Don't talk to me. Don't even look at me.

Brian Urlacher: Hey, what's goin on?

Me:

Alex Brown: Did you, um, did you watch last night?

Me:

Tommie Harris: You guys, I don't think he's talking to us.

Me: Who's Todd Collins?

Urlacher: I don't know that name. I don't know who you're talking about.

Harris: Yeah, that sound like some accountant, or something

Me: Don't lie to me, you pricks. You remember getting plowed like a choirboy last night? Does that ring a bell? Some "accountant" bending you over his knee in front of 80,000 fans, and opening you up wider than Wacker Drive? Is it starting to come back to you?

Brown: It wasn't totally our fault. I mean, Griese had 4th and goal with 7 minutes left, down 7. The field goal wasn't our call.

Me: At this point, the offense spends entire games with its collective head between its ankles. But you guys...I just thought you were better than that. 24 points to the Redskins? To TODD COLLINS? I swore he was taking my order at Dunkin Donuts on Tuesday, and Thursday night he's tearing out your rectum in ways that - I mean, thank god it was on the NFL Network where no one could see it, because children should be prevented from seeing that game. Now get out. Go away, I have to decide whether I still want you in my life this year. I am seriously considering packing it in, and switching over to basketball, because you have hurt me. I feel betrayed, and let down, and I just...Brian, I never expected this from you, of all people. Go, just...just go.

Mr. Rivera? I know you're there, pick up the phone, dammit

Earlier in the season I gave my blessing to Bruce Babich, the Bears' new defensive coordinator. I said he was ok in my book, that I loved the taste of extra blitzing on my chocolate sundae. I said Ron Rivera was not vital to the cause, and all but spit on his 1985 Super Bowl Ring.

I take it all back. Bruce, you useless pederast, you can go play with Cedric Benson at his make-believe tea party in the back of the locker room where we keep the brooms, old jock straps, and the dead McCaskeys. The both of you can spend your time discovering each other's nubile bodies while the rest of the team goes out and plays football. And Mr. Rivera? I'm sorry for the offense. Please come back and teach our defensive line how to tackle a backup running back. I could look up this guy Morris' first name, but unless it's Mercury, or Boris (and then only for the humorous rhyming), I'm not going to care, or recognize him. And what is a DJ Hackett? I heard his street-ready mix tape was going to drop in December, with Lil Wayne and Lupe Fiasco guesting, but I didn't know he was a No. 1 receiver for the Seahawks.

I will grit my teeth and say one nice thing about Benson, whose mother probably weeps at all the crap that's written about her dear sweet boy. On Sunday he had his longest rushing gain of the season.

But let's come back to reality, where that amazing run was all of 20 yards. If a running back looks at his season, a season where his team trades away their No. 1 back (who again rushed for over 100 yards, by the way) to make way for him, and he sees that he hasn't had a 20-yard run until Week 11, then maybe this is the time of year he starts cutting himself, if only to feel the pain he's inflicted upon fans and fantasy football nerds. Anytime you need a razor blade and a Smiths record, Cedric, give me a call. Hell, I'll put "Last Night I Dreamt Someone Loved Me" on repeat for you.

Rex, what did I ever do to you?

Oh. Rex. You’ve satisfied many a young coed, and you’re so potent Olin Kreutz had an uncomfortable discussion with his wife as to how he was able to bear your child. But you’re no HipHopopotamus. You’re not even a rapping jellyfish. You’re just a useless waste of space who makes me long for Kyle Orton’s neckbeard. At least he doesn’t have the arm strength to throw the ball to the other team.

YOU ARE NOT BRETT FARVRERVERUH. Bitch. And now you're being replaced. So suck it. Although here's your response: I’m Not Going Down Without A F--k!

There is a special place in hell for you, Bernard Berrian. It will be you, Todd Pinkston, Plaxico Burress and Reche Caldwell. You’ll all be standing over a pool of lava, and Satan will be twenty yards away with a Juggs machine. All he’ll do is fire little cherubic babies right at your hands, and you’ll have to watch as those little chubbers drop, one after the other, into the boiling magma below because you can’t catch, you pathetic pieces of warthog intestine.

Does anyone remember Dante Hall? Keep that in mind the next time you think you’re the nuts, Devin Hester.

