Now that we’ve covered the basis of the league and the way in which it will be set up we need to take the next logical step.  As I mentioned in the previous post, this newly formed league will have 8 teams and owners representing their proud cities.  Every good new league needs to have a highly-touted, perennially overhyped draft.  We’ve already determined the draft will be held in New York City and televised by the venerable SyFy Channel.

The draft itself will be conducted in a snake-style draft, meaning that the team with the last pick in the first round will have the first pick in the second and so on, and will be broken down by SyFy’s team of analysts featuring The Ghost of Vincent Price, The Gothic Kid in High School Who Has a Morbid Curiosity With the Dead and Always Somehow Knows Shitloads About the Killer, and a team of sideline reporters.

Through a random drawing we have established a draft order:

1.  The Portland Prank Calls From the Killer
2.  The Minneapolis Maybe He’s Actually Dead This Times
3.  The San Francisco Shower Scenes
4.  The Pittsburgh Pre-Martial Sexers
5.  The Dallas Dream Within a Dream Sequences
6.  The Utah Underage Drinkers
7.  The Niagara Trips and Falls Over Nothings
8.  The Philadelphia Flickering Lights

Let’s go, now, live to Radio City Music Hall in the heart of New York City where the draft order has been established, the owners are standing by with their draft teams, and the slashers, ghouls, monsters, and psychopaths are anxiously waiting in the green room for the moment when they hear their names get called and their dreams are realized.

(As the broadcast begins we see commissioner John Carpenter sitting alone at his synthesizer.  A thin layer of fog pools up by his feet.  He immediately kicks into skin-crawling, undoubtedly 6/8 time, synth-doom and the crowd roars to life.)

The Ghost of Vincent Price
Eat your heart out David Stern.  Or, if you’re not interested, Zombie Al Davis will certainly eat it for you.
Hello and welcome to the first annual National Horror Association Draft.  I’m The Ghost of Vincent Price
and with me is my broadcasting partner, The Gothic Kid in High School Who Has a Morbid Curiosity With the Dead
and Always Somehow Knows Shitloads About the Killer.

Gothic Kid
(Sighs) Huhhh. . .what’s up?  We’re all going to die. . .I hope you know that.

The Ghost of Vincent Price
Terrific stuff as always.  Let’s go now to our sideline reporter, the overly-ambitious, manipulative and
sensationalism-driven reporter, Gail Willalwaysbeundonebyherambitionanddisregardforhumanlife.  Gail?

(Gail Willalwaysbeundonebyherambitionanddisregardforhumanlife is standing next to a hockey mask wearing Jason Vorhees and his insanely creepy mother.)

Thanks, Vincent.  If I may say, your ghostly mustache is looking pencil thin tonight.  Well played.
I’m standing by here with potential first round draft pick Jason Vorhees.  Jason, there’s been some
talk that you could go in the first round, but many analysts have predicted that you’ll slide further down
in the draft due to what some are calling “mommy issues.”  Any response?

(Jason stands mutely by)

Mrs. Pamela Vorhees
My son doesn’t have mommy issues.  He was a good boy.  Do you hear me?!?!  A good boy.
It was those counselors. . .they weren’t paying attention to him.  They snuck off to
make love and they let him die!

There you have it.  Straight from the horse’s mouth.  Normally I would say that these two appear highly
unstable and should be avoided at all costs, but I’m looking for a network news gig so I’m just going
to keep right on pressing forward.

The Gothic Kid
Gail, that might not be the best idea.  Jason Vorhees is a slashing, murdering, killing machine.

(Jason and his mother turn and begin to walk away)

Oooooh. . .look.  They’re heading into a dark, abandoned part of the draft room.  I’m going to go
investigate this.  Alone.  Back to you, Ghost of Vincent Price.

Well I think we all know how that’s going to end.  Let’s go now to the dais where
Commissioner Carpenter is standing by.

(Carpenter has ceased his ominous synth-death-ballad and has taken the microphone)

Hello everyone.  I’m pleased to announce that this is the first annual National Horror Association draft.
It’s amazing to see we have such a great turnout.  I’d like to extend a special welcome to the spring breakers
drinking heavily, teenagers gossiping on their phones while wearing only their underwear, the campers making
poor life decisions, and even the kids who have cars that won’t start, are out of gas, and will inevitably break
down at the wrong time.  It’s good to be here isn’t it?

(The crowd cheers wildly)

The draft order has been decided.  And the first pick is in.  Let’s go now to Commissioner
Carpenter for the first pick.

Ladies and gentleman, if I may have your attention please.  With the first pick in the NHA
draft, the Portland Prank Calls from the Killers have selected. . . Michael Myers, from
Haddonfield, Illinois.

(The commish nods happily and the crowd erupts into cheers.  Carpenter sits down at his synthesizer and plays Myers’ theme song)

And there you have it, my young, black-nail-polish-wearing friend.  The first pick is a
real doozy.  Your take?

Gothic Kid
Well, first off let me start off by saying, death comes for us all.  Let me make that very clear.  This
pick will certainly doom us to an excruciating, terrible demise.  However Mike Myers is a homerun
first pick.  Every few years a Peyton Manning-level talent comes along and you just have to make
sure to grab him, GVP.

Truly.  People were saying that Myers was this year’s can’t miss prospect and he’d even drawn some
comparisons to a young Tony Romo.

Gothic Kid
Finally, someone in the big leagues who can out-choke Romo.

Indeed.  Myers has finally stalker-walked his way to the stage.  Let’s see if his reunion with
commissioner Carpenter is a happy one.

(Carpenter give Myers a hug.  Myers turns his head quizzically sideways.  Carpenter presents him with a fitted, custom-made white mask that has Portland’s logo on the side and a mechanic’s jumpsuit with a sewn on number one.)


