twenty, thirty guys?  Weighing three bills?  No, you don’t insert yourself into that sort of situation.

In other Lions-related drama, Jahvid Best is likely to sit out a while due to concussion concerns, which compound the concerns about concussions suffered collegiately at Cal.  In an attempt to bolster depth, the Lions tried to trade RB Jerome Harrison to Philly for RB Ronnie Brown, but the deal fell apart when it was discovered that Harrison had a brain tumor.  Lions RBs are beat the fuck up.  
Falcons will test a leaky Lions run D, but Suh and Vanden Bosch will be coming after Matt Ryan.  Sense the Lions will be pissed about losing, and the Falcons don’t seem like the same team as last year, but this looks like a very close matchup to me.  I like the Lions to win but not to cover.  Lions 27, Falcons 24.

Chiefs (+6) at Raiders.
  Seriously, it’s no secret that the Raiders are the better team in this matchup, so it all comes down to yet another case of a team beaten up before gameday: with Jason Campbell out, the wrestling match was between Mike Brown and Dead Al Davis, and Mike Brown finally found someone he could out-wrestle.  I mean, there’s no shame in that, Mike.  One, and possibly two first rounders for ol’ Noodle Arms Palmer?  This deal makes more sense when you Google up a pick of Al Davis’s son Mark Davis.  Check that fucking bowl cut.  This guy walks around with his bowl cut, crying and goobling about how someone took his pretzels.  And now he’s running the ship for dear old Dead Al?  What a fucking numpty.  Look at the deal.  Look at Mark Davis.  The guy should be in a cupstacking competition amongst Wal-Mart greeters.

Unlike Max Starks, who apparently was working out and itching to get back to NFL action, Noodle Arms seriously thought he was done.  So no doubt he’s been sitting at home eating Ben & Jerry’s and Fiery Shitstorm from Hell Doritos and counting his flab folds.  But he’s going to start Sunday.  Oh, and lest we forget, ever since the Kemo hit, Noodle Arms has been a complete mangina.  And for the past couple of seasons, his arm strength has just been off.  You can blame Ocho and TO as being the problem, but the problem has been that you can’t loft the ball any great distance with Ramen arms.  Raiders 20, Chiefs 15.

Steelers (-4) at Cards.
 Well ain’t this just fucking great.  Fucking.  GREAT.  Gimme game, right?  And of course, it’ll be that trap game because the Cardinals suck balls and we’ll be all caught unawares and shit, and Whiz secretly jams knitting needles in a Tomlin voodoo doll every week, and blabbity blabbity blah.  What this really comes down to is the lines.  The DL doesn’t have its NT, or its backup NT, so we’re going to the backup-backup NT.  When the final roster cutdown was announced, I questioned why we needed three NTs, but obviously Mike Tomlin had a premonition.  Steve McClendon has been decent enough in spot relief, but that ain’t the same thing as 60 minutes of nasty.

The other thing is, we might as well just randomly select an O-lineman of the week and send him through a fucking chipper.  Do O-linemen make good mulch?  Jon Scott got injured, and his replacement Marcus Gilbert got injured, so we brought in Max Starks, but then Scott was able to come back and fill in for Willie Colon, who is out for the year.  Kemo’s been watching from the sidelines because his knee has been as swollen as one of the Chernobyl water-head babies’ heads.  So his replacement, Doug Legursky, who is also the backup center, gets his toe literally torn out of its socket and forcibly removed from his person, I think they had to sew it back on and they sewed it back on upside-down, and then finally got it right, but presto!  No LG, no backup C.  So Trai Essex now wheels into the LG slot, and who’s his backup?  Fuck if I know, probably Douche LaRue from Bumrodgered U.  Point is, just like Karen Carpenter, we’re dangerously thin, and for fuck’s sake, the last thing we need is for Mike Pouncey to get hurt.  Which he did.  He’s got a bigassed bag of ice on his elbow and he’s not practicing, but not to worry!  Essex can play two spots on the line simultaneously, right?  And besides, Pouncey promises he’ll play Sunday.  Now the last time Pouncey was hurt but promised he would play…  Can’t remember, sorry, cauterized the memory of that game from my senile old brain.  

So I still think we’re going to win this game, which is good, because the next two weeks look as fun as root canals without nitrous.  Cardinals will just send everything at the line and hope to sack Ben a billion times, and add to our already miserable turnover ratio, but I also suspect this is a game when Arians tries to utilize quick-hitter passes to the speedy young guys, Brown and Sanders.  No, seriously, I think he’ll actually do something to sort of counter the pass rush.  Not that it will work consistently, and we’ll have some sort of dumbassery with fumbles or picks, but we should be able to run the ball well, defend the run sort of disappointingly, see one lone TD to Wallace and his usual 100 yards on the day, plus those nifty under passes to Brown and Sanders.  It’ll still look as clumsy as finger-fucking Mary Jane Rottencrotch in the backseat of Daddy’s car, but it’ll be a win.  Steelers 24, Cardinals 17.

