Shit. Somebody get me a bong, stat.

Where's a Dream Tackle Of The Past when you need one? (Or two?)

We here at moosedenied are offering a suite of fabulous prizes to the first of our (presumably) many intrepid Affliction-wearing metalhead readers who contacts Turley on Facebook (or whatever) and manages to convince him to strap 'em back up for one more go. We've already got a helicopter en route to Big Willie's house. You're welcome. Feel free to donate to the effort via PayPal or something.

Negotiations are also ongoing via the Twitters with @LeCharlesBent65 while we sort all this Kreutz business out. Oh and if anybody knows how to get in touch with Conrad Dobler these days, you know, just in case…

It's gotten to the point where I'm about ready to drop my decade-long one-man campaign to get the Saints offensive line nicknamed Wall Of Voodoo. These days, seems to me it might be more appropriate to dub them Liprap's Lament.

Here's hoping 77 and 68 aren't too busy these days deliciously preparing various meat and/or sauce products in a recipe of love, or anything like that.

Hell, now that Joe Horn and his crew have finally found a way to put their unique sauce in a bottle (how long do you think it took them to discover that the secret is a high-quality tight-fitting funnel?) perhaps 87's got an itch to scratch as well. Let's do this thing, Hollywood. I was reading on the internets Saturday morning that the Saints need about 4 wideouts too at this point.

Unfortunately, 57's got other obligations and isn't really in a position to leave town right at the moment. Turns out he's the only one who can decipher the full set of maps to the onion fields of Pahokee, so without him, the whole damn sausage factory would (wait for it… wait for it…) grind to a halt. And nobody wants that. So I'm afraid you're still stuck with Shanle for the time being.

Meantime, if Friday night's paltry 14-point halftime lead and 21-point margin of victory didn't drive it home that the Saints aren't yet in midseason form, surely yesterday's release of their starting right tackle did.

Told you we were doomed.

In fact, pretty much everything sucks right about now. The new seats on the Club Level aren't heated and provide one hell of a poor excuse for a shiatsu massage. Good luck finding a decent lobster thermidor aux crevettes at any of the concession stands lining the so-called "widened concourses." The sound system has half the damn stadium furrowing their brow in a vain attempt to understand what exactly those two gentlemen are suggesting we stand up and get.

I mean, for fuck's sake, who got these contracts? Mark St. Pierre? And don't even get me started on the intermittent ability to tweet.

So yeah, everything's pretty much a hot mess right about now. Fortunately for you, I've got just the thing to cheer you up:

You're welcome.

Still, I suppose it's anyone's guess at this point as to whether or not all our hopes and dreams are in fact in the early stages of being mercilessly crushed. Again. I don't know how soiled your pants are, but I'm gonna go out on a limb and say "probably not enough."

I mean, on one hand, Roman Harper has resumed kicking quite a bit of ass. On the other hand, what if the Saints have to go back to Seattle in the playoffs and Malcolm Jenkins is injured again and Harper has to try to cover somebody? Shit!

On one hand, the Saints apparently only suffered a single injury at the tailback position Friday night. Talk about dodging a bullet. On the other hand, it just happened to be clearly the best tailback on the roster. Shit! What the hell are we gonna do if Joique misses significant time? JOIQUE!!!

On one hand, Mark Ingram broke off quite the nifty little 14-yard touchdown run in his first game as a pro. On the other hand, he was third on the team in rushing Friday night, with less than half the rushing yards JOIQUE(!!) posted, the same number of rushing touchdowns as some guy named Chris Taylor (that name again is Chris Taylor) and he didn't even have the Saints' longest run of the evening, which was a 19-yard run by Chunky Chase Daniel(s). Sheesh, even Reggie could have done that!

On one hand, we got ourselves a couple glimpses of Good Will Smith for the first time in quite a while! On the other hand, StarCaps! Remember those? If it's any consolation, Steve Bartkowski and Flipper Anderson also stand to get boned at long last over all that nonsense. So it all evens out. Or something.

MITCH KING, BITCHES! He's the guy the Saints traded up in the first round for back in 2008, right?

VANILLA GORILLA! Surely this is the year he no longer has to pull splinters out of his ass while watching a far less productive player fail to get any penetration off the edge over and over again. I'm gonna go ahead and start holding my breath on that just as soon as I finish this here post.

And clearly Joe Morgan is The Next Honus Wagner Michael Lewis. Unfortunately, you've gotta figure he'll be going into the Hall Of Fame as a Cincinnati Red. Which is sure to make The Real™ Joe Morgan's head explode, so at least we can look forward to that.

But in the meantime, clearly we're fucked on the offensive line. Which means we're fucked in general.

Oh sure, Message Board Guy is probably dancing in the streets right about now. After all, for the last half decade or so, Stinch has pretty much been The White Scott Shanle.

And with The Black Scott Shanle bolting for Minnesota a couple weeks ago, you've gotta figure MBG's cup runneth over right about now.

That's how you know we're totally fucked.

Or are we?

The answer… is maybe.

Or maybe not.

Where y'at, Pete Finney? High five!

Anyway, sue me, but I'm not all that concerned about this particular turn of events.

Let's pause here while the internet collectively replies "Of course you aren't, you fuckin' homer. Now go ahead and try to convince us that the offensive line being a goddamn trainwreck three weeks before the Saints go on the road to take on the defending Super Bowl Champions is somehow no cause for concern. Because we all know that's what's coming."

Fuck you, MBG. This is not a trainwreck. It's just progress.

Or something.

Let the Strief Boganoff Era begin! (There's no chance in hell that sticks, is there? Yeah, that's what I thought. Probably a good thing. Hey, I never claimed I'm not an idiot.)

And hey, given that the o-line situation already has us all trying to remember where we left our fresh change of pants anyway, can we go ahead and just say "Skreu this" to the whole Olin Kreutz Experience?

Because I'm thinking that, while it might look like all hell is breaking loose on the o-line right at the moment, there's a pretty decent chance that between Matt Tennant and 64Eligible, the solutions were in-house all along. And at a huge discount.

And if that's the case, there's your first indication that 2011 is shaping up a whole lot like 2009. Everything's coming up Milhouse. The Football Gods are once again smiling down upon us. And on and on like that. Insert your favorite homeriffic platitude here.

Opportunity knocks. Don't be scared of it.

(Say, anybody got a nibble on Facebook from Turley yet? Because, as it turns out, Big Willie never got the helipad installed in his backyard. FUCK! Dammit Roaf, you owe me a helicopter! And a pilot!)

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