Kevin Kolb would also be frustrated if…

• His Mom doesn’t make him cheese lasagna tonight like she promised
• Carmen Electra’s boobs are fake
• Hulk Hogan doesn’t sign his Hulkamania underwear
• he were kneed in the groin by Bob Saget
• DeSean Jackson forgets to return his slinky
• His name change request for ‘DeWalt Diggums’ is declined
• James Worthy doesn’t lend him a pair of goggles
• He can’t catch a Mewtwo in Pokemon Silver
• Game Informer gives BioShock 2 a bad review
• His pop tarts are stale
• Al Davis isn’t really a vampire-zombie hybrid
• Business_Socks won’t go to prom with him
• He can’t figure out how to sign up for Twitter
• He wasn’t supposed to use tampons to combat diarrhea
• Brian Westbrook won’t invite him to watch Terminator Salvation with the cool kids
• He shouldn’t have neutered himself like Bob Barker said
• We aren’t riding robot spider monsters by 2015
• Grey’s Anatomy is cancelled

“I’ve twittered my heart out but nobody seems to listen,” says Madsen. “I have like 14 followers. I look over at Shaq and the Diesel has got 999,373 in his pocket. I keep leaving him texts asking for a plug, but he’s been ignoring me. We went to Dairy Queen every Wednesday night back in ’02. It’s just frustrating, man. Doesn’t anyone want to know my feelings about John Denver!?”

Twitter, the social networking device that has swept the nation, caters to the celebrity audience as it provides the opportunity for fan interaction and a chance for the working man to catch a glimmer into the everyday life of a star. It can also act as an ego boost for the fallen famous, as they can find solace in the fact that their washed up selves are still loved by at least a couple thousand souls. Unfortunately for Madsen, this grasp at self esteem seems to have backfired.

“Even BORING people have had astounding success,” says Madsen. “Look at Ashton Kutcher. Fiberglass insulation has more personality than that guy. Yesterday I tweeted ‘Today is a good day for pie’. That’s funny right? Punch me in the f—— face if that isn’t funny.”

His wife Martha is worried most of all.

“He’s been pretty down and out about this twitter business,” says Martha Madsen. “Just this morning he refused to join my mother and his great aunt for our weekly game of bridge. He was muttering something about ‘auditioning for Saturday Night Live’, ‘Porking a potbelly pig’ and ‘mooning a short bus’. It’s like high school all over again. He’s begging for popularity. I read somewhere that you can buy twitter followers. This might have to happen. Don’t tell him though.”

The website Twitterpromoter.com promises to offer various packages that guarantee hundreds or even thousands of real followers that will read your updates and even ‘visit your website’ or possibly ‘buy your products’.

“I’m hoping this obsession with twitter ends soon. An idea I had was to convince him that Twitter was broken and only Thomas Edison could fix it. I know it’s a retarded idea, but you don’t know Mark. He’ll fall for it,” laughs Martha Madsen.

“I had to convince him just yesterday after watching Shrek that Eddie Murphy had not in fact been turned into a midget donkey,” sighs his ten year old daughter Lindsay. “Mommy says he wanted to name me Megatron.”

His teammates understand why Madsen can’t seem to find a following.

“He got 14 followers? Damn boy!” said Minnesota Timberwolves point guard Sebastian Telfair. “I can tell you why. That nigga BORING. I once broke a Puerto Rican’s arm for sweatpants money. He ever do that?!? No. [Teammate Ronald] Carney force fed Al Jefferson an Owl baby last Christmas! “

Evidence proves Telfair’s statement true. Just today Madsen twittered, “I could listen to Pure Prairie League for eternity!”

“All he does is talk about classical music and house elves,” says teammate Brian Cardinal. “One weekend he spent two hours explaining to me the proper use of the conjunctive. He spends his weekends concocting synonyms for the word happy and talking to his pet hamster, Mr. Bojangles.”

While the rest of the celebrity world is aflutter with Twitter mania, the Madsen household has a dark cloud of despair lingering over it. The boring big man has come to the realization that he will never have the following of Dwight Howard or even Suns coach Alvin Gentry, the proud shepherd of almost 4,000 followers. He will never exchange a witty @ conversation with C-List douche celebrities like Jimmy Fallon, or boast of his badminton successes to thousands of revering normal people.

“Maybe I can try Friendster,” says Madsen. “I hear they have a strong Midwestern white man vibe.”

Hey Santa!

Hope the Elves aren’t driving you crazy like last year when you hit little Fruibles with a frying pan. Has Prancer’s pancreatic cancer improved? Maybe you can send a letter to Jesus so it can be all better. I know you get lots of these things and I don’t want to tire your eyes out and make you get new prescriptions for your half moon lenses. It must take hours to drive to the nearest Lenscrafters eye glass store!

