Roasted Sheen, Chocolatey Achilles, Bob Seger, Pimento Loaf, Homeless Hooker Night, iCarly in a Bikini, Jodi Foster, Big Momma and a Sphincter Full of Limes

So I'm flipping channels during a commercial break in the Giants-Rams game on Monday night and I never went back to the game. Why? Because while strolling down Television Avenue, something in a storefront window was so freakishly compelling that I had to stop and press my nose to the glass for what turned out to be almost an hour. It was the Comedy Central's Roast of Charlie Sheen. It was hosted by Seth MacFarland and included a dais of Mike Tyson, William Shatner, Jon Lovitz, a few C-level comics, some chick who used to be on Grey's Anatomy, Steve-O, and of course, Jeffrey Ross. The best lines of the night were delivered by Jeff Ross directed at Mike Tyson- "Mike, what is that on your face, a tattoo or a pepper spray target?", comedian Anthony Jeselnik to Sheen- “Charlie, you are a monster. Every moment of your life looks like the first two minutes of ‘Law and Order, SVU”, comedian Amy Schumer to William Shatner- "I've seen less bloated men fished out of rivers" and Jeff Ross to Sheen- "Charlie, your nostrils are so snotty and filled with coke, they could be called the Hilton sisters." I learned that I still LOVE these Comedy Central roasts, that Charlie Sheen is a good sport, and that although Charlie is still and will forevermore be an insane person, he will never EVER be as crazy as Steve-O. Check out Steve-O face-diving into Tyson's fist during the closing credits and read Shatner's lips at the :47 mark.






Now, on with the Matchups...



Jaguars at Panthers-

I think it’s safe to say that The Luke McCown Experiment can officially be classified as an abject failure. Through two games, not-so-cool-hand Luke threw four interceptions, zero touchdowns, managed just 117 passing yards per game and has a QB rating of 30.6. If that experiment had been held in a controlled laboratory setting, flashing lights and alarms would’ve been going off almost immediately and now there would be nothing left to do but send in some expendable low-level employees in hazmat suits to scrub down the walls and mop the floors. The Cam Newton Experiment, however, seems to be going quite swimmingly. It’s been like watching a chocolatey Achilles careening across the battlefield to the sound of a soaring orchestra with nubile young women and once-jaded middle-aged sportscasters left swooning in his sparkling wake. And then he looks over and smiles and we all feel kinda funny inside.





Lions at Vikings-

Oh it’s on. It’s on like Ndamukong! The boy named Suh and the newly redesigned Lions are so far living up to the hype. For their sakes, I hope they stay hungry, maintain their intensity and can handle attention to come from their early season success. It’s like a famous Michigander once sang,

No more games, I'ma change for due called rage
Tear this muthafuckin' roof off like two dogs caged
I was playin' in the beginnin', the mood all changed
I've been chewed up and spit out and booed off stage
But I kept rhymin' and stepped writin' the next cipher
Best believe somebody's payin' the pied piper
All the pain inside amplified by the
Fact that I can't get by with my nine to five
And I can't provide the right type of life for my family
Cuz, man, these goddamn food stamps don't buy diapers
And there's no movie, there's no Mekhi Pfifer
This is my life and these times are so hard
And it's gettin' even harder tryin' to feed and water
My seed plus teeter-totter
Caught up between bein' a father and a pre-madonna
Baby momma drama, screamin' on her
Too much for me to wanna stay in one spot
Another damn or not has gotten me to the point
I'm like a snail, I've got to formulate a plot
Or end up in jail or shot
Success is my only muthafuckin' option, failure's not
Momma love you but this trailer's got to go
I cannot grow old in Salem's Lot
So here I go, it's my shot
Feet fail me not
Cuz maybe the only opportunity that I got
You better lose yourself in the music
The moment you own it you better never let it go, oh
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
Cuz opportunity comes once in a lifetime, yo
You better lose yourself in the music
The moment you own it you better never let it go, oh
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
Cuz opportunity comes once in a lifetime, yo
You better

Man, that Glenn Frey was dope. What? That wasn’t Glenn Frey? Oh right, Bob Seger, of course. Where did I get Glenn Frey? Sorry, wow, that doesn’t even sound remotely like Glenn Frey.

Niners at Bengals-

Damn the Niners, damn them straight to hell!!!





Dolphins at Browns-

When asked what was wrong with the Dolphins, head coach Tony Sparano said, “I don’t have any answers.” Really? Nothing? I thought you got paid to come up with the answers. Or do you just get paid to stand on the sidelines dreaming up news sauce-pasta-meat combinations? (If so, I’d like to submit alfredo-pappardelle-veal medallions) Tony, if you seriously can’t come up with anything to help the team on the field, maybe head up into the crowd during your next home game and ask one of the literally dozens of teal & orange-clad illegal immigrants fans for their input. Or better yet, go ask Dolphins cheerleader Kylee who has a BA from the University of South Florida and who seems to always have two fantastic answers for everything.

Patriots at Bills-

This Sunday in Foxboro, the same conversation will be heard at urinals all throughout Gillette Stadium… “Yeah, that Hahvud kid is good but he ain’t no Tom Brady. He may be smaht but Brady’s wicked smaht and he’sot a goddamn cannon. Plus, he gets to stick his prick in that supermodel wife of his every night. EVERY NIGHT! Speaking of pricks, what the hell’s wrong with yours? Jesus Christ, Sully, look at all those fucking red spots… it looks like a goddamn pimento loaf…”

Giants at Eagles-

You know, I can’t tell if Mike Vick’s comeback is an inspiring story of redemption and rebirth or if it’s just God’s way of reminding dogs that they’re just fucking dogs. Either way, last week when Vick was lying on the turf after being knocked nearly unconscious, it sure would’ve been nice to see a defender take off his helmet, pounce on him, wrap his jaws in a death grip around his neck and start shaking him violently.





Broncos at Titans-

As part of the NFL’s newly formed and mostly unpublicized outreach program, in an attempt to make opposing quarterback Kyle Orton feel more at home while in Tennessee this Sunday, Titans fans will be instructed to chant “Tee-Bow ! Tee-Bow! Tee-Bow!” whenever Orton throws an incompletion, interception, completion short of a first down, fumbles, gets sacked, lines up behind center, runs onto the field, runs off of the field, takes off his helmet, puts on his helmet, spits, sneezes, speaks, breathes, blinks or burps .




Texans at Saints-

This should be a good test for Houston to see if they can go on the road and out-gun one of the other top offenses in the league. It promises to have so much scoring that it will look like Charlie Sheen’s house on Homeless Hookers Snort for Free Night (aka Thursdays).

Jets at Raiders-

I was asked earlier today why it is that I don’t seem to care too much for Jets head coach Rex Ryan. After much deliberation, I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t like him because he’s a fat, loud-mouthed attention whore with a foot fetish who still owes me $10 for that can of Tinactin I picked up for him three years ago. Hmmm… you know, substitute Vagisil for the Tinactin and I can say all of the same things about Mama Squintz, and I love Mama Squintz. It must be something else about Rex that bothers me. Oh, I know… it’s because he’s the head coach of fucking J! –E! – T! – S! Jets Jets!! Jets!!! , SUCK! SUCK!! SUCK!!! FUCK YOU, YOU JERSEY FUCKS! GUIDO MOTHERFUCKERS! GO SPRAY TAN YOURSELVES AND SWAP INFECTIONS WITH YOUR SNOOKI-LOOKING CUMDUMPSTER GIRLFRIENDS! Except for the NYFD, youse guys are okay. 9/11, Never Forget. (Except for you, Fireman Ed, you scumbag attention whore)

Ravens at Rams-

Last year’s NFC West champs will likely drop to 0-3 after this Sunday but in their defense the schedule makers were not kind to them. They faced the Eagles in Week One, at the Giants in Week 2 and now have the Ravens in Week 3. You could say that early season schedule is harder than Johnny B a twelve year old boy watching a special going-to-the-beach episode of iCarly, or as hard as a serial killer Johnny B watching the gang-rape-on-the –pinball-machine scene of Jodie Foster’s character in The Accused. You could say that. I wouldn’t, but you could.

Chiefs at Chargers-

The Chiefs are fucking motherfucking horrible. Horrible is being 0-2 and only scoring ten points combined in both games. Fucking Horrible is being 0-2, scoring only ten points combined in both games and giving up 89 points in those two games. Fucking Motherfucking Horrible is being 0-2, scoring only ten points combined in both games while giving up 89 points in those two games and having lost your best offensive player (Jamaal Charles) and your best defensive player (Eric Berry) for the season. I have no other choice but to do something unprecedented here. According to my records, this is three weeks earlier than ever done before but I really don’t need see any reason to wait (No, not even Kerry Collins starting in Indy gives me enough pause). Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, Jews, Gentiles, and NFL fans everywhere, …. The Kansas City Chiefs are now on the clock.

Falcons at Buccaneers-

Matty Ice heads back down to Tampa Bay to take on Josh & the Neverland Pirates. Surprisingly, he’s lead the Falcons to two straight wins down there. Surprising considering the feverish disdain that pirates have historically had towards gingers. What? You aren’t aware of how pirates treated gingers that they captured? Well, in an attempt to maintain the family-friendly tone of this blog, let’s just say that it involved a blindfold, some strong rope, a family of angry, starving baboons and a sphincter full of limes. Then screaming. Lots and lots of screaming.




Cardinals at Seahawks-

Hey kids, it’s Cheerleader PosedownTime!

Packers at Bears-

It’s nice to see the Bears O-line picking up right where they left off last season, doing their best impression of a five-lane turnstile made out of drinking straws and marshmallows. Cutler’s already been sacked eleven times and knocked down another eighteen in the first two games. Odds on him not suffering some kind of internal bleeding before Halloween sits at 500-1.




