This weekend, our heroes head down to La Habana Norteña to smuggle cigars assassinate Castro take on los Bucaneros de la Tampa Bay. And I’m not gonna lie (because you’ll find out soon enough anyway,) I’m half-assing it big time right about now.

Hey, I don’t know what to tell ya. The turkey’s already been in the oven for three days now, and at this point, I’ll be lucky to get my gravy done in time. It usually takes a solid week. (Totally worth it though. It tastes like God’s sweat.) And don’t even get me started on my cornbread dressing. I haven’t even milled the damn corn yet.

Those of you who have been subjecting yourselves to this here blog for longer than a year or so were probably already looking forward to expecting it to be a bit of a slow week or two around here, and I vow to you that you shall not be disappointed. Basting is a harsh mistress.

Meantime, I invite you to check out a new Saints blog just launched this week by an old e-friend of mine who’s far smarter and far less of a douchebag than me is. (Girod Street End Zone)

His name isn’t actually Claude Coupee. I like to call him J. Coogar Mellencamp, but I have a feeling I’ve got several kicks to the groin coming to me for that one of these days when he and I find ourselves in each other’s general vicinity. But until then, I’m sure he’ll be all over it while moosedenied is asleep at the wheel. I hear he can’t cook for shit.

In other first-time linkage… is it just me, or is this juuuuust a little racist?

Hey, I’m just sayin’ is all. I don’t know this guy, and I’m more than willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes good jokes go bad and all. I’m legitimately interested in the prevailing opinion though. Because while I’m pretty confident that we here at moosedenied have established more than sufficient cred to hopefully not have to worry about it, I can’t even begin to count the times I’ve passed on material that might fall into the same circle on the Venn diagram… because, well, you just never know, do ya?

If you’re anything like me, your reaction will be something along the lines of:

Jerry: It doesn’t offend me as a Jew, it offends me as a comedian!

Never hurts to check though. After all, the last thing we here at moosedenied want to do is to piss anybody off. Heh.

At any rate, I have to admit to being just a little frightened of this week’s final tuneup before the Patriots game. Must be all the sage.

And cloves. I knew I shouldn’t have sparked up that Sampoerna Extra I found in the cabinet where I keep my electric knife and yam smasher. Shit, I couldn’t possibly have bought this pack any more recently than 1992 or thereabouts, probably while on the way to the Gold Mine. Yikes.

Fucking cloves… no wonder everybody used to look at me like I was a huge asshole back then. Not that I’ve ever denied that, but until just now, I’d have denied ever being a poseur hipster doofus.

Ah, the holidays. Cloves and newly-discovered shame from years ago. Bitchin’. I love this time of year.

Hey, I warned you that I was half-assing it. Even moreso now that I’ve discovered that I’m in possession of half a pack of 15 year old long lost clove cigarettes, it’s Ping Pong Friday, there’s a chill in the air, and all of a sudden I’m powerless to resist the urge to whip up a nice Cure/Smiths/New Order playlist on the ole iTunes. Surely I must have some black jeans around here somewhere…

Oh yeah, the Bucs. Well, here’s the thing about that: Fuck them.

Fabulous Jeff? Nope. Joey Galloway? Nope. Jon Gruden? Nope. Leroy Selmon? Nope. And on and on like that until you get bored.

Somebody wake me up next Friday. But not before noon, okay?