5. Jumbo Triple Pronged Back Scratcher: Big Baby got his man AIDS on my last one because he was scratching his dingleballs, plus it was too short. Scal needs some heavy duty big boy reach. And I can only find double scratch heads. One more will increase efficiency and decrease futility. I heard they make special ones for the Panda Bears deep in the heart of Australia. Those would be cool.

4. Ted Nugent Cat Scratch Fever Record: To continue the ‘scratch’ theme, I have been attempting this look for ages but cannot seem to pull it off. Maybe if I had it within glancing reach my brain will subnodally distribute censorship to my hair follicules and insinuate (or stimulate? I get those two mixed up) that they grow in a cat scratch styling. Plus Wang Dang Sweet Poontang will be my wedding song.

3. Partridge in a Pear Tree: Don’t know what the hubbub is all about but since I always hear the nuns singing about it on the Christmas CD in my car I don’t know how to take out, I want one. Preferably the one played by Danny Bonaduce. I watched his television show and I think he could really help me get fit at the gym!

2. Charizard: I’ve been watching the Pokemon televised reality show for ages! Charizard is my favorite. Plus, I really think his ability to breath flames will help out at the Quiznos fine dining restaurant I plan to open up when I finally find out where all of my paychecks are being sent to.

1. Geordi LaForge’s VISOR: Sanna please give this I am as big a Trekkie as that Price Line negotiator please please please I will do anything I can’t find it at Toys ‘R Us anywhere, it is very frustrating. Please punish Kevin Garnett he calls me a pussycopter for wanting it, not nice. I promise to wear it wherever I go. I would love a device that scans my electromagnetic spectrum, creating visual imput, that transmits to my brain via optic nerves. I don’t know what that means because I just read Wikipedia, but I really think with my new head band it will uncontrievably increase my badass quotient on the court.

Thanks Santa! I love you and I promise if I ever get a wife she can have your babies! Mrs. Claus must be getting old!

Insane Major League Baseball Player Milton Bradley was once a child like you and me. We at Style Points have decided it is our duty to uncover seminal moments in intriguing athletes’ life and share them with the world. This here is the tale of a young Milton Bradley. *Everything in this post should be regarded as factual and by no means should be taken as fiction.

Little Milton: Oh dear father, thank you for taking me to this magical world of sea creatures and happiness! Seals, sharks and meadow larks I am excited!

Father Bradley: Milton my good son, what would you like to see first?

Little Milton: Why of course you know what I want to see. Only the most mighty and magnificent water mammal known to human kind! The versatile, opportunistic 9 ton predator of the sea, ready to strike and tear human flesh from limb at the slightest inkling at human savagery? Ready to devour a sea lion, walrus, or even a Great White Shark when the pangs of hunger rise? Why yes I would be honored to be presented with the opportunity to stand in the midst of the mighty SHAMU, chancellor of the ocean’s roar!!!!!!

Father Bradley: Alrighty then young chap, I think you’re ready. Let’s mosey on over to the…chancellor of the ocean’s roar, why don’t we.

Little Milton: It would make my life complete! I can’t wait to see this magnificent killing machine through my own vision receptacles. Those ‘handlers’ won’t know what hit ‘em.

Father Bradley: (quizzical look) Uhh, if you say so. Let’s  find our seats.

/show starts

Little Milton: Finally, the pinnacle of my young life is nigh!

/Shamu flips

Little Milton: Unbelievable!

/Shamu dives

Little Milton: Such grace!

/Shamu twirls

Little Milton: This must be the opulent warmup before he takes on his sumptuous trainer treat!

/Shamu balances trainer on nose

Little Milton: Oh good gracious me the moment of grandeur is upon us!!! The emasculant Shamu will now demonstrate nature’s might by striking down the king of the castle, the homosapien. KILL KILL KILLLLLLL!!!!!!!!

/Shamu lets down trainer gracefully, show ends

Little Milton: …..

what.

Father Bradley: Son, did you expect a Shamu induced bloodbath? (laughs) The trainers don’t get eaten! They’re here to get Shamu to do petty tricks at the orca’s expense.

Little Milton: BITCH SAY WHAT.

Father Bradley: Yeah, Shamu is tamed, captivated and harmless.

Little Milton: WHAT. THE. COCKSPLITTING MOTHER HUMPING FUCKITY SHIT FUCK!?!! I THOUGHT THIS WHOLE SHAMU FIASCO WAS CALIFORNIA’S PENAL CODE IN MOTION? A DEATH ROW IF YOU WILL?

THEY USE THESE MAGNIFICENT KILLING MACHINES NOT FOR THEIR DESIGNATED TASK ON THIS FINE MOTHER EARTH, KILLING HELPLESS HUMANS, BUT TO ENTERTAIN OUR SHITTY SELVES WITH MENIAL HALF TWISTS AND BELLY FLOPS?

