Jewy Mannish

I don't know if you guys knew this, but I am a manly man. Burly. I have hair on my chin-y chin chin. I have so much hair I need to use Nads. Not, you know, on my nads, but still, if you had to remove unwanted hair, you'd have to use a product called Nads, wouldn't you?

Anyhoo, the Bears beating up on an old man on Monday night emboldened me and my manness. And my manness had taken a hit recently, due to staying home, mommy-style, with the Child all week, and not being able to fight in the War on Christmas this year because of some lingering laziness.

The Fancy Family was presented with a crisis this week - our gloriously large TV stopped working. And now we were supposed to "talk," and "be a family," and "not ignore each other's slowly intensifying rage." So quickly I responded, and determined what the problem was - the lamp needed to be replaced. And instead of succumbing to the whim and schedule of some electrician, I decided to fix it...myself.

I could build up more suspense, but I don't want to screw over my readers who are afflicted with heart conditions. It was super easy, and took about 5 minutes.

But my manness has returned! Yay!

But it still isn't working, which means that I need a new color wheel, which, from the internets, seems to be a much more complicated process. But with my manness, I shall overcome. Or cry trying.

In the meantime, it's back to "pretending to listen to Wife's crazy patient stories." Wait, that shouldn't be in quotes.

Bits of tids (because it's a word, right, and I switched it around. BLAM! - Funny)

I know, 2 posts in one week, I'm totally spoiling you. But when I saw this, and then I read this, how could I not write something?

Some of you might think that the return of the pill-popping good ol' boy is a bad thing for the Bears. Some of you Krazy Israeli are actually concerned. But not me. Because, you see, any possession that puts the ball in FavRUH's hands is one less handoff to Adrian Peterson the Greater. And it's one more pass floating past an open receiver into the welcoming arms of Charles Tillman, or Nathan Vasher. It's gotta be tough for FavRUH, with all those young'uns running around all fast-y like, and he's got to gun it in, just like he did in the field back in Mississip, only some of those blurs aren't on his team, and then he's sad, and only the pills can make it all better.

What I'm saying is, now the Bears can beat the Vikings, even with Crybaby Sulkypants as our QB. So hooray for that.

A quick Turducken update - I've successfully boned a duck. They're oilier, so it was more slippery, which made it more difficult, but also more satisfying, see what I'm saying? Notwithstanding the sexual innuendo, I made a kickass recipe with curry, garlic (15 cloves, bitches) and soy sauce. But it did call for not just boning, but also skinning, so that's not going to happen again. But I'm now ready, I believe, to prepare the Holy Grail of Gluttony for the Family Fancy Pants in October.

Finally, I went to the emergency room this evening, because some angular man-child put his elbow through my chin while we were both jockeying for position to catch a frisbee during an Ultimate game.

Now, were we keeping score? We were not. Did I need to scrap with the guy for the disc? Not at all. Did I make the catch? Fuck yes I did.

So I get a tissue from one of the other players, and I throw some water on my chin, and I ask my team - "Does it look like I need stitches?" Now, I don't know all the players very well, but I hope none of them are med students, or doctors, because they all said no. They didn't even equivocate - "well, I'm not sure, but maybe you want to go home just in case." Nope. "Looks like a nasty cut, but I think you're ok." So, did I keep playing through the end of the game? Hells yeah.

And then I got home. Wife looks at me like I'm Massive Headwound Harry



(Linda Hamilton can for sure kick my ass, but she's totally a man. If you catch her in the right pose, you can see her junk through her skirt. Seriously - frank and beans, people)

So I go in to the bathroom, and finally get to see the gaping wound in my chin with my own eyes. And we head off to the emergency room, where I get 6 (6!) stitches. So for all you frisbee players, next time you can see bone through a cut, it might need stitches. Hippies.

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.

Sad. Happy? Happy.

I've been reading a lot of depressing news lately. Like this. And this. Or how about this nugget? And Obama... Jesus, man, did you drop your balls in some hotel on the campaign trail, and then forget them on your way out the next morning? What the hell?

And don't get me started on this. Go have sex with a close relative, you 95-year-old hick.

But then I thought that you guys don't come here for the whining, and the tears, and the temper tantrums.

So instead I'm featuring Simon "the best excuse for nepotism" Rich, and....

THIS:



You're welcome.

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.

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.

Link Dump

Good lord, I'm lazy. Here are some fantastic things that have happened on the internets:

Rudy Giuliani's Secret Debate Weapon - turns out, it's that he's a liar. I'm sure that comes as a shock to the two wives he cheated on.

Madonna leaves Warner after 24 years - $120 million? Anyone who's listened to her albums recently raise your hands. Not so fast, Imaginary Drag Queen.

Congress drafts resolution honoring Brett Favre - eh. It's not for Redneck of the Year, so I'm not really interested.

Ann Coulter - "We want Jews to be perfected" - wow, thank you Ann. And I was worried I wouldn't hear something whacked-out insane from you this month.

Radiohead is putting their fancy boot up the record industry's ass. Join them.