Tell Chris Berman to put on one of his hundreds of hideous blazers and rub some smelling salts under Al Michaels’ nose because the NFL season is nearly here — and not a moment too soon because baseball is clearly the Charlie O’Connell to pro football’s Jerry (although we’re still disappointed that Crossing Jordan wasn’t about players who dared challenge a certain Chicago Bulls legend). Since no kneecaps were shattered following last year’s predictions (we owe you one, mafia), we’re providing them again for 2010. Who better to handicap the teams than people who’ve been accused of being handicapped? Either way, helmets are involved. Since the Madden bus isn’t running anymore, climb aboard the short bus with us as we make our picks.

New York Jets: Expectations are high for the team HBO’s Hard Knocks — which it turns out isn’t about door-to-door salesmen — followed in training camp. Disgruntled cornerback Darrelle Revis will continue his holdout. To have an income in the interim, he will accept a reality show offer, Survivor: Revis Island. It will be lowest-rated CBS show ever, indicating that the network should’ve cast him in a scripted drama instead, CSI: Meadowlands (tagline: You’re on his turf now — astroturf.).

Minnesota: Brett Favre will take his indecisiveness to another level, alternating between calling it a career and coming back every quarter. His teammates will become so fed up that they’ll dump him at the Canadian border, thereby forcing him to “retire” to the CFL. The grey beard will stay up north — at his age, he could use the free health care — and win the Grey Cup.

Washington: Donovan McNabb’s first year will resemble that of President Obama: hope will be high and a lot will be expected of the new leader, but nothing of note will be accomplished. Sulking tackle Albert Haynesworth won’t be in shape enough to contribute and will continue to believe that conditioning is only done after shampooing.

New Orleans: The defending Super Bowl champs will have an underwhelming season, which they’ll blame on still being hungover from celebrating. Hey, it’s only been seven months, you can’t expect Drew Brees to have recovered yet from all those Sea Breezes. Their fans will both forgive and console these po’ boys, even offering to buy them a drink.

Oakland: Eccentric owner Al Davis said new QB Jason Campbell is reminds him of Hall of Famer Jim Plunkett. That’s the craziest thing uttered on tape in California since the last time Mel Gibson spoke (if the Raiders struggle, let’s hope a frustrated Davis doesn’t wind up screaming, “I spent more than 5 million dollars on you!”)

Drew Brees needs a fishbowl Margarita "this" big.

San Francisco/Houston: 49ers standout running back Frank Gore will leave football midway through the season after being convinced by a Hollywood agent that, based on his name alone, he is qualified to be an action hero. Following the same name dictates profession trend, Texans quarterback Matt Schaub will depart to become an insurance salesman.

Indianapolis: This will be the first year that perpetual Pro Bowler Peyton Manning’s number of endorsements exceed his team’s wins. In hindsight, he probably should’ve passed on promoting Colt 45.

Denver: When highly-touted rookie Tim Tebow scores his first touchdown, he will set a Guinness World Record for the most number of people to orgasm simultaneously. However, all his conservative Christian fans will deny receiving any pleasure from the act.

Miami: The Dolphins will host a LeBron James Night, intending to welcome him to the city, but fans will misinterpret the meaning, casting aside their loyalty to the home team in favor of one with better players (and better weather). As a result, 50,000 people will show up to the stadium wearing San Diego Chargers apparel.

Tennessee: Chris Johnson, who last year became one of only a handful of players to rush for over 2,000 yards in a season, will surpass that mark, running even faster and harder. After the seasons, he will reveal the secret to his success: drinking a mixture of gasoline and Gatorade.

Philadelphia: Passionate but stupid Eagles fans will fall so madly in love with the team’s new quarterback that appreciation groups, dubbed Kevin Kolb Klubs, will spring up all over the region. The KKK will hold regular meetings to discuss why he is superior to Donovan McNabb and burn crossing patterns in yards.

Cleveland: The lone Cleveland sports fan not on suicide watch will be placed on the list by week 3.

Dallas: Indulgent owner Jerry Jones, not content to have a cathedral of a stadium, which will host this season’s Super Bowl, will ruin his team’s chances of contending by dipping his most precious players in a most precious metal: gold.

