Not as bad as his song about Mr. T.

John Wick 3: Wicked Off

AIDS … doo rag

Or a sock, at least.

It's not like there's a deep field of great color commentators.

You misspelled "Kato Kaelin" …

I'm more worried about this game than I was against the Giants (Eli has too much of a PTSD-cloaked history with us).

I always knew he had God-speed, but his routes and overall receiver skills are already solid. Probably the best receiver of the draft class (except for maybe Corey Coleman).

2016 has taken so much away from us … but it gave us "Basket of Deplorables."

His paintings are just adorable … name one evil person who was good at painting …

I would love to meet one of Trump's devout Christian supporters. The Nadia Comăneci-levels of mental gymnastics that must take is almost awe inspiring.

Kinda like Boyhood if the subject had no soul.

Ah … the old "Andrew Dice Clay" defense.

Anyone who punches Mick in the face deserves a Nobel prize.

Nice ass.

Probably referring to this, aka Dan Snyder's latest jerk-off material:

Doesn't matter. The mental image was already in full formation. My boner is dead …

I was at the game, and too drunk to care about the outcome at that point … and knew he was going to miss.

[a gleeful Bradford returns from a raid … unloads his pillaging sack in front of the team veterans]

Conversely, every old-guard sports columnist looks like Patrick Reusse from the Mpls Star Tribune: