Steve Young's concussions recede

I watched a significant portion of tonight's Monday Night Football matchup. I, like the majority of the nation outside of fagland (currently known as San Francisco), expected the BornagainWarners and AnquanFace-Offs to romp the Michael CrabHoldouts. Holy Jee Willikers, we miscalculated (and just look at that smile!).

I would like to take this moment to acknowledge the Cardinals irrefutable self-assertion to the leading position of Schizophreneteam. Commit yourself to the nearest NFL psychologist at your convenience.

Let's start with seven turnovers, shall we? Your team went five short of a Pillsbury Doughboy platter. That's a dozen, for all you Saints fans. Despite my Judaism, I still resent Kurt Warner's "dedication" to humanity and "Christian goodness" even more after this Judah-esque display. Let's be real: If Jesus gave you the ability to win the National Football Conference last year, why did he have so much trouble conquering the Castro district? TWICE??


It seems like the hope, coming into tonight, was for the Cardinals to assert themselves as the third challenger to the Saint-Viking quest for NFC supremacy. For lack of a better expression, that hope got fucked in the ass. With a rainbow-colored dildo.

At this point, my predictions are as follows:

1.   The Colts will lose, as they always do, to the Chargers. Billy Volek and Tiny Darren may or may not be involved.

2.   The Saints conquer the Vikings, in a game where dome action (stadium reference) is so prevalent that this chick (NSFW) would gag.

3.   Saints are Super Bowl champs because I've never met an attractive woman named Katrina. This is the city's best chance to recover from getting fucked by an ugly chick.

For those who follow the Perm, this concludes Bubb's mini-sabbatical. I'm back. Celebrate with plenty of hard A.