Steelers at Colts-

Okay, we all knew Kerry Collins was no Peyton Manning but good Lord in denim, he doesn’t even resemble a quarterback at this point. It’s like watching one of the animatronic characters at Disney’s Country Bear Jamboree. The herky-jerky mechanical arm movements, the slow head swivel punctuated every 5.2 seconds with a blinking of the eyes, it’s all there. Oh, and let’s not forget that he’s also not very bright (even for a Penn State grad). That big Atlas Shrugged-sized playbook of the Colts is going to have to get pared down a lot more to something even less complex than the script to a Tyler Perry movie for Collins to grasp it.

Monday Night

Redskins at Cowboys-

Everything you need to know about this matchup is on the injury report. Miles Austin (hamstring) , Dez Bryant (knee) and Felix Jones (shoulder) may all be out for Dallas and Tony Romo is questionable with a cracked rib and punctured lung. Rex Grossman is not injured and will definitely start for Washington. That’s all I need to hear; I’ll take the Cowboys.

I Don't Care if this is a Charity Fundraiser, I Will Hit You With a Fucking Beach Ball

So I’m at this outdoor rock concert the other night and I did something pretty shameful. I hit a girl in the head. I feel really bad about it. Really bad. Well, I think I should feel bad about it. The truth is, I actually don't feel bad about it. Not at all. Not even a little. It’s not like I hit her with my fist or an open hand or a bat or a tire iron or something like that. I hit her with a beach ball. A green & white beach ball from about twelve feet away. And it wasn’t so much a rock concert as it was a fund raiser for the local athletic association held on a little league ball field headlined by a local band playing ‘80s music in front of approximately three hundred subruralite Ohioans half-drunk on $4.00 domestic drafts. And it didn’t so much hit her in the head as it hit in her ear and the side of her neck. And, well, she kinda had it coming.

The band was one of those local party bands who’ve played together for twenty-plus years and whose members, despite being more talented than they were twenty years ago, no longer dream of making it big but instead just dream of making enough extra cash to pay for their kids’ college tuition or to buy a new Prius. They’re as much party hosts as they are musicians and they’re pretty well adept as both. It was clear about ten minutes into the show that those in the crowd who were familiar with the band were well aware that it was cool for anyone to join them on stage at any time without invitation. And it soon became clear to the rest of us that this meant a steady parade on and then off the stage of tipsy housewives (more milfs than non-milfs thankfully) doing their best self-aware impersonations of backup singers and dancers to such classics as Jessie’s Girl, Workin’ for a Livin’ and Pour Some Sugar on Me.

It was all good, clean, blow-off-some-steam non-pretentious fun until the set list came to Prince’s Let’s Go Crazy. Within seconds, onto the stage strode a leggy, short-haired brunette in tight jeans, high heels and an insatiable need to be noticed. She claimed her place at the front of the stage, begrudgingly sharing it with the band’s lead singer and proceeded to unleash a flurry of professional dance moves the likes which have not been seen since the Solid Gold dancers turned to a life of porn retired.

In all fairness, she was a good dancer and credible reports circulated throughout the crowd that she was once gainfully employed as a Rockette. But this wasn’t Radio City Music Hall and we didn’t pay to see her kick her milfy denim-wrapped legs around on stage. She either wasn’t aware of these facts or she simply didn’t care because she kept kicking and strutting with such power and precision, emphasizing each overly choreographed movement with either an overly exaggerated four-mile-wide smile or an overly exaggerated Billy Idol-ish snarl. When she eventually decided to toss in the sideways “V” sweep across the eyes move (which by the way is the only five seconds of Pulp Fiction that doesn’t hold up), I had had enough. So when one of those green & white beach balls emblazoned with the band’s logo landed at my feet, I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed the ball, nudged my buddy Joe, gave him a quick nod, gently flicked the ball into the air with my left hand, then power-served it into the side of her head much to the delight of everyone who was paying attention.

Like a good former and now too old to get paid for it professional dancer, she quickly shook it off and continued with her unwarranted performance. And like a good professional born ‘n raised bitter westsider who never lived up to his potential sniper, I headed to the Port-o-Let and eventually to the beer truck for another $4.00 Budweiser in a plastic cup. I couldn’t help my reaction to that attention-whore any more than she could help her whorish need to get on that stage and beg for attention. So while I should probably feel bad for what I did, I don’t. And while she should probably realize what everyone was thinking of her for how she was strutting around, she won’t.

Nevertheless, the proper thing for me to do is to apologize. So in front of God and the tens of people reading this blog, I would like to offer my heartfelt apology to you, leggy, short-haired attention whore, whoever and wherever you are. It was a senseless, albeit warranted, act of mild rage that you only somewhat deserved. I sincerely wish you all the best on your never-ending quest for attention and would even like to get to know more about you. I’m sure you’re a wonderful person with a great story to tell. Maybe we could get together sometime and go to a hotel and fuck out for an ice cream or something. I’m married but my wife never reads this blog and I trust each other completely. By the way, your ass looked great in those jeans and you have really nice jugs. … You’re welcome.