Gothic Kid
Myers has given that look to many of the nearly 88 people he has brutally murdered.

Hmmm. . .this might not be good.  Look you can just make out the gold-plated knife that his
agent, Drew Rosenhaus, gave him as a signing bonus.

(Carpenter suddenly realizes he’s in danger and jumps back right as Myers slowly raises the knife dramatically.  An ancient man in a trench coat, wearing black gloves suddenly pushes his way to the front of the dais)

And right on time, there’s Doctor Loomis, Myers’ ancient, undying adversary.

(Loomis pulls out a 6-shot revolver and shoots Myers seven times in the chest.  On the 7th shot, Myers stumbles backwards and falls off the back of the stage.  Loomis turns and limps off mysteriously)

There you have it, folks.  An explosive first overall pick.

And he even used the patented 7th bullet out of his six-shooter.

Let’s see what happened to Myers.  Surely he’s dead for good this time.  This has got to be almost as
big of a draft-day fiasco for Portland as spending their first pick on Greg Oden.

(The cameras rush over to where Myers fell off the staircase and the body is gone)

(chuckling in a stereotypical announcer laugh)
And it appears as though his body is gone.

Well, it’s a little known fact that Radio City Music Hall was built on an old Indian burial ground,
which sat on top of a giant underwater cave system.

And let me guess?  There’s a river underneath?

That runs to all 50 of the states in the contiguous U.S.

And there’s still hope for a title in Portland!  Well, we’re moving right along here, my torn-at-the-knee,
skinny-jean-wearing compatriot.  Looks like commissioner Carpenter has recovered from his
near-death experience and has Minneapolis’ pick ready to go.

I have a bad feeling about this.

(Carpenter steps up to the microphone)

With the second pick in the National Horror Association Draft, the Minneapolis Maybe He’s
Actually Dead This Times select. . .Frederic Krueger, Springwood, Ohio.

Wow. . .and we have our first shocking selection in the draft.  Most draft experts and analysts
had predicted a sure-fire Myers-Vorhees 1-2 selection.  Gothic kid?

Frankly, GVP, I’m a little shocked myself.  Jason Vorhees seemed like an obvious choice for the number
two pick here.  A couple issues that the scouts saw with this selection: there are concerns about
Krueger’s work ethic, his reliance on sleeping medication to trap victims and the simple fact that his fashion
sense might be the worst of all the draft picks tonight.

All valid points, Gothic Kid.  Let’s check in live with Gail and see if she’s gotten any word on
this shocker from down on the draft-room floor.  Gail?

(The cameras give us a closeup of Gail in an interview chair passed out cold.  Sleeping with her head resting against a wall.  The cameras jump back to the announcer’s booth.)

Gail?  Gail are you– (GVP nods intently while holding a finger to his ear).  I’ve just been informed
that Gail has been drinking charcoal-filtered vodka straight from the bottle and chewing Oxycodone
like they’re Tic-Tacs.  She might be taking a little nap.

Shouldn’t we try to wake her up?  Freddy massacres people by the dozens if they fall asleep.

As someone who once abused pain pills with JFK, believe you me, it’s a completely dreamless sleep.

(Gothic kid pulls his hoodie up over his head and pouts)

Oh, alright.

(The cameras jump back to Gail and she’s dead; tongue lolling in an insane manner out of her mouth)

We’re too late.  Oh, man. . .oh, man.

Whoops.  Looks like Gail finally got her big scoop.  Ummm. . .and the commissioner is back
with the third pick in the draft.  Let’s go back to Mr. Carpenter.

(Carpenter mounts the stage and moves up to the microphone)

And with the third pick in the NHA draft, the San Francisco Shower Scenes select. . .
Chi-Chi-Chi-Ahh-Ahh-Ahh.  Jason Vorhees, from Camp Crystal Lake, New Jersey!

And there you have it.  Vorhees is off the board.

I’ve been doing some research in a conveniently dark and musty library by myself at
inordinately late hours and have a few facts about Jason Vorhees for the listeners.
1.  He doesn’t like it when people have sex at his lake–

If the tent is a rockin’ the slashers come-a-stalkin’. . .

2.  Weapon of choice is a machete, but he’s an equal opportunity slaughterer–

A switch hitter, capable of going deep from either side of the plate. . .

(The repartee between the two announcers is interrupted as the cameras cut back to the stage where Vorhees has slowly climbed the steps.  His mother is at his side and she steps up to the microphone first)

Pamela Vorhees
Did you know a young boy drowned the year before those two others were killed?
Jason should’ve been watched.  Every minute.  He was… He wasn’t a very good swimmer.

Alright. . .

(Jason Steps up next to his mother and puts on his new San Francisco, custom-made hockey mask with his team logo and she gives him a huge hug)


(With his hand to his ear again)
Okay. . .Okay.  I’ve just been told that, since we knew Gail’s doom was imminent, we hired a backup
reporter.  A young, shockingly-attractive and unshockingly-troubled-in-the-man-department, reporter.
She has an expert on this up-and-coming star, Jason Vorhees.  We go live, now, to
Jessica Hasadarksecretshehopesneverresurfaces.  Jessica?

(Jessica is standing alongside an old, grizzled weirdo, who appears to be seated on an ancient, beaten down bicycle)

Hello, Ghost of Vincent Price and Gothic Kid.  Glad to be here.  Rest in peace, Gail.  I’m here
with Crazy Ralph, longtime resident of Crystal Lake, Jason Vorhees’ hometown.  You must be very proud
of Crystal Lake’s hometown boy?

Crazy Ralph
I’m a messenger of God.  You’re doomed if you stay here.

