Hire Jim Essian

All right, all right, so it’s not Friday. So what? Who’s to say I’m even going to be alive by Friday? In the meantime, don’t be a bunch of ungrateful douchebags. You’re getting this stuff for free. I had a chance to peruse that worthless tabloidal excuse for a newspaper you guys call the Sun-Times when I sat down for morning grapefuit soaked in gin, and it practically made me blind.

• The headline writer for Moronotti’s article says it all: “Brady’s priorities: QB first, GQ second“. You just knows this is a HUGE disappointment for Mariotti, who wouldn’t have a job if he actually had to write about sports. Maybe Jay will still find that glory at the end of his rainbow bumper sticker when People Magazine finally hires him and his personality-obsessed schlock drivel.
• What’s better about this pile of dung that spit out from Carol Slezak’s computer? That she feels comfortable speaking on behalf of Irish people everywhere by dismissing the Notre Dame logo as an “exception to the rule” even though her last name appears as Irish as a kielbasa (and if she’s Irish, I’ll take it back but I doubt she is), or that she hilariously gives John McDonough credit for the “In Dusty We Trusty” and “We Got Wood” campaigns? Hey baby doll, I’ve only been in town for a year, but even I can tell you that those marketing campaigns were started by regular dudes on the street who were looking to make some quick scratch by selling their t-shirts out of cardboard boxes after games. Those concepts have as much to do with John McDonough as you do with exercises in rational discourse.
• Poor little Richard Roeper. The recent deaths of media colleagues Terry Armour and now Randy Salerno have put Roeper in a tailspin, as this wandering weird rambling testifies to. I like how Roeper bemoans that knob-job Bob Collins in having died so young. Hey kid, Bob Collins was 3 weeks from his 58th birthday. I understand that Mike Royko treated you worse than a dog treats a fire hydrant, but dying at 64 seems a little premature as well. Get over yourself, ya fruit loop.
• Speaking of Royko, while the Angry Jon Kass wrote a nice tribute to your old mayor Gene Sawyer last week, nothing will measure up to Royko’s obit for Richard J. Daley.
• Enough Chicago talk. Have you losers seen all of the shitbags who used to play for your team signing with other teams?

  So David Aardsma has now crapped out with three teams? My advice to this guy would be to see if he can get any “month-to-month” leases in Beantown.

  St. Louis must really be hard up. Didn’t someone tell them that Todd “Shoulders” Wellemeyer sucks?

  I gotta be honest. The first time Hendry asked me if I wanted Rocky Cherry on the team, I thought he was looking to stock a new drink in the clubhouse. Well we dumped that loser by the trade deadline for the hilariously inept Steve Trachsel, and now he’s agreed to spread his medicority around Baltimore for the 2008 season.

  While the Orioles bolster their playoff roster by adding Cherry, they’re still apparently playing footsie with this whole Erik Bedard bullshit. Christ MacPhail, haven’t you learned anything about holding onto your crap for too long? We don’t even want Brian Roberts anymore, you cardboard douche.

• Speaking of Baltimore, it looks like their football team re-hired Buddy Ryan’s kid after shipping him out with Brian Billick. Who the hell starts fresh by bringing back the same old coaches who helped get the previous regime canned? Oh, wait, I did the same thing with Rothschild, didn’t I?
• Also, what I find more interesting than the Ravens firing then re-hiring Rex Ryan is the fact that Rex will go down in infamy as far as those douchebags on the ‘72 Dolphins are concerned, as his impulsive timeout called probably saved New Engalnd from losing to Baltimore. Good on him, I say.
• Don’t forget to vote before the polls close, even if Kerm doesn’t give a shit if this loser site wins anything.

That does it for now, douchebags. I may or may not do another roundup Friday. I’m sure you’ll have nothing better to do that constantly come back here to see, but Sweet Uncle Lou ain’t making any promises. I gotta get ready for Mesa, after all.