Effball Previews

Pittsburgh -7 vs. Arizona

2009-01-24T22:58:00.000-08:00

Mr. M.: BC, happy Chinese New Year! It's apt that we debate on this festive occasion, because unless I'm mistaken there've been more dongs in your shitter in the Year of the Rat alone than in the entire Beijing phone book. Which brings me to the subject at hand - the subject, of course, being my football-lusting cock and the hand being my hand. That's right: Only one more game to jerk off to. I'll need two tissues this time. One to gather the pearly contents of my convulsing nuts and one to wipe away my tears.

BC: And I wish a happy Chinese New Year to you, Mr. M., even though we all know you much prefer the Year of the Cock. And a year of cock it has been here at Effball. Cock to feast upon and cock to fear. And only two cocks remain. Which will climb upon the jizz-covered hill to crow, I wonder? Will it be the Cardinals, whose offense, at first blush, appears as gay as the cast of Rent but still managed to force the decidedly ungay Eagles into cumslurping submission? Or will it be the Steelers, whose defense flattened the prostates of just about every quarterback they faced this year with the jumbo ass tenderizers in their jocks? There can be only one rooster in the henhouse, after all. One cock in the cage. So I turn to our resident cock expert: What say you, Mr. M.?

Mr. M.: Oh you! With the cock talk. You're so gay, you make Troy Aikman seem straight. You're so gay... When the rest of the world watches the Super Bowl, you'll be watching ESPN's Assmasters. You're so gay, you started packing your bags 'cause you heard p itchers and catchers were reporting for spring training. When you go to Geno's in Philadelphia you order one "jizz wit." You're so gay, you... you... mmm, cheesesteak... Philly... Eagles... McNabb... Dawkins... Westbrook... sigh. I'm tearing up now. What's the use, anyway? Hold me, BC. Hold me in your comforting arms.

Oh yeah, Steelers by 13. Right?

BC: I confess it, M.: I do love men. But not all men. Here's one I'm not a big fan if these days: Kurt "Cuntmouth" Warner. Once again I found myself sitting pantsless in my Barcalounger, ballsack stuck to the glossy pleather, limp cock in hand, having to watch that fucknik thank, for the millionth ass-eating time, his "Lord and Savior, Jesus." Not to be confused with his poolman, Jesus or his gardener, Jesus. And not to be confused, evidently, with the Jesus whose glory and munificence was unable to lift the Eagles to victory. That Jesus didn't really bring it on Sunday, apparently. Maybe that Jesus had his cock nailed to the cross, too, and no measure of earthly arousal could pry it loose so that it might be used to fuck the other Jesus, the Cardinals' Jesus, where and when it counted.

Mr. M.: BC, we try to have fun with our little "blog." We try to amuse ourselves. But sometimes, frankly, you go a little too far. Sometimes you overreach and wind up offending. No, no - hear me out. I'm sorry to lecture you a little bit like this, but I think you'll appreciate that I'm being quite sincere. I think you need to hear this, BC. It's for your own good. I'd expect you to do the same for me. Here's what I'm saying: cool it, sometimes. My brother. Don't cross the line just for the sake of crossing the line. Think, for chrissakes. Think! Use your head, not your cock. Don't stab me in my Eagles-loving face with your cum-spurting boner! Don't rub your balls into my face that the Eagles lost to the Cardinals. It's too much! I can't bear it! Don't mention their name again! Jesus Christ can fuck the exhumed corpse of Vince Lombardi and ejaculate onto his dusty, brittle ribcage, but don't let me hear the word "Eagles" for the next six months!

Oh hey, enjoy Sunday. See you in September.

Pittsburgh 34, Arizona 21

Baltimore +5.5 at Pittsburgh

2009-01-12T08:53:00.001-08:00

Each week, almost impossibly, the over/under for Steelers games gets lower and lower. The same with the Ravens. And so it happens that the AFC Championship game, which should be a delightfully cum-filled fuckfest, looks to be a curiously tedious back-and-forth of ass-clenching and cock-blocking. It's enough already, really. Somebody score. Somebody fuck a guy, for Jebus sake. When I watch football, I wanna see some fuckin'! Deep and hard man-sex. Can a guy see a guy fuck a guy in this league anymore? I don't think it's gay to want that. Instead, I've got to spend three hours on a Sunday beating myself raw to the sexless to-and-fro of... punters? Or is it puftas? Mitch Berger. Sam Koch. Say those names and watch your iron-hard man-rod go as limp as overcooked rotini. Still, I'll watch the game. After all, it's playoff football and I'm not queer. I just wish I could watch one big, sweaty, powerful man fuck another handsome, hairy hard-body in the ass, maybe get a little mouth-love for his fat fucktool and both of them cum on each other's face.