Oh, no. . .that reminds me of the time. . .

And she’s clearly having a very dramatic, internal flashback here, GVP.

(the cameras zoom in tight on Jessica’s face and she’s tearfully oblivious; pensively looking deep into her past. . .into her very soul.  Crazy Ralph shakes her from her revery)

Crazy Ralph
You’re all doomed!


(sighing mournfully)
He’s right, you know.

Ground-breaking stuff, there, Jessica.  It looks like the fourth pick is in.  Let’s take a listen.

(Carpenter strides purposefully out to the podium)

With the fourth overall pick in the NHA Draft the Pittsburgh Pre-Marital Sexers select: Ghostface,
from Woodsboro, California.

And the hits just keep on coming, don’t they, my guy-liner-wearing friend?

Absolutely, GVP.  Absolutely.  There were some legitimate concerns with Ghostface that had many experts
shying away from him this early.  He’s known as one of the clumsier, less invincible slashers out there.
However, he does move faster than a lot of the other slashers in the draft.  His 4.9 40-yard dash time was a
staggering 10 seconds faster than Jason Vorhees and 22 seconds faster than the
slower-than-an-elderly-woman-with-a-walker Mike Myers.

Speed can erase a lot of those flaws.  We go now to Jessica once more, standing by.

(The cameras go to Jessica)

Thanks, guys.  A lot of people here are buzzing about that last pickup by the Pre-Marital Sexers because–

(her phone rings)

Excuse me, I’m going to get this really quick, guys.
(into the phone)
Hello?  Yes, this is she.  My what?  Oh, well if I had to pick one I really like Psycho.
Yeah, the Alfred Hitchcock one.

Jessica!?!  Don’t answer the phone.  Can you hear me?

(to the broadcasters)
I’m on the phone, here, Gothic Kid.  Manners much?  Besides this kind of reminds me
of once, long ago. . .

Jessica & GK
(in unison)
When I was a little girl.

(back into her cellphone)
You do?  Alright.  Where should I meet you?  Terrific.  (she hangs up and looks at the camera)  I’ve
gotten an anonymous tip that seems really trustworthy.  I’m going to meet them in an empty
warehouse by a large body of water where a human body could easily be disposed of.  I’m so close to
uncovering the truth.
(she pulls out a flashlight)
The batteries on this are a little low. . .it kind of just keeps flickering.  Anyway, I’ll be right back.

Seriously?  Do we have any more reporters on staff here, Goth Kid?  Ooops. . .there she goes.
And just in time, it looks like Commissioner Carpenter is ready again.

(Carpenter strides to the podium once more)

With the fifth pick in the NHA draft, the Dallas Dream Within a Dream Sequences have
selected. . .Leatherface!

And Dallas takes the Big Southerner.  Your take, Gothic Kid?

Not a huge surprise here, GVP.  We know that the people in Texas think that everything in that
godforsaken state is the best, and they show it here by swooping in on the #1 rated in-state prospect
and pulling him off the board early.  There’s gonna be a few disappointed teams who were hoping he’d slip a
little further down since he hasn’t had a hit movie in years.

Very true.  And, wow this is a surprise, it looks like the next pick is already in.  That sure was fast.

(Carpenter’s back at the podium)

With the 6th pick in the NHA Draft, the Utah Underage Binge Drinkers have selected, Chucky!

Wow!  And there’s another big shocker.  The second one of the day.  There was obvious concerns
about Chucky’s size.  Lest we forget, you can really just punt him if he gets too close.  Goth kid?

Oh, this is so bad.  Such bad news.  Well, my friend, we know that Chucky doesn’t exactly stuff the
physical stat sheet the way some of his fellow draftees have, but the simple fact is this: he’s a proven winner.
He’s got a sequel percentage that’s nearly unrivaled among the killers today and he’s even had his own awkward,
kind of creepy sex scene.  That’s moxy for you.  He’s got all the intangibles.

Wait, are you talking about Chucky. . .or Tim Tebow?  Let’s go down live to our hard-working sideline
reporter, Jessica.  Jessica, what have you got for us?

(The camera cuts to Jessica.  She’s impaled on a stool next to Gail)

Oh for the love of. . .
(shouting off camera)
Do we have anyone else down there?  Oh, it doesn’t matter right now.  I’m told the commissioner is keeping
things humming right along.  We’ve got the next pick in already.  Let’s see what owner M. Night Shyamalan
decides to do with his first round pick.

(Carpenter steps up)

The Candyman.  Er, I mean, with the seventh overall pick in the 2011 NHA draft, the  Niagara Trips and
Falls Over Nothings select The Candyman, from Cabrini Green, Chicago, Illinois.  Sorry, I got a little ahead
of myself there.

Oh!  And in typical, M. Night Shyamalan fashion, the plot twist for the Niagara Falls Over Nothings
is revealed way too early.  Outstanding stuff, here, Gothic Kid.

We’re witnessing history here, GVP.  The Candyman is the Jackie Robinson of horror.
Not only did he shatter the color barrier, but he killed buxom white women and crackheads in the hood
as well.  Truly historic.

I’m being told we have yet another sideline reporter in the wings, waiting to interview the potential 8th pick in the draft,
Ben Willis, the star of I Know What You Did Last Summer.  I’m told Jamie Dirtygirlwhoconstantlybangseverythingthatmovesuntilshegetsmurderedwhileintheactofsex is standing by now.  Jamie?

(Jamie is standing next to a dark, shadowy figure wearing a rain slicker.  She’s putting on lipstick and only wearing a towel)

Wow, GVP, your voice sounds totally hot.  I can’t wait to meet you and Goth Kid in person.  Anyway
I’m here with some guy, who might be really cute underneath that rain poncho.  I just can’t quite see.  I’ll
probably have to bend way over to get a look.

