The holidays are over, finally. And no, that's not an excuse for not writing more. You know what's great, though? I don't have to apologize - thanks to Yom Kippur, I'm clean as a whistle (which, by the way, makes no sense at all, if you think about it), so you can kiss my blogger ass.
No, that's the escape key. Wait, if you just mo- no, that' s my elbow. Turn ar- why is your foot there? It's just - if you'll stop - forget it. Just lean toward your monitor, and kiss the screen, and imagine my ass.
You're welcome.
Anyhoo, there was some crazy nonsense this past week. First, this happened:
And I have to say, it was GLORIOUS. We didn't get actual shots of the finished product because you know, holy Sabbath and all, but all the layers were there, and the stuffing was moist and delicious, and it was just...fantastic. I'm very happy to have done it, and now I'll probably never do it again. What a pain in the ass. Maybe for Child's wedding, if he happens to marry a vegetarian whose best friend growing up was a little duckling named Nibbles. That would be worth it, just to see if she laughs or cries.
Then, Neckbeard scares the birds living under his chin by throwing for over 300 yards against the Patriots, of all teams. What, exactly, is going on in Denver? Is it really just the change from Bernie Berrian, Bobby Wade and Desmond Clark to Brandon Marshall and Eddie Royal? Probably. It could also have something to do with that whole offensive line thing, but what do I know.
And finally, Cedric Benson - who, admit it, you all thought you tossed him some pocket change outside the supermarket last week - broke the Ravens' streak of not allowing a 100-yard rusher at 39 games.
CEDRIC! BENSON! I know, right? Left is right, up is down, and people who haven't done really anything are winning Nobel Peace Prizes.
Yeah, about that...they know he's not Morgan Freeman, right? Peace really had a crappy year for them to honor Obama. And I love the guy! Rush Limbaugh's head would have popped right off when he heard the news, if hadn't already sold it for Vicodin. Glenn Beck wept for days and days, gnashing his teeth and doing that whole bug-eyed thing. But Jebus, that was too much. Oh those Europeans, so silly, so smelly.
Showing posts with label all hail Neckbeard. Show all posts
Showing posts with label all hail Neckbeard. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Your 2009 Chicago Bears, led by No. 6, Crybaby Sulkypants!
I wanted to start this afresh and really state my opinion about this Bears trade, so if it goes completely the other way, I'll get credit for the reverse jinx. And I hope I am wrong.
But I'm not.
In case you don't care about football (and if you don't, you should really skip this post and wait another two weeks until I write about something else, because this will just bore you), The Great Neckbeard, Mr. Kyle Orton himself, was traded along with the Bears' near-term future for one Jay Cutler, a whiny depressive diabetic with a rocket attached to his right shoulder.
We've had some good times with the Neckbeard here. Evidently the Bears locker room greatly respected him, I'm assuming just for his facial hair prowess, and not for any sort of football-related skill, because that would have been a hallucination. Kyle Orton is many things - a quarterback from Indiana, a former second stringer to Rex the Sex Cannon Grossman, a man who had to grow a beard on his neck because he doesn't have a chin - but skilled at leading a professional offense is not one of them.
It's possible that some of that mediocrity is attributable to his wide receivers, the group of whom receive a big fat "meh." But as much as I love the Neckbeard, the quarterback takes the heat, because he's the quarterback.
So now enter Jay Cutler. Great skillz, no one denies this. But there's the small matter of his being a whiny bitch. Some of you are from Chicago, or have spent time in Chicago, or know what a Polish sausage is (no, not that one, pervs. The other one). And you all know that whiny bitches aren't exactly favorites in the City of Wind and Big Shoulders and Dear G-d You're Not Going to Leave Your 10th Kielbasa On Your Plate, Are You, Waster?
