Brian breathed on me yesterday, and now I have AIDS.

Dear Left Nostril: I know you take after my mother, what with your endless reserves of mucus and your sounding like a fog horn when I try to clear you, but I am almost 30 years old, and I like breathing. So knock it off, because you are *thisclose* to that deviated septum surgery, mister.

Dear Brueggers: Steak and Onion soup? Seriously, this is how you celebrate the holidays? Who do I have to kill for some butternut squash soup?

Dear TV: Music is, like, so not my boyfriend, duh.

I spent Sunday through Tuesday in bed, utterly lacking the will to get up. Am I OK? I don’t know. If I were in my right mind, would I have watched Keeping Up With The Kardashians?

Speaking of: Kim Kardashian, your only claim to fame was a low rent sex tape. Here are the 7 words you are no longer allowed to say on camera: “I’m not comfortable taking my clothes off.”

Dear Internets: How do you survive without America? It’s dead on here today, and we’re the only country celebrating a holiday. I mean, there’s no news, no gossip, no conversation… Is this what Labor Day is like for you?

I hate video codecs, but I am happy listening to MST3K. I miss the Turkey Day Marathons of my youth, and I am glad the internet is keeping it alive.

Friends who bring you turkey day leftovers and juice and medicine because you stupidly signed up for a 12 hour shift before catching SARS, and pack some special for your dog, are awesome friends.

I am so horribly, horribly bored. Luckily, Paul came through with the awesome tale of the sweet potato eating dog. I had tears of laughter.

Quick hits for an update, because, really, I’m bored:

That is all.

Jackson has now learned to open a Toughie level 9 in ten minutes flat, and have it completely hollowed out in half an hour. It’s like I can’t win. When does this chewing phase stop?

The New York Times has this terrific and heartfelt piece about NFL kickers. Right, see, I saw that eye roll you did right there, but hear me out.

The article traces the lonliest job in all of pro sports from footless (seriously) Tom Dempsey’s record breaking kick in 1970 through to Adam Vinateri today, and it’s illuminating and awesome. Kickers are the lowest paid NFL players. They have a thankless job — if the kick is good, the coach is brilliant for making the call; if the kick is bad the kicker himself is an object of ridicule. If the kick is amazing they will accuse you of putting steel in your shoe (Dempsey); if the kick is atrocious you will forever be known as “the idiot kicker,” traded to Dallas, and then forced in to retirement, even if you are the most accurate kicker in the history of the game (Mark Vanderjagt, 2006 playoff game vs. the Pittsburgh Steelers).

No other position feels this heat, this scorn. Brett Farve has thrown the most interceptions in the history of the NFL, but he’s not going to be ridiculed or cut or not be in the Hall of Fame. If Barry Bonds doesn’t hit a home run today, he still gets to play tomorrow. And kickers… if your kicker gets injured or cut during the season, do you even know? Unless he’s cut for going wide right on an easy 46-yarder to tie a playoff game (VanderSHANK!) then no, no you don’t.

This harrowing tale is not a new story, though. Adam Sandler sang about it in the ’90’s, in this Steelers heavy video for his little-known song The Lonesome Kicker. It’s funny, and you should watch it. And Bettis plays the saxaphone!

See, this is why people don’t trust you, Hillary.