Pittsburgh: Not a single female fan will use the restroom at the stadium this year for fear of Ben Roethlisberger following them in. Several bladders will burst (which will be re-purposed to make footballs), but the “Steel Can Ban” will remain in effect.

Cincinnati: Brash Bengals wide receiver Chad Ochocinco will make a spectacular one-handed catch for a touchdown. It’ll have to be with a single mitt because his other hand will be busy tweeting about the grab in real time. His relationship with Carson Palmer will sour, but his bond with his Palm Pre will blossom (teammate Terrell Owens will be so jealous he’ll buy an enV).

New York Giants: The Giants will discover the only thing worse than sharing a new stadium with another football team (the Jets), is sharing a room with your sibling, a pain Eli Manning will be forced to relive when Peyton calls the bottom bunk before the brothers’ matchup in week 2 (Eli will throw no touchdowns in the game, but at least two tantrums).

With Will off to California to secure financing for our Muslim zombie movie, Ramadan of the Dead* (tagline: When the sun goes down, the feeding begins.), it’s up to me to hold down the fort, which has been secured — as most sturdy forts are — with an extra set of pillows. Lest you worry, these are quality pillows. Goose feather, in fact. I’m not leaving anything to chance.

*If Hollywood doesn’t like our horror idea, we’ve got a comedy pitch prepared: The Mosque. It’s a re-make with a twist. Jim Carrey stars as a banker who is under pressure to decide whether to approve or reject the loan to build the unpopular Islamic Cultural Center in New York City. He finds this fake, long beard floating in the East River that gives him magical powers to persuade people that it’s a good idea to build the center (tagline: Once he puts on the beard, things get weird!). Not to give the whole plot away, but it turns out that James Carville wore the beard as part of a Halloween costume, thus explaining Carrey’s newfound oratorical abilities.  It’s going to put the ‘ha’ back in “jihad.”

Ditch the figure of speech: Since April, President Obama has been repeating a metaphor about the Republicans driving a car (the economy) off the road and into a hole, leaving the Democrats to figure a way out of the situation. The car changed manufacturers while it was stuck, which makes the Republicans a Toyota (couldn’t stop) and the Democrats a Mazda.

Deafinite answer: A new study has found that 1 in 5 teenagers in the U.S. suffers from slight hearing loss. Finally, an explanation for the Jonas Brothers’ success.

Doe not attempt: Ted Nugent plead no contest to baiting a deer in California, which is illegal. Even worse was how he baited it: by buying it shots of Jager until the deer agreed to come with him.

This brings new meaning to the word "buckshot."

That was also the name of the all-boys prep school in my area: In Germany, the Sausage Academy allows students to earn a diploma in studying various wursts. Over 1,300 people have completed the program, meaning it’s easy to meat the graduation requirements.

From now on, only cold calls: An answering machine was to blame for starting a house fire in Seattle. The caller did leave a message after the beep…of the fire alarm.

He was so angry, he was seeing Redman: Method Man was attacked on stage at the same festival as Tila Tequila. Contrary to popular belief, Wu Tag Clan is something to fuck with.

We’re app-athetic about it: Facebook launched Places on Wednesday, which lets users tell others their current location via the GPS on their phone. Now, while we’re not caring about what you’re doing, we can also not care about where you’re doing it.

All parasites except Nic Cage removed: Bed bugs were found in the Times Square AMC, forcing it to close for a day this week. Even more disturbing was the discovery the theater was still playing The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.

Not available in black: Rumors are circulating that Apple will release a tinier version of the iPad. Tech experts believe the smaller 7″ screen should cut down on iPad envy.

Sorry, you’ve Lost us: J.J. Abrams is developing a thriller based on the teen party game Seven Minutes in Heaven (we’ll brace ourselves for an inevitable Jerry Bruckheimer action-adventure pic inspired by spin the bottle). Here’s our tagline for it: Sometimes, it’s a bad idea to come out of the closet (alternate one: What if Heaven’s gates were actually a door?).

ACT the fool: Overall scores on the ACT college entrance exam have hit a five-year low. I hope all you parents of high schoolers SAT down before reading that.

