Set in the shadow of the decaying buildings and streets of Baltimore, The Rules of Play Action is a startlingly funny, kaleidoscopic novel about three kharacters with no plans for the future - or even the present - who become entangled in a curious romantic triangle. Rikki-Tikki-Deadly trains his incisive
Author: Rikki-Tikki-Deadly
Your “Gravity Always Wins” Jets-Browns Open Thread
It is hard to fathom The Narrator's cruelty, sometimes. Most fans of moribund franchises approach the season with glum resignation, knowing that draft picks and free agent acquisitions will have little effect on the team's fortunes, and by mid-November they can comfortably relax and enjoy the feats of more competitive
I Watched It So You Don’t Have To: The Christmas Twin Switch
Normally Christmas movies are Scotchnaut and Wakezilla's beat, but I stumbled upon a seemingly unheard of gem on the NFL Network over the weekend and I wanted to spread its holiday cheer with the fine folks here. The Film: The Christmas Twin Switch The Players: He's got the beard, he's got the belly,
That’s My (Las Vegas) Raiders! Rudderless (Raiders at the Bye Part 2)
EXT. LAS VEGAS RAIDERS SHARED HOUSE – DAY --- [return from commercial break] --- COACH PIERCE enters the shared Raiders' house. STUDIO AUDIENCE: [in unison] COACH! COACH PIERCE: Hey guys, what's shakin'? KOLTON MILLER remains seated on the couch, while JOSH JACOBS is standing in the center of the room. HUNTER RENFROW, still seated at
That’s My (Las Vegas) Raiders! Rudderless (Raiders at the Bye Part 1)
EXT. LAS VEGAS RAIDERS SHARED HOUSE – DAY Establishing shot and title card. ANNOUNCER BETH MOWINS: That's Five Raiders [sic] is filmed in front of a hive Eskimo [sic] audience. CUT TO – INT. LIVING ROOM – DAY HUNTER RENFROW sits at the kitchen table, studying his playbook. His backpack sits on the chair
SURPRISE REQUEST LINE: Look Out, Itchy, He’s Irish!
The Smartest Coach on Earth: Chapter 3 (Gravity)
White Horse
Everything would have gone smoothly if it hadn't been for that damned horse DNA. "Zzzzzmmpt lllllllloooooommmmm tt mmzzzzzzz eeeeeeee tptptpt?" the mission specialist griped, in a series of hisses, pops, and other tones that translates roughly to ["Why the fuck are you splicing that equine shit into my chromosomes?"] The genesplicing technician