Rams (+13) at Cowboys.
 With Sam Bradford iffy (high ankle sprain), it looks like AJ Feeley will likely get the start.  Rams got Brandon Lloyd, who flourished under OC Josh McDaniels when he was the HC in Denver.  But it’s hard to imagine he’s going to fit in right away.  Meanwhile, the Cowboys know they had a shot at upsetting the Patriots, and have to be pissed off.  Their defense is playing well, and the offense is playing well if fitfully, and the only problem is that Romo keeps shitting the bed.  Tony Romo married Cindy Crawford’s sister Candice, and right about now Candice is tired of washing fecal matter out of the 800 thread count Egyptian cottons.  Jason Garrett is in a Catch-22 wherein if he trusts Romo, Romo fucks up and they lose, and if he doesn’t trust Romo, then they lose because they’re not aggressive enough.

But seriously, Cowboys are 2-3 and looking up at the 3-2 Redskins and the 4-2 Giants.  They know they need to win this to stay in the division race, and that the race is far from over.  They’re plenty motivated.  Thirteen-point spread motivated?  Fucking bet the house on that, including the bed sheets.  Cowboys 34, Rams 13.

Packers (-8) at Vikings.
 OK, you’re trying to escape a survivalist cabin with crazy Nazi girlfriend and Dear Old Dad and Fundy Mom and Benny and Bobo, and you go tearing out of there in the middle of the night but you see lights come on in the distance behind you and pretty soon the sound of trucks, probably something bigger than an F-350, built out of spare military parts most likely, come tearing through the woods down secret paths known only to people who were born to star in a remake of Deliverance, and soon spotter beams are cutting through the trees like fucking lasers, shit, those ARE lasers with the spotters because if Benny or Bobo can find you as you hurtle down the mountain road, they want a motherfucking kill shot.  Up ahead a series of controlled blasts brings down some trees to block the road, no doubt the old man pushing buttons back at the fucking compound, and you get out and decide to take your chances on foot, since your vehicle ain’t getting past the tree roadblock, and just over the noise of the trucks you hear the sound of barking getting louder, and you’re trying to remember if your crazy ex-girlfriend said her folks raised wild wolves, or if she said the dogs they raised were meaner than wild dogs…

That’s what Christian Ponder has to look forward to.  Adrian Peterson plays the role of the getaway vehicle, but he can only go so far before the roadblock.  Some other guys play other roles in the film, like Dear Old Dad and Fundy Mom.  I don’t care who plays what.  This game is going to be a blowout.  Packers 35, Vikings 13.


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« Reply #2 on: Oct 21, 2011 at 15:26 »

Colts (+14) at Saints.  The Saints are pig-bitin’ mad after losing to the Bucs last week.  Curtis Painter is pig-bitin’ mad that he ain’t got hisself a win yet, despite playing better than 63-year-old Kerry Collins, and the fact that the Colts staff brung in Collins at all’s got Painter twiced as pig-bitin’ mad, so mad he could bite a pig, run around, find another pig and bite that one too.  Sean Payton is pig-bitin’ mad that his leg got all tore up like a chicken that done flapped into a gator pool.  Joe Addai is pig-bitin’ mad on accounta he’s liable to miss this here game, and them Saints cain’t stop the run, so someone else gets the glory.  Peyton Manning is pig-bitin’ mad, because here’s the Super Bowl revenge match he been dreaming of, but he don’t get to pull the trigger in this here bear hunt.  Jim Tressel is pig-bitin’ mad, get caught with that whole Ohio State rumpus and now he gotta be a instant replay feller, and let’s face it, you’re gonna have some job like instant replay feller, you’re just there for the sammiches, and fuck if you don’t get the call when you got a mouthful of sammich.  Ain’t that some timin’.  Fuck.