This past weekend saw what may be the greatest movie of our generation (if you just said Eat, Pray, Love I might have to beat you with the nearest baby I find, which hopefully poops on you as I bludgeon you with it). The movie I’m referring to is of course The Expendables.

Granted, I haven’t seen this movie yet, but the “plot” is less than difficult to guess. In fact, I’m pretty sure the entire script was created one night in Vegas by several out of work drunkards after a Dave Matthews Band concert. Quick recap:

Frat guy #1: “Dude, imagine if Rambo was in Predator. That would be the greatest movie ever!”
Frat guy #2: “No way, they’d still need at least a Jason Statham in there.”
Frat guy #3: “Yeah totally! Man, did you see that scene in The Transporter where he gets all oiled up? So slippery…so slick…”
Frat guy #1: “Uh…this is going to a weird place. Oh sweet, an Ed Hardy shop!”

Ok, maybe that’s not word for word, but you get the idea. Some genius said why not throw together as many bad asses from action movies as you can to create one super movie. I personally think they dropped the ball by not calling it “Blowin’ Shit Up”, because then you know exactly what’s going down. Until I see it, I’ll just have to take my best guess as to how they may be “expended”, of course with hilarious results:

Sly Stallone – He could go out a number of ways. In a series of attempts to master the three seashells, he could become increasingly frustrated and slash his wrists, or he could be at the unfortunate end of irony when he fails to stop and his mom shoots him. My best guess though is that after so many Rocky movies, zombie Apollo Creed comes back and finishes off what he started in the first one.

Jet Li – After being compared to every other famous Asian martial artist, he finally challenges them all in a no-holds-barred fight. Despite being dead for nearly four decades, Bruce Lee kicks the crap out of him. Why? Because he’s Bruce Lee, that’s why.

Jason Statham – Performing in several movies where his signature move is to contort his face in confusion, Statham finally makes one too many Uwe Boll movies and twists it so far he snaps his own neck in the process.

This is what several bottles of tequila, a terrible/awesome idea, and $80 million gets you.

Dolph Lundgren – Xenophobic sentiment at another historic high takes its unfortunate toll on him when the nation lynches him, believing him to be Ivan Drago from Rocky IV and therefore a Commie Russian spy.

Eric Roberts – I thought he was smothered by his sister Julia’s career long, long ago. Is he still alive!? Three to one odds that he has a small dwarf inside him working him like a marionette.

Randy Couture – I actually had to look him up. He’s an MMA fighter? Sure why not, throw him in the movie. I’m guessing he dies from obscurity.

Steve Austin – Having heard Stone Cold quote “Austin 3:16″ one too many times, J.C. comes down to give him “The People’s Elbow” drop all the way from heaven (that’s a hell of a lot higher than a turn buckle). That’s right, Jesus is a fan of the Rock. Oh…you didn’t know?

Terry Crews – Considering he’s the only black guy, movie law dictates he be the first to go. I say he gets crushed by the opening credits, which would set a record for longest living black dude in an action flick.

Mickey Rourke – If it’s not drugs, I don’t think the man can be killed. I just don’t know if there is enough narcotics, alcohol, and poisons left in the world to bring him down.

Arnold Schwarzenegger – The Terminator finally runs out of battery power after travelling back in time 26 years ago. California, being completely bankrupt and in the middle of an energy crisis, has no more money to power him back up, and instead replaces him with a wind up monkey with cymbals, which it turns out isn’t the worst governor they’ve ever had.

Bruce Willis – Realizes that he lost Demi Moore to that jackass from That 70′s Show and the camera commercials. Pulls a Nakatomi Plaza and blows up a rooftop party held by Kutcher. Hollywood, having seen this coming, unfreezes another one of his clones and continues on its way.

Bonus Round (not included in the movie, but should have been):
Jean-Claude Van Damme – Is dismayed when he finally watches a video of himself dancing. He roundhouse kicks so hard it unmakes the universe.

Mr. T – Like a modern day Dorian Gray, Mr. T looks in the mirror one morning and pities the fool he sees in the reflection, causing him to disintegrate into a pile of nothing more than gold jewelery and a mohawk.

