So long, Kyrie, and thanks for all the mope

Don't let the door hit your fat wallet on the way out.

Being a sporting chap, this town sucks. Really is time to hack competition out of the organs, blood on the sangfroid, slippety slop yadda yadda space lord motherfucker. Writing, like rock and/or roll, is a loser's game, so mood-altering chemicals 'tis.

The Fucking Broncos vs. Seattle: Like 37% of all gasbags not named Skip Bayless 2016, my preseasons seasoned just fine. Worship my genius. And, at about 9 10 11 whenever the bloat floats over the horizon to the Azores, cue the hand-wringing choke shit. If Otto's the bismark, and he is, then the loser's on Rushmore. Stupid fucks. Seahawks, 27-24.

Coaches, we don't need no stinkin' coaches

Every Sunday.

♪ Some people call Jim the shit owner yeah
Some call him the gangster of frack
Some people call him Mr. Burns
WEE WOO
Cause' I speak of the pompousful hack ♫

The Fucking Patriots @ The Fucking Broncos: Hitler & Stalin, here they come and partisans, hoping for a Lord Boston triumph so he can fail in a fortnight, punch Field Marshall Godwin right in the balls who tumbles over sportswriter corpses Scanners-ed after trying to columnize the defeat of these un-clutch hacks when it counts the most. The Fucking Patriots, 34-31 in OT.

San Francisco @ Seattle: Your eventual national holiday winner, the home team natch 'cause Kaepernick already lost a Super Bowl and that makes him a flop, riffraff, a bomb, a lemon-scented pledge of turkey. Seahawks, 20-14.

Fote-balle, or, a þynge aliene to Cleave-land

 
Beats watching post-game Boomer.  

Searching for Browns playoff footage from Haig in '88, O, woe, we got carded, wildly. That was a lateral and defensive TD, ref motherfucker, not a forward chuck, thus, the above. Baby mama drama not included. Enjoy.

New Orleans @ Seattle: Si Les Parapluies de Beast Mode, the Twelfth Man enjoys a fifth quarter bender. If not, they probably still do. Seahawks, 31-17.

The Fucking Colts @ The Fucking Patriots: this evening's illustrious program of Auld Indian's Polis: Act I, Tyrant Peyton Manning, Act II, Andrew Luck the Usurper, entr'acte by Curtis Painter, followed by Sir Thomas Brady in Lord Boston, is made possible by viewers like Nelson Mun *click* up next, ANARCHY IN THE NORTH COAST, starring Ty Detmer, Tim Couch, Spergon Wynn, Doug Pederson, Kelly Holcomb, Luke "I'm not Jake" McCown, Jeff Garcia, Trent Dilfer, Charlie Frye, Derek Anderson, Ken Dorsey, Brady Quinn, Bruce Gradkowski, Jake Delhomme, Seneca Wallace, Colt McCoy, Thad Lewis, Brandon Weeden, Brian Hoyer, Jason Campbell, and Jerry Mathers as "the Beaver." Harvard beats Yale, 29-29.

San Francisco @ Carolina: Football gods, still waiting for you to punish Harbaugh for wimping out against Ray Jailbird, but this week's as plausible as any. Panthers, 20-17.

San Diego @ The Fucking Broncos: The only possible reason to not root for the Chargers is that so brain dead morans who still joemorganize quarterbacks on their postseason won-loss records will be forced to shut their fucking yaps for one more game. The Mannings, 31-24.

Martyball

It's not just a derogatory label, it's a philosophy. 

Almost Marty's last game, 'cause no one's uploaded the wild card, same Bat time, same Bat channel, same Bat shit opponent, Jer-ry! Jer-ry! thankyouvermuch, but holy ten gallons, Psychopathman, Don traded in links for season-savin', strock it, strock it real good. Look real close and you'll see young(ish) Randal drunk on beer hot chocolate.

Twenty-five already. Man. Back to run, run, pass, punt.

Kansas City @ Indianapolis: As long as time doesn't become a factor after the two-minute warning, the Walrus with the best player, i.e. Jamaal Charles for the helmet-challenged, wins. The Colts hee haw good teams, their opponent don't. Don't care. Chiefs 23-20.

