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Have you ever gone into a public restroom to wash your hands and they have those hands-free soap dispensers? It’s got a motion sensor that will dispense soap when your hands move under the tap, so they don’t end up with a soap dispenser coated in other people’s poop-loaf germs.

Ever tried to use one of those hands-free soap dispensers, only it doesn’t acknowledge that you’re there? You stand there like a street mime waving your arms around in front of the sink hoping to somehow get the electronic eye to notice you, but it never does. So then you move away to the next sink…and right after you step away that soap dispenser fires off a milky white stream into the sink that would make Peter North jealous. The whole experience makes you just want to jam both arms into the shitter and then slap the building maintenance manager in the face with your icky toilet water hands. HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDS-FREE SYSTEM NOW, FUCKO!

This is exactly how it felt being a Browns fan after the Braylon Edwards trade. We installed that wide receiver as an upgrade, and he worked well for one season. So we kept waving our hands under that wide receiver, expecting continued production, but suddenly he wasn’t producing. Then, as soon as we gave up and moved to the next wide receiver he unveils these amazing sticky glue hands and actually plays like he cares. For the last 1.5 seasons in Cleveland the guy can’t catch a five yard curl route; now he makes leaping catches over his outside shoulder 30 yards down field while pirouetting the sideline like a fucking Russian ballet dancer?!?

Shove your rediscovered work ethic right up your freshly bleached asshole, Braylon Barishnikov. I hope LeBron joins the Knicks in 2010, buys a house right next to yours, and fucks your girlfriend in the upstairs picture window where you can see/hear/smell everything.

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Braylon Edwards got into an argument, punched the owner of a Cleveland nightclub in the wee hours following Epic Failure Vol. IV of the 2009 Browns season.

http://blog.cleveland.com/metro/2009/10/a_cleveland_man_accuses_browns.html

First of all, the guy that got jacked went to the hospital with a black eye, a cut, and…a headache? If you are a professional football player you should be able to do a hell of a lot more damage than that with a punch. When Joe Thomas punched that guy a few years ago, the police never found the guy’s fucking head. They just treated it like a shotgun wound because they couldn’t figure out any other way to splatter someone’s brains on a vaulted ceiling like that.

It probably feels like a soothing massage when Braylon punches you. All those footballs sliding through his hands have probably filed away any calluses or rough spots that were there. Like rubbing your face with smooth silk. How about a little less time in the nightclubs and a little more time with the Jugs machine there, GQ Edwards. Or if you’re gonna jam up some ghetto garbage at 2:30 in the morning at least learn how to throw hands so you can lay the guy out.

Based on Mangini’s $1,700 fine of an unnamed player for taking a $3 bottle of water from a hotel without paying for it, I assume Braylon will be fined eleventy billion dollars and the deeds to Park Place and the B & O Railroad for his involvement in this little incident.

I’m actually glad the original Browns left for Baltimore, because if Ray Lewis had to play for this team there would be a string of sewn-together dead hookers festooning city hall like Christmas lights every Monday morning.

Mark your calendars now for Oct 11th – Cleveland at Buffalo. That game should be like two obese people fucking on a vibrating hotel bed. Eventually, by sheer accident, someone will find the right hole and stuff it in, but it will be a long sweaty painful process to get there and nobody will be satisfied in the end.

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From ESPN.com today: Browns rookie CB Coye Francies was pranked by some of the veterans in the secondary, and basically lost his shit and started throwing ice, punches, and possibly punch-flavored Icee’s all over the place.

http://sports.espn.go.com/nfl/news/story?id=4504153

First of all, whenever you see stories like this about your favorite team your first phone call should be to Las Vegas to bang the “under” on number of wins for the season. There is no way in hell any team that has crap like this going on behind the scenes wins more than four games.

That having been said…thank God someone in the Browns locker room is pissed off about something. If I had to call Brandon McDonald or Mike Adams a “veteran” I would probably start throwing punches too. Brandon McDonald hasn’t earned the right to haze Ronald McDonald, let alone an NFL player.

“Before he could be stopped, Francies tossed the ice on cornerback Brandon McDonald, hitting him with cubes and covering the floor.”

That bucket of ice was the first damn thing that Brandon McDonald has stopped this season. Adrian Peterson showed up 30 minutes later just to stiff-arm McDonald face down into the pile of ice on the floor.