I understand, defense. You’re on the field all the time, because Rex Grossman hates his own receivers. And the injuries are once again piling up: Brown is out again for the year, Briggs went down, Vasher hurt himself, Ogunleye is banged up, and insert further synonyms for getting the piss knocked out of you. But you know what? You are the Chicago Bears defense. Have some self-respect, you pikers. Another tight end goes off on you? Dick Butkus and Bronko Nagurski are going to come to your homes and eat your children, because you don’t deserve to reproduce. And you’ll only have yourselves to blame. Sure, Grossman throws the ball like he spreads his seed – that is, indiscriminately. But he has no high-level brain function. His upper lobes were severed in a freak orgy-related accident (a lesson for all you kids – oral sex is not for amateurs). Urlacher, we all know about Paris Hilton and her powers of mental retardation. And Archuleta, it’s not your fault you have the physique of a thirteen-year-old bulimic girl. Or maybe it is your fault. I don’t care. The point is, tackling is important.

Oh, and Robbie Gould? You kick, you don’t pass. Remind Lovie.

I feel like I'm talking to the same people every week. Muuuuuuhsin! Make some plays, dammit! I guess I'll give some bang to Mark Anderson for his monster sack. But none of the rest of you get any cookies.

Bears, 1-1

Bears win, but it only counts for half in the standings because they beat the Chiefs.

And given the happy-day-for-all carousel that is NFL coaching, and affirmative action-style hiring meant to assuage the guilt of excluding black coaches for years, what exactly does Herm Edwards have to do to never get hired again? Eat a live puppy, after raising it to fight other little puppies? Use his own grandmother as a bathmat? Molest a child on the 50-yard-line? We may never know.

Urlacher sacked a QB for the first time since 2005, and Lance Briggs congratulated Brian on finally becoming half the defender Briggs is.

Cedric Benson rushed for over 100 yards for the first time, although stats will reflect his output as 75 yards – again, the Chiefs factor.

Rex threw 2 more interceptions, but they count for 8, because he shouldn’t have thrown the ball at all.

In other news, Devin Hester shall be the father of my children. Another PR for touchdown, and a second that set up a field goal. I say fire the Sex Cannon and let Benson and Hester run the option all day long.

Thomas Jones ran for just 67 yards for the Jets. Not because he’s worse than Benson, but poor Tommy forgot that the AFC is the good conference, where they play solid run defense. Who knew?

This year I'm breaking down the Bears games, because I was too lazy to blog last year, when it really would have been fun.

First, I'd like to thank Bruce Babich for showing some stones and letting the D rush Rivers. If the other half of the team had taken time out of their busy schedule of sucking and fondling infants, perhaps San Diego wouldn't have walked off with an ugly, but foreordained win. The only quibble I have is the LT-to-Gates TD. That caught you off guard? Really? The pass from the running back who wasn't running very well, to the tight end who slept with Urlacher's mom and never called her again? That's a shocker.

I'd also like to thank Mike Brown's body, which, aside for the Sex Cannon's useless brick of a head, is really the only reason to doubt a return to the Super Bowl. What was that, Eagles fans? Your team can come back and play the "no respect" card when your boys remember to call a fair catch once in a while. Until then, we're the goddamn defending NFC champs, so shut it.

Bernard Berrian - run the route you're assigned, you short-bus-riding freakshow.

Sexy Rexy - I will never doubt your ability to get all of the ladies in the area pregnant. But I will doubt your ability to transfer the ball through the air to players on your own team. Knute Rockne called it the forward pass. Perhaps some of those newfangled doodads in the direction of the end zone, toward where one of your receivers is running? Just a thought.

Adam Archuleta - welcome. You're not worthy, but it's up to you to make up for Mike Brown's absence. That means guarding players like Antonio Gates, who piles up a bunch of undersized white safeties on his plate, uses them to sop up some syrup, and eats them for breakfast.

Tommie Harris - if you'd like, I'll bear your children. Just don't think you'll get to shoot through the neutral zone, getting to the ball before the quarterback, before any more snaps. Fumbles are great, penalties worthy of a strong punch to the kidney. It's my kangaroo court, and I'll hand out judgments as I see fit.