So how exactly is this trade going to help the Bears? I have no idea. In fact, it makes them less interesting. Consider: before this trade, the Bears quarterback situation had drama, and characters, and laughter, such laughter! Who would start next? Who would drastically underthrow Hester, or fumble the ball on a snap? Who would be buried in a ditch by Matt Forte? You never knew, and that was all the excitement you needed when the team was in no way actually competitive! And it took your mind off the sneaking suspicion that the defense was now skating by on reputation alone.
And now? Now you've got talent, obvious and considerable talent under center. You have a solid running game. So there are no more excuses, right? If the offense sputters, it will do so just like every other team - not because the team leader was out nailing the female population of Northbrook every night, or because he was compensating for the loss of Amazon rainforest by cultivating dense lush facial hair - because the quarterback simply blows. So fans will look to the defense, as they have for generations in Chicago. And all they will see is the ghost of Brian Uhrlacher, tinted green with the envious knowledge that now Hunter Hillenmeyer is officially a better linebacker.
So in anticipation of a new era in Chicago, please join me in welcoming the new starting quarterback, Crybaby Sulkypants. Every time he cries a box of tissues will be donated to the United Way, and a dress to the Pretty Ladies Who Are Only Men on the Outside Society.
But I'm not.
In case you don't care about football (and if you don't, you should really skip this post and wait another two weeks until I write about something else, because this will just bore you), The Great Neckbeard, Mr. Kyle Orton himself, was traded along with the Bears' near-term future for one Jay Cutler, a whiny depressive diabetic with a rocket attached to his right shoulder.
We've had some good times with the Neckbeard here. Evidently the Bears locker room greatly respected him, I'm assuming just for his facial hair prowess, and not for any sort of football-related skill, because that would have been a hallucination. Kyle Orton is many things - a quarterback from Indiana, a former second stringer to Rex the Sex Cannon Grossman, a man who had to grow a beard on his neck because he doesn't have a chin - but skilled at leading a professional offense is not one of them.
It's possible that some of that mediocrity is attributable to his wide receivers, the group of whom receive a big fat "meh." But as much as I love the Neckbeard, the quarterback takes the heat, because he's the quarterback.
So now enter Jay Cutler. Great skillz, no one denies this. But there's the small matter of his being a whiny bitch. Some of you are from Chicago, or have spent time in Chicago, or know what a Polish sausage is (no, not that one, pervs. The other one). And you all know that whiny bitches aren't exactly favorites in the City of Wind and Big Shoulders and Dear G-d You're Not Going to Leave Your 10th Kielbasa On Your Plate, Are You, Waster?
So how exactly is this trade going to help the Bears? I have no idea. In fact, it makes them less interesting. Consider: before this trade, the Bears quarterback situation had drama, and characters, and laughter, such laughter! Who would start next? Who would drastically underthrow Hester, or fumble the ball on a snap? Who would be buried in a ditch by Matt Forte? You never knew, and that was all the excitement you needed when the team was in no way actually competitive! And it took your mind off the sneaking suspicion that the defense was now skating by on reputation alone.
And now? Now you've got talent, obvious and considerable talent under center. You have a solid running game. So there are no more excuses, right? If the offense sputters, it will do so just like every other team - not because the team leader was out nailing the female population of Northbrook every night, or because he was compensating for the loss of Amazon rainforest by cultivating dense lush facial hair - because the quarterback simply blows. So fans will look to the defense, as they have for generations in Chicago. And all they will see is the ghost of Brian Uhrlacher, tinted green with the envious knowledge that now Hunter Hillenmeyer is officially a better linebacker.
So in anticipation of a new era in Chicago, please join me in welcoming the new starting quarterback, Crybaby Sulkypants. Every time he cries a box of tissues will be donated to the United Way, and a dress to the Pretty Ladies Who Are Only Men on the Outside Society.
Monday, October 6, 2008
What is sexier, Kyle Orton's neckbeard, or Ann Coulter's long shapely legs?
