Unbiased Vikings vs. Packers Preview

Vikings by a billion.

Minnesota may lose the “porn star mustache” competition to the Packers. They may lose the “sexiest head coach” competition to the Packers. They may lose the “who’s quarterback can love their family least” competition. They may lose the “worst attempt at beer chugging” competition. They may lose the “ugliest uniforms” competition. They may lose the “QB with the most breakups” competition. They may lose¬† the “greyest kicker” competition. They¬† may lose the “smelliest fans” competition, or the “most overweight fans” competition. The Vikings might lose the “who can draft worst” competition. They might lose the “most broken collarbones” battle, or the “worst city” battle. Minnesota might even lose the “worst wide receiver depth” battle.

It’s very possible that the Minnesota Vikings get bested in every single one of these very real competitions by the Green Bay Packers, but you know what we won’t lose? This ballgame on Sunday. You’re going to like the final score Vikings fans, I guarantee it.

Unbiased prediction- Vikings: A Billion, Packers: <<<<<<<<<

Tiger Wood Is +8 And I Want To Die.

There is a chance this title is an overreaction. It’s not though.

During Round 1 of the BMW Championship on Thursday, Eldrick golfed like Mark Sanchez quarterbacked and put up an abysmal 73. But the greatest golfer of all time was not to be denied. Tiger teed off for Round 2 on Friday looking to right his ship before it sank to the bottom of BMW’s ocean but managed to butt fumble his way into an iceberg of a 75. Consider the U.S.S. Woods sunk.

I’m not mad, just disappointed that the GOAT is playing golf just slightly better than the average old, white, out of shape, country club member. Now I know he’s 44 and has a back that’s rebuilt with 25% luck and 30% prayer, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t break my heart watching him get beat by a guy named fucking Maverick who doesn’t resemble Tom Cruise in the slightest.

After a promising finish last week it seems like we’re back to bad Tiger, and bad Tiger means depressed me.

T’s and P’s to my liquor cabinet this weekend.

One does not simply get traded for a 7th round pick by passing physicals

This is classic a classic “you get what you pay for scenario.” You don’t trade a rusted out Ford Pinto and expect a working Ford Mustang in return. No, you trade a rust out Pinto and in return you get a 6 foot, 308 lb StarKist tuna can shaped, chode of man who runs a 40 yard dash in infinity seconds because he could’t finish it.

To be fair, I don’t know exactly what part of the physical P.J. Hall Jr. failed, but I can only assume the Raiders were willing to trade a former 2nd round pick for a 7th rounder because he spent the quarantine maxing out on hot dogs and not on squats.

Unfortunately for Hall, Mike Zimmer’s complex defensive scheme requires running and tackling, both which can’t be easy for you when your physical report card has a red F stamped on it. P.J. doesn’t need to be the next American Ninja Warrior, but being a Glizzy Gladiator ain’t going to cut it.

Hall may be better off giving Detroit a try, where passing your physical is about as expected as winning the North.

What it’s like to be an essential employee

I’m no hero. I put my pants on one leg a time just like everyone else. The only difference between me and you is that I’m essential to the proper functioning of planet earth. That responsibility would stress most people out. The weight of the world is literally on my shoulders, but luckily I’ve never skipped leg day. I stare death in the face every day now, but I don’t blink. My work cannot stop.

I get up every morning terrified of what I might encounter during the day. Terrified of the people I may see, but I still get out of bed. I wake up, make breakfast, pour a cup of coffee, and pretend like everything is going to be alright. I sanitize. Then I take a deep breath, and step outside.

My first challenge, walk to my car without coming into contact with anyone else. Talk about hell. On an average day I have to make sure to avoid at least three people (probably non-essentials) on my way to my car. It takes focus, preparation, reflexes, and courage. I dodge, dip, duck, dive, and dodge two or three people all the way to my car. Once I’ve finally made it inside I relax for a second, and then tremble at the thought of what lies ahead. Before putting my whip in gear, I sanitize.

Traffic. Sure there are less cars on the road because of the stay at home orders, but it still takes me at least 30 minutes to get to work. That’s disgusting, I’m an essential employee for Christ’s sake, I can’t afford to be wasting time, especially when I still have to stop at Starbucks for an Americano (the caffeine is a must for what lies ahead).

Once I’ve navigated through the 17 cars on the road, and survived the Starbucks drive-through (barely), I pull into work, and sanitize. From the outside it doesn’t look too bad.

I walk inside. I sanitize. I greet my fellow coworker or two as I walk past their offices, trying to stay 20 feet away, and then approach my office door. Terrified of the door handle I use an elbow to open it. My office. Looks okay, but is it? I grab a disinfectant wipe and wipe down my desk, keyboard, mouse, and anything else I see. I sanitize again, and sit in my chair. Only 8 more hours of this war zone. Throughout the day I write reports, respond to emails, edit spreadsheets, answer my phone, but most of all, I avoid my coworkers at all costs. I avoid them like the plague they probably are. Not easy. It’s a small office and two other people are here today. I try to never be in the same room as one of them. This is ground zero folks, this is the mayhem I deal with.

