Welp. I was hoping that this Holiday column would be absolutely packed with news and memery from week 15 in the NFL, but unfortunately that piece of shit storm that hit the Northeast on Monday completely obliterated our internet and Comcast has done fuck-all to fix any of it. Going on 8-hours of outage and frankly, it's somehow gotten worse from the point of view of my cable modem.

No media. No TV. No peloton. No Rocket League. No nothing because of course: we live in a black hole of over-the-air service, so cell phone data fuckin sucks shit and we can't get channels outside of whatever happens to carry 24 hours of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (although I have to admit, it's some fuckin incredible guilty pleasure watching).

At least with so many playoff games having implications decided on Monday Night, the wife and me can't even fucking watch that either because even if we could come up with a sacrificial totem to acquire a signal, that shit is on fucking ESPN. I fucking hate the present sometimes.

In lieu of all of that shitbaggery, I wanted to just tell a tale of conquest and lost value for shareholders.

The tale of: The 100 Shrimp Challenge.

Red Lobster's Unlimited Shrimp

Every September or so, Red Lobster unveils one of the stupidest fucking campaigns possible: for $20 you can literally eat as much shrimp as you fucking want. In a world where unlimited never fucking means as much as you want, it's a unicorn of incredibly delicious proportion. Shockingly, it's cost Red Lobster something around $11 million in operating cost.

Of course, it's not like they tried the same fucking thing with crab and also lost a whole bunch of fucking money. God damn, I wish I could throw away millions of dollars multiple times and still carry an incredible salary from someplace. But alas, I am a mere dumbass mortal and need to provide positive value for shareholders.

Perhaps one day!

A tradition unlike any other

Anyway, to bring this down to Earth amongst us blue collar fantasy football participants, I yearn to tell the tale of a group of slapdicks young enough to consider themselves invincible. This quartet was led by a fearless leader and grizzled veteran of the promotion, and he would carry us to the promised land via the Square of Times in New York.

This man, let's call him Tim came to us about this challenge that he had participated in from the long-away lands of D.C. for the three previous years. The other journeymen willing to take this challenge were myself (Joe), a man named Robert, a lad named Jacob, and Nikias. Now, I'm taking some artistic liberties in blending the two years this was attempted into a single one. The names mostly overlapped, however for the first adventure, Jacob filled out the quartet while Robert was called up to the majors for the second run (Jacob tapped out for reasons that will become fucking obvious as I go on).

Thankfully, most everything that took place over the two years were almost mirror images of each other. One could say that when you find a winning recipe for eating 100+ shrimp in a sitting, you stick to that fucking formula .. or you simply never show up again because it's one of the stupidest fucking things you can do to your god damn body.

20-year-olds are stupid as fuck

It was an early Fall evening - the Unlimited Shrimp Promotion typically took place in September/October - when we arrived in Times Square, an incredibly strange and unfamiliar place for anyone actually living in New York City. The place is perpetually daytime with all the god damn fucking lights, and walking the streets is near-impossible due to people walking like they're a 4K video buffering over a 2g data connection.

If walking around that god-forsaken tourist trap didn't get us salty to start, the meal that we were about to partake in would absolutely have us end up saltier than a god damn sober sailor arriving in Gloucester.

As we were shown to our table, I know I did the best I could to communicate the absolutely insane act I was about to partake in through body language to the three families present in the mostly vacant dining area. Chest up high, confident in my devouring abilities, we all made the same joke that most anyone who does this sort of activity would make: casually glancing at the menu as if we were going to order anything but the obvious. Asking the waiter if anyone's done what we were about to do.

Shockingly the waiter always, and with absolute zero interest would response: "nope." At the time, I was personally flabbergasted. Who would react so bored to the potential of such a spectacle? Well, I'm sure after you've watched a group of 20-something dipshits vomit endless shrimp a handful of times, the prospect kinda gets boring. So we moved on to the orders, which we had to choose between:

• Grilled shrimp
• Coconut shrimp
• Parmesan shrimp
• Garlic Shrimp scampi

Four simple options, and with the first order everyone's always ambitiously choosing the tastiest option. But our fearless leader quickly shared one of the most important lessons: be careful of which shrimp order you decide. Any additional flavor or taste will only weigh heavily on one's stomach after a handful of orders.