And now, on with this week’s abbreviated matchups…



Raiders at Bills-
Harvard boy may get maimed.



Packers at Panthers-
Newton to get figged newtered.



Chiefs at Lions-
Chiefs are fucking horrible.



Browns at Colts-
Manning without a neck, or even a spinal cord, has got to be better than Kerry Collins.



Buccaneers at Vikings-
Two black quarterbacks. That would be a GREAT name for a band.



Bears at Saints-
Two white quarterbacks. Not a great name for a band.



Jaguars at Jets-
J!-E!-T!-S! Suck! SUCK! SUCK!!



Seahawks at Steelers-
Big Ben needs some non-consensual sex a slumpbuster.



Ravens at Tennessee-
I’m printing shirts that read “Don’t Hassle the Beck”. No, I’m not.



Cardinals at Redskins-
Rex Grossman? Seriously?



Cowboys at Niners-
Damn the Niners, Damn them straight to hell!



Bengals at Broncos-
The Broncos are dealing with a horrible tenuous quarterback controversy, may have as many as six starters injured and not playing in this one and my guess is they’ll still be favored to win.



Texans at Dolphins-

The Tony Sporano Farewell Tour plays its second show in Miami.



Chargers at Patriots-
Tom Brady is half a fag. The other half is the best quarterback of the last decade.



Eagles at Falcons-
Vick versus the team that fired him for killing innocent dogs.



Monday Night

Rams at Giants-
A New York or Boston professional sports team featured on a nationally televised ESPN telecast? Shocking.

Pirate metaphors, the big "D", the Scirocco, Ike Turner, Dwarf Action, Stryper, a Thai Delivery Guy, Kim K and the inside of Al Davis' tracksuit

So it was 100-degrees in Greater Cincinnati today, the grass is brown, the creek beds are dry, none of which alert my senses that it’s now football season. But apparently it is. I’m excited. No, I’m not. I haven’t had time to get excited. Hell, I just realized a few days ago that they weren’t still on strike, or lockout, er whatever. Over the past few days I’ve been trying to catch up on what I’ve missed- who’s signed where, who’s coaching who, who’s hurt, who’s suspended, who’s awaiting trial for sexual assault charges (surprise, it’s not Roethlisberger). Anyway, here’s what I’ve pieced together so far about what’s happened since the final gun sounded at the end of Super Bowl XLV (other than, of course, hundreds of thousands of fat, white Wisconsinites having unsightly celebratory missionary sex while wearing cheese hats and shooing away their confused and concerned pets who had wandered too near to take in the disturbingly odd and rare occurrence)….

Ochocinco is a Patriot. Terrel Owens is out of work. Carson Palmer is retired. Brett Favre is retired, again, at least as of this moment. Randy Moss is retired. Amy Winehouse is dead. Bubba Smith is dead. Macho Man Savage is dead. Peyton Manning has a bad neck and it could be fatal. Reggie Bush is a Dolphin. Kim Kardashian is pregnant and married, neither involving Reggie Bush and possibly not even in that order. Snooki found someone who’s attracted to Ooompa Loompas and seemingly not concerned with catching a myriad of STDs. His name is Gianni. The Situation knocked himself out by head-butting a wall. Ronnie and Sammy got back together, then violently broke up again. J-Lo and Marc Anthony split up. Will and Jada split up. LeBron James choked on a big karma sandwich. John Fox is coaching the Broncos. Ron Rivera is coaching the Panthers. Jim Harbaugh is coaching the Niners. Jeff Fisher and his mustache are no longer in Tennessee. Matt Hasselbeck is in Tennessee. I went to Tennessee and then came back. Elizabeth Taylor is dead. Jani Lane is dead. Clarence Clemons is dead. Osama Bin Laden is dead. Al Davis is still not dead. Nnamdi Asomguwah is an Eagle. Donovan McNabb is in a Viking. Cam Newton is a Panther. Donald Trump announced he was running for President. Donald Trump announced he was no longer running for President. Roseanne Barr announced she was running for President. Arnold Schwarzenegger admitted to fathering a child with his old, beauty-impaired, Hispanic maid. Albert Haynesworth is in New England. Kevin Kolb is in Arizona. Jim Tressel is not in Columbus. Charlie Sheen was winning. Charlie Sheen went batshit crazy. Charlie Sheen went on tour. Charlie Sheen was fired. Charlie Sheen was dumped by the Goddesses. Charlie Sheen died. What? He hasn’t died yet? Wierd. Well, okay then.