I carefully touch the microwave and the refrigerator handle at lunch time. I immediately wash my hands after. I carefully open the bathroom door. I shit in peace. I wash my hands after. My coworker hands me a piece of paper. I wash my hands after. I walk to the printer. I wash my hands after. 8 straight hours of this insanity. But I deal with it because I’m essential. My work cannot stop.

5:00 PM has struck. My work is done, but it cannot stop. I grab my stuff, turn off the lights in my office, close the door, and sanitize my hands after. I say goodbye to my one coworker who is still there. I try my best so stay far away, but we come within 15 feet of each other. I wash my hands after.

In my car, I prepare for the highway to hell back home. Traffic is worse now. At least 30 cars out. But I navigate carefully, making sure to stay 6 feet away from all other car. I’m hungry. Do I have food at home? Hopefully. I probably shouldn’t stop Starbucks again, the risk is too great. Fuck this virus. I sanitize again.

35 minutes later I’m home. I’m tired, sore, weary, scared, and still hungry. I park on the street like a non essential pigeon. Easily 40 yards to my door, and I see at least 4 people outside. I get out of my car, sanitize, and begin a brisk walk to my door.

BOOM! Someone else is leaving my building. Shit. I panic. Quickly I change directions and navigate to the back door (ass eating season). Luckily no one is there. I open it. I sanitize. I walk up the stairs to my door. I open it. I wash my hands.

I’m back inside. I’ve survived another day. I strip off my clothes, get in the shower, cry, masturbate, and try to forget the day. I try to forget the madness I saw.

At night I reluctantly prepare myself again for another day of chaos, because I am essential. My work cannot stop. I sanitize again.

Dear John Is An Abomination Of A Movie

I don’t hate romantic movies. I’ve watched a few in my day and they’re mostly fine. The Notebook? An excellent film. A Star is Born? Great. The Titanic? A classic. But honestly Dear John is big pile horse shit.

Yea, that looks about right.

I watched Dear John for the first time a few days ago and I have some thoughts about it. And not that it’s any of your business, but no, the movie didn’t lead to coitus. To be honest, I would have been too angry about the movie to try and lay some pipe anyway.

What the fuck was that bullshit. First of, John looks like this.

Channing Tatum Pictures and Photos | Fandango

I don’t want to be a dick, but that handsome bitch isn’t settling for Savannah. That’s right, I said settle. John happens to look a lot like Channing Tatum, and people who look like Channing Tatum date people who look like Rachel McAdams. Daddy Gosling didn’t settle for the first hippie beach trash he met.

And then we have Tim. Nice guy right? No, turns our he’s a bigger snake than Kim Kardashian. What a douche. Fucking Tim decides he’s going to marry Savannah while our boy John is overseas getting winged by bullets. John is out here fighting for Tim’s freedom and and Tim is literally cucking the shit out him. Hard to be a bigger bitch than that.

I also have no idea what Savannah is thinking. If John settled, then Savannah was reaching like MJ in Space Jam.

Brandon Cottrell on Twitter: "@SportsNation you guys reach harder ...

Seriously. John is as good as it gets for her, and she decides to settle for old man Tim and his kid? No chance is that happening. No fucking chance. You don’t leave a 12 (on a scale to 10) for a 6. Especially if your supposed to be wildly in love with the aforementioned 12.

This movie is actually ridiculous. The only good thing that happened was John leaving her ass behind like the trash bag she is after he stupidly went to visit her.

To top it all off, we don’t even know if they got back together! Probably for the best, because if the idiot writer would have reunited those two I would have drop kicked my T.V. down the stairs and lit it on fire.

I need sports back, bad.

Stefon Diggs Defending Sam Bradford Is A Wild Move.

What a fucking tweet. So Diggs didn’t want to play with Kirk Cousins in Minnesota because apparently he’s not good enough to throw to a Walmart brand No. 1 wide receiver, but somehow Diggs thinks Sammy Buckets is “pretty damn good”? And don’t forget, he’s “pretty damn good” “when healthy” which was mostly never. Let’s compare stats shall we.

If Bradford is “pretty damn good” than what the hell is Kirk Cousins? I’ll tell you. He’s pretty much better than Bradford, and as an added bonus, his knees aren’t made out of expired play dough.

Honestly, what are you talking about Diggs? Oklahoma Bradford was pretty damn good, but NFL Bradford was supremely alright. He was pretty damn okay. He was superbly not too bad.

If you valued Bradford’s accuracy you’ll love Josh Allen missing the broad side of every barn.

That tweet had to be the first of its kind. No one defends Sam Bradford in 2020.

Dick Pound

If you don’t know, Dick Pound is a longtime member of the International Olympic Committee (IOC). He’s also the proud owner of the most alpha name in all the world. Word has it, his family crest features a BBC.

