Fins Nation: A Miami Dolphins Blog With Dick Jokes

Your Name Is You’re Wanting

Hey, Dolphins. You fucks. Put. That. Coffee. Down. Because at the end of the day, is anybody really that surprised you teabagged our playoff hopes with that shitastic performance yesterday? I mean, really. Anyone?

Dan Henning, you fucking fucknard. Your bullshit playcalling set the tone for what would ultimately be our demise in this game. You’ve got Ricky running over Bills defenders at will, gaining 5 to 6 yards percarry, putting them on their heals and setting the tone you were supposed to set against the 31st ranked run defense. And that tone should have been: better lube the fuck up, cause we’re running up your ass all day today. And it was all coming together just like that. And then we get a first and goal, and the obvious call here is to feed Ricky again. But you’re above that shit, aren’t you, Dan? Of course you are. You call a pass play out of the wildcat. You possum cock. Then there’s the end-around to Ted Ginn late in the game when an end-around to Ted Ginn has worked exactly zero fucking times this season. Also, instead of running Ricky and Lex into the soft part of a depleted Bills defense, you decide to bring in Pat Fucking White during the most crucial drive of the season. You fucking shitstick. But hey, we just have to understand. That’s just how you roll. You’re clever and smart and prefer to go the unconventional route. You want to be unconventional, Dan? Shove three dicks into your mouth as a pregame ritual every Sunday. That’s unconventional. At least then the only thing getting fucked is your face and not our playoff hopes.

And Paul Pasqualoni …. holy fucking shitballs. Besides having that constant look on your face like you just walked in on your wife blowing a horse, you’re a goddamned useless defensive coordinator. And you always have been. 140 combined fourth quarter points allowed by your defense this year, Paul. 140! And who needs to pressure the quarterback, right? That shit is overrated anyway. And why in the world play Cameron Wake more than three fucking plays the entire fucking game? Pfft. He’s apparently so bad at tackling running backs that we prefer to go with the immortal Ryan Baker at defensive end instead. Cameron Wake is fucking weak at covering the run? Fuck you. You’re weak. And while we’re at it, here’s an idea: can we please stop having our rookie corners go one-on-one in coverage against the best receivers in the league? It’s. Not. Fucking. Working. You heaping mound of kangaroo shit. They’re rookies. Going up against world-class receivers. And getting a shitload of nothing from our front seven to ease the pressure. Get them some fucking help. Jesus, how many games into the season are we in and you still haven’t figure that shit out? And speaking of our front seven: 6′2, career backup quarterback Ryan Fitzpatrick scored a 31-yard rushing touchdown yesterday. Really, Paul? A fucking Ivy League midget? You know what that means? That means that I would have had a better score had I started Fitzpatrick at running back against the Dolphins over Ryan Grant against the Lions on my fantasy team this week. That shit alone should cost anyone their job. Fuck you, Paul Pasqualoni. Seriously. Fuck you.

Tony Sparano. Nice guy? I don’t give a shit. Good father? Fuck you! Go home and play with your kids. You wanna coach here – close! You think his is abuse? You think this is abuse, you cocksucker? You can’t take this, how can you take the abuse you get when we face teams 10 times better than those shitheal Bills? You’re a tough West Haven guy, no? Do yourself a favor. Grab Henning and Pasqualoni and shit in their mouths. Then ram your giant 24-inch calves right up their rectal cavities. I don’t want to hear bullshit excuses this week, Tony. I really don’t. I don’t want to hear about how Ricky fucked up that pass. YOU fucked up that pass. Because YOU allowed Dan Henning to call that shit. I want to hear that those two scrotum inhaling shitstain excuses for coordinators of yours got their comeuppance. If not, you’ll be hitting the pavement looking for work with the Charlie Weis’s of the world. And you’ll be sitting at a bar, crying into your J & B neat, “Yea I used to be a head coach in the NFL. It’s a tough racket.”

And to the Miami Dolphins as a whole: I love you. But fuck you. Fuck you. Why? Because you never fail to fuck it up when a golden opportunity is presented to you. Because you never fail to end up on the wrong side of history. Because I could have spent $250 on a roundtrip ticket to Buffalo, walked onto the field, and taken a gigantic after-Thanksgiving dinner shit on the 50 yard line and it would’ve been better than the sorry display you put on. THAT’S why. And your name is you’re wanting. You can’t play in the man’s game, you can’t close games – go home and tell your wife your troubles. Because only one thing counts in this life: Win the fucking games you’re supposed to win. You hear me you fucking faggots? Because it’s fuck or walk. You close or you hit the bricks. For Christ.