With the warning heeded, we all ordered our first 30 shrimp. I stayed light and ordered a grilled and garlic scampi. Others were bold and got theirs breaded or with cheese. Thankfully, my acquired aversion to cheese may have protected me from certain doom.

The hill steepens

So we've all downed our first two orders. We're 40 shrimp deep. We've mostly switched to the plain, grilled shrimp option to best maintain our survival. Some of the bigger psychos in our group actually ordered breadsticks. Thankfully, those also had fucking cheese on them so I wasn't even fucking tempted to waste precious cargo space with those delicious yet deadly carbs.

However, once we hit the halfway mark and all happily cheers at 50 shrimp .. well .. things get weird. There's something that happens to someone's body once you hit the half-century milestone where logic and reason are replaced with a crustaceon-based delirium. You get a second wind, but it's one that almost frightens more than fills with confidence. You know when you have that late-meal burp and feel like you can adequately finish your meal? Well, it's like that but awful.

One of the more educational anecdotes shared by our grizzled veteran was how he had partaken in this shrimp mass-execution a day or two before his god damn phsyical exam. The doctor had some readings that didn't make a god damn lick of fucking sense - levels were completely off the charts for a reasonably active and healthy 20-year-old dude. When he asked Tim why those numbers might be showing up, he responded with a casual, "oh right, yeah so the other day my friends and ate like 100-110 shrimp." To which the doctor - who probably started second-guessing the lifespan of our hero Tim - just paused for a few seconds before telling him to just come back two weeks later. And to not do something like that again.

That really helped drive home the gravity of the situation - a lesson that fell on completely deaf and stupid ears.

Another order in and gone, and we've hit 70 shrimp. It was at that point that Nikias and either Jacob or Tim, my shrimp delirium has me forgetting the second guy decides to order a fucking alfredo plate. God damn fucking noodles with 30 more shrimp to fucking go.

Shrimp sweats

After 70 shrimp, you kinda develop this weird flush and shrimp sweats. The climb from 70 to 90 in your next order is one of the hardest ordeals I've personally ever faced. Every shrimp is like eating a fist of mud, but you can't just skip to the end and swallow them mostly whole - the more you chew, the better it can fit inside your stupid fucking stomach and allow for the challenge to be completed.

We hit 80 and things grew tense. No one spoke. We all just chewed in silence, knowing the storm that we were collectively navigating through. There's nothing we could do but see that we ensured that we would personally make it to the other side.

90 shrimp.

One final order remained.

91 Shrimp.

And we had a tap-out. Rob couldn't stand anymore.

We saw he may have started cracking like so many delicate tails we have torn off, but we all held strong hoping that our collective will could carry the group together.

But there was just. no. way.

We did our best to motivate our friend and comrade to remain, but the delirium had taken over. All of us rambling incoherently, mouths full of shrimp and some bread, Rob just .. angry and ultimately got up and stormed out. He disappeared into the abyss of artificial sunlight, never to be seen again until the next weekend when we all got fucking drunk as hell watching football (as was the fashion at the time).

So with one man down, we had our moment of silence and marched onward. It was what Rob would have wanted.

And march onward we did. 97.

98.

99.

100. 100 fucking shrimp. And then maybe a handful more because you know, we did order 20 at a time (after an initial 30) so like, we weren't going to just waste that final batch of shrimp.

I officially hit 105 shrimp. It was done. I was done. We had done it.

But there was no parade. There was no adulation. There was no celebration from Red Lobster or from the hordes of tourists about. We instead had to carry this shrimp burden back to our respective places of residence and absolutely fucking punish the toilets that were our only remaining ally.

And we would do it all again the following year.

Fantastical Playoffs

https://i.imgur.com/VDdP7um.png

L - Sir, This is an RBs

W - Air Force

In order to win your fantasy matchup, you really need that top 5 of your roster to perform at least reasonably well. I'm talking your QB, two RBs, two WRs. If you can get some points from your Tight End, Flex, Daylight/Savings Time or Kicker then super duper - but ultimately it comes from your skill positions.

And boy oh boy, Sir, This is an RBs got completely space-fucked by those positions. Puka Nacua was the only one to break 10 points and he barely accomplished that feat.

• Dak continued his inconsistent cosplaying of a garbage man
• Tony Pollard continuing his Ezekiel Elliot character arc
• De'Von Achane outruns his injury recovery
• Garrett Wilson is a Jet

Now look at this asshole on the other side has a bunch of players who just a season or three ago wouldn't even be fucking known scoring a shitload of points god damn it.

