"So maybe there's hope. Or maybe I'm going mad... In a nation ruled by swine, all pigs are upward mobile — and the rest of us are fucked until we can put our acts together: Not necessarily to Win, but mainly to keep from Losing Completely." -Hunter S. Thompson, The Great
It's that time of year, where leaves fall on the ground, a once-in-a-generation hurricane hits somewhere (this time Hawaii!), and you briefly think "Hey, maybe the Jets'll suck less than expected!" And sure, maybe they will! There are quarterbacks who aren't Josh McCown, so that's something. Not that McCown's had a
OK, I get it. The old Snickers joke has been done to death, but it still makes me laugh, so fuck you. https://youtu.be/Nmgice3ieZ4 Anyway, we are here today to talk about the Chiefs, a terrible franchise. Here’s the deal with the Chiefs. They have seen players commit suicide in the parking lot
[EXT. - NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS TRAINING CAMP.] [The sun is shining over Gillette Stadium. No clouds are in the sky, and the stadium is beautiful.] [CUT to INT. - A dark, candlelit dungeon. A tall, hooded figure sits alone at a rough-hewn wooden table, with stacks of ancient, leather-bound volumes piled high.
EXT. OAKLAND RAIDERS SHARED HOUSE - DAY Establishing shot and title card. ANNOUNCER BETH MOWINS: That's My Ravens [sic] is filmed in front of a live studio auditorium [sic]. --- CUT TO - INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY SUNSHINE COWSER sits on the coach, reading Sun Tzu's "The Art of War" in its original Chinese.
That's right, baby. Ain't nobody more popular than the backup QB, especially when he's the redneck nephew of Jim Kelly, who somehow managed to get kicked out of fucking Clemson yet be 10 times smarter than functional illiterate Paxton Lynch. Anyway, here's the delightful Brandon Perna to take you through Swag