As you can see, a shitload of changes. I used to like change, I embraced it, I welcomed it like a weary pirate finding a new port to plunder . Not anymore. Now I just want to know what to expect, to see the same faces in the same places, to be able to make things routine and to have more givens than variables. As a pirate, I’d be content to lie in a hammock with my treasure safely buried, strapping on my peg leg only for trips into town to buy more rum. (So I’m a pirate now? It is important to note that as I type this, I’m two beers and two doubles of Makers into the evening. Just for the record.)

I think this resistance to change is true for most guys my age. I didn’t truly realize it to be the case for me until last week while in the middle of helping a buddy move. He’s getting the big “D” (no, not Dallas. Although, I don’t know how one could “get” Dallas, but whatever. And no, not Diarrhea, not Diptheria, not Dementia… Divorced). While moving the last piece of furniture, a fucking heavy-ass dresser that nearly took both of our lives on at least two occasions while navigating the stairs up to his new second-floor condo, the enormity of the night and its life-changing ramifications suddenly started to weigh on me. This wasn’t my drama, not my move or the end of my marriage, it was his. But as a friend, his drama obviously has an effect on him so therefore it can’t help but to affect all of his relationships, including our friendship, and thus it affects me, and being the selfish 41-year old prick that I am,well, that made me uneasy.

He’s no longer living just a street away and able to pop over for an impromptu beer on the patio on any random night. There will be no more getting together with the wives and/or kids for dinner. No more secret midnight eggings of his next door neighbor Johnny B’s house, or squatting on Johnny B’s porch together with a sixer, peering through their first floor bedroom window to watch Johnny and his wife on “Role Play Wednesdays” (my favorite is when they do Bo Peep and her little lost lamb. Baaaa! SMACK! Bad Sheepy! Baaaaa!) Now he’s twenty minutes away, alone in a condo with just his own thoughts, possible regrets and a softcore painting hanging above the fireplace while I’m down yet another neighbor-buddy. That makes two neighbor-buddies that I’ve lost to the big D in the last eighteen months. Fucking bullshit. I’m dangerously close to having to either a) talk a couple more friends into moving into the neighborhood, or b) make friends with a couple guys in the neighborhood. I’m forty one years old, I don’t want to make any new friends. How gay is that? Hey Pete, uh, you seem like a cool dude. Whaddya say we hang out sometime? Ugh, I’d rather just kickstart a drug addiction and kill time with my dealer after the drop. At least that way I’d hate myself for my addiction and not for being such a needy little pussy.

So now I have to adjust. I have to adapt and roll with it because if I don’t, I’ll just start morphing into one of those old guys who’s bitter and hates everything about everything. I’ll wind up going to Bob Evans for breakfast six days a week, sitting in the same booth and ordering the same thing from the same waitress (aka the only one who will put up with me) and thinking it’s cool that they all know me by name and know my order by heart, not realizing that they all talk about how much they can’t stand me or feel sorry for me after I leave. I have to take control, be nimble and learn to again embrace change. I have get out of the hammock, strap on my peg leg, grab my sword and take the ship back out onto the open seas. I need to find a way to keep this brotherhood afloat and active despite the unfortunate turn of events that threaten to cast it asunder (I really have to fucking stop it with the pirate talk, right? I could understand it if I’d been drinking Captain Morgan’s but Makers? I’m at a loss.) Therefore, in an effort to make sure that he’s only left the neighborhood and not the brotherhood and also to explore a change for this blog, the Weekly Matchups will henceforth be done in a new (and maybe or maybe not improved) format. I will be sharing the time, space, opinions and commentary from time to time with my fellow Palooza pals Whitey and Johnny B via IM chats and posting the transcripts weekly right here. My hope is that each of you would also like to take part at least once if not on several occasions throughout the season to lend your insight, wit, sarcasm and cursing abilities to the project. I will be reaching out to each of you soon to gauge your interest and availability to take part.

For now, for the test run, I have invited my neighbor buddy Johnny B and my recently departed neighbor-buddy Whitey to join me. …

Smitty: You boners ready? I've got an ice cold Shiner Bock and an itchy trigger finger.

Johnny: Ive got a quart of milk and Butterfingers from last Halloween... the milks fresh
Whitey: I have a shitty Sammy Octoberfest. I'll pee on your foot at a piss trough.
Smitty: I haven't been at a piss trough since Johnny's wedding
Whitey: Old Municipal field, in Bengals gear. They piss on you intentionally.
Johnny: Thanks for hosting it at your backyard kev... we saved a few bucks
Whitey: lol
Smitty: It was your sister's idea... she didn't want to have to wake up and drive anywhere
Johnny: She's the youngest lush in our family... and she has grandchildren.... geez
Whitey: Mezarocco isn't listed on the shitty reds site?
he is
Smitty: It's Mesoraco. Mezarocco was a shitty AMC sports car, right?
Whitey: Mesaroco
Smitty: Maybe that was a Scirocco

Whitey: yeah, catcher
missed it, I'm loaded on Bell's
Smitty: Let's talk football. The NFL is starting the season with another Thursday Nighter. Saints at Packers. Your thoughts...
Johnny: Saw a couple of Packer pre-seasons... and they're looking sharp and hitting hard
Smitty: Kinda like ol Ike Turner
Whitey: lol

Whitey: should be a good matchup. Lot of talent, both squads.
Johnny: what does ike Turner and the Bengals defense have in common?
Johnny: they won't hit grown men
Smitty: Everybody seems to be penciling in the Pack to go back to the Super Bowl but I don't see it. Remember, they needed to win out the last few games just to make the playoffs last season
Whitey: and won the bowl. NFL parity is at all time high.

