Ok, ok

Forgive me blog followers, for I have sinned. I had an unblogged promise to post bidaily (like biweekly, as opposed to that stupid other biweekly) but, well, fuck. I've thought about my crime, and have pondered appropriate penance. Self-immolation would hurt you more than it hurts me, so forget that shit. But I will be posting again today, so hold me to that, and accept this multimedia post in place of my two-day-old non-post.

This video doubles as proof that a sure-fire genius litmus test is by putting a potential genius in the kitchen and seeing if the result doesn't make the world shit itself. Take Bill Belichick. I'm not a New England Patriots fan per se, but if you think he's not going to Canton one day to be enshrined in the Pro Football Hall of Fame, you probably also don't think Shannon Sharpe goes to Easter Island for family reunions. The Pats have succeeded with great offensives, great defenses, shitty wide receivers, shitty defenses pretending they're good, a receiver pretending he's a cornerback, a linebacker pretending he's a reciever, Randy Moss, tight ends pretending they're Randy Mosses, Tom Brady, Tom Brady with Bieber hair, good coaches pretending they'd be good head coaches, good coaches pretending they'd be good head coaches that got head coaching jobs, flamed out, and returned the week before playing the team they used to coach for in the playoffs, and now, some combination of those, along with currently following the Oakland Raiders' AARP player acquisition strategy, which seems oxymoronic with the word "strategy," because when the Raiders do it it's not a strategy and they're morons.

Yet, in the hands of Belichick, some of those nigh-on-retirees become nigh-on-Super Bowl winners, and we will find out in a little over a week if they cash in those nighs-on for a rings. But even without another Super Bowl win, he's won three, which is good when that's what it takes to be considered nigh-on the greatest coach of all time. (Note: it is nigh-on bedtime, the time when I nigh-on repeat myself). So with heady credentials in tow, let's let a pre-Pats Bill take us through a juggernaut meal heretonigh-onfor unheard of:

You better believe my Super Bowl hors d'oeurves platter is going to be fucking smattered with these, and I anticipate they will not be nigh-on, but COMPLETELY hors d'oeurvoured.