(Suddenly a red Ferrari comes screeching into the frame and slams into Ben Willis, sending his body flying into darkness.  The boy driving comes stumbling out holding a pony keg and drinking straight from the tap)

Hey!  Check it out, guys, it’s my boyfriend.

Uhhh. . .Jamie?  The interview with Mr. Willis?

(Jamie is making out with her boyfriend.  She turns to the camera)

I don’t think he’s alive anymore.

Jamie’s Drunk, Idiot Boyfriend
Yeah.  Clearly dead, bro.  Now F-off.

(leading away her drunk, idiot boyfriend)
Now. . .I could have sworn I saw a shower around here. . .maybe you can wear that sexy rain poncho
I bought you for Christmas, too.

She lasted a shorter amount of time than even the other ones.  Damn.

And it looks like the Commissioner is ready to deliver the final pick of the first day of our draft

(Carpenter steps to the mic)

With the eighth pick in the NHA draft, the Philadelphia Flickering Lights select Angela Baker, from
Sleepaway Camp.

And talk about ending on a high note!  The diminutive killer from multiple, and might I add terrible,
horror movies is the final selection taken in the first round.

Oh, man. . .oh, man.  I just don’t think we should be here right now.

Oh, man is right.  Angela, who turns out to be a dude later on in her horror movie
plotline, technically fulfills half of the NHA’s title IX requirements, however, so that was a wise
pickup by team owner Jack Nicholson.

(theme music begins playing once again)

And that, my black-mo-hawked little friend is our cue.  It’s been an absolutely astounding first day to the
NHA draft.  We’ve had some ups, downs, murders, and gratuitous nudity.  In short, it’s been a hell of a time.
We’ll be back with more draft coverage tomorrow night.  For Gail Willalwaysbeundonebyherambitionanddisregardforhumanlife,
Jessica Hasadarksecretshehopesneverresurfaces, and
Jamie Dirtygirlwhoconstantlybangseverythingthatmovesuntilshegetsmurderedwhileintheactofsex.
And for my colleague, The Gothic Kid in High School Who Has a Morbid Curiosity With the Dead and Always Somehow Knows
ShitloadsAbout the Killer, let me just say thanks for tuning in.  I’m the Ghost of Vincent Price.  Goodnight.


(*Author’s note: as it is nearing Halloween, the Huskers have yet another easy opponent, and since the NFL doesn’t bring us enough violence anymore, I decided that now would be the ideal time to found a new entertainment league.

As a horror movie aficionado, who is currently busy gorging myself on slasher films, thrillers, and terribly acted teen murder movies that grace the entire month of October, I decided that we should set up an imaginary league that will allow the general public, or the whack-jobs like myself who love the horror film genre, a way to debate and enjoy their favorite psychopaths and villains.  This first post will discuss the layout and division of the league and lay the foundation for when/where/and how the league will work.  The next post will chronicle the NHA draft.)

Location for the Draft:  If this event were to happen, it would have to go down in New York.  Even though, in the horror genre, there’s not a more disgusting, vile, easy-to-slash-people-in-broad-daylight-and-get-away-with-it kind of city.

(*Author’s note: seriously, New York is the villain in more than a few slasher flicks.  It’s ridiculous.  I’ve been there and I wasn’t stabbed a single time and the worst thing that happened to me was a dude trying to sell me a fake Rolex.  After I declined, he offered me weed directly in front of my parents.  I bought neither but found the city to be amazing and entirely devoid of serial killers and dead bodies on every corner.)

Since we have a location, the draft would also have to be televised.

I’m thinking the SyFy network would be the ideal candidate.  They continue defy all human logic by turning a profit and, despite their gratuitous lack of spelling ability, have the audience base that would be willing to turn off their X-Box 360s and put down their graphic novels to watch such a historic event.

The eight teams would need managers and home cities to represent in the National Horror Association.  Without further ado, ladies and gentleman of No Coast Bias, I give you the teams and managers of this new league.

The Minneapolis Maybe He’s Actually Dead This Times

(Owner: George A. Romero)

The zombie king loves himself some horror movies.  While the league doesn’t cater specifically to the undead hordes that Romero tends to love the most, he would be an ideal owner due to the fact that the zombie industry is currently responsible for half of our national GDP.  Seriously.  The Government may be shut down but if they could just work out some kind of profit sharing with The Walking Dead (*Author’s note: and its 16 Million viewers that watched the season debut on Monday) we’d be home free.

The Philadelphia Flickering Lights

(Owner: Jack Nicholson)


Jack Nicholson has starred in more horror movies than he’d like to admit.  Some were okay (see: Wolf), some were great (see: The Shining) and some were dirt (see: The Witches of Eastwick and any other movie that stars Cher, really).  However, one thing is clear: Jack has a lot of free time and there are only so many 18-year-olds and only so many you nights you can spend free-basing a Viagra buffet before you just need to find something else to do.  Here’s Jack’s chance.  He’s a horror movie icon and you can just imagine the highly dramatic rants he could use when chastising the media.  In fact, here’s what he’d look like telling reporters to come after him, because he’s a man and he’s 40.  Or 75.

The Niagara Trips and Falls Over Nothings

(Owner: M. Night Shyamalan)

Shyamalan, once a promising rookie on the horror movie scene, hit a sophomore slump that’s lasted all the way to graduate school.  He had a legitimately creepy, smash hit in The Sixth Sense and followed that up with the utterly horrifying Stuart Little (*Author’s note: has there ever been a stranger 1-2 punch than a horror phenom cranking out The Sixth Sense followed up immediately by a kids movie about a family dumb enough to adopt a mouse?  Let me repeat: THEY ADOPTED A MOUSE!)  He then peaked with Signs, which was one of the creepier Alien movies of the early 2000s, and wrote half of a really scary movie called The Village.