Yesterday history occurred: Neckbeard threw for more than 2 touchdowns in an opponent's stadium. This is what is defined as a pass-happy attack in Chicago. As long as we keep winning 34-7, though, I'm pretty ok with the outcome.
Everyone got in on this one, as they should have. Playing the Lions is really just about stat-padding until they wash the Millen stink off their franchise. Alex Brown was a monster, Forte ran and caught and did not fumble - all three indicators that he is not Cedric Benson - and Kali caught a TD pass, which is a nice change from having to weave through all 11 defenders himself.
That's...that's all I've got on the game. What? When the Bears play well, there's not much to say. They didn't squeak it out despite 4 turnovers like they did against the Eagles, and even though the Lions are in the NFC North, they're not really a rival. To be a rival they'd have to play football, and not Whiny Bitch Brigade, which I'm told is what the Cubs are playing these days (my love for Chicago extends into Soldier's Field and a little bit into Skokie, and that's about it).
Meanwhile I'm halfway through my conservative reading, and what I've learned most is how conservatives think of liberals. Jonah Goldberg is very much caught up in what liberals and conservatives use to name their policies and selves. His argument, if I understand it correctly, is to say that all of the things that liberals today hate, and refer to as fascist? They started out as left-wing ideas. That leads to the fear of conservatives, which is that all those awful policies will come back under the guise of contemporary liberal politics. "See?" Goldberg says, "All those things you hate about us? Well, well, you did them first, so there! Thbbbbpttttt."
The problem is the difference in the way liberals and conservatives look at the past. Liberals, or progressives, are constantly looking for change, and new ideas, for good or bad. They tend to give less weight to the past, and historical evidence. Conservatives by definition are on the other side of the coin. They like how things were, and aren't all that big on change - hence, "conservative." And that's what makes them racist, or chauvinist, or what-have-you - because racism and sexism and prejudice were all okay in the past. And if you want things to be the way they were, and not change, then you have to answer for all those things you think are so great.
I really thought I wouldn't make it through Ann Coulter's book. I admit I never brought it out of my house. I was embarassed to carry it, even though it's a library book so she didn't get any royalties or anything. I didn't know that "If Democrats..." was basically a greatest-hits collection of her pull-quotes on everything from Bill Clinton to abortion. So in structure it was not unlike a book by George Carlin, or Jerry Seinfeld.
Brother A and I talked about who would be Bizarro Ann Coulter, the left-wing equivalent of her fire-breathing anti-choice madness. All we could come up with was David Cross, the stand-up comedian.
But here's the thing: Ann Coulter is not funny. She thinks she is, but she isn't. So the outrageous things she says are just insane and inflammatory, as opposed to the crazy things David Cross says that are jokes, and thus laughed at.
There are a couple reasons I came up with for why Ann Coulter isn't funny:
1) She's hot. Not drop-dead model style, but I have no problem saying that I would have sex with Ann Coulter. She's got a great body. She can yell whatever crazy crap comes into her head while she's naked, and it wouldn't matter much, because she probably looks pretty good naked. And therefore, she's never had to be funny until she wanted to be for her career, or to get on TV. And now that she's trying, it doesn't really work. Less talking, more nudity, Ann.
2) She's religious, and completely unconflicted by it. You can be a religious comic. Wasn't Bill Hicks a reverend? Doesn't Stephen Colbert go to Mass every week? But those guys are conflicted about their religion. And if they're not, their personae have no problem mocking religion in general, and sacrificing some seriousness for laughs. Coulter, though, has no sense of humor about religion, or Jesus, or the Catholic church. That's why it's not funny when she says that Bill Clinton should die - according to the Bible, she's completely right to say that. That makes her religious; it also makes her not funny.
3) She seems sincere. If she doesn't actually believe what she says, she'd almost be better off being more transparent about it. But I don't believe she's insincere, because then her entire career would be a performance piece, a work of art to rival any of the great masterpieces of human history. Hers would be the Taj Mahal of performance art. And she's just not that good. And therefore, again: not funny.