Apparently, Time Magazine named him as one of the 100 Most Influential People in the World, which is not surprising given that absolute big, swinging, hammer of a name. He was also a competitive swimmer which actually is surprising since there is a 100% chance he has a fucking yacht anchor between his legs.

The fact that Mr. Pound publicly goes by Dick instead of Richard, means that he is the scariest man in the world. You don’t casually walk around on three legs with a name like Dick Pound unless you can kill a man with his own fingernail.

Dick Pound. I mean come on. Every single teacher he’s ever had thought this was a prank on his first day of school. It’s like Cook Pu from HIMYM.

A classic gag.

I’d love to go to the Olympics someday but I don’t want my girl anywhere near a man like Dick Pound, because even if he is 100 years old, he’s got dick game and swagger I can’t compete with. No chance he doesn’t cuck the shit out of me.

Despite how truly terrifying Dick is, I sleep safer at night knowing that he’s out there. He’s a real life super hero, like Thor, except his hammer is shaped like a mushroom.

Long live Dick “The Pussy Hound” Pound.

The art of goosing

A goose. Not the annoying waterfowl. No, its something much more elegant, more cunning, and simpler than that particular creature.

A goose is a simple poke in buttocks. A gentle but firm prod that just peaks through the doorway to your sphincter.

It’s a greeting of sorts. Not like the traditional wave, handshake, high five, “sup” nod, or knuckles though. It’s a friendly greeting, but it’s meant to take your target by surprise and provide you with a “Gotcha!” moment. Expect a verbal exclamation and a leap of surprise from your target when properly executed.

Given the current situation we live in, I can’t think of a more sanitary and germ free greeting than sticking you’re freshly washed finger into someone’s crack.

Now let’s discuss the correct execution of the goose.

First, you should know your target, and you should be friendly with them. I don’t recommend going one knuckle deep in a stranger’s or loose acquaintance’s bum. Butt fingering is really a greeting best left for close friends, siblings, or mom and dad.

Now regarding the aforementioned knuckle, one is plenty. Save knuckles two and three for the experimental night in the bedroom with your “lucky” lady or man.

I like to use my thumb when I goose. I find that its more stable and less likely to strain when I’m goosing a buddy who’s wearing material like denim. Plus it’s the largest phalange, providing more surface area for an effective surprise greeting.

Make sure you keep your thumb stiff, but not too stiff. You’ll want to allow for a little bend. If you’re not careful, you could be staring down the barrel of and sprained finger.

Next, this isn’t an ass punch. We’re not animals, we’re just trying to say hello. There is no need to wind up like you’re on the mound in a womens fast pitch softball game. It’s all in the wrist and elbow. Just a little swing of the elbow is all you need to get the momentum going. Then, just a quick flick of the wrist. Pretend you’re flipping a coin with your thumb but trying to get a little extra mustard on it.

And please, for the love of god, remember to say something while you’re goosing. There is nothing more awkward than a silent poke in the ass. Don’t creep people out, say “Hey!” as you do it.

And finally, clip your fingernails. Don’t be a hero and risk breaking one.

Happy goosing.

My application for the Huston Texans GM opening

March 18th, 2020.

Janice McNair.

Huston Texans.

1NGR Parkway.

Huston, Texas 77054.

RE: GM Opening

Dear Janice McNair,

I would not have have traded one of the leagues best and most productive wide receivers, who happens to be in his prime, for a second round pick and a very expensive running back who is always hurt and hasn’t been effective the past few seasons.

Please fax my contract details to 394-274-1919.

Best regards,

G Spot Sneakers.

My beef with Michael Thomas is officially on hold

That’s right. My long running feud with Michael Thomas is now on hold, just like everything else in the world. This feud started years ago, when I chirped him from one of my old Twitter accounts and he actually chirped back, which I respected. I don’t even remember what I tweeted at him anymore, but I do know that he started it.

Now I’m not ready to bury the hatchet yet, even though I’m sure he wants too. I’m probably living rent free in his head and it’s making him crazy. He’s probably up all night thinking about me. No I’m going to wait before ending this feud. I’ll probably have to turn down a couple steak dinner truce offers from him but that’s okay, I’m a man of principle, and were not done just yet.

So why did I decide to suddenly take a break from this brutal feud? Because a new feud has recently popped up. An unexpected feud. A feud I wish with all my heart didn’t have to happen, because it’s going to get ugly. This hurts my heart because it’s like going to battle against your brother, a brother you’ve never met, have never talked to, have less than no relationship with, and you’ve only known he exists for a few years, but still a brother. And again, I didn’t start this, Stefon Diggs did.

Mr. Diggs started this beef by complaining his way into a trade after playing one year of a five year deal that HE agreed to and signed with the Minnesota Vikings.

Prepare yourself Diggs, this is internet war.

I’ll be seeing you around Twitter MT.

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