After the midway point in The Village, Shyamalan’s career took a downward turn.  He started believing the hype surrounding his mini-empire in the making and cranked out a series of craptastic movies, including one where plants try to kill “The New Girl” and her husband, Marky Mark.  He is the horror equivalent of Shawn Kemp: a staggering amount of potential and a great beginning of his career that crashes to a brutal, overweight (or in this case over budget) end.  So, M. Night’s final tally?  2.5 scary movies, millions in the bank from his early successes and now he’s making a comeback by owning a team.  He needs this more than anyone.

Pittsburgh Pre-Marital Sexers

(Owner: Jamie Lee Curtis)


Jamie Lee Curtis was once labeled a “Scream Queen” by people who can apparently appoint you as such.  She had an epic run of horror movie madness starting with her starring role in the ultimate slasher film (*Author’s note: I’ll debate you on this if you challenge me) Halloween.  She followed that up two years later with The FogProm Night, and Terror Train in 1980 and then brought it home with Road Games, Halloween II, and a made-for-T.V. joint called Death of a Centerfold: The Dorothy Stratten Story.  That’s the horror equivalent of the early 2000s Lakers teams.  She also starred in a cinematic gem called Freaky Friday which, despite it’s title, wasn’t designed to be a horror movie.  We’ll give her bonus points for working with Lindsay Lohan, who at that time was almost certainly psychotically addicted to blow and was challenging Macauly Culkin for the “too much, too soon” all-time championship.  So good a stretch did Curtis have in her heyday, that we can even forgive her for now pitching products to help old people poop more often.  Welcome to the league.

The Portland Prank Calls From the Killer

(Owner: Wes Craven)

Craven is horror movie royalty.  The creator of not one but two horror super-franchises, having created both the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise and the Scream movies, and having written and directed countless other horror movies, he makes perfect sense to man this franchise.

The Dallas Dream Within a Dream Sequences

(Owner: Stephen King)

He’s a bajillion-kajillion-quintillionaire.  As the esteemed pop culture critics, the Ying Yang twins, would say: he’s got fifty-leven billion dollars.  He’s the best horror story writer since Edgar Allan Poe and countless novels and short stories of his have been turned into movies that range anywhere from terrible to awesome.  Are most of his books and stories far, far better than his TV and/or major motion pictures?  Certainly.  Should that stop one of the biggest names in the genre from owning a franchise in the NHA?  Hell no.

The Utah Underage Binge Drinkers

(Owner: Tobe Hooper)

Bear with me here, the seven of you that have continued to read this far down.  I wasn’t entirely sure who Tobe Hooper was either until I started IMDBing the hell out of this idea.  Suddenly his name was everywhere.  He hasn’t even bothered to try anything but horror movies.  Texas Chainsaw MassacreSalem’s Lot, Poltergeist.  All classic horror flicks.  All directed by Hooper.  He was also behind movies with amazing titles, if not plotlines, like Eaten AliveThe Mangler, and my favorite: Spontaneous Combustion.  His pedigree and dedication to the genre make him an obvious choice for owner.

The San Francisco Shower Scenes

(Owner: Zombie Al Davis)

Bear with me here.  Because Davis only recently kicked the bucket but — and I’m sure that George A. Romero was delighted by this amazingly convenient plot twist — as it turns out. . .he’s not actually dead.  He’s the undead.  That’s right.  Al Davis, long believed to be a corpse that is somehow shambling around in the delectable combination of Pampers, sweatsuits and gold chains, has decided that, since the Raiders are almost look like they’re onto something with Terrelle Pryor, he needs to find another team to run directly into the ground.  Zombie Al Davis had this to say about getting his new team, “Arrrggghhh. . .ungggh. . .annnnnggggghhhh.”

League Commissioner: John Carpenter

When choosing a commish for this league, I wasn’t sure exactly which way to go.  While “The Ghost of Steve Jobs” and “Alfred Hitchcock the 4th” were all high in the running I couldn’t shy away from the master of all horror.  I also looked into the man who wrote the original Friday the 13th but found out, much to my very real, very-un-Hollywood-scripted terror that he spent most of his time writing for All My Children.  Yes, that All My Children.  (*Author’s note: I must admit, in the realm of genuine shock, the stupor level when I saw that was near a 12.9)

Finally I settled on The Man.  The guy who has the single greatest horror movie, and horror movie franchise to his name: Halloween.  Without him, who knows where Jamie Lee Curtis’ career would be.  Activia certainly wouldn’t be aiding and abetting seniors in their deuce droppage with nearly as great an effect, that much is for certain.

Carpenter fits the mold.  He’s a five-tool horror player: writing, directing, producing, editing, and composing his own music.  He has the resume (See: The ThingHalloween II) the staying power, and once cast Ice Cube as a convict that must fight alien zombies to save a mining town in Mars and also cast Rowdy Roddy Piper in They Live (*Author’s note: this cult classic features one of my favorite lines in movie history, “I came here to chew bubblegum and kick ass. . .and I’m all out of bubblegum” and the single greatest fistfight in all of moviedom)  Don’t believe he should be the commish?  Check this out:

I know it’s not directly horror related, but THAT is commissioner worthy.

So the basis for the league is now set.  We have our two divisions:

The Legends
–  Niagara (regional team, in Buffalo Metropolitan area)
–  Minneapolis
–  Pittsburgh
–  Philly

The Bleeders
–  San Francisco
–  Utah
–  Portland
–  Dallas

So with the divisions set, the commissioner in place and the deep-pocketed, occasionally dead, owners in place the league is ready to go.