Pittsburgh 17, Baltimore 13

Philadelphia -3 at Arizona

2009-01-12T08:51:00.000-08:00

Last time these two teams faced each other, Brian Westbrook took it to the hole so hard, so often, so vigorously, the Cards didn't shit right for days. Cock-ramming the Rams a week later restored Arizona's taste for the sweet, soft asses and mouths of submissive men, but they looked positively cumsick against the Vikes and Pats to rear-end the season. Sure, they beat the Falcons and the Panthers, but so could a pickup team from the Missouri State University Bisexual, Gay and Lesbian Alliance. Now they're playing in their first conference championship since 1572, when the Cardinals were named the Quetzal Birds and based in the Aztec city of Tenochtitlan, where they played an ancient precursor of football with ritual overtones named Tlachtli, in which the captain of the losing team would have his head cut off and gleefully brandished by the victors. The game has evolved since then - offensive captain Anquan Boldin will only face the severing of his enormous testicles after Asante Samuel, Sheldon Brown, Brian Dawkins and Quentin Mikell take turns draining their spooj guns into every orifice in his ailing body - but the humiliation before Huitzilopochtli will be no less terrible.

Philadelphia 28, Arizona 20

San Diego +6 at Pittsburgh

2009-01-05T12:08:00.000-08:00

Let's face it: Darren Sproles doesn't have a giant penis, he is a giant penis. Literally. The dude is a human fucktool. A 5'6" big, beefy, chocolate dong. He's a cock with eyes. And a mouthpiece. You may think 5 1/2 feet isn't very big to be a football player, but it's fucking huge to be a dick. Think about it. Think about if your unit was over five feet long and built for speed. The damage it could do. Of course, there would be the inconvenience of having to buy your pecker an extra seat on the plane every time you traveled, and having to arrange your seats together, but not in the emergency exit row because, well, there are probably rules against that, having a big massive cock in the emergency exit row. And having to feed it and get that thing through security with everybody staring at it, all horrified and shit. Holy fuck! Is that a big gigantic cock going through the metal detector? I hope it's not on my flight! I don't wanna sit next to a big gigantic cock. Who knows where that big gigantic cock has been?

Well, we know where it's been, don't we? At least lately. It's been in the ass and mouth of each and every Indianapolis Colt. It's been putting a painful dent in the back of Dwight Freeney's throat. It's been pile driving the clumps of bloody stool in Bob Sanders' lower intestine. And this weekend it'll be in western Pennsylvania, at the hallowed confluence of the Allegheny River, the Monongahela River and the Cum River that rushed from its bulbous tip last week at Qualcumm Stadium. And speaking of Rivers and cum, San Diego's hot young quarterback has shown an almost unsettling willingness to douse his opponents with heaping loads of his clotted cream. You could say he's finally cumming into his own... and into the hair, the mouths and the assholes of defenses that have had to face him. But the Steelers are the league's foremost cockblockers, aren't they? If anyone can stanch the spasmodic blasts of searing love lava erupting from Rivers' fuckmeat, it's the Steel Curtain. And it will take at least that, a curtain of steel, to sheath, as if with a human-sized condom, the massive, darting, fleet-footed phallus-erectus that is Darren Sproles. Pittsburgh wins this one by a cunt pimple.

Pittsburgh 17, San Diego 16

Philadelphia +4 at New York Giants

2009-01-05T12:06:00.000-08:00

Some so-called sports experts are advising fans: "Don't drink the Eagles Kool-Aid." I'd advise these motherfuckers to not drink their lovers' cum. And calling them motherfuckers may be misleading. I don't mean that as a hollow epithet. I mean these are guys that, literally, like to fuck their mothers. If you see some dude on ESPN, on fucking Pardon The Interruption or some shit, bloviating about pro athletes and using expressions like "gut check," you can bet that the moment he takes the lavalier microphone off the lapel of his shitty suit, he's gonna climb into his Toyota Camry and hurry home to his parents' house so he can bend Momma over the sink and bury his noodle in her dry old gash. Gut check! Fag. You better check your gut for a half gallon of mixed, queer-bar ball juice.