Smitty: We need to take a roadie to Lambeau Field
or a groupie
Whitey: collection of groupies. More fun in a pack.
Smitty : I do like variety
Johnny: Im still taking the Packers... either way.
Smitty: I'll take the Saints. What about you, Mikey?
Johnny: Beer, mets, cheese and the Saints... they will all go down easy this Sunday
Whitey : Packers at home. No brainer.
Johnny: Yep

Smitty : Next up is ginger kid Matt Ryan and the Falcons visiting the gutless and brainlees Jay Cutler and the Chicago Bears
Johnny: This is a tough one... but I'm gonna go with the Bears.
Whitey: Bears by 3. In a battle of special teams and field position.
Johnny: Long and somewhat boring game I predict.... and low scoring.
Smitty : Name one special teamer on either team. I defy you.
MIke White has left.
Johnny: I could be wrong. I've been married twice.
Smitty : where the fuck did Mikey go?
You have invited Whitey to this chat.
Whitey has joined.
Whitey: right here
shit fuck cunt
Smitty : jackass
Whitey: what happened?
Smitty: Wait, what, Johnny you've been married twice? Who was the first guy?
Smitty : It wasn't me, was it?
Whitey: Might have been. Did you copy paste?
Johnny: Funny. You suck one dick... just one.... and you're labeled for life.
Whitey : You can probably get the text from you mail box.
Smitty : What the fuck are you talking about Mikey?
Whitey : sad really, the dick sucking once label.
Johnny: It is.... did it on a dare anyway.... doesnt count.
Whitey: I lost the chat stream history from the box. Surely it is saved somewhere. I know all of incriminating text are in the library of congress.
Smitty : If the cock was no bigger than a large clit, it does not count. Look it up.
Whitey: my* incriminating texts
Johnny: They save our texts now eh?
Whitey: I fear a large clit. Run!
Smitty : Speaking of large clits, Jay Cutler's a pussy, right?
Whitey : cry baby
no crying in football
Johnny: My son made a kid cry in football last week... I was torn. Felt bad for the other kid.... but.......
Smitty : maybe you should teach him not to touch other kids in their safety zones
Johnny: you've gone to far.... so says the library of congress too
Smitty : I'm taking the Falcons even though I think they won way more than their share of close games last year
Whitey: Never, NEVER buy a Four-in-hand IPA. Twist off shite.

Whitey : Let's talk Colts/Texans.
Johnny: ty Mike
Whitey : on the road sans Manning
Smitty: Is that like a sans serif, JOhnny?
Johnny: Texans got some running backs
Whitey : oh shit I'm not DVRing Sons of Anarchy!!
Johnny: sans DVRing
Smitty : Don't worry, I've got it taping, er DVRing. Is that what we call it?
Whitey : recording on a hard drive.
in a tv box
Smitty : Hey Mike, walk on over later and we'll watch



Johnny: I still say taping.... but I also say bitchin a lot
Whitey : My mom calls CDs tapes.
Leake looks very unhappy.
Johnny: she invests in tapes?
hmm
Smitty : She also calls safe deposit boxes "honey holes"
Johnny: lol
Whitey: lolz
Smitty: So the Colts are screwed, right? Without Manning they're what, a four-win team at best?
Whitey: Probably going to lose in Houston yeah.
Johnny: Without an offense they are screwed... and the Texans will run over their D.... just saying

Whitey : Bills @ Chiefs WAGF?
Smitty : What's WAGF?
Johnny: Two teams i could give a squirt o' piss about. Take your pick.
Whitey : Not even the WGAF game of the week. "Who Give A FUCK"
Gives*
Johnny: ty mike
feelings mutual...
Smitty : Gimme the Chiefs
Whitey: Take the Bills in a minor upset.
Smitty : Are the Reds still winning?
Whitey: extras
Smitty : son of a fuck
Johnny: Youve always been a sucker for KC.... later he'll take the Vikings.... wait and see
Smitty : score?
Johnny: 2-2 last I checked

Smitty: Titans at Jags. No more Jeff Fisher to talk about, no more ruminations about his fuzzy upper-lip testes-tickler.
Johnny: It will be missed.
Whitey: Jags
Johnny: I'll take Hasselbeck and the Titans
Smitty: I knew you would. I'll take them, too. They're my AFC sleeper. Not to win anything but just to not be horrible and maybe make a wild card run.