New Orleans @ Philadelphia: Fuck this fucking road shit, Finish Him, gas n' matches, steel-toed Nazi boots 'cause if you can't beat a flawed homebody who only eats half the cookin', well you'll get waxed next in Heroin Land anyway. 20° ain't that cold. Saints 28-21.

San Diego @ The Fucking Bengals: Philip Rivers is the Dan Fouts of chuck-chuck-goose, a future Famer [ed. note: yeah, he's that good] cursed to forever be sans ring, thanks, cruel, capricious football gods. Speaking of cruel, capricious gods, no Bungle playoff wins since Bush the Smarter. Mike Brown's ghost still haunts, but not after this week. The Fucking Bengals 31-23.

San Francisco @ Green Bay: Speaking of the dukes of supernature, when you overbrain, abandoning blood and Gore, you've earned subsequent torments against lesser foes unless Rodgers really is one of those single-handed pantheonists. Too bad his D gets an F. Gonna be Ice Bowl Two, too. 49ers 21-17.

Quarter pounder with cheese

Not this stink again.

AFC East: The Fucking Patriots have a quarterback, the Dolphins, whose new unis suck but don't suck as much as the Arena League circus threads of The Fucking Broncos or Seahawks, might, the Toronto Bills don't, and neither do the H-A-A-A HAAA HAAA HAAA.

AFC North: Geno Atkins doesn't live in Cleveland, he lives in Cincinnati, unfortunately. The tools retooled HEY FRISCO FUCKING RUN THE BALL, this is the year beefy scrubs at last toll the bell for Big Ben We Hardly Knew Ye, and I'd rather not talk about Browns 2.0.47.

AFC South: Never did a quarterback's surname and team results mesh so poetically, the Titans are a textbook 6-10/10-6er, and I'd lay five bucks that the Jagwires are worse(!) than the Clowns, which leaves Planet Hooston by the two greatest words in the English language.

AFC West: The Fucking Broncos walk the cake; poor Philip Rivers, forced to handoff to a guy with nine broken collarbones, a gassed retread, and a guy not much taller than yours truly; and I'd lay five bucks that Al Davis' Shiny Tracksuits are worse(!) than the Clowns, which leaves the Walrus's second rebuilding job to tooth & nail for a shot at the newest shiny ring of blood diamonds.

NFC East: A four-flaw, round-robin sock 'em up. Ball's in your jockstrap, Mr. Griffin.

NFC North: Unless Aaron Rodgers dies in a demon summoning ritual gone horribly expected, the Packers snooze to at least one home playoff game. I'm further convinced that I'm the only semi-fan of semi-head case Jay Cutler which says much. Keep him upright, and there are 10-11 wins. Adrian Peterson's a yin playing on a team of yangs, and the best reason to watch Detroit is the hope that Stafford chucks the ball 800 times.

NFC South: Fuck Atlanta, America's second worst sporting town I'm looking at you Miami. Geaux Saints. Remember those 6-10/10-6ers, there's two more here. YOU figure out what they're gonna do, smart guy.

NFC West: Clash of the titans, non-speed metal divison. Been a loooong time since one geographic stratum boasted the league's two (arguably, pistols at dawn, knave) best armies. Poor St. Louis though not really since they're a franchise that should be sentenced to outlawry for such thievery but since they stole from Los Angeles, poor St. Louis. Carson Palmer's still in the league? Huh.

AFC playoff seeds: Denver, New England, Cincinnati, Houston, Baltimore, Kansas City.

NFC playoff seeds: Green Bay, Seattle, New Orleans, Washington, San Francisco, Atlanta.

Super Bowl: Seattle over The Fucking Broncos. This one's for you, Jim Zorn.

The Fucking Browns: Double digit stinky cheese. Again.

Last rites, or, metal up their ass

Yesterday, both Roboma & Obomney soiled our already not-that-fair center of this island universe. Today, Cliff Burton became a casualty of the Bus People, twenty-six years in the past. Coincidental time paradox? Methinks not.

One dollar bill, y'all$

After all those nature shots, the blog needed some uglifying.

The Duchess tells me Vai lost his locks.
Where that leaves his fan only the roadie knows.

Thou now ravish'd goop of disguiseness,
Thou attic-child of candy -- hey, it's Time,
Gothic thespian, you can thus express
A vampiric tale more bloody than this rhyme

Farmer, tycoon, even artist? Once again, hesher is the redheaded stepchild.