4) She goes back to the same well too often. Ann Coulter has three jokes: Bill Clinton and blowjobs, Ted Kennedy and drunk driving/murder, and liberals are godless traitors. Boring. Mix it up, Ann! If you're too predictable, then you won't be funny. Unless your audience is staring at your boobs. But fortunately for us liberals, we've been rigorously trained by our coconspirators the feminists not to stare at womyn's chests while we're talking to them, so your powers have no effect on us.
And maybe that's why we don't think you're funny.
Everyone got in on this one, as they should have. Playing the Lions is really just about stat-padding until they wash the Millen stink off their franchise. Alex Brown was a monster, Forte ran and caught and did not fumble - all three indicators that he is not Cedric Benson - and Kali caught a TD pass, which is a nice change from having to weave through all 11 defenders himself.
That's...that's all I've got on the game. What? When the Bears play well, there's not much to say. They didn't squeak it out despite 4 turnovers like they did against the Eagles, and even though the Lions are in the NFC North, they're not really a rival. To be a rival they'd have to play football, and not Whiny Bitch Brigade, which I'm told is what the Cubs are playing these days (my love for Chicago extends into Soldier's Field and a little bit into Skokie, and that's about it).
Meanwhile I'm halfway through my conservative reading, and what I've learned most is how conservatives think of liberals. Jonah Goldberg is very much caught up in what liberals and conservatives use to name their policies and selves. His argument, if I understand it correctly, is to say that all of the things that liberals today hate, and refer to as fascist? They started out as left-wing ideas. That leads to the fear of conservatives, which is that all those awful policies will come back under the guise of contemporary liberal politics. "See?" Goldberg says, "All those things you hate about us? Well, well, you did them first, so there! Thbbbbpttttt."
The problem is the difference in the way liberals and conservatives look at the past. Liberals, or progressives, are constantly looking for change, and new ideas, for good or bad. They tend to give less weight to the past, and historical evidence. Conservatives by definition are on the other side of the coin. They like how things were, and aren't all that big on change - hence, "conservative." And that's what makes them racist, or chauvinist, or what-have-you - because racism and sexism and prejudice were all okay in the past. And if you want things to be the way they were, and not change, then you have to answer for all those things you think are so great.
I really thought I wouldn't make it through Ann Coulter's book. I admit I never brought it out of my house. I was embarassed to carry it, even though it's a library book so she didn't get any royalties or anything. I didn't know that "If Democrats..." was basically a greatest-hits collection of her pull-quotes on everything from Bill Clinton to abortion. So in structure it was not unlike a book by George Carlin, or Jerry Seinfeld.
Brother A and I talked about who would be Bizarro Ann Coulter, the left-wing equivalent of her fire-breathing anti-choice madness. All we could come up with was David Cross, the stand-up comedian.
But here's the thing: Ann Coulter is not funny. She thinks she is, but she isn't. So the outrageous things she says are just insane and inflammatory, as opposed to the crazy things David Cross says that are jokes, and thus laughed at.
There are a couple reasons I came up with for why Ann Coulter isn't funny:
1) She's hot. Not drop-dead model style, but I have no problem saying that I would have sex with Ann Coulter. She's got a great body. She can yell whatever crazy crap comes into her head while she's naked, and it wouldn't matter much, because she probably looks pretty good naked. And therefore, she's never had to be funny until she wanted to be for her career, or to get on TV. And now that she's trying, it doesn't really work. Less talking, more nudity, Ann.
2) She's religious, and completely unconflicted by it. You can be a religious comic. Wasn't Bill Hicks a reverend? Doesn't Stephen Colbert go to Mass every week? But those guys are conflicted about their religion. And if they're not, their personae have no problem mocking religion in general, and sacrificing some seriousness for laughs. Coulter, though, has no sense of humor about religion, or Jesus, or the Catholic church. That's why it's not funny when she says that Bill Clinton should die - according to the Bible, she's completely right to say that. That makes her religious; it also makes her not funny.