It's not that football fans have been drinking the Eagles Kool-Aid, it's that they been drowning in Eagles semen. Philly has been swinging their beastly meat hammers around like John Henry in the mountain tunnel. While John Henry was a steel driving man, the Eagles are cock-driving men and the tunnel has been, most recently, the bored-out rectums of the Minnesota Vikings and the cavernous vaginas of the Dallas Cowboys. So who's to say the trend of industrial-age ass-reaming won't continue when they meet the Giants? Well, this motherfucker right here.

Pound for pound, cock for cock, the Giants are simply a better team than the Eagles. New York's players have larger penises, a greater sperm content in their balls, a more pronounced appetite for quim. And though Philadelphia has a considerable amount of momentcum on their side, the facts can't be gotten around, and neither can the field-wide love shaft of Brandon Jacobs. Sorry, Donovan. No soup for you. It won't be Chunky served by your mother that you'll be gobbling down on Sunday, it'll be Spunky served by Justin Tuck et al.

New York 23, Philadelphia 20

Arizona +10 at Carolina

2009-01-05T12:05:00.000-08:00

I know two people whose asses are sore this week: Matt Ryan and Antonio Smith. Matty Ice needed an icepack on his sphincter after Smith penetrated his end zone for a safety in last week's wild-card game. What transpired afterward was the type of backwoods-style violation that'll cause every man who witnessed it to periodically put down his corn cob and just plain think. Smith's linemate Darnell Dockett clambered up on him from the back, grabbed him by the collar, took out his swollen, throbbing cumhose and plowed him spiritedly for a few seconds, commanding him all the while to "squeal like a pig," then ejaculated copiously into his asscrack and the small of his back. As this extravagantly homoerotic scene was played and replayed, commentator and noted voyeur-queen Chris Collinsworth cackled lasciviously, accurately characterizing the action with the gay code phrase "bucking bronco," and masturbated onto the floor of the booth. Oh, the humanity.

But at least now we know one thing: The Cards defense has high-powered spunk rifles at its disposal. Which makes it interesting that they're ten-point underdogs on Saturday. True, this D has, over the course of the season, seemed primarily concerned with taking it in the can and beating their own cocks raw in their hairy, blistered fists. But suddenly they tightened up around the penises of Michael Turner, Roddy White and Matt Ryan. Result: Octagenarians Kurt Warner and Edgerrin James live to see another day before they're shipped off to nursing homes to eat lime Jell-O and shit their diapers. And though the Panthers have Steve Smith and DeAngelo Williams, possessors of formidable kickstands by any measure, their defense's cum-loving asses are ranked 20th against the run and were repeatedly gaped and filled to bursting by the Giants only three weeks ago. They'll have their mouths full against the pass, too. As the Cards head into the deep south, those dueling man-jos Anquan Boldin and Larry Fitzgerald might just be the keys to their team's deliverance.

Arizona 28, Carolina 20

Baltimore +3 at Tennessee

2009-01-05T12:02:00.000-08:00

Ah, good ol' fashioned fuckmouth football. Is this not what makes us Americans? Two opposing lines of man-ogres furiously stuffing each other's faces with cock from the moment the ball is snapped. It's like a medieval joust, except it's lots of guys, not two; and they're riding men, not horses; and they're poking each other not with lances but with their own fire-forged and battle-hardened erections. I say, sound the fanfare!

Seriously, you've got some pretty good defensive teams here. On the offensive side of things, the only thing I can think of is the stench of Kerry Collins's buttplug.

