"Coach Payton? Hi, my name is Dave. I used to play quarterback for John Fox but he don’t play me no mo. Oh no. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that Vinny is out because he’s old and I’m gonna really suck and throw you two interceptions because I want you to show up Coach Fox because he don’t play me no mo, and I’m mad."

Five and six, bitches! Yay? Oh sure, what the hell. Damn right yay! What are you gonna do, sulk your way through the rest of the season, smugly self-satisfied with the accomplishment of having proclaimed the Saints dead long before everyone else "accepted the truth?" Wait, you say you’re one of those message board guys? And that’s exactly what you plan to do? Oh, I see. Well then how about you go fuck yourself? That work for ya?

The problem with a win like this one is that there’s really not a whole lot to say about it. The Saints kicked the Pants’ asses in just about every way permissable by law. But the Pants suck in just about every way permissable by law. (North Carolina law, that is, which means the list of ways to suck lawfully is a little shorter than in most other states.)

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The time will come
When we will be as one
Gonna feel the jones*
And nobody knows 
how we really feel
They don’t know the deal
We’ve got to put this back together
And sing our word to the mutha
Bringin’ it right back where we started from
And send our word to the mutha

Welcome to the First Annual moosedenied.com Thanksgiving Post, bitches. I wasn’t sure where to go with this little gimmick theme, but lately it occurs to me that it’s high time to show a little appreciation for The Hat.

I don’t know whether or not Coach Miles will be going to Michigan. And neither does anybody else, despite the fact that it seems everybody but me thinks they know. I don’t believe them, and neither should you. But what I do know is that LSU has been damn fortunate to have had Coach Miles here. So thanks, Coach. Thanks for everything. And should you decide, for whatever reasons, that your best option is to stay, thanks in advance for that.

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If you’re about my age, chances are these ladies were quite a big part of your life back in your own personal golden age of masturbation. The mere mention of Martha Quinn’s name still gives me that very special tingly feeling. (Did any adolescent boy on the planet prefer Nina Blackwood?)

Nothing used to piss me off more than when an MTV Music News segment came on, and it was fucking Kurt Loder or John Norris. I was absolutely sure one or both of them were doing dating Tabitha, and I hated them for it.

Kennedy was probably the coolest of the bunch. And just smokin’ hot in that 120 Minutes way that turned me on to the whole alternachick scene. She’s also a libertarian, which is exceedingly sexy. Unfortunately, she’s merely a "small-L" lib who claims to be registered GOP. That takes an awful lot of the teeth out of being a lib in the first place (Lib > lib) but we’ll forgive her. Because she’s hot. And small-L is better than no L at all.

Another thing that pissed me off greatly was when my little sister discovered Remote Control. Big bro did not think she was nearly cool enough to partake of my show, dammit. I was always partial to Marisol Massey, but it didn’t take a whole lot for Kari to win me over. Unfortunately, pics of Marisol are hard to come by these days. (Actually, with the obvious exceptions of Kari and Daisy, there’s a shameful dearth of decent pics of each of these ladies on the web.)

Karyn Bryant is not only gorgeous, she’s probably the second coolest of the bunch behind Kennedy. Daisy is largely responsible for a now lifelong infatuation with the Latinas. My goodness… the Latinas. Sigh.  

Did you know that the drummer from Def Leppard only has one arm? Of course you did. But did you know that he caught three touchdown passes behind Jason David in a pick up game last night? Probably not. But I bet you’re not surprised.

Mr. T is correct to pity us. But one of the great things about being a sports fan is that self-delusion is perfectly acceptable. You can fool yourself all season long about your favorite team, and at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter.

Oh sure, you’ll get some grief over it from assholes, but you’re gonna get grief from assholes anyway. And it’s a special kind of fun knowing that your irrational overconfidence pisses off the "realist" at least as much as his negativity harshes your vibe.

So as far as I’m concerned, Mr. T can kiss my ass. You heard me, Clubber? You ain’t so bad. The Saints might be paper champions, but you’ve been pitying fools since 1982, and yet foolishness continues to abound. What does that say about you? Exactly. Now give me another couple 32 oz cups of that there Fool-Aid. Actually, on second thought, just give me a bottle of anything. And a glazed donut. To go.

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This guy… this is not my kind of guy.

Scapegoat of the week? Sure. So what? Know what helps if you want to avoid being made a scapegoat? Competence. Try it sometime.

Better yet, just have a fuckin’ seat. Over there. Way over there. No, farther than that. Keep going. Right on the other side of that busy freeway. There you go. Don’t worry, they’ll swerve to avoid you. I promise.

Well, at least we had the first three minutes. Good times. The rest… well… I don’t know what the hell that was supposed to be. Know what’s cool? Things that are not that.

Trap game? Maybe. If "trap" refers to getting your pubic hair trapped in the gears of a transcontinental bus. That’s what it felt like. Trust me, I know. But if it means underestimating an ostensibly outclassed opponent, I can’t buy it. I still maintain that this team has too much character to fall victim to some bullshit like that.

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Mmmmmmm…. MILFy goodness. She’s an actress. She’s hot. Not much more to be said. Her show kicks ass. Snoop Dogg is a fan. So she’s got that going for her too. Which is nice. Affiliation with Kevin Nealon is also a plus.

Any time you meet a payment (Reggie… worth every penny)
Any time you need a friend (Brees: "Aw come on coach, gimme a smile!" )
Any time you’re out from under (4-4 bitches!)

Temporary layoffs (Nice catch Devery, now have a seat.)
Easy credit ripoffs (In case you forgot, Mare cost a 6th round pick.)
Scratchin’ and survivin’ (Half-game out of the division lead!)
Hangin’ in and jivin’* (Way to bust a move in the end zone, Lance Moore.)

Hot damn, the Saints are officially BACK baby! And ain’t we lucky we got ‘em? I swear, if I didn’t currently have a live dove in my pants, I’d jump up on this table and… well, that’s not important right now.

For the first time this year, this one doesn’t need to be taken with a grain of salt. This wasn’t a closer-than-the-score-would-indicate win over a decent team, aided by a blocked punt for a TD and a blocked FG, like Seattle. This wasn’t a squeaker over an also-ran like Atlanta. This wasn’t even a dominating win over an also-ran like San Francisco. This was complete domination of a 5-2 team. One with an imposing defense and one of the best rushing attacks in the league.

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