3) She seems sincere. If she doesn't actually believe what she says, she'd almost be better off being more transparent about it. But I don't believe she's insincere, because then her entire career would be a performance piece, a work of art to rival any of the great masterpieces of human history. Hers would be the Taj Mahal of performance art. And she's just not that good. And therefore, again: not funny.
4) She goes back to the same well too often. Ann Coulter has three jokes: Bill Clinton and blowjobs, Ted Kennedy and drunk driving/murder, and liberals are godless traitors. Boring. Mix it up, Ann! If you're too predictable, then you won't be funny. Unless your audience is staring at your boobs. But fortunately for us liberals, we've been rigorously trained by our coconspirators the feminists not to stare at womyn's chests while we're talking to them, so your powers have no effect on us.
And maybe that's why we don't think you're funny.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Rushing is Matt's Forte (see that? That's a pun. Laugh at it.)
Before I get to the Bears' win in week 1 of this new football season of the National Football League (does anyone actually call it the NFL anymore? Is this because the league is now old enough to be addressed with dignity and respect, or because people were forgetting what NFL stands for?), a quick word about two different quarterbacks.
Goodbye, Tom Brady. Kissing Suzy Kolber says it best - as usual - but it's important for me to emphasize the glory of Tom Brady's reverse-engineered knee. Not only do we not have to hear about the Patriots this year - except in the context of "What if?" - but we also don't have to hear about "18-1," which is almost as annoying as "1918." Oh, to be in Boston to hear the wailing, and the gnashing of teeth. Even Steeler fans are less overbearing. Although that could be because Pittsburgh is actually a football town, and Boston always has been and always will be the home of the Red Sawx...and some other teams. It could also be that the Pittsburgh accent is less grating. Either way, seeya next year, Tom.*
* - Please discount entire paragraph if Matt Cassel turns out to be the Second Coming. If that happens, well, that's 2 Apocalypse horsies, only 2 to go.
The above note is dedicated to the Kinney and the Sweater-Wearing Hippie. Enjoy your football season now, suckas!
Staying in the AFC East, we turn to Old Man Fav-ruh. I am still adamant in my glee that he is gone from the Bears' division.
HOWEVER. Perhaps going to a less prominent media market would have been a sweet relief (I hear Tampa Bay has a great QB retirement plan). But no, he had to be traded to New York, where any and all exploits - great and thoroughly average alike - will be picked apart and glorified ad infinitum ad nauseum, until Peter King gets lockjaw.
Essentially someone needs to kneecap Brett Fav-ruh. Or tell him about the super-cheap Vicodin in Toronto.
There was something else I wanted to talk about...something having to do with a neckbeard slowly choking the life from one Peyton Manning...
Oh yeah, Matt Forte ate some tiny horses for dinner last night.
I have to admit, it's weird writing about a complete and thorough domination by the Bears that really didn't have a lot to do with one Devin "Kali" Hester. But I'll take it.
Some fun facts:
This was the first time the Colts have lost before November since 2005. Losing in September and October is known as "being the Detroit Lions."
Kyle "Neckbeard" Orton threw no touchdowns, but no picks, either. The family of nuthatches living just below his chin celebrated by not crapping down his jersey.
Matt Forte needs a nickname. It's early, but I'm thinking "Walter Payton Mark II." It'll have to be shorter somehow, but we'll work on it.
After the game Brian Uhrlacher was interviewed by Random Female Sideline Reporter, and she asked him whether he thought before the game that the Bears could pull of an upset. Before he answered Uhrlacher took a long look at the lady, like she'd just farted on his plate of ribs. After he finished glaring Uhlracher just said "who said it was an upset? We came here to win." Then he grabbed her head and ripped it right off her body. Former girlfriend Paris Hilton says that Bri-bri is so cute when he's angry!