If face punching doesn't work...

Stupid hippies.

Keep watching the skis!

The chamber pot that fits in your pocket!

Experimental jet set, trash, and no star sculptor, or, 99 lilaballons, or, everyone's stupid

Work No. 666: the lights going off and staying off. 

Can't wait for MOCA to counter with a foam show.

What, you thought I was gonna waste valuable electrons posting about the carefully managed clusterfuck that is hypersensitive Muslims, rapacious Westerners, false flag bearers, & the poor shlub in the street? Perhaps a traipse through a room of purple balloons would sooth their troubled souls.

Ye Olde Wheelie Busse Tayles

When one's weekend was neither Sammy Hagar nor Fenriz, one has nothing to say. Thus, a gauche photo "essay." No deep meaning here, folks.

That's la lune, Orion, a snippet of Taurus (?), aloft in a web of cloud. Trust me, for flash meant possibly annoying the non-suck neighbors, thus, gauzy spook.

Stop number one.

 

Yours truly before the crash.*

*some moran in a Manly Man Truck of Manliness tried to skip in front to grab some gas station smokes. Luckily for him the crunch was only around 5 mph. 

Last call, before alcohol is required in dealing with The Kids.

The society of the spectaclest bunch of spectacles that ever spectacled

Posture, QB, posture.

Yeah, it's that time again. Yippee.

AFC East: Every year The Fucking Patriots play a slate the '72 Dolphins would be jealous of. Every goddamn year. Too bad not really they always blow it against inferior teams who also share the The Fucking partial sobriquet. Miami sucks, The Fucking Jets suck on offense which is why they traded for the Human Distraction, which leaves the incredibly average Toronto Bills sloppily second.

AFC North: Who do you think. As for the bottom half, the Bungles can't but regress (9-0 vs. non-playoff teams, 0-7 vs. bonus money), & HA HA HA HA HA.

AFC South: General Zod's favorite squadron lost some folks, but Take the Money and Run, the clusterfuck Jags [ed. note: is this a Florida thing?], & the Heir Apparent are just fodder for radio ga ga.

AFC West: Philip Rivers is the reincarnation of Dan Fouts. Not sold on The Fucking Broncos pieces parts as a whole, but all they really needed was a real quarterback. It remains to be seen whether Peyton's neck is Memorex or not. Don't count out the Chiefs, seriously, stop giggling. Speaking of giggling, I wonder who's been tasked with wearing shiny 70s tracksuits around 1 Raider Place.

NFC East: Andy Reid successfully hides from the Turk for one more campaign. Anyone who wears baseball caps backwards unless they're a grade schooler playing catcher is a douchebag, but Romo can throw. So can Eli, but The Fucking Giants' coming is going: they were 9-7, outscored, & lost to Washington. Twice, which means they'll go 10-6 & miss the crapshoot. At least the 2001 The Fucking Patriots are no longer the shittiest champion in the Super Bowl era. Let's go footie style, one big league, best record at the end gets the shiny trophy.

NFC North: They learned their lesson, though it remains to be seen whether Chicago did. If Cutler's upright, an easy 10 or 11 wins. If not, they're the Lions. Yes, I'm predicting that Stafford's going to have a series of boo-boos. Wasn't Minnesota one classic Favre playoff fuckup from the big one a mere few years ago? My, how time flies when you're buried under delusional ownership.

NFC South: Speaking of flying, you thought I was going to segue into Atlanta. Nope. So the masterminds behind Murdergate or whatever shockingly heinous directives of violence in the most physically debilitating sport this side of buzkashi won't be strutting the sidelines. The Saints have Drew Brees. The Falcons don't, & more importantly, a defense I'm not sold on until I see the notarized affidavit. Cam's fantasy league pinball machine Halloween costume aside, chic pick Carolina is also a chic sieve, & lastly, it is a Florida thing.

NFC West: The Cardinals have Kevin & Thompson behind center, the Rams have no supporting cast, the Seahawks will be dealing with a quarterback controversy & uniforms too ugly even for the Arena League, thus, the Niners by the two greatest words in the English language.

AFC playoff seeds: The Fucking Patriots, The Fucking Steelers, Planet Hooston, San Diego, The Fucking Broncos, The Fucking Ravens, though don't discount the Bills whose stretch run schedule is a bloody joke.