Steven Seagal – Hell, what couldn’t kill an overweight Seagal at this point? Could probably slip on a banana peel and that would take him out.

Chuck Norris – Is mauled to death by a legion of nerds from the internet who read one too many “Chuck Norris Facts” and don’t realize that he’s actually a 70+ year old dude.

Those who want a natural birth do it without a dock: Frankly, we find the whole anchor baby idea to be despicable. What kind of person uses an infant to keep a ship in place? Toddlers are much better equipped for the task (they’re heavier).

Yellow journalism: Not to sound all Seinfeldian, but what’s all the fuss about over Wikileaks? Why does the U.S. government perceive a site where users can add and edit their history of urination as a threat? (founder: R. Kelly)

Don’t data your students: University of South Alabama professor Peter Jonason has conducted a study on booty calls. To those that question his findings, Jonason contends his examination was extensive and that he was very anal about it.

It’s all Ben done before: Dan Quayle’s son Ben, in a TV ad about his candidacy for the House in Arizona, calls Barack Obama the “worst President in history.” Asked to elaborate, Quayle said, “Do you need me to spell it out for you? Worst. W-u-r-s-t.”

Finally, he can finish that load of laundry: A 2,200-year-old gold coin was unearthed in Israel this week by a team of researchers. Abe Vigoda has already laid claim to it and expressed hope that the group can also uncover the 2,200-year-old couch he lost it in.

A very cold case: The body of a famous retired French chef who had been missing for two years was found in the freezer of the apartment he shared with his girlfriend. Police plan to Zip-Lock her up.

We never thought there'd be a more popular Slater than A.C.

He didn’t hike the ball, just taxes: A Maryland politician who claimed to have been a member of the Dallas Cowboys was determined to be lying. Neither the team nor the league has any record of Michael Vaughn ever playing in the NFL. With his fib, Vaughn has truly taken fantasy football to another level.

She was Anistunned: Bill O’Reilly called Jennifer Aniston’s opinions “destructive to society,” after the actress commented that a father isn’t necessary to raise a family. Coincidentally, he used the same phrase to describe her movies.

Putting the ‘rot’ in “carrot”: For the third time since May, Fresh Express is recalling another line of bagged salads. We can’t believe the company lettuce down again.

Fly off the handle: JetBlue has not yet decided the fate of steward Steve Slater. Some speculate that the attention the airline has received is good for business, so the company might be willing to let Slater’s surly send-off slide. Not to diminish his rage-filled resignation, but we don’t think publicly swearing at people and swiping beers is all that uncommon. In fact, for us, it’s a lifestyle.

Scale model: Not long ago, Jessica Simpson gained a few pounds was given grief by the tabloids for being too fat. Now, she’s lost that weight and is being bashed for being too thin. At least she can take comfort in knowing she’ll never be criticized for being too talented.

Potato philosophy has taught us “I think, therefore I yam.” In truth, I’ve never know the difference between Descartes and a la carte*, which reveals that I’m more hungry for pudding than knowledge. My parents might not be proud, but at least Bill Cosby is (I assume all those strange noises and gibberish is his way of showing approval, although I suppose he could be having a stroke). Speaking of disappointing my folks, here are some more moronic musings.

*What I do possess a profound understanding of is Mario Kart — even the logic behind why someone would choose to play as Toad.

When I hear about Drake, I’ll always think of a snack cake, not a Canadian rapper (I’m more about Ring Dings than bling bling). Besides, there’s only room in my heart for one Canuck emcee and we can all figure out who that is without using an “Informer”: Snow.

Until recently, I thought Doctors Without Borders was a program where physicians help patients in countries so underprivileged, they don’t have bookstores (or even malls to build bookstores near; as a New Jersey native, I shudder to think of such a desolate place).

I also thought Full House was a sitcom about three guys who lost their wives in a high-stakes poker game and consequently had to care for a bunch of girls by themselves (tagline: if they didn’t raise the bet, they wouldn’t have had to raise the kids.)

Earlier this week, Sarah Palin said she though President Obama was “in over his head.” That’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black and unqualified.