The season, for a lack of a better word, is fucked. Fuck the gimmicks. Fuck the Wildcat. Fuck bringing in Pat White’s prepubescent ass into games to gain a whole 2 fucking yards. Fuck not playing Wake because he’s a “work in progress.” Fuck the one-on-one coverage. Let’s just go play footall and…

Meh. You know what? Fuck it.

Let’s tank the rest of the games and draft Dez Bryant.

Fuck.

Happy Thanksgiving From FN

 

DRK tells me he’s got three, count em three, lechon piernas sitting in his fridge, fully marinated and waiting to be slow cooked for 12 hours starting at 5AM. So you know he ain’t fuckin’ around.

Me? I can’t cook worth dick, so I’m just gonna sit around and watch football with my Dad and The Little Dude while my Mom does what she do — mainly, prepare the shit out of the meal and all the fixins. And then I plan to eat til my pants explode (if I could, I would make sweet, sweet love to pumpkin pie. True story!)

Be safe, treasure your time with the ones you love, count your blessings, and have a great time. DRK and I are thankful for each and every one of you for visiting this here site and reading our goofy shit on a day-to-day basis. We love thee, Nation.

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone out there!

Except Rex Ryan. He can suck it.

Ricky Williams Wins AFC Player of The Week, My Heart

Today the NFL announced what we already knew: That Ricky Williams is an ass-denting running machine that completely fucked the Panthers in their face with his all around awesomeness. And just to make it official, he’s been named the AFC Offensive Player of the Week.

It’s Ricky’s 4th time being named offensive player of the week in his career. And thank Christ we have him now with Ronnie being out. He hasn’t handled the workload since 2006, when he was 28. But, asked if Ricky can handle the workhorse load now at age 31, Sparano said, “Yea, I think he can. I think he’s going to be OK.”

We can only hope so. We’re gonna need a shitload of Ricky to finish out the season. And while he proved he’s still a force to be reckoned with last Thursday, it’s admittedly gonna be a little of rough.

But that’s just how your mother likes it, so it’s all good. Hey-oooohhh!!

Oh Yea, We Play Buffalo This Week!

 

 

Yes, we were all shocked — SHOCKED!! — to find out the NFL had decided to bump the December 6 Patriots at Dolphins game in favor of Vikings-Cardinals. Because Cris What-Kind-of Pussy-Ass-Dickweed-Spells-That-Name-Without-An-H? Collinsworth needs to get in on the Favre suckfest before the season is through. Favre’s balls are not only for Jaws and Gruden to verbally slurp on dammit! And we need to see more highlights of Al Michaels calling the old Monday Night game Brett played after his father passed, because you need to understand how amazing that was because when one of your loved ones passes away, you become a blithering sack of shit while Favre becomes the Ubermensch, and you need to be reminded of that as much as humanly fucking possible, you useless pustule. You can also chalk it up to the NFL pretty much already deciding that the Patriots will win this game and win the division, so why even fucking bother. And that makes us all very angry and yada yada yada… but!

We still have to win at fucking Buffalo.

Yes, the Bills have a new head coach, lost pretty much their entire offensive line, and have a starting QB whose sole claim to fame as a quarterback is that he finished his Wonderlic test in record time.

But that doesn’t mean shit. Not to a Dolphins team that loves to play down to shitty opponents (see: Tampa Bay Bucs) and have given up 107 combined 4th quarter points. The Patriots are playing the Saints this Sunday, which could be potentially setting up a 7-4 Pats vs. a 6-5 Dolphins game. And with five games to go after that, anything can happen. Add the fact that we always play the Pats tough at home, well we’ve got things lined up nicely.

So, because this Sunday’s game against Buffalo has “trap-game” written all over it, we need to first handle our shit against the Bills — kick some Buffalo ass, and stay healthy while doing it. Then we can start thinking about how many different ways Jason Taylor will sodomize Tom Brady with his fists of steel.

Dolphins Waive Matt Roth

posted by DatRoroKid

 

Well, color me surprised. 