“Welcome to the Browns locker room!” wide receiver Braylon Edwards hollered as players rushed over to check on the commotion.

Thanks for fiddling while Rome burns there, Braylon. It’s a good thing he didn’t throw the ice at you because there is no way you would’ve caught any of it, and some of it might have screwed up your French manicure and caused you to miss 6-8 weeks and have to cancel your next GQ shoot, ASSBAG.

I love that Shaun Rogers broke up the fracas by grabbing Francies and dragging him out of the locker room. The fact that Shaun Rogers, a 400 lb toilet clogging machine who is about as quick as frozen maple syrup in January, is still quicker than one of our CB’s says all you need to know about the 2009 Browns secondary. I bet once they were in the hallway, instead of talking Rogers just chomped his mouth like King Hippo until Francies inserted a whole chicken to placate him.

Quote from defensive coordinator Rob Ryan:

“They’re starting to care for each other. We’re coming together. I can see it.”

Maybe you should get your fucking eyes checked Rob, because all I see is a bunch of future CFL players throwing things at each other in a locker room. Baghdad Bob thinks you’re fucking kidding yourself asshole.

As of right now Vegas has the Ravens at –13.5 and if any of you has more than 35 cents in your pocket you need to jump on this. The Ravens could get shut out and still win by two touchdowns against this mountain of elephant excrement that is the 2009 Browns. I’m seriously thinking that the Browns could be penalized two touchdowns for shitty play and end up with –14 points. After which Rob Ryan will declare the game to be a glorious victory, and hopefully Coye Francies will punch him with a brick of ice.

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1. Get your hands on a copy of the NFL schedule
2. Look to see who the Browns are playing this week
3. Dump a big pile of money on whoever the Browns are playing to win
4. Roll around naked in your winnings like Demi Moore in “Indecent Proposal” (optional)

But Dr Friction, you say, how can I be sure this will work? The NFL is so unpredictable. Any team can look terrible one week and awesome the next. Like Cedric Benson and the Cincinnati Bengals unloading that Hot Carl on the Packers’ chest last week, for example.

Here is one statistic that will shut your mouth and open your wallet faster than a lapper from Megan Fox: from the Browns return to the NFL in 1999 through week two of the 2009 season, their record is 54-108.

That means over 10 years they have literally lost 2 of every 3 games they’ve played. What other gambling option presents you with a 2/3 chance of winning? Combine that with the fact that the 2009 Browns remind me of that hard crunchy shit that forms around the cap of a ketchup squeeze bottle and this is pretty much a no-brainer.

Oh, by the way: the Browns play at Baltimore in week three.

You’re welcome.

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I spent enough time on the couch this weekend that my ass groove is really rounding into mid-season form. A few observations from the Sunday games:

* The announcers on the Browns-Vikings game were shameless Brett Favre cheerleaders. I’ve seen pornos with less deep-throating than what we had to listen to during the first 15 minutes of that game. “Oh, he just loves the game so much he couldn’t stay away, SLURP SLURP SLURP, heart of a champion, TWO HANDED PEPPER GRINDER, what a great hero, MAP OF HAWAII PAINTED ON MY FACE.” Give it a fucking rest, you’re not convincing anyone of anything except your own unrequited man-crush.

* Adrian Peterson’s touchdown run where he stopped, threw the Browns defender out of bounds like Hulk Hogan throwing the Iron Sheik over the top rope, and then floored the gas pedal and coasted into the end zone…I mean, holy crap. Was that a real Browns defender or some kid from the Make-A-Wish foundation whose final wish was to play one snap for an NFL team? The only way that guy could have ended up looking worse is if he somehow landed in a metal garbage can with just his legs sticking up in the air, kicking and flailing comically.

* Josh Cribbs continues to be a singular talent trapped on a sinking ship in Cleveland. For the good of the NFL, can Cribbs “defect” to another team like a Cuban pitcher coming to the US? Can we put him on the hood of a 1963 Buick and send him across lake Erie, en route to New England or New York? He deserves better than the Mangini and Touchdown Mary traveling circus.

* From the Colts-Jags game: after Anthony Gonzalez fell down untouched and had to be carried off the field, I had the following text message exchange with a former co-worker:

Me: WTF just happened to Anthony Gonzalez? Sniper?
Him: I think his water just broke.

Best line of the weekend.