Up next. . .the NHA Draft.

To be continued. . .

After a long off-season with some insane storylines: (*Author’s note: Bron-Bron goes back to Cleveland, Phil takes the helm in NYC, Kobe and Derrick Rose prepare for their returns, and the Cavaliers prove that they are the NBA equivalent to Meatloaf and will do anything for Love.) the NBA season has finally arrived.  I’m sure, if you’re a hoophead like me, you’ve already pored over a 20 or more previews and watched as dozens of talking heads asked “The Important Questions” about this upcoming NBA season.

So I decided I’d take a little more outside the box approach.  I’d take a look at five storylines that may or may not be flying underneath the radar and investigate them.  Here are 5 questions that simply must be asked before the NBA season goes into day 2.

1.  Whose hair will get talked about the most in Cleveland: LeBron James or Anderson Varejao?

Anderson Varejao has come strong with his token-black-guy-in-High-School-Musical hair for the past few seasons.  Does it kind of look like the Brazilian hair version of the confetti that comes out of those toy champagne-poppers that people bust out for New Year’s Eve?  Yeah.  Does it flop oh-so-gloriously, like Pau Gasol trying to draw a charge in the low block?  Definitely.  Varejao’s stat line usually includes a triple double when he’s playing: points, rebounds, and times spent tossing his hair like model doing a “wind-blown” look in front of a power fan.

LeBron’s hair, like everything else about LeBron James, was highly scrutinized this offseason.  If you think about LeBron’s hair like a Civil War battlefield (*Author’s note: you know, like a normal person) it seemed like the front lines of LeBron’s hair were gradually ceding precious ground to the inevitable reverse Kareem-ing that seemed to be happening.  The head band on his dome kept moving back, gradually sliding towards making him look like he was wearing an NBA yarmulke that came with the sun roof option.  But for a brief moment this year, Bron-Bron called for reinforcements.

Photo Courtesty of

He got hair plugs.  His hairline made a dramatic, suicide charge, that had Twitter imploding in on itself like a dying supernova as LeBron suddenly looked like a new man.  But then?  Just like that: poof.  The new hair was gone again.  It had Nightcrawler’d (*Author’s note: the character from X-Men, not Jake Gyllenhall) out of the picture, teleporting off of LeBron’s dome.  Did he unplug like a rapper doing an acoustic set on MTV?  Had the Twitter backlash driven his new follicles to a full-on retreat?  We may never know.  But it’ll be something that’s totally worth watching.

2.  Where will Kobe hide the body of Swaggy P after he inevitably murders him?

That the situation in LA is a mess is hardly a secret.  I’m not sure if they’ve already copyrighted the term, “Blunderbuss” to describe how great Jerry’s son Jimmy has done running the franchise, but if they haven’t I’m going to send off a quick e-mail to the US Patent Office.  What will make a disgustingly unwatchable Lakers team infinitely more watchable this year?  The fact that Kobe Bryant is back.

And not only is Kobe back, but he’s in full on crotchety old man, I-don’t-give-a-fuck-because-I’m-a-veterans-veteran and make Rip van Winkle look like a rookie, mode.  So what happens when Kobe, and all his mamba-venom, run into Swaggy P and all his long-two-point-jacking bravado?  It could get ugly.  Since Swaggy P is essentially a 3rd-world-poor man’s Kobe and he has become a pseudo-celeb based on the fact that he’s dating Iggy Azalea, it could lead to a fascinating power struggle.


Photo Courtesy of: I’m sure you can tell I just crappily photoshopped this myself.

But let’s be honest: the struggle won’t last long.  We all know that Kobe’s competitiveness borders on homicidal.  So when he ends up drowning Swaggy P in the training room cold tub, after the Swagster goes 4-19 from the field at some point this year, the question will be this: where will Kobe stash his body?

4 Potential hiding places:

  • Wherever Jim Buss hides all of his “mistakes.”
    • A dude like Jimmy Buss isn’t going to live a completely clean life.  That much we can rightly assume.  So what do his “handlers” do when the Blunderbuss fires off an errant round and they need to dispose of the evidence?  I’m sure they have a secret passageway underneath the Staples center to spirit out bodies.  And we know Kobe would have access to these.
  • Smush Parker’s house.
    • Kobe and Smush have had a simmering, sometimes boiling, feud. And what better way for psycho-Kobe to exact his revenge (*Author’s note: other than, you know, just having no one else on the planet give a damn about Smush Parker – which has already happened.) than by a classic Hollywood Noir frame-job.
  • The Medieval German Castle Dungeon Laboratory where Kobe gets his strange knee injections.
  • Donald Sterling’s basement.
    • Because everyone would just assume Sterling did it.  I know I would.

3.  Will the 76ers play so bad that we retro-actively are declared the losers of the Revolutionary War and we have to give back thirteen states to Great Britain?

There’s a legitimate chance.  Have you seen their lineup? It’s a crew so Motley that Tommy Lee should be playing the drums.  They’ve got guys you’ve never heard of.  Young dudes who have names you can’t pronounce.  Michael Carter-Williams is their best player and he has a name like a serial killer and shoots 40% from the field.  While the team has a few young pieces with some upside, they appear to be doomed to another season so far at the bottom of the standings that they’re somewhere below the Earth’s crust.  The one bonus? Nerlens Noel, rocking a flat top the size of a small mountain peak on his dome.  (*Author’s note: and that’s trying really hard for a silver lining.)

4.  Will Chris Bosh continue his slow metamorphosis into a Velociraptor before our very eyes?


(*Author’s note: It’s time for you to start lining up your Jurassic World jokes, Twitter.  The season is back, the next installment of the Jurassic Park franchise is off and running, and Chris Bosh is probably going to continue Chris Boshing his way around the court.  Personally, I don’t know if the Heat will let Bosh have enough time off from the team to finish shooting his scenes as a stunt double for the velociraptors, and that could lead to some conflict.  Get.  Your.  Popcorn. Ready.)