Baltimore 20, Tennessee 14

Philadelphia -3 at Minnesota

2009-01-02T00:11:00.001-08:00

Thank Christ this one isn't being played at The Linc, where hazmat crews are still working around the clock to drain the stadium of the breathtaking deluge of Eagles cum spilled there during last week's blunt-knifed castration of the Dallas Cowboys. And when I say breathtaking, I mean literally; the tsemen tsunami reached flood levels and few Cowboys survived. Jerry Jones had to scurry upstairs to the safety of his owner's box and watch meekly, his vagina mouth twisted into a pitiful grimace, as starred helmets floated past in a gooey sea of Philly splooge. Will the Eagles have anything left to give after such a jizz-letting, or will the bacchanal of cock and cum serve only to drive Philadelphia into an even greater paroxysm of ass-fucking and mouth-fucking and face rape? I'm guessing the latter, no matter where the game is played. To be sure, the Vikings will be blowing a large horn during this game; but not the one on the sidelines of the Metrodome, rather the one packed painfully into the the crock pot-sized athletic cup of one Brian Westbrook.

Philadelphia 23, Minnesota 16

Baltimore -3.5 at Miami

2009-01-02T00:10:00.000-08:00

So the Dolphins got their cocks back. Good for them. And the Ravens, too. Last year it was a whole lot of sucking and swallowing for both teams, and that's an understatement. The Dolphins won a single game last season. That's the gay bar equivalent of letting every dude in the joint fuck your ass except one. Maybe the bartender, and only because he's working. Baltimore also took more than their share of love in their tummies. They needed the whole off-season to shape those cumbellies back into the ripped abs we're now seeing as we head into the playoffs. And speaking of head in the playoffs, I'm a bit concerned that the reformed Dolphins are in danger of a relapse the moment they set eyes on that darling twink Joe Flacco. He's an absolute cutie and may prove an irresistible temptation to the Fins' cumloving nature, however "cured" they think they are. It's a one-day-at-a-time moment for Miami, or maybe one-cock-at-a-time is more appropriate. Every big, thick, hard one they see - and with this year's Ravens, they'll see quite a few - they must resist their instincts and repeat the mantra: I like pussy, I like pussy. Fake it 'till you make it, they say. Self-help programs like to tell you the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. In the Dolphins' case, the problem has been consuming vast quantities of human sperm. Personally, I think their first step to recovery is to stop sucking cock. And I wish them well.

Miami 13, Baltimore 10

Indianapolis -1 at San Diego

2009-01-02T00:09:00.000-08:00

Trainers for these two teams had to intervene repeatedly early in the season to pump quarts of cum from the stomachs of their players. How they're now forking up their battered cocks for January play is dumbfounding. The Chargers were 4-8, for Christ's Jesus sake. Scientists the world over were convened to FedEx Field to scrutinize LaDainian Tomlinson's monstrous yet curiously ineffectual cock. What could be wrong with it? Erectile dysfunction? Constriction of the vas deferens? Metal fatigue? While these questions were never fully answered, the Chargers managed to regain their sexual ardor as a group; their season cum-inated in a feat a lot of people have been waiting to see for years: the splashing of Mike Shanahan's hot, angry face with milky baby batter. It was a simpler path for the Colts, who seem to have simply remembered that they were the Colts: masters of the ass-spread offense. But with Antonio Cromartie and Quentin Jammer in coverage, expect San Diego's asses to resist better than most.

San Diego 27, Indianapolis 24

Atlanta -2 at Arizona

2009-01-02T00:07:00.000-08:00

Thank Christ it's the playoffs finally. Finally we can focus our attention on teams that bring outsize, consistently firm erections to the proceedings, week in and week out. The cockcream de la cockcream. For a few precious, delicious weeks we can pretend that cumgarglers like the Arizona Cardinals and jizz aficionados like the Atlanta Falcons are not even in the NFL. What? Oops, sorry. I forgot this was 2008, the most ass-backward year in recent memory. Patriots? Sucking dick and playing golf. Cowboys? Collapsing in showers and taking it in the shitter. Bears? Drowning their sorrows in bear bars. Cardinals? Falcons? Pointing their diamond-tipped ass-openers at each other. Both teams are capable of boring into end zones, but with Michael Turner, Roddy White, Matt Ryan and a great cock-blocking offensive line, there's little doubt that the Falcons have the superior tools.