* Was it just a coincidence that Gus Johnson got to call the most exciting finish of any of the Sunday games on the same weekend that TNT was showing “300” every night? Couldn’t you just picture Gus dressed like King Leonidas and yelling “THAT…IS…A TOUCHDOWN!!” and kicking his producer in the chest, knocking him backwards out of the press box?

* Jason Campbell spent pretty much the entire first half of the Skins-Giants game with the same look on his face as that guy in the commercial selling the drug for old men who can’t stop pissing themselves. Which is actually pretty understandable considering that Osi Umsldkthqweioph and Justin Tuck look like they could skin a whole cow faster than a school of piranhas in the Amazon river. Those guys are scary good.

* Brandon Jacobs looks like someone who would spit a lot when he talks. Every time he gets up from being tackled he is talking smack to someone, and his facemask looks like a lemon being squeezed with all the spit spraying out everywhere. I think I would be more upset at the impromptu bath than anything he would say to me.

* How did the Packers make it all the way to the season opener without discovering that their right tackle is awful? Ogunleye made that guy look like a turnstile in a subway station.

* That fake punt direct snap to Garrett Wolfe was like something you would try in a game of Madden when you’re already ahead by four touchdowns and you just want to find out if any of those trick plays really work. They don’t work in Madden, and apparently they don’t work in real life either. Do the Bears have a special teams coach or is that job handled by a rooster pushing checkers pieces around a board while the punter plays the kazoo?

* Is Jay Cutler diabetic or retarded?

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As I was watching the Browns get crushed last night on Monday Night Football, all I could think was “I honestly cannot believe Ken Dorsey is in the NFL. He might be the worst pro quarterback in 30 years.”

Consider the following:

* Arm strength – Dorsey makes Chad Pennington look like a turbocharged Howitzer. The punter for the Chicago Bears throws a harder, tighter spiral than Ken Dorsey. Everything he throws looks like it was launched from a medieval catapult.
* Accuracy – It’s a good thing Dorsey can’t throw hard, because if he could he might hurt somebody. On one play last night Dorsey overthrew a screen pass by FIVE YARDS. How do you miss someone standing TWO YARDS AWAY by five yards?!? T-shirt cannons can be fired with better accuracy.
* Decision making – Even if he makes the right decision, by the time his zeppelin-like throws finally arrive at their destination the receiver will be triple covered. At one point last night Andy Reid was able to run onto the field and break up a pass, and his blood type is Crisco.
* Nerves – Here is the sequence of events on Dorsey’s 2nd interception last night:

  1. Eagles linebacker blitzes
  2. Dorsey sharts so hard his socks get wet
  3. Dorsey sends a puke stained, wobbling duck about 8 yards even though the nearest receiver is at least 12 yards away
  4. Other Eagles LB actually looks stunned as he is making the INT, like “why the hell did he throw this to me, there’s nobody else near me?”
  5. Romeo Crennel stares blankly onto field, thinks about ham as ESPN crew makes excuses for Dorsey’s incredibly sad effort at throwing

* Mobility – Can best be described as “Bernie Kosar-esque”. Enough said.
* Intimidation factor – At one point during last night’s game I swear the Eagles defensive players were on the sideline re-enacting Dorsey panicking & laughing their asses off about it.

Is the Browns’ season over yet?

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From Peter King’s Dec 7, 2008 MMQB column:

“Ray Lewis, LB, Baltimore. When will he slow down? 2014? The more I watch the Ravens, the more I marvel at his staying power — and not just the staying power to hang around. He’s excelling the same way he was in the Ravens’ Super Bowl year, and he’s leading the same way too — at 33, in his 13th season.”

Hmm, that is a mystery. I wonder if there is anything that a linebacker who looks washed up at age 31 can do to enhance his performance and become a beast again by age 33. If only there were some magical substance that could be injected, taken orally, or rubbed into the skin as a cream that would help with that.

Considering the morality that Lewis has shown in the past (Google “Jacinth Baker” or “Richard Loller” for details) it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that the secret to his longevity involves feeding kittens through a wood chipper while doing his sack dance and laughing maniacally, then soaking in their liquid remains in a sensory deprivation tank for 12 hours.

On the other hand, steroids are easier to get than a Sam’s Club size box of kittens. So it’s probably steroids.

Is Peter King really this naive? Or has he compromised his journalistic integrity for continued insider access to the world of an NFL athlete?

The answer, of course, is “yes”.

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