Cedric Benson spent last night offering sexual favors to elderly men in exchange for table scraps. At least he ate well.
The guys in the booth referred to Bears' TE Desmond Clark and WRs Rashied Davis and Marty Booker as "weapons." I giggled, until I realized he was serious.
On his way out of town Lovie Smith left a flaming bag of dog crap on Tony Dungy's front porch. The bag was made of a program from the 2007 Super Bowl, and Rex Grossman's right testicle. Never fear ladies, the Sex Cannon has 8 more.
Goodbye, Tom Brady. Kissing Suzy Kolber says it best - as usual - but it's important for me to emphasize the glory of Tom Brady's reverse-engineered knee. Not only do we not have to hear about the Patriots this year - except in the context of "What if?" - but we also don't have to hear about "18-1," which is almost as annoying as "1918." Oh, to be in Boston to hear the wailing, and the gnashing of teeth. Even Steeler fans are less overbearing. Although that could be because Pittsburgh is actually a football town, and Boston always has been and always will be the home of the Red Sawx...and some other teams. It could also be that the Pittsburgh accent is less grating. Either way, seeya next year, Tom.*
* - Please discount entire paragraph if Matt Cassel turns out to be the Second Coming. If that happens, well, that's 2 Apocalypse horsies, only 2 to go.
The above note is dedicated to the Kinney and the Sweater-Wearing Hippie. Enjoy your football season now, suckas!
Staying in the AFC East, we turn to Old Man Fav-ruh. I am still adamant in my glee that he is gone from the Bears' division.
HOWEVER. Perhaps going to a less prominent media market would have been a sweet relief (I hear Tampa Bay has a great QB retirement plan). But no, he had to be traded to New York, where any and all exploits - great and thoroughly average alike - will be picked apart and glorified ad infinitum ad nauseum, until Peter King gets lockjaw.
Essentially someone needs to kneecap Brett Fav-ruh. Or tell him about the super-cheap Vicodin in Toronto.
There was something else I wanted to talk about...something having to do with a neckbeard slowly choking the life from one Peyton Manning...
Oh yeah, Matt Forte ate some tiny horses for dinner last night.
I have to admit, it's weird writing about a complete and thorough domination by the Bears that really didn't have a lot to do with one Devin "Kali" Hester. But I'll take it.
Some fun facts:
This was the first time the Colts have lost before November since 2005. Losing in September and October is known as "being the Detroit Lions."
Kyle "Neckbeard" Orton threw no touchdowns, but no picks, either. The family of nuthatches living just below his chin celebrated by not crapping down his jersey.
Matt Forte needs a nickname. It's early, but I'm thinking "Walter Payton Mark II." It'll have to be shorter somehow, but we'll work on it.
After the game Brian Uhrlacher was interviewed by Random Female Sideline Reporter, and she asked him whether he thought before the game that the Bears could pull of an upset. Before he answered Uhrlacher took a long look at the lady, like she'd just farted on his plate of ribs. After he finished glaring Uhlracher just said "who said it was an upset? We came here to win." Then he grabbed her head and ripped it right off her body. Former girlfriend Paris Hilton says that Bri-bri is so cute when he's angry!
Cedric Benson spent last night offering sexual favors to elderly men in exchange for table scraps. At least he ate well.
The guys in the booth referred to Bears' TE Desmond Clark and WRs Rashied Davis and Marty Booker as "weapons." I giggled, until I realized he was serious.
On his way out of town Lovie Smith left a flaming bag of dog crap on Tony Dungy's front porch. The bag was made of a program from the 2007 Super Bowl, and Rex Grossman's right testicle. Never fear ladies, the Sex Cannon has 8 more.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Here's your gold watch, Brett
I've gotten so many e-mails these past couple of days. "When are you going to spew some good old-fashioned hate on Fav-ruh?" "Let's hear it for retirement!" "I am Mbenga from Nigeria, and I need your help to obtain fo nds from bank in Switzerland, in amount of 10$ million, please to respond 011-84-95-19005-426." And there were some other promotional e-mails for medications that did not, in fact, work. But there's nothing on the bottle to indicate what I should do if it starts glowing green. Call a doctor, I guess, right?
