While I would like to spend most of the day sucking myself off ESPN-style, repeated attempts during the course of my adolescence proved this to be an impossibility. I prefer self-flagellation to self-congratulation, and so I asked a handful of FOKSK’s (Friends of KSK. I just made that acronym up.) to send us messages of pure, raw scorn. Here now are their efforts.
You all make me feel dirty. But more than that, you make me feel ritually unclean. When I wander by your site, however briefly, you make me feel like I have just bathed in the collective sweat wringed out of the collective undergarments of the collective members of some Arena League 2 franchise from Arkansas or Mississippi or one of those tropical places. You make me wonder how we, as sports fans and Americans, have lost our way, and why our being lost necessitates so many filthy jokes and images of woebegotten young lasses. You make me yearn for the days when sports brought us joy and mirth, the days of serious, grown professionals like Jim Murray and Howard Cosell and Stuart Scott.
In conclusion, you all make me hate myself and all that I stand for. More than usual, even.
The preceding is dedicated to that Jew Unsilent Majority.
“Dear KSK –
Congratulations on your first birthday. You look so hot. I meant to give
you one birthday candle, but all I have is this one rock hard cock that
I’m pressing up against you. Enjoy!
I formally congratulate Kissing Suzy Kolber on its year birthday; I
would have never made it through last year’s NFL season had it not been
for you. To celebrate, I think you should undergo an unnecessary
redesign that infuriates your site’s most fervent supporters. The sky is
It has come to our attention that your “blog” is currently in the midst of celebrating the one year anniversary commemorating your initial bowel evacuation on the blogosphere.
Can this be?
How can an assembly of untalented, insightless, poorly written, less than unfunny, obscenely offensive to the open eye, insensitive and routinely plagiaristic “men” possibly carve out a larger than “sad lonely fuck who habitually beats off to porn in his mom’s basement and keeps a blog/diary that is read by two readers a day, both readers being said sad lonely fuck” presence on the net? How?
How can a group of “men” who engage in overtly homoerotic verbal heavy petting and linguistic gay orgies with each other leave a significant footprint in the world of SPORTS blogging? How can it not be that your “blog” posts about the hottness of Orlando Bloom or the machismo of Enrique Iglesias? How can it be that your “blog” is not an homage to the male delictability of Matthew McConaugay? Or a tribute to the musical styling of Mika? How?
Like the meaning of life, these are questions that can have no answers. And more pointedly, might have answers that induce vomiting.
So, on this occasion of auspicious consequence, we wish you hearty congratulations. And we pass you some toilet napkins so you might cleanse your expository opening to continue to treat the blogosphere like my Big Momma Rasheeda treats her Depends.
With Allah’s Blessings,