Father Bradley: Now…calm down so-

Little Milton: URGE TO KILL AT AN APEX, YOU WEAK, LYING HUMAN WASTE.

Father Bradley: Wait, didn’t your mother show you Free Willy? The happy whale who saved a kid from kidnappers or something?

Little Milton: NO, I’VE BEEN READING WIKIPEDIA, YOU COCK INHABITING FEMALE CREVICE SNIFFER. AND ON THAT SITE IT TOLD ME SHAMU WOULD DEVOUR IT’S HELPLESS TRAINER IN A FERAL BEAST MODE OF THRASHING TEETH AND BLOODLUST.

IF I DON’T SEE A MAN DIE IN THE NEXT 30 TO 40 SECONDS THERE WILL BE BLOOD ON MY FINGERTIPS.

FUCK IT, I’M GOING TO MURDERIZE THAT PIECE OF SHIT WASTE OF NATURE’S GIFT ‘KILLER’ WHALE SHAMU.

/searches for weapon

/rips off hand rail

/jumps into water

/beats living shit out of helpless Shamu

DIE YOU STUPID FUCKING IMPOSTER WHALE DIE

/kicks lifeless Shamu in crotch

MLB scout: /watches in wonder with wife (thinks) Man, that psychotic kid has some amazing bat speed. I wonder what his name is?

Little Milton: (eyes glazed over, turns to father) AND WHY THE FUCK DID YOU NAME ME AFTER THOSE FUCKS WHO CREATED THAT SHITFEST MONOPOLY? MILTON BRADLEY? HUH? SERIOUSLY? YOU THINK THATS HIL-ARIOUS? DID YOUR COCAINE RAVAGED SYNAPSES FLARE THE MINUTE I WAS BORN AND YOU NAMED ME THE FIRST THING CAME TO YOUR HEAD? LITTLE THIMBLES HOPPING AROUND CARDBOARD BASED OFF OF ATLANTIC CITY WHORE VILLES?  SHITTY JOKES WILL BE MADE OF ME FOR THE REST OF ETERNITY!!

/kills dad with a mighty power swing

MLB scout: Ah, got his name. Sweet.

/Little Milton flees the scene, never to be heard of again

Until…

/10 years later

PA: Batting third for YOUR Cleveland Indians….MILTON BRADLEY!!!!!!

Grown Up Milton: The ball’s a whale. The ball’s a whale. The Manager’s a- wait. The ball’s a whale.

MLB scout: I’m glad nobody arrested that lil feller. Good thing I blamed it on my asshole wife.

/pats self on back

…in a space ship far above the Earth’s atmosphere…

Zoltorg the Malevolent: Look at those douchebag humans, acting all prim and proper with their running water and proper hygiene. Let’s play a prank on them.

Fukok: Well what do you want us to do, oh holy Zoltorg?

Zoltorg: They have this sport ruled by colorless communicative beings where they hit an equally colorless dimpled spheroid with a metal rod across green sprouts until they deposit said spheroid into a small indentation on the planet’s surface. Between wackings they travel in an odd vehicular contraption powered by something obsolete they refer to as ‘electricity’. The winner gets a phallus trophy. We’re gonna fuck their shit up.

Fukok: Oh.

Zoltorg: Find me an oddly colored infant.

Fukok: /returns with baby Eldrick Woods

Fukok: I found this weird black-thai mix. His name is Eldrick. Is that good enough?

Zoltorg: Perfect. And so begins project Tiger. We’re going to replace his brain with a robot human simulator with exceptional spheroid hitting skills and his biceps with twin pistons of fury. His calf muscles will be pure titanium and his penis a salamander(for kicks and giggles). We’ll fuck up their white supremist status quo by creating the ultimate golf monster that’s not caucasion. It will blow their minds. They won’t know what hit ‘em.

From now on, oddly colored infant, you will be known as Tiger and your only goal in life will be to destroy all whities in the game of golf. Oh yeah, and to impregnate Swedish models. TAKE THAT HUMANS!!!!!!

Tiger Woods: Must hit ball in hole. AAAARRCK.

/hole in one

Zoltorg: Good, good! Now let’s send this little fucker back to Earth. Jack Nicklaus is gonna be PISSED! Golden Bear my ass. He couldn’t spear a salmon with Poseiden’s fuckin’ Trident!

Fukok: Master, we have succeeded. What’s next?

Zoltorg: I think I’ll assemble the shittiest band in the history of the universe. And make them POPULAR!!!! I shall call them Smash Mouth.

…20 years later…

Zoltorg: Fukok, you hear that? You don’t think it’s…

Fukok: SPACE RABBITS!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Zoltorg: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO I NEVER LEARNED TO READ!!!!!

/Ravaged by Space Rabbits

Boom Bitch