If you haven't heard already, Old Man Favre retired. 17 years of misery are finally over, and he can go back to hunting, barbecuing squirrel a la tire track, and having inappropriate relations with an immediate relative. Meanwhile the Packers and Aaron Rogers are floundering. Sure, he's a 4-year veteran, but when all you've learned to do is hold a clipboard, to have to jump to getting sacked on a regular basis is a bit, well, jarring.
And how do the Bears respond? Other than throwing a nice retirement party for their arch nemesis, management resigns the Neckbeard and the Sex Cannon, and trades Greasy. The other major move they've done is to ignore the best running back on the market, Michael Turner, because the last thing you want to have on the field in December is a solid, thick runner who can hammer out yards. Better to just throw some interceptions and hope the other team has to kick it to Kali Hester.
But this is about Brett. 17 years we've been together, sharing ridiculous shovel passes and annual questions about drugs and retirement. So forgive me if I'm not entirely convinced. Vicodin is expensive, and once Brett learns he'll have to stock his own medicine cabinet, he may come running back to the green and yellow.
Plus I don't think ESPN and Sports Illustrated are ready for him to go. Maybe one more year, if only for a whirlwind Kareem-style retirement, to receive gifts from all the cities he's demoralized over the years. Is this shocking, that we of all blogs are advocating this? Maybe it's all this peyote I've been smoking, but I want the Bears to have one more chance. They can abandon all pretense of defending, and just blitz until they break his hip. That, to me, is a worthy send-off.
So goodbye, Brett. Good luck with the rest of your life. I'm just glad I never have to see you again.
If you haven't heard already, Old Man Favre retired. 17 years of misery are finally over, and he can go back to hunting, barbecuing squirrel a la tire track, and having inappropriate relations with an immediate relative. Meanwhile the Packers and Aaron Rogers are floundering. Sure, he's a 4-year veteran, but when all you've learned to do is hold a clipboard, to have to jump to getting sacked on a regular basis is a bit, well, jarring.
And how do the Bears respond? Other than throwing a nice retirement party for their arch nemesis, management resigns the Neckbeard and the Sex Cannon, and trades Greasy. The other major move they've done is to ignore the best running back on the market, Michael Turner, because the last thing you want to have on the field in December is a solid, thick runner who can hammer out yards. Better to just throw some interceptions and hope the other team has to kick it to Kali Hester.
But this is about Brett. 17 years we've been together, sharing ridiculous shovel passes and annual questions about drugs and retirement. So forgive me if I'm not entirely convinced. Vicodin is expensive, and once Brett learns he'll have to stock his own medicine cabinet, he may come running back to the green and yellow.
Plus I don't think ESPN and Sports Illustrated are ready for him to go. Maybe one more year, if only for a whirlwind Kareem-style retirement, to receive gifts from all the cities he's demoralized over the years. Is this shocking, that we of all blogs are advocating this? Maybe it's all this peyote I've been smoking, but I want the Bears to have one more chance. They can abandon all pretense of defending, and just blitz until they break his hip. That, to me, is a worthy send-off.
So goodbye, Brett. Good luck with the rest of your life. I'm just glad I never have to see you again.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Glory be to Kali
Someday someone will learn. And from then on Devin Hester will be no more than a talisman, an ancient cursed relic standing, waiting behind the wedge of blockers for a kick that will never come. Until then he's going to keep running them right up your ass.
Although if he's going to keep catching bombs between over and under'ed double coverage, defensive coordinators are going to have to start leaving sacrifices of virgins and bulls of magnificent carriage for the omnipotent Kali. Oh, and his celestial sidekick, the Great Neckbeard.