Smitty : Ready to tackle Bengals at Browns?
Whitey: Browns by 10
Johnny: I do believe the Browns will take it
Smitty : I don't know if either team can score ten points
Whitey : 24-14 mark me
Johnny: Not that the Browns are all that... but the Bengals are in disaray.
Smitty: Browns are down two offensive linemen
Whitey: 2 special scores
hell there might be a safety in that game.
Smitty : you and your special teams stuff again
Johnny: I say... 4-2 Browns
Smitty : Ooh but they do have Josh Cribbs still, right?
Whitey: It's all about special teams, and ball bearings.
Johnny: 3 safeties i say....
yes they do
runs like a bull
Whitey : downhill
Smitty: I'll go Browns, 16-13
Johnny: Browns 17-7
Smitty : What do you think Carson Palmer's doing right now?
Whitey : fucking
carson
palmer
Smitty : Fucking himself?
Whitey : sure, maybe
Johnny: it was over anyway... next
Whitey : or playing scrabble with local dwarves
Smitty : and of course as we all know, that always ends up with fucking
Whitey : or juggling

Smitty : Eagles at Rams
Whitey : Rams in an epic first game of the season upset
Johnny: Campano stole second... still 2-2
Whitey : Vick throws 3 int and fumbles twice
Smitty : Masset is a turd
Whitey : floating turd
Johnny: i dont think so Mike.... Im a Vick believer. He's a new man... the real deal.
Eagles 24 Rams 10
Whitey: I like him too. Great player
I was talking shit. Eagles 19-13 over Rams.
Smitty: Give me the Rams. Stephen Jackson is healthy and ready to truck some fuckers
Whitey: impossible, assume everything is tongue in cheek.
Unbelievable!
Johnny: One loss for Kevin
Smitty: Why is Nick Masset still pitching?!?!?!?!?
Johnny: bases loaded
Smitty : Dusty Baker is a fucktard
Whitey : Reds don't give a shit about winning or keeping their manager.

Smitty : They tire me. Ravens vs Steelers
Whitey : Masset is good for a DP
Smitty : double-penetration?
Whitey : it's over
yep, and one in the mouth
two in the ass
Smitty: that's a TP
Johnny: Ill have to go with... Steelers... best game this week.
Whitey: I'll take Ravens, out of hate.
Johnny: Steelers 24-20
Smitty : It's at Baltimore, which means nothing. Ugh... I don't care who wins as long as a lot of players go off on stretchers
Whitey: B-more 17-10
Johnny: I hate everything yellow and black.... except for Stryper.

Smitty : Michael Sweet's still alive but Jani Lane is dead? Is God sleeping for Christsakes?
Whitey: hello LeCure
Smitty : Sam Lecure is a BEAST!
Going to the 11th

Whitey : Lions @ Bucs WGAF II?
I want to be wrong about the Lions, but they are the fucking Lions!
Johnny: so true
Smitty : I like this game. The Lions D Line is scary-good and the Bucs are coached by Seal. I'm in
Whitey: okay, so Lions by 10
??
Johnny: It could go either way... but Ill take the lions by 6
Smitty : Lions by at least one
Whitey : Bucs 10-7. Again special teams win the day.
Smitty: son of a bitch
Johnny: possibly

Smitty : Vikings at Chargers.... And yes, Johnny, I'm taking the Vikings
Whitey : Mesoraco swings like a spaz
Norv Turner is the fucking man this year.
Chargers 27-3.

Johnny: Chargers.... easy.
Smitty : Chargers were #1 in total offense AND total defense last season and didn't make the playoffs. You know why Mikey?
Whitey: Norv?
Johnny: And he likes his purple in men.
Smitty : They got their ass kicked on special teams
Whitey : Oh yeah. Special team are HUGE!
They moved the fucking kick-off line up though. Shit fuck cunt.
Smitty : I saw an old black dude at the LABOR annual picnic at Coney Island yesterday who was dressed in a lavender suit.... with matching hat and lavender & silver dress shoes
Johnny: true... but seriously... youre taking Vikings over Chargers... just because of special teams....
you came in your pants didnt you
Purple and silver? you were on it right?
Smitty : ...and because I hate Philip Rivers
The old dude looked like a California Raisin headed out on the town
Whitey : nice to run out of an extra inning
Johnny: yes... thats the real reason.... but... hate to tell you... Rivers is actually pretty good
Smitty : Good stats but he hasn't won shit

Whitey : it's time for Giants v. Skins bitches
Johnny: oh my
Smitty : Giants. If it weren't for the Panthers, I'd be about two weeks away from announcing that the Skins are "on the clock"
Whitey: Giants 21-10. seems reasonable.
Johnny: I want the Skins.... and the Giants are so unpredictable.... but I have to agree with you
so Giants it is... but it could go badly... just saying
Smitty : Arredondo walks more people than a physical therapist
Whitey : Jeezus!
Johnny: he just walked! Nostrodamus
or my ghetto cable is 3 minutes behind you
Whitey: Might as well wild pitch in the winning run with this guy.
my av rules.
Smitty : sac bunt, another walk, single, game over