Outside of fucking Derrick Henry, NONE OF THESE PLAYERS WERE IN THE FUCKING LEAGUE IN 2019. Maybe you could make an argument about the Sun God actually being around for ~4200 years, but he definitely fell into obscurity until only just 2021 or so.

AND GOD DAMN DERRICK HENRY ONLY SCORED FIVE FUCKING POINTS.

THE REST OF THOSE FUCKING NO NAMES (ALTHOUGH I GUESS YOU COULD SAY THAT MOST PEOPLE KNOW CEEDEE LAMB - BUT STILL HE'S BARELY A HANDFUL OF YEARS INTO BEING IN THE NFL) SCORED 90.26 FUCKING POINTS.

God damn, Air Force.

No. I'M NOT MAD.

L - Jerome Boger American Icon

W - Two hotdogs one bun

Jerome Boger American Icon picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue, and also the wrong week to have a bunch of sub-par performances from the most important of his players. Yeah sure, I guess you could second guess the Devin Singletary benching, but come the fuck on - who goes against the Quadfather and that guy on the Browns. Ford has literally only scored 10+ points 8 out of the 9 weeks he's played.

What a fuckin asshole. Going for 7 and change.

Two hotdogs one bun, while having the lowest scoring win of the week, still earned his ass a fucking win. And when it comes to the playoffs, I hear that's what you really want to get: wins.

Many people are saying that if you get yourself two, maybe three of these supposed "wins" then you give yoursel a great chance at earning the championship. Of course, I'm not trying to verify this - but it's what so many people are whispering about.

Those same folks would tell you that the best way to get 3 or 4 wins, is to get one win and then string them into two wins. We'll see exactly how true that is.

L - Bloodfeast Islandmen

W - America First

Jesus tittyfucking Christ, America First. You just don't have enough spots for all those fucking points you find yourself scoring. You win the matchup by 35 points. Your bench scores another 93 and change.

And the worst part of it all for the Bloodfeast Islandmen - AND YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID - was that you gave him the tiniest sliver of hope going into Monday Night.

You sat at like, 81 fucking points and down by 17 to them Islandmen. Sure, you had Jalen Hurts, KWIII, and AJ Brown but like .. who knows. Maybe a Tush Push goes the wrong way and Jalen Hurts blows out his butthole in the first quarter. Kenneth Walker III sprains an ankle leaving his home. Aj Brown .. well, we all know what could happen there:

And bam: Bloodfeast captures the unexpected win.

3 misfortunes? That's nothing.

Anyway, what was I talking about?

Oh right: stay outta my booze!

W - Team Name

L - the peristaltic chain reactions

YOOOOOOO.

YOOOOOOOOOO.

A WIN BY 0.02 POINTS?? HOW THE FUCK IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE??

These two fucking insane god damn freaks of fantasy topped 150 fucking points, outscoring everyone in the league, and then it still ultimately came down to 0.02 points!? There is definitely a part of me that simply can not even.

The worst part of it all is that with all the crazy production up and down both rosters, I can't help but think about how fucking tight both Team Name's and the peristaltic chain reactions' buttholes got during that game-winning drive by the Seahawks. DK Metcalf grabbed that one huge reception and depending on how he fucking fell, decided this god damn fucking matchup.

I'm sure the peristaltic chain reactions will spend a lot of the offseason wondering what could have been, especially with DeAndre Hodgkins laying a complete fucking egg (not to point fingers) - and if I'm continuing to not point fingers, if the Cowboys weren't such a pathetic franchise and offered something of a challenge to the Bills, then Josh Allen would have had to probably play a larger part in his game.

But that's not what happened.

Instead, this outcome brought life to the text chain like few events have.

Fin.

Happy Holidays and all that shit, everyone! We're really in the thick of it - and we've mostly passed the point of no return. That magical time when even Amazon won't deliver your gifts until the 27th.

I hope everyone's done a better job than I have witih acquiring whatever goodies they want for their friends, family, and well-wishers (in that they don't wish you any specific harm)!

Anyway, I gotta get back to work, so take care, keep warm or cool or whatever. Stay safe. Enjoy the spirit of the season, and much love to all y'all.