The defense was not so transcendent, but Alex Brown seemed to slither and storm through the Saints' line like some sort of snakey hurricane. Maybe, in all this talk of Mark Anderson and Tommie Harris, he finally said to himself, in the darkness before his nightly slumber, "Why not me? Wherein shall my name be proclaimed to the very heights?" And finally the gods responded: "Make some fucking plays, Alex!" And so he did.
Today the offseason begins. There are playoffs this year, so I'm told, but they'll be dominated by some team from, I think, Vermont. Pot-smoking hippies and bloody communists, for all I know. Meanwhile I'll be building a new altar to Kali, wondering what we'll have to give up for McNabb, and hoping against hope that we don't let Lance Briggs go without some sort of compensation in the form of draft picks or some undiscovered magnificent linebacker. Just like Briggs. Or we could, you know, try and keep him. Just a thought.
Although if he's going to keep catching bombs between over and under'ed double coverage, defensive coordinators are going to have to start leaving sacrifices of virgins and bulls of magnificent carriage for the omnipotent Kali. Oh, and his celestial sidekick, the Great Neckbeard.
The defense was not so transcendent, but Alex Brown seemed to slither and storm through the Saints' line like some sort of snakey hurricane. Maybe, in all this talk of Mark Anderson and Tommie Harris, he finally said to himself, in the darkness before his nightly slumber, "Why not me? Wherein shall my name be proclaimed to the very heights?" And finally the gods responded: "Make some fucking plays, Alex!" And so he did.
Today the offseason begins. There are playoffs this year, so I'm told, but they'll be dominated by some team from, I think, Vermont. Pot-smoking hippies and bloody communists, for all I know. Meanwhile I'll be building a new altar to Kali, wondering what we'll have to give up for McNabb, and hoping against hope that we don't let Lance Briggs go without some sort of compensation in the form of draft picks or some undiscovered magnificent linebacker. Just like Briggs. Or we could, you know, try and keep him. Just a thought.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
You thought I forgot, didn't you?
While many of you were celebrating Jesus' birthday (poor kid, he always gets screwed because it's on Christmas), I was basking in the reflected, protracted glory that was the Bears' victory over Old Man Vicodin. Wait, did I say victory? I meant SWEEP, suckas. Sure, we missed the playoffs, becoming yet another example of the Super Bowl Hangover. But the season was not lost, because we put the smackdown on those green-and-yellow freaks. Say what you want about tradition, but those uniforms are hideous. Much like Green Bay women (oh no, he didn't. Yes, yes he did!).
Urlacher is now back on my happy list, with that phenomenal pick-six, his first since '01. And of course there were the plethora of flubbed and blocked punts, directly attributable to the Packers' terror at our patchwork front four. I think Robbie from Wrigley Red Hots started at defensive end on Sunday.
And there was the Neckbeard, completing passes all over the field. Over 50%! It's a Christmas miracle! Adrian Peterson the Lesser showed he's not Lesser by much, gashing the Packer defense for 100+ yards. A blowout, and Kali doesn't even score? Who knew it was possible?
I've been adamant about my desire for Fav-ruh to retire finally, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe he should come back, just so we can knock the walker out of his shaking hands.
Urlacher is now back on my happy list, with that phenomenal pick-six, his first since '01. And of course there were the plethora of flubbed and blocked punts, directly attributable to the Packers' terror at our patchwork front four. I think Robbie from Wrigley Red Hots started at defensive end on Sunday.
And there was the Neckbeard, completing passes all over the field. Over 50%! It's a Christmas miracle! Adrian Peterson the Lesser showed he's not Lesser by much, gashing the Packer defense for 100+ yards. A blowout, and Kali doesn't even score? Who knew it was possible?
I've been adamant about my desire for Fav-ruh to retire finally, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe he should come back, just so we can knock the walker out of his shaking hands.
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