Panthers and Cammille Newton at Arizona
Whitey: WGAF II!
Johnny: Arizona
Whitey : or 3
Johnny: they will run
Smitty : What if the Panthers get the #1 pick again? Do they take Andrew Luck after just taking Newton?
Whitey: Trade for 2 later picks and 3rd rounder.
They are horrid.
Cards 24-9.
Smitty : Cards by 17
Johnny: I agree.... next

Smitty : Seahags at Niners
Johnny: I agree.... next
Smitty : Seahags at Niners
Johnny: oooooooo
Niners
Whitey : hags
Smitty : Damn the Niners, Damn them straight to hell!
Johnny: Frank Gore 14...... Seahags 3
Whitey: Hags upset in the bay. It's divisional.
Smitty : Did you forget about Marshawn Lynch? Remember the beast of a run he had against the Saints in the playoffs last year?
Plus, the 'Hags have Charlie Whitehurst. You can't possibly bet against Charlie Whitehurst!!



Whitey : I have to pick upsets, sometimes unfounded. Hags 27-17
Johnny: so when do we have to get our picks in by?
Whitey: Johnny, lets burn a fag.
Johnny: less than 48 hours?
Smitty : By 5pm Thursday.
Whitey: Hannigan!
Johnny: need to get this out tomorrow...
Smitty: Don't try to steal from an Irishman!

Cowboys at Jets....
Johnny: Hannigan is a beast.
Pretty even matchup.... going with the Jets
Whitey : Hate em'. Jets 14-10
Smitty : How much longer can the Jets get by protecting Sanchez with a running game when they keep losing veteran offensive linemen?
Whitey : brb
Johnny: Mike is burning a fag!
Smitty: Is that legal in Mason?
Wait, he lives alone... why not smoke in the condo?
Johnny: Yes.... but it doesnt get you quite the tax incentives it does out here in Ross.
Smitty : Maybe he ordered in some Thai food and the delivery dude's at the door.
Johnny: He's been trained. And he forgot he was trained.
Smitty : I wonder if he's also putting the seat down when he's done pissing
Johnny: If it's an Asian guy... he won't be back for at least 45 minutes.... they like lots of foreplay.
Smitty: but strangely don't like to cuddle

Whitey: heh
Johnny: so Im told
Smitty : Fuck the Jets, gimme the 'Boys

Pats (with the Ocho) at the Dolphins
Chapman to the rescue!
on to the 12th
Johnny: woot woot
Whitey: Fins! all day
Johnny: lol.... yeah
ok... next
Smitty : They have Reggie Bush now
Johnny: oh boy
Whitey : sure enough. Pats are overrated
Smitty: Will he be better or worse now that Kim K has moved on to fucking NBA players instead?
Whitey : are we doing WGAF V yet?
Johnny: I agree they’re overrated... but.... still taking Pats
Smitty : I think WGAF is the Reds/Cubs
Whitey : nice
Johnny: IGAF
Smitty : Isn't it fucked up that the daughter of the dude who helped get OJ acquitted for double-murder made a sex tape with a 2nd rate rapper and is now a multi-kajillionaire with a tv show and a clothing line?
Whitey: the decline of western civilization

Smitty : Gimme the Pats
Whitey : mistake maybe, but again special teams.

Smitty : Monday Night- Raiders at Donkeys. Over-Under on how many Raider fans will murder Broncos fans in the stands
Whitey: 2 on that. the wgaf raiderz by 3
Johnny: Denvers gonna suck 6 different breeds of donkey this year....
Ill marginally take the Raiders
Sent at 11:38 PM on Tuesday
Smitty : Raiders.
Whitey : so we're in agreement. Al Davis is the anti-christ?
Sent at 11:40 PM on Tuesday
Smitty: Don't know about that but I'll bet the inside of his track suit smells like a dumpster that's been hiding a month-old murder scene

Johnny: Votto just stole an out against Capano
Whitey: That was a bad call.
Johnny: yep
Smitty : Campano is a dwarf
Johnny: a very quick dwarf
Smitty : He's the league's first raindrop fairy
Johnny: lol
Smitty : So are we done here?
Any last words?
Johnny: yes... i kinda miss you Mike
hope youre doing well
Smitty : he has a couch you can sleep on
Whitey : no worries here. Happpy as I've ever been.
Smitty : and a bed made for two
... or three
Whitey: you guys are welcome here whenever you want.
lot of good places around. I'm among the living again.
Johnny: see you Thursday at 11 am.... thats when I want
Smitty: See you in :30. I'll bring the Makers, Johnny, you bring some coneys.