It’s been reported from a few sources that the Dolphins have apparently waived LB/DE Matt Roth.  Roth was a second round pick back from the Saban days thought rather smallish to play DE in this defense and was switched over to LB last year.  He did pretty well in the role (53 tackles, 5 sacks and 4 pass defensed) and it was expected he’d be an even larger playmaker with a second year in this system and in this new role.  In the spring, he visited a specialist for that and had surgery.  By all accounts Roth was healed and ready but rock but that’s when things got all Robert Stack Unsolved Mysteries on us.  Instead, Roth came into training camp with a lingering groin issue that was initially attributed to ‘feeling under the weather’ by Sparano.  Things got weirder when his agent, Twitter-savant Drew Rosenhaus, went on Sports Extra and blamed Roth’s absence on his lingering groin injury.  Roth proceeded to miss all of training camp and all the preseason games and was seen every day working out on his own and sporting that ubiquitous ballcap.  Even we here at FinsNation began to think that something was a bit ‘off’ about this Roth absence, instead attributing it to allegedly drunken misfit behavior and particularly vigorous experiences with the experimental Jamaican sexual deviance trend of “daggering“.  (Note:  Unconfirmed at this point in time)

This is a curious move by the Dolphins, especially considering the way the injury bug has bitten the fuck out of us like a goddamn Bullet Ant.  We could easily go down a LB or two on a single series, not to mention the 6 games that remain in the regular season alone.  Was it worth it to waive a young, starting-caliber LB that other teams will kill themselves over to pick up now that he’s out there???  In waiving Roth, the Dolphins picked up Ikaika Alama-Francis – a DL that last took snaps in ‘08 with the winless Detroit Lions.  At 6′5″, 290 I don’t know to what extent this guy can fill some of the giant gaping black hole left in the wake of Ferguson being placed on the IR.  I don’t understand the move at all but there was clearly some falling out over the lying that forced the team to put Roth on the PUP where he stayed all season until the 2nd Jets game.  There also may have been lingering issues about his contract and the team must have felt with better recent play from Cam Wake, Charlie Anderson and Reggie Torbor that we could shed this guy.  Still, Roth was liked around FN for his obvious chemical imbalance and willingness to beat the shit out of non-super hero built motherfuckers if it came down to a bar fight.  I’ll miss the guy.

Your thoughts in the comments.

/ shrugs shoulders, shakes head slowly, turns around and walks away…

-DRK

Coming To A Stadium In Your Town: Doom.

You see that? Oh yes. It’s a Dolphins Chad Henne jersey. With The Robot on the nameplate. Super-Shit-Yea-Kick-Ass-Balls.

Super-Shit-Yea-Kick-Ass-Balls reader Vincent sends this in from his visit to Bank of America Stadiumlast week when the Fins put a beatdown on the Panthers.

Dude’s rocking a The Robot Jersey. I can’t decide if this jersey is The Tits or The Balls or a combination of both. Either way, it’s fucking awesome.

And if he wasn’t awesome before, he certainly is awesome now that he’s donned this jersey. I’m talking thunder-dick awesome. That’s right. You can hear the sound of thunder in his pants because of this jersey. Not only is he showing his unyielding love for our robot from the 50’s quarterback, but he’s also full-on representin the scotch drinking, dickjoke telling, women ogling, badass syndicate known as FinsNation.com. I certainly hope he was asked about the jersey and its meaning by many people. And I hope he answered each and every one of them in kind: with a swift roundhouse kick to their crotch. Because that’s how FN rolls, bitch!

We’ve already breached the Carolinas, people. Next up…. the world!

Also… is a The Robot jersey next to a Dan Marino jersey a mere coincidence? I’m gonna go with no.

Victory Monday Bonus: Megan Strikes Back!

If you recall, on Friday I wrote about how Olivia was making a serious run at Megan for the title of Official FN Girl (and Official Imaginary Girlfriend of The Dude). Well, as you can plainly see, it seems that Megan is not going down without a fight. In fact, she’s coming out guns blazing and shooting people’s faces off with her fantastic, fantastic crotch. Olivia threw my penis a curve ball when she dressed up in the Princess Leia outfit (I’m easy that way), and when she made out with some chick, and when she licks stuff on her show. But all Megan has to do is show up. Ping, contest over.

However, this is not over, by any means. It’s only the end of round one in what is expected to be a very long battle for my penis’s heart. Let it be known that as soon as Olivia dropped the gauntlet, Megan immediately responded with an “Ah hellz no!” and showed up all stretchy and awesome. And in black and white, no less. It’s pretty much the equivalent of saying, “I can kick your ass with my hands tied behind my back!” So, to Olivia, I say: “Don’t lose heart. Keep trying. No one ever said this was going to be an easy race. Also, it would help your cause greatly if you showed me your tits.”