NFC playoff seeds: Green Bay, Philadelphia, New Orleans, San Francisco, Chicago, The Fucking Cowboys Giants Who Cares. Yes, that's only three new teams. Everything dies.

Super Bowl: Green Bay over The Fucking Patriots.

The aforementioned suckiest bunch of blah blah blah: three bums toss passes, two wins, & one Trent Richardson torn ACL. I wish I hated sports.

Darkthroning, like graffiti, jaywalking, sidewalk chalk art, and bus people, kills

Since darkthroning in the city is so dangerous,* I decided last eve to troo kvlt with the SBH twixt trees & trolls & yeah actions incongruous but you try toting both a viking axe & berserker rage over the concrete of your burg, smart guy/gal. Even Olaf would be taken down by a .45.

First these guys, then those sneaky sciuridae.

I suppose that you're hungry, too.

The spinner of this probably is. Better call Shatner.

Close enough. No killer frogs, though.

Aren't they cute? You shut up, you know who you are.

Wish I had gotten a better perspective; this sucker was mighty ominous.

As ominous as the lowest water level I've seen in a good while.

Scanning for suckers? St. Francis of the Squirrels is not fooled.

One bit, two bits, orb-its, a dollar.

Even the trees have Reflective Powers.

For they too know that Roots sucks.

Add a corpse, some ravens, B&W it, et voila, black metal album cover.

Canopy jar.

Artsy nouveau.

Every town has one.


*since we oft stroll near there, I or my ghost will let you know if we get plugged

Postcards from the edge of hell

Will you walk into my parlour

Said the spider to the fly.

 

  
CLAP LOUDER

 

 

Or, for a mere $15 a day, clap less.

 
So that's where my $15 really went.

 
 
Space Casino, here I come.

 

Kindly go fuck yourself.

 
 
Not tackling the problem.

Randal's not here, man.

It's all about karmic relationships, baby.

All is not lost.

NO FUCKING CLUE BUT I BET YOU'RE GONNA FUCKING TELL ME

So, good folks, aside from carpet prophylactics, what angers up ye blood? Minus a million points for mention of POTUS, SCOTUS, SCROTUS, WORTHLUS.

State of the union

Read into this whatever you wi -- SOMEONE CALL THE MARINES*

*fuck, fatso forgotso they're assaulting our amphibians this SHW**

**Sammy Hagar Weekend, not to be confused with FW***

***Fenriz Weekend

♪ let me help you out of your chair, Cleveland ♫

 
The King is alive, long die the King.

Born in '56, is 56, it's 6/14, 1+4 is 5, that's a heaping firepit of spooky noochies I hope to invoke & give Polska some extra Saturday kielbasa. So many hours of chips, house brand fizz, Unearthed Arcana (d12 HD berserker motherfucker), & solo velocipeding to this epic E-VUL in days of yore when homie Tom K. & His Thrashing Ukulele wasn't trying to sell me on the "qualities" of the Dead Milkmen & Dread Zeppelin fuck that trying-too-hard-to-be-clever college shit I can't fucking hear you over the heavy dood, so the SBH & I are going to celebrate with crushtacular Portland doomsters Witch Mountain this eve in a local dive,



knowing that if there're big riffs aplenty, metal is metal is metal, fuck split ends.

Hail to the King, baby.

Semper fudge

I'd love to (not really) pen a few-thousand-word screed on this nothing's shocking smooth criminal agitprop but 1)I'm on staycation & 2)I've got to download and print my very own Harrier and follow the simple instructions to start my Marine Air Squadron for my triumphant return to the Towering Slab.

Ya'll gettin' some troo kvlt shock & awe, motherfuckers.

Whirling dervish vs. the five deadly venoms

Oh, go fly a kite.

My Snoopy Dance is dope or fly or gnarly or some other slang term.

DHS SUV GONE STOP USA UNDER ATTACK STOP

I fucking hate that fucking thing.

Water, the Saddam of the biosphere.

Early lawyer catches the hangover.

On this blog.

This isn't --

going to --

go well.

DUCHESS LOOK OUT

This might have set the height record.

This less so.

I choose to believe they weren't laughing.

I totally trespassed on your grass, The Man.