Sure, double rainbows are cool, but they don’t compare to double Rambos (“what does it mean?!” millions at the box office).

Isn't it time we clone Stallone?

Even if you thought LeBron’s special was egocentric, at least we got a new euphemism for cunnilingus out of it: “Taking my talents to South Beach.”

The Situation is going to have a guest spot on Bones. That means it won’t be long until Snookie has a cameo on Seasame Street — presumably the only street she hasn’t done the walk of shame on — as the Snookie Monster, belting out a tribute to being trashed, “C is for cocktail, that’s good enough for me”(L is for Long Island, Long Island iced tea) and trying to tickle Elmo in places he’s not comfortable with.

Speaking of Bones, here are some other TV shows that sound like porn titles: The Big Bang Theory, Touched by an Angel, Leave it to Beaver, Three’s Company, Malcolm in the Middle, Different Strokes, Small Wonder, The Suite Life of Zack & Cody…wait, it’s not about two gay guys who go hotel hopping having anonymous sex?

A new study found that women who are at their fertile peak tend to buy more revealing clothes in order to attract a mate. The tactic’s effectiveness is in doubt . Some guys fallopian for it, but researchers caution that results may ovary.

Yes, Elena Kagan is qualified for the position, but if any woman should be appointed to the Supreme Court, it’s Diana Ross.

A nephew of singer John Legend accidentally broke the Grammy he won for 2005′s “Get Lfted. Inspired by the misfortune, he’s hard at work on a follow-up, “Get Lifted by the Seat of Your Pants and Spanked.” (or a movie, Legend of the Fall… from a Shelf)

“Ready or Not,” he he comes: Wyclef Jean just announced that he plans to run for President in Haiti. Experts agree that, should he win, this will set back the suffering country even more than the January earthquake.

Based on the last three jokes, you’d think I read nothing but Vibe. Well, for your information, I also subscribe to Cat Fancy.

We plan to give the site a face lift soon — and probably a boob job while we’re at it (for once, you’ll be asked to stare and also invite your friends to have a look).

Our dearest (drunkest) Snooki,

I’m not going to beat around the bush. I think I speak for everyone when I say we, as a society, are disappointed in you. When the nation awoke on Saturday to a picture of you being hauled off by police, we held our breath deep and immediately plunged in to page 3 of our newspapers, TMZ hot links, and RSS readers, respectively, with our worst fears being realized: You were in and out of jail in less than 2 hours.

I can only contain my rage so much, so I know I’ll come off harsh when I say: Where do you get off? If we’ve learned anything from your antics on the beaches of the Garden State, it’s that you’ve always exceeded expectations of debauchery and self-degradation. Yet here you are, a little buzzed and back out on the street before you can slur our “check out my rack!” before screeching out incoherent lyrics to a Bon Jovi song.

People have dedicated their lives to your shaolin monk-like teachings of obscenity. Sure, you managed to curse out a few cops, and yes you were thrown in jail wearing a pink and black striped shirt emblazoned with “SLUT” across the chest. Is that really front page material? Don’t we deserve a higher class of classlessness?

How many drinks does it take to get to the bottom of the barrel?

Tough love time – get your shit together. You need to think about Snooki the product in the long term, a gauntlet for today’s modern women trying to break downwards through that glass floor. Sure, you’ve got your Lindsay Lohans, but even she got out of jail in 2 weeks, and Dakota fanning seems like she’s ready for a pill popping spree. The truth is it’s hard living in a man’s world (it’s actually pretty sweet if you are, in fact, a man). Mike Tyson will always be sucker punching dudes. Mel Gibson will always go Mad Max every couple years. Charlie Sheen, our perennial batshit crazy celeb, will be that foundation of shame in which we build our gossip columns. You need to be as off the charts nuts if not more so to stay in the game.

You have friends. The community at large only wants the best (worst) for you. Put yourself on that pedestal and then take a nose dive right off the edge. Crotch shots? Celeb sex tape? Go on a drunken bender and hit a few lamp posts? Perfect. Mr. Daniels, Mr. Beam, and Senor Cuervo are always a hit-and-run away. Reach out to them, before you sober up and know what’s good for you.