And to Megan I say: “Couldn’t stand to be kept away, just for the day, from your body. Wouldn’t want to be swept away, far away from THE ONE THAT I LOVE! Hold me now, its hard for me to say I’m sorry. After all that we’ve been through… I will make it up to you… I PROMISE to!!”

To be continued….

Weekender: Extended Victory Weekend Edition

 

We end the week as we began the glory that was Victory Friday. And by that I of course mean Olivia Munn and her fantastic, fantastic ass.

For those of you who didn’t notice it, I proclaimed in the comments here that Olivia is slowly winning me over to the point that she’s threatening to dethrone Megan Fox as Official FN Girl (whhaaa???? tan-tan-TAN!). It’s true. My mind is a pretzel when it comes to these two minxes. On one hand, you have Megan — the world’s most perfect woman. But she’s also kinda got a meh personality. And she’s with this pencil dicked shitdipper. And she once famously shunned me when I tried to give her a rose. On the other hand, you have Olivia, who is my-pants-just-sploded hot in her own right. Sure, maybe not in the same degree as Megan. But then she does things like this, and this and this and this. And she also seems really cool. And I think my mom would like her, so that’s a bonus.

Is this just a fad? Is she really going to do the unthinkable and topple Megan?

There’s only one way to settle this. Megan, Olivia, me and some Hershey’s chocolate syrup. Because Hershey’s chocolate syrup is the Great Settler Of Disputes. In fact, if they would just introduce Hershey’s chocolate syrup to the Middle East, all the world’s ills would be solved.

Except the Middle East won’t sit on your face, which is vital to my plan.

It’s very complicated. All I know is that my penis and I are going to debate this for as long as it takes. But you can rest assured we’ll get to the bottom of this. The world has my guarantee on that.

Okay, I’ve babbled long enough. Have a great weekend, Nation. Enjoy doing whatever it is you do. Last night’s win sure will make it that much better. Also, enjoy your football on Sunday and watching the Jets and Patriots fuck each other up good and proper (hopefully some injuries will befall them as it did us, because fuck them).

It’s been an awesome day.

 

 

That’s a Heckuva Job Now, K.

Here now the post-game locker room after last night’s win. Sparano sings the praises of the offense for their game-winning drive, as well as the defense for standing tall at the end. Sparano also praises the team for their mental toughness. He also says “K” about 15,000 times during his speech.

As always, it ends with Peezy leading the Who Ride chant, which is always fun. Notice Chad Henne (behind Sparano) during the chant and tell me this guy is not 100% robot.

Fucking awesome? Fucking awesome.

Video here.

Who Ride!

Davone Bess: Mormon, Badass

  

When last we saw Davone Bess, he had reverted from the Badass Mormon Pass Catching Dick Puncher we all fell in love with last year, to some kind of hybrid between JR Tolver and a midget. His hands had also been replaced with duck vaginas. I don’t know why. I’m no scientist!

But last night, Bess once again rose from the very large buckets of crap known as our receiving corps and redeemed himself large. Bess led the Fins with 6 catches for 63 yards. None bigger than the 15-yarder he caught on 3rd and 12 with 4:47 left to play. It was especially impressive because, as we’re beginning to see over and over again, Chad Henne flings the shit out of the football. And on that particular play, Henne pretty much tried to decapitate Bess with that pass. Had the pass been thrown by a human, Bess would have caught it in stride and would have run untouched into the endzone. But because Chad Henne is a robot from the 50s, that shit shot out of his hands like a goddamn bazooka. Bess was lifted off the ground from the massive torque and fell backwards. But he maintained the ball, and got his team a huge-ass first down. Ricky Williams took it from there with his ballstastic 46-yard touchdown that put an end to the game, and teabagged Steve Smith and his ridiculously cartoonish trash talking ways right on the face.

Bess stepped up huge. And it seems like he’s only getting better now that he’s getting used to The Robot’s Gort-like passes. I’m not sure how the Mormon religion works, but if I were the Mormon boss, I’d give Bess a shitload of badass points for being badass. That’s how I’d run my religion anyway. Also, instead of a Pope hat, I’d wear a top hat. And a monocle. Also, cut off jean-shorts. I’m classy!