Atlanta 30, Arizona 21

Denver +8.5 at San Diego

2008-12-23T15:55:00.001-08:00

OK, I might as well admit it right now: I'm going to masturbate to this game. It's not every fucking day besides the Super Bowl when everything is on the line. The winners go to the playoffs, the losers nurse their battered balls and blood-caked assholes and weep quietly in the arms of the first available gay hustler. Now THAT'S football. Every poke of the cock, every parry of the asscheek, every flying load of spunk - it all counts. Who will win? Who the fuck knows. There is one thing I'd like to see as I pound away at my meat: LaDainian Tomlinson making a statement with his cock. He could punctuate it with an exclamation mark by skullfucking the furious, red face of Mike Shanahan. Yeah, that'd be good. I'm stiffening as we speak.

San Diego 28, Denver 24

Washington +3 at San Francisco

2008-12-23T15:53:00.000-08:00

If you're not too busy getting a blumpkin from your boyfriend on Sunday, you'll maybe want to tune in to this utterly meaningless and completely fag-filled pas de deux between the Queens of the Castro and the Beltway Balleaters. That is if you're a fan of the anal creampie. The 49ers and Redskins have taken nearly equal loads of jizz this year deep into their poo pots, but in their first face-to-face or, perhaps more accurately, ass-to-mouth meeting they will finally have opportunity to give each other the filthy, profane satisfaction that they have been denied all season and shit cum into each other's mouths. They'll do the same, albeit metaphorically, to those miscreants and perverts who choose to watch this obscenity.

San Francisco 14, Washington 10

Seattle +5.5 at Arizona

2008-12-23T15:52:00.000-08:00

Just a few short weeks ago Kurt Warner was the cum-slinging crack shot of the West. (And by crack shot, I mean he shot many a crack with his hot Cardinal birdseed.) Now it seems he's channeling another hero of the West, the curiously ungay Will Rogers, who once famously proclaimed, "I never yet met a man that I didn't like." Neither has Warner, evidently. In fact, in the past month this has become quite an understatement. Last week against the Patriots, Ms. Warner seemed like she never yet met a cock she wouldn't suck. The first half of the season brought MVP buzz and Kurt was starting to look again like the stud we remember from "The Greatest Show on Turf." Lately, he's the headliner in a weekly matinee called "The Greatest Blow on Earth." Will Rogers was legendary for his work with the lariat; he could rope a horse and its rider both at once. If Warner can get his mojo back in Week 17, his throbbing pink lasso will find more than few Seahawk corners to take down, hog-tie and brand with his hot buckaroo goo.

Arizona 35, Seattle 12

New England -6.5 at Buffalo

2008-12-23T15:51:00.000-08:00

The 2008 Buffalo Bills remind me of a different Buffalo Bill, the tranny serial killer from Silence of the Lambs who mutters to himself as he puts on his lipstick:

"Would you fuck me?"

The football Bills have used this line as a persistent solicitation of opposing teams, home and away, and most have obliged quite happily and sloppily.

"I'd fuck me," the fictitious Bill continues, with a halting, glottal auto-eroticism. "I'd fuck me so hard."

And the Bills have fucked themselves so hard this year, with no shortage of talent on their roster but quite a noteworthy shortage of cock in their trousers. Buffalo Bill completes the fantasy of himself as woman by shoving his pecker between his legs and dancing naked and dickless, wrapped in a veil and made up like a Cheektowaga dive bar skank. The Bills seem to have completed that fantasy for themselves already, but they don't need a flesh "woman suit" like the freak in the movie. They have outfits that transform them instantly into the visage of hormonal, cock-hungry bitches in estrus. The Buffalo uniform is now universally recognized as a "woman suit" of sorts by the magnificently violent sexual predators in the NFL who have gone at the asses of the Bills from coast to coast with a rapacious lust.

"Would you fuck me?" the Bills will ask again this weekend of the New England Patriots.

"We'll fuck you," will be the answer. "We'll fuck you so hard."

New England 31, Buffalo 13

Miami +3 at New York Jets

2008-12-23T15:50:00.000-08:00

1-15 last year, firing on all cocks this year - has any team transformed itself from pure, cumhungry, county fair whores into spooj-cannon monster tops any quicker than the Miami Dolphins? The Jets are a different story. After their recent stumbles, they should really be renamed the Jet - I'm talking about the powerful cumhose between Thomas Jones's legs. He's still able to blast a shot of semen into the eyes of defenders from considerable distance. Brett Favre, on the other hand, has developed the curious habit of accepting the snap, dropping trou, lubing up his anus, gingerly inserting the football, and shooting it from his ass into the arms of the nearest defender. That guy was a lot better when he was on the Vikes.