5.  Will reigning technical foul king Boogie Cousins get out-teched by Larry Sanders?

Boogie seems to have troubles with the refs.  I’m not sure if this stems from the fact that he’s a post player who consistently thinks he’s getting hacked (*Author’s note: a hallmark of good NBA post players is their insistence that they’re being fouled and their willingness to get T-ed up for it. Hell, even not-good NBA post players get a lot of techs.  See: Perkins, Kendrick.) or if he’s just got a lousy attitude, but whatever the reason, Boogs has lead the league in techs for 2 straight seasons and finished second 3 years ago to the aforementioned king of posturing/scowling, Perkins.

But someone is coming for Boogie’s belt.  Someone equally tatted and equally trialed-and-tribulated by the officiating community.  Someone who once racked up a whopping 14 T’s of his own 2 seasons ago in a mere 71 games and who will be an what appears to be a super frustrating scenario buried in the frozen tundra of Milwaukee.  That’s right, baby!  I’m talking about none other than Larry F-ing Sanders!  If you doubt Mr. Sander’s ref-taunting technique, or don’t think anyone can hang with Boogie’s panache in the ref-flouting business: ladies and gentleman of the jury, please let me submit to you my favorite ejection of all time not involving an NBA fist fight.

Gif Provided via and, apparently @wiz_spurtin

It’s another jam-packed week in the life of Husker football coach, Bo Pelini.  He’s got a program on the rise, a defense that’s finally wearing shirts that seem to be the right color, and a matchup against a team that somehow has weaseled their way into the Big Ten, strictly by being next door neighbors to a big city.  (*Author’s note: Rutgers is the equivalent of the 2.8-GPA-in-High-School kid who gets into a really prestigious school because their parents paid for a new building or two on campus.)

So what does a guy like Bo Pelini do to keep ahead of all the insanity that comes with running a major division one football program?  He focus on the details.  He schedules his time out meticulously.  In short: he keeps his nose grinding on “The Process.”

Utilizing a top-secret source working on the inside of One Memorial Stadium we were able to obtain a screenshot of what Bo’s schedule looks like for the Rutgers game.  And, boy, does he seem busy.

(*Author’s note: as usual, the formatting sucks. Click on the image, and all will be revealed.)




Last night, Denver Bronco’s quarterback Peyton Manning broke the NFL’s alltime Touchdown Passing mark, leaping to the top of the heap with 510 TDs and powering past Brett Favre’s previous mark of 508 en route to a beatdown of my beloved San Franciso 49ers.  Much was made over an future hall of famer doing future hall of famer stuff.  We saw the commotion that occurred on the field after Peyton etched his name into the annals of sports history (*Author’s note: which should prove to be only slightly more permanent than that gigantic red-spot on his forehead) and we’ve heard all about his on-field exploits.

But what about off the field?  We may have seen the Twitterverse weighing in as other great athletes paid their respects to Peyton.  But what were some of the more personal, more intimate messages Peyton received last night after making history?

Fortunately for you, we’ve partnered up with everyone’s favorite perv-hackers – you know, the ones who have made every celebrity cower in fear as they feverishly attempted to delete their sext messages from “The Cloud”— and managed to get just a snippet of some of the texts that were sent to Peyton Manning last night.

Here are a few for your viewing pleasure.

Of, course, Peyton’s younger brother checked in.


And the athlete soon-to-be known as inmate 277-P476 also showed some love.


Peyton’s former owner from the Colts, Jim Irsay took time out from his busy schedule to send a heartfelt congratulations.


Longtime Peyton Manning nemesis, and consummate spokesman, Tom Brady sent in a quick message.


From one QB at the peak of his powers, to another, Florida State’s Jameis Winston sent in a congratulatory message.


And The Ole’ Gunslinger even weighed in with a multi-part personal message for Peyton (Part I)


Brett (Part II)



Maybe you’re a Kansas City Royals fan and you have been for life.  Or for a long time.  Maybe you’ve suffered through years of ineptitude and heartache and misery and now here you are, the light at the end of the tunnel mercifully bringing dawn to your brutally long night.  You’re like the Chilean miners of baseball fans.  Buried for so long down in the depths of sporting misery that many gave up.  But you kept clawing, scratching, live-tweeting, and Billy Butler meme-ing through it all.  And now, you can taste fresh air.  You can see the sunshine of a crisp fall day breaking over Kansas City.  Over your city.  And it feels like your time.  It feels like suddenly destiny stopped hammer-fisting you in the face and is reaching down to offer you a hand off the mat.  You’re Rocky Balboa and you just landed your first triumphant body blow on Ivan Drago/Tommy Gun/Carl Weathers.

Or, if you’re like me, you just find yourself attracted to these kinds of stories that make sports so great.  So damn fun.  You find the Royals’ scrappy, never-say-die, small-ball-loving attitude as fun to watch as it is riddled with unavoidable sports clichés.


If you’re like me, the Kansas City royals have done the impossible.  They’ve suddenly made you give a shit about baseball in the middle of a hyper-fascinating football season.

Instead of tossing your nose up haughtily in the air, then angling said nose directly towards your TV so you can catch some more football highlights, you’ve found yourself pushing and shoving your way onto a bandwagon that’s more crowded than an Ebola evacuation bus heading for the Liberian border.  (*Author’s note: too soon?)  You’ve watched a team with about as much power as Ted Kaczynski’s Montana mountain-shack (*Author’s note: for those keeping track, that’s Kaczynski reference #12,327) suddenly look like they’ve been ordering the Tony Bosch special, with “Extra Bosch”, at their local “anti-aging” clinic.  You’ve watched Ned Yost do some heinously Ned-Yostian things that have somehow turned out just fine, leaving you to wonder if you’re actually the idiot.

