Archive for the ‘Week 13’ Category

Ubes 39 Krons 26


Desperate. Hungry. Battle weary. Arrested. Shooting themselves in the leg! No matter, as the Ubermen band of last gasp hope parade continues for another week, refusing to let go of their playoff chances as a man from Tennessee snatches¬†Mr. White’s Turkey day thunder with boot after boot of pain. German pain. determined pain. The Krons are once again finding it difficult to win when the weather turns cold, so they better hope those receivers can put up big numbers in the ‘Offs. Mrs. Jackson, you are being paged to the white curtousy phone. Ubes, this was a huge gut check win for you this week, and now your playoffs start again. Early. We are impressed with your chutzpa and unwillingness to fade quietly into the night. It appears that the Germans, after all, have not outlawed miracles. Krons, you are looking a little soft right about now, and we’re wondering where all your funny smack has gone. Little attempts at being humorous don’t win championships, and if you want a key to the executive washroom, you’ll need to come up big in the cold days of fantasy land. The Ubes have survived the wars and have one battle left to fight before they rolls those tanks over to the promised land. What are they running on? Guts. Krons, what are you running from?


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Bugs 57 ‘Lics 50


London Broil thinks that by writing halfway funny quotes and digging into the Photobucket archives that he might be able to bring some publicity to a club that rivals the Lions in futility. DeAngelo Williams looked deep into the eye of a hungry wolf dog, charging with everything it had, and said, no, no my friend – dogs don’t talk in my fantasy world. Can anyone beat this Bug team, which poured the extra gravey that Yo Adrian brought to this Thanksgiving day point feast! The Bugs are marching towards their second championship and picking up mercenaries along the way to join their army and take place in the celebration at the end of the rainbow. Word is that they have already booked Cool and the Gang to be singing at the finish line when the Bugs comes marching home. This is a well put together team that treats those they are playing like toys made in China that made children sick when they played with them. How does JT O Sulivan and the Niners defense look about now? Have you learned your lesson or are you going to spend 80 cents on Vernon Davis again next year. I’m sure the rest of the league appreciates using your apartment for the draft – why? Because the laughter echoes niclely through the building as they exit. It’s like paying for a show with Monopoly money.

Bug Child: I did my homework Mr. Bug, should I read it.

Mr. Bug: Do you need to ask?

Bug Child: I do.

Mr. Bug: You Do.

Bug Child:

Wolf Dog we wear your fur.

We are warm, you ice

Think about us in alley, gone.

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Pals 51 X 39


The Pals hosted a Thanksgiving day Parade in Harlem and asked Jerry to show up early – Little did the soon to be X – Champ know that it was HE who was to be the Turkery. Chris Johnson turned out the lights before Jerry had fully sipped his first hint of Brandy, and when it was over, the Pals punched their ticket to the Playoffs using a fountain pen Jerry hocked at 137th and Broadway. The Pals have a punchers chance in the Offs, but they have no quality wins this year and are likely in the offs only because of the sub par performances of the rest of the league. Still, after being the whore of the league, the pony boy express is riding Tony Romo until he breaks – let’s see if he can withstand the ride from both Jessica and the Pals. Jonathan Stewart should be ashamed of himself, but not as much as you Jerry – though basing your whole season on Randy Moss and Tom Brady was fancy, the Football Gods don’t respect glamour boys Jer, which in reality as well as fantasy, is what you are. Pals, you survived the wars to make it in, so big ups to you for that. Now let’s see what you’re made of. Jerry, please, just leave the stage, there’s nobody left watching you.

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Riders 38 Rooks 16


The Riders are swinging and cursing their way to the finish line, but it is an angry rage that is meant only for the man in the Mirror. Rooks, we told you – we told you not to do what you do when you want it to be done, but you didn’t listen, and therefore had to sit by on a cold night in Hollywood watching Brian Westbrook the the turkey you left at the store. Riders, it’s you and the Ubermen for the final slot. Not only must you win, but you must run up the score to get in to the Offs! What a final week it shall be. Down in the new Rider Diego Rivera Road House truck stop, the Riders are sitting with the ghost of Hunter S. looking for a few Hells Angels for a final ride towards destiny. Rooks, you once again must take that long walk down the highway of never will and hope that you can find a soul along the way. The Schwartz put up much of his savings on you this season, as we believed the oddsmakers didn’t follow the word of god, but we know not the lord you serve. Riders, we like it the blood bath that will come between you and the Ubes this weekend, scoreboard watching has never been so much fun.

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