I was onst so pig-bitin’ mad I couldn’t hardly stand it.  I was jest settin’ and whittlin’ a spell, when up come Barney Dougle, who’s about as dumbass as dumbass could be, and he got that whole slack jaw o’ his with that one ornery tooth that sticks out where that part of his mouth is turned sorta green, and them bugeyes of his looks like he’s a blind dog wanderin’ down a railroad track.  So he comes up to the porch, smellin’ like shit, lookin’ like he prolly shit hisself and pissed it too, and I’m about to ast him what’s devilin’ him so when up he comes and lets out the meanest, wettest, corn-flecked burp right in my face, and runs off gooblin’ like he just told the funniest joke ever said.  I’m runnin’ after him but he’s got a good lead, and I kin tell he’s headin’ for the bluffs down by the river, cuz don’t everbody know Barney Dougle likes jumpin in the water from way too high for any intelligent person to ever undertake, which sure enough he does, and so he swims to the other side whilst I’m lookin’ for a spot to cross over, and there’s a place where the old railroad bridge what got washed out oh a good fifty years ago stands halfway out in the river, and if I could jess jump a nice 20 foot and land on it I could run down that sonofabitchin Barney Dougle, and I’m all up like a hive a bees someone stuck a stick into, and runnin’ full bore and considerin’ most seriously whether I can make the jump to the bridge, considerin’ I have an angle advantage of jumping down from a raised elevation to give me an advantage in my trajectory, and outta nowhere there’s Old Man Peters just moseyin’ along, pickin’ huckleberries into a sack, and he sees what I’m about to try and says {i]You ain’t thinkin’ you’re makin’ that, are ya?[/i]  And that gives me pause, so I says I reckon not.  To which he says: Good thing, too.  You might be pig-bitin’ mad, and I can see that you are, but that jump’s a fair patch too far for you.  Point bein’, I later did exact my revenge on Barney Dougle in ways not relevant to this here parable, but this point spread’s too big a jump for my likin’.  I reckon the Saints can cover it, but can and will is two different species.  Saints 31, Colts 21.

Ravens (-7) at Jaguars.
 You just get the feeling that, although the Steelers couldn’t blow the Jaguars away, the Ravens will demolish them.  I kept praying that Blaine Gabbert – Blaine fucking GABBERT! – would not lead the comeback that ultimately led to a horrible home upset last week.  Because I hate losing games we should have won, and not only won, but won by a ginormous margin, but also because I just want to punch Blaine fucking Gabbert right in the face for having the unmitigated audacity to be named Blaine Gabbert.  They kept showing Blaine fucking Gabbert’s dad in the stands surrounded by Steelers fans, and I was secretly hoping that if I couldn’t punch Blaine Gabbert right in the face, maybe someone would work up the nerve to pop the old man.  After all, he was at least partly responsible for Blaine Gabbert being named Blaine Gabbert.  I mean, Mom Gabbert could have been high on whatever dope they gave her to pop baby Blaine fucking Gabbert out of her Gabbert-hole, but the old man still had to sign off on it.  So he deserves a punch to the face.  And sure, maybe Blaine is some fucking family tradition, and maybe half the MGSers are secretly named Blaine and fucking hate my guts every time they read the Jacksonville write-ups, but you know what?  You know fucking what?  Fuck all y’all.  Nobody should have the name Blaine, and especially not the name Blaine Gabbert.

First of all, here we are again with the Portmanteau words.  Blaine sounds like “Brain” and “Bland.”  John Clayton should be named Blaine.  John’s a good strong name, but Clayton looks like a jellyfish with Progeria, also known as Hutchinson–Gilford Progeria Syndrome.  The guy looks like a blinking brain on a popsicle stick, gasping for air and trying to feel his way forward with vestigial flippers that have been sucked back into his jellyfish brain head on a stick.  And Gabbert?  Sounds like a fucking word from the game Balderdash.  Is a gabbert:  a kind of fancy neckwear?  Is it: the trapdoor to a ship’s crow’s nest?  Is it:  a fatty deposit within a turkey’s wattle?  Is it:  a medieval pole-ax?  Or is it:  an old woman who is overly fond of gossip?  

So flash forward to the post-game handshake between dumbass Del Rio and that other fucking Harbaugh, and here comes Terrell Suggs with Blaine fucking Gabbert’s bloody head on a pike, chanting Gabbert, gabbert, we accept you, we accept you, one of us, and all the other Ravens pinheads hopping like Cretins as the Ravens demolish the Jaguars.  Ravens 33, Jaguars 9.

Out of my mind on Saturday night...
Halfsharkalligator halfman.
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« Reply #3 on: Oct 21, 2011 at 16:24 »

Gabbert hole.

A shabby Charlie Brown.
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Have a cup o' joe.

« Reply #4 on: Oct 22, 2011 at 18:35 »

Great stuff Finny.  The intro to the pix reminded me of Cousin Earl by The Dead Milkmen.  You gotsta watch out for those racialist survivalists, fo sho.

"I like David Bowie, he was always my favorite member of Tin Machine."
- Rodney Anonymous

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