You’ve done all of this; somehow finding yourself so thoroughly engrossed in the Royal’s attempt to prove Lorde’s Beetlejuice-y ass wrong that you’ve watched the marathons of extra innings and the overabundance of weird, Vaguely British Viagra commercials and the insanity of watching important sporting events on a network that prides itself on playing re-runs of Family Guy during primetime.  Then today happened.

And you’re stuck at the office.

Now, if you’re the kind of fan this post started with, you’re undoubtedly hung over.  Or not going in to work.  Or probably both.

But if you’re like me (*Author’s note: or an actual honest-to-God contributing member to society) then you probably went in to the office anyway.  You’ll only miss a few innings, your rational, hoping-to-not-get-fired voice will whisper in your ear.  But what it I miss another Mike Moustaka-Flocka-Flame Bonnaroo crowd-surfing moment? Your sports loving side whispers.  Why not have the best of both worlds?  Why not enjoy the game as best you can at the office, then get to a car and Dick Trickle your way home.  (*Author’s note: it’s not what I look like, I swear.)

So here are 5 ways to try to enjoy the start of the Royals V.S. Orioles game while you’re stuck at the office.

1.  Get that phone battery charged up, son!

If you’re unable to access the game on the internet or if TBS’ website has been red-flagged by your work’s security settings for having the words “Big” and “Bang” used in the same sentence, then you’re probably going to have to mobile-app that piece.  So far, the 48 people that have reviewed the Watch TBS app have given it a rip-roaring 1.25 stars out of five.  So, if you’re scoring at home, that’s lower than Billy Butler’s stealing percentage.  But, in a pinch?  You can log on, cash in on your job’s free Wi-Fi — or risk instantaneously turning your data package into a pile of smoldering overages – and catch the game in all it’s small-screen glory.

Embedded image permalink

No cellphones allowed at your desk?  What kind of middle-school fiefdom are you selling your soul to?  Make a break for the bathroom and find yourself a stall far enough away from the others that no one will call the cops when they hear you cheering wildly while you’re sitting on the john.  (*Author’s note: to avoid arousing suspicion, I recommend only shouting ambiguous, potentially-bathroom related things while crapper-watching the game.  Ex: “Take two!”  “He’s out!”)

2.  Pull up the game on TBS’ live streaming website

Feeling bold?  Have really disgusting company bathrooms?  Then you can always catch the game on your computer.  Make sure you have that trusty parachute page ready to go, though.  Is this the 2nd quarter of the year?  I don’t know.  There’s a chance your boss doesn’t either.  So open up a few tabs in your browser with things like “Earnings report” and “expense reports” for a quick, panicked, mouse click.

Baseball graph

Here’s another parachute page I created so I could immediately bail out if I hear the footfalls of a superior heading my way down the cubicle-runway. Feel free to use at your leisure.

3.  Listen in on streaming radio

Slide your ear bud up through your shirt, lean down in your office chair like you’re a G getting ready for drive-by mode and let Denny Matthews’ buttery, dulcet tones massage your timpanic membrane.  If your boss or any other coworker walk by, make sure you’re staring intently at the computer monitor so when you completely ignore them the first 12 times they say your name you can just point to the screen, shrug your shoulders, and say “look, don’t you find spreadsheet analysis engrossing?”


4.  Make sure you’ve got a good backstory for your erratic behavior

If you’re going to leap onto your posturepedic office chair and shout, “Moooooooooose!” You’d better make sure you’ve already talked loudly to multiple coworkers about how you’re calling a client in Saskatchewan today to go over their home-owners insurance involving wild animals.

Planning on dropping to your knees and screaming “Crrrrrash!” With unparalleled fury and angst if Chris Davis gets a clutch hit for the Orioles?  You’d better have already just happened to print off some stuff right by your boss discussing the airbag ratings on the new 2015 Chrylser Sebrings.

You may even want to leave on your headset or keep the phone up to your ear and refer to all the players as “Mr.” As in, “Mr. Gordon we could really use your expertise when we’re talking about leveraging our Louisville accounts to create a big swing in the numbers.”

5.  When all else fails, try to get sent home for the day

Wander past your boss’s desk coughing.  Splash some water on your face so you look like you’ve broken out into a sweat.  Make a quick dash for the bathroom and leave your computer unlocked and have a gigantic, zoomed in Google search left up on your computer that says this:


Good luck.  God speed.  And go Royals.


(*Author’s note: Listen, what else are we supposed to do on a bye week?  Try to compose a rap song about DeMornay Pierson-El?  Oh, believe me: I’ve done that too.

Sung to the tune of Ride Wit Me, by Nelly:

If your thinking about puntin’, ‘cause it’s 4th and three,
You better look downfield and tell me who you see?
Oh, why would you punt his way? Hey!  Must be DeMornay!)

If it’s too far for you to go for three,
And you’re higher than Khalifa on four twenty:
Oh, why would you punt his way? Hey!  Must be DeMornay!)

But enough of that.  It’s getting close to Halloween.  That means that my obsession with horror movies and candy corn are going to ramp up to dangerous levels for the next few weeks as we prepare for one of my favorite times of year.  Since all I’ll be watching from now until October 31st is football and horror movies, I thought, why not combine my insane love of the two?  So, here are some Husker players and coaches who I have crappily crafted into some classic movie posters.

Froday the 13th, Part LXXX


Hocus BoCuss


Pierson El-Raiser


The Becksorcist