Miami 27, New York Jets 14

Cleveland +10.5 at Pittsburgh

2008-12-23T15:49:00.000-08:00

The sight of the Cleveland helmet has become like a Pavlov's bell for teams facing the Browns. One glimpse of that delightfully banal orange sends rival players into a drool-inducing, dick-stiffening frenzy. Their pants tighten, their jocks stretch, their nuts begin to tingle and pulsate as the hot spooge inside thickens and percolates and prepares to gush, as if through a broken dam, out of their creamsticks and into the waiting, gaping holes in the faces and asses of the feckless Browns. Just watching game film has been a test of the Steelers' willpower this week.

"Save it for Sunday, boys," warned Mike Tomlin as driplets of precum trickled involuntarily from the pricktips of linebackers and safeties, despite desperate prostate clenchings and pinchings of the pee hole. Players swooned as reserves of blood rushed from the one head to fill the other. In the end, many had to relieve themselves onto Cleveland's game program team photo for fear of literally busting a nut.

No matter. There is plenty more goo to brew and this weekend Steelers fans will be treated to and end-of-season spunktacular that will white out those provocative Cleveland colors once and for all.

Pittsburgh 23, Cleveland 6

Tennessee -2.5 at Indianapolis

2008-12-23T15:48:00.001-08:00

No one gives a fuck about this fucking game, least of all the players. The Titans are the AFC's top seed and the Colts are the fifth. It's done. So what's going to happen? The players with the biggest cocks are going to get rested, blah blah blah, same old story, yawn. Since nothing matters anyway, why not make a delicious afternoon of it? The pregame, midfield meeting could begin with the requisite handshakes and pats on the back, but instead of going their separate ways, perhaps the players could linger with each other awhile. It could all begin with a furtive glance, an awkward gesture - the whisper of surgical-taped fingers over taut nylon. Two opposing linemen may fall helplessly into each other's arms, whereupon they'd lie upon the horseshoe and discover realms of sensual rapture never previously imagined. Others would join in, and this could turn into the tenderest, hottest gay orgy Indianapolis has ever seen. Why the fuck not?

Indianapolis 21, Tennessee 17

Jacksonville +13 at Baltimore

2008-12-23T15:46:00.000-08:00

What could be creepier - or gayer - than Bing Crosby and David Bowie's 1977 Little Drummer Boy duet? The Jacksonville Faguars 2008 rendition of the same song, reprised 'round the Christmas tree as the merry gentlemen warm themselves near the heat from Ray Lewis' yule log:

Come and fuck me
In the rump, rump, rump, rump
A big, hard cock I see
In my rump, rump, rump, rump

Please fill it with your cum
My rump, rump, rump, rump
Fits like a glove my bum
My rump, rump, rump, rump
My tight little rump
My sweet open rump

I'll let you stay inside
My rump, rump, rump, rump
When you cum

Baltimore 23, Jacksonville 13

Kansas City +3 at Cincinnati

2008-12-23T15:45:00.000-08:00

Do I have to watch this game? Someone tear out my cock. Please. Tear it out and slap my insolent face with it. Hell, shoot me with it. Shoot me in the face with my own damn spunk. Press my balls in a vice and squirt their contents onto a bowl of corn flakes and make me fucking eat it. Press my severed cock to my head and force me to eat a bowl of breakfast cereal that's coated in my own fresh nutgoo. Please, please, please. I'm begging you. Feed me my cock. Force me to lube up my cold and rubbery cock with my tongue and wriggle it into my resistant anus. Then toss it willy-nilly into the bushes like that Lorena Bobbitt cunt and make me eat out my own ass. Bend me into a pretzel so that I may eat of mine own ass. Don't let me stop until I've had my fill. Make me shoot cum out of my bloody cockstump into my nose and eye. It stings, it stings! Take me and make me fuck me. Fuck me with me. But please don't make me watch this game.

Cincinnati 21, Kansas City 17

St. Louis +14.5 at Atlanta

2008-12-23T15:44:00.000-08:00

Was it so long ago that the St. Louis Rams had the biggest, most explosive cocks in football and absolutely no one knew how to stop them? That smug fuckface Mike Martz would just glance at the playsheet, fuck everybody on the field with Marshall Faulk, Isaac Bruce and Tory Holt, run up the score, and wait for the inevitable, giddy moment in the season when his grateful team would douse him with Xtreme Pelvic Blast Gatorade. Times have changed. And was it so long ago that the Atlanta Falcons, with their erstwhile leader being offered up to sexually ravenous prisoners rather than himself feasting on the mouths and asses of lesser men, were lost and wandering, cum-blind, confused and groggy from repeated anal molestation? Now they're the ones dishing out the penile punishment, again and again thrusting and ejaculating their way to 10-5 and a chance at a first-round bye. In terms of erections and assfucking, bet on this: The South is rising again, and the South's gonna do it again.

Atlanta 34, St. Louis 10

Carolina -3 at New Orleans

2008-12-23T15:42:00.000-08:00

Why do we have to have fucknik teams like the Panthers taking up valuable playoff slots? No one cares about the Carolina Panthers. The part-time, college basketball-loving fans who half-fill the seats at Sperm Bank of America Stadium don't give a fuck about football. They'd sooner get on their knees and powder Mike Kwzerzeswzewzski's balls than root for the "Cats." In fact, maybe it's time for a league contraction. I'm not talking about getting rid of teams - I'm talking about the rest of the league contracting their shitpipes so that upstart asseaters like the Panthers can't wriggle their cocks inside. The Saints defense has had the loose and wanting ass of a fucked-out, aging Belarusian whore this season. For the sake of the NFL, I hope they can tighten up just enough so that Steve Smith and DeAngelo Williams can no longer fit their Scud Missile-sized appendages inside.

New Orleans 28, Carolina 24

Chicago +3.5 at Houston

2008-12-23T15:41:00.000-08:00

You know you don't deserve to post your first-ever winning record after taking it in the shitter from those miserable faggots the Oakland Raiders. And so it is that the Texans play only for pride on Sunday. The Bears, however, have a lot on the table: If they win, and the Vikings lose, they win the division. If the Vikings win too, and the Cowboys lose to or tie the Eagles, and the Bucs lose to the Raiders, and Kyle Orton avoids getting fisted during or after the game, and a rain of warm, viscous precum falls from the sky, and at least one team in the NFC South comes out queer, and dogs fuck cats, they also make the playoffs. Don't ask why. Point is, they're motivated. They'll be forking up their "brats" in the locker room before the game and dishing 'em deep in the Texans' two-holes.

Chicago 27, Houston 12

Dallas +1.5 at Philadelphia

2008-12-23T15:40:00.000-08:00

What more does the Philly defense need to do? Last week against the Redskins, Brian Dawkins and company handed the Eagles offense opportunity after opportunity. In effect, the defense pinned the Redskins to the ground and held their asses wide open, prying their cheeks apart for McNabb, Jackson et al. to take aim and fire at will from their trouser howitzers. But again and again, the Eagles' cocks would deflect off the Redskins' asses and plunge haplessly into thin air. Or worse, they'd be on the verge of penetrating some Washington inner sanctum but then cum early and manage only to harmlessly douse the backs of the Redskins' balls with spunk. It's fuck or die now. For both teams. But judging by the way the Cowboys got their faces cockslapped by the Ravens, and by the fact that they are the Cowboys, expect the Eagles to have landed a few cum Sunday night.

Philadelphia 23, Dallas 20

New York Giants +6.5 at Minnesota

2008-12-23T15:39:00.000-08:00

It's a given that Tom Coughlin has been planning to use this game to rest his most powerful cumhoses: Brandon Jacobs, Domenik Hixon, Eli Manning. But until last week's overtime jizzfest against the Panthers, it seemed like the reason would be semen detoxification: The Giants had taken bucketloads of gooey, white cockspunk into their asses, down their throats and caked into their hair at the hands of the Eagles and the Cowboys. With a performance against Carolina that included 88 yards in overtime from "Sperm Derrick" Ward, the reason is now altogether different: semen replenishment. If the Giants are going to run the table again this postseason, they'll need time to let their balls refill. As the Vikings have everything to play for, they will take advantage of the sleeping Giants the way an oral surgeon might take advantage of an unconscious patient. Big Blue will awaken on Sunday evening with their pants mysteriously unbuckled and a dull soreness about their sphincters.

Minnesota 24, New York Giants 20