King of the Philadelphia Underground Johnny Goodtimes* is joining forces with the Queens of the Underground. That’s right, all week long at quizzo I’m going to be giving away tickets as prizes to Sunday’s Philly Roller Girl doubleheader. I’m planning on going to the match this Sunday at 3 p.m., which will be my first live Roller Derby, and needless to say I will be rooting for whoever the bad guys girls are. (At some bars we’ll do Name that Tune for the tix, at some we’ll have a raffle.)

*self-proclaimed

The criteria was they had to have more than one hit novel (sorry J.D. Salinger) and had to be born in the US (sorry Ayn Rand). These are not my four favorite American novelists, but these are the rock stars of 20th century novelists. The first three were no brainers, the last one came down to Vonnegut and Kerouac, who I personally like better but didn’t have as impressive of a track record. Also, head over to iSportacus to vote on where you think McNabb is headed.

Well, it’s Final Four week and in an effort to honor it we’re going to be doing of our own Final Four Awards around here. And the winners will be up to you. Today we start with Worst Music Videos of all time. Check them out below and then vote for the worst. And over on isportacus, we want you to vote on your favorite “Almost but not quite championship” teams in Philadelphia.

Lose You Tonight by Jan Terri

Rock Me Tonight by Billy Squier

Elektronik Supersonik by Zlad

Hooked on a Feeling by David Hasselhoff

As most of you know by now, I am joining forces with the Sofa Kingdom and Phil of the Jams to destroy a bunch of granola eaters in Denver in Geek Bowl IV. However, we have been unable to come to a conclusion on a team name and need a little help. I want something that is Philly-centric, whether it ties in to the city name, sports teams, places of interest, cheesy Rocky references, anything. So post your team name suggestion in the comments, and the best team name will win a free t-shirt from our good friends at phillyphaithful.com.

We had to go to a run off because we had such a close contest, and in overtime AW was able to pull it off. Congrats to AW, who wins a $20 gift certificate to Sidecar Bar and Grille, a t-shirt from phillyphaithful.com, and a large bottle of Sly Fox Christmas Ale. Dating Survival, who finished 2nd, wins a $25 gift certificate to the Swift Half. Want to thank everyone for participating and voting, and our sponsors for supplying the great prizes. Here is the winning entry for worst opening to a Christmas novel. 

Santa glanced from the List as Mrs. Claus entered, ensconced in an aura of steaming cinnamon-sugar cookies. Their eyes locked. After so many millenia, the ache still crept up his core whenever he spied her dowdy silver ‘do, her horn-rimmed bifocals, and the plump, fleshy rolls bursting from her frumpy gingham jumper. He stood and slid his fuzzy gloves seductively along her ample midriff …

Ok, I’ve picked the Top 8. You’ll be voting for the best of these. They are all posted below. Again, you are voting for the worst opening to a potential Christmas novel. 

#1 Hunter: Tiny shards of Santa filled a half dozen evidence bags, piled neatly on the mantle with obvious care. “It was a deadly combination”, began Inspector Spilkus. “Flatulence– touched off by a burning ember. Milk and cookies? Egg nog? Unfortunately for Mr. Kringle, his lactose intolerance did NOT make this the happiest time of the year.” 

So, initially, at least, like the trapdoor on Santa’s scorched Long Johns, the case appeared to be open and shut.

#2 Yeem: Rude Elf maundered through the Christmas crowd at Walmart in search of discount ground beef for that night’s supper. Hamburg stew: water, salt, ground beef (80/20), and celery. He had been experimenting with Depression-Era recipes for quite some time now and though the sodium made his fingers swell, he could hardly think of eating anything hardier. His weak constitution wouldn’t tolerate it anyhow. Charla was coming over for dinner tonight. God, she had great cans…

#3 Dating Survival: The sirens closed in on the St. Nicholas estate. Inside, Santa hadn’t eaten in days. Candycane colored gun in hand, watching tv from his desk with a red velvet bullet proof vest on, he watched as five children’s hospitals burned to the ground in some kind of a coincidental terrorist act. The recession had really hit home this year, and Santa had to make his cuts too.

#4 Chip Chantry: Santa, drunk off the power, and high from the “snowball” he just snorted off of Sarah Palin’s OF AGE daughter’s stomach, leapt into the sleigh, before the glacier was too small to take off. The glacier was melting because those c#nts in Washington refuse to deal with climate change the way it should be- just ask @guardianuk. 

Anyway, as the coked-up beast vaulted his massive, sweaty framed onto his vehicle, he aggressively slurred, “On Dasher! On Dancer! On Prancer! On– AH, what the F@CK??!! GET THE F@CK OFF THE BACK OF MY SLEIGH, CHRIS HENRY! GET OFF THE GODDAMN SLEIGH!”

#5 Lefty Smutface: Santa had too much egg nog at some nightclub on Locust Street, he left his reindeer floating 50 feet above the dive bar shitting on transsexuals who squealed in terror as their B 52 singers hairdo’s were squashed by falling s***. 
” Jeeze Louise! I spent 130 dollars at my hair dressers and that flying elk ruined it!” a patron screamed.
A worker for Philadelphia Animal Control approached Santa and said ” Sir, there’s something you gotta do about those reindeer s***ting on the Lady Gaga’s”
Santa took off his red suit jacket, revealing a red wife beater and a bicep tattoo of a pitbull with a dead pitbull in it’s mouth. Santa grinned and said ” Son, I hope you bought a lot of body bags…”

#6 AW Santa glanced from the List as Mrs. Claus entered, ensconced in an aura of steaming cinnamon-sugar cookies. Their eyes locked. After so many millenia, the ache still crept up his core whenever he spied her dowdy silver ‘do, her horn-rimmed bifocals, and the plump, fleshy rolls bursting from her frumpy gingham jumper. He stood and slid his fuzzy gloves seductively along her ample midriff …

#7 Steve-O: The wrestlers arrived at the recording studio, one by one. Koko B Ware brought hot cocoa. Big John Studd dressed like Santa. Hillibilly Jim even brought his Irish Setter dressed as a reindeer. Some of the biggest names in WWF history were going to record “Jingle Bell Rock” and donate the proceeds to charity. However, George “the Animal” Steele had different plans. VERY different plans. 

#8 Chris Morganti: “Snow tires don’t sing when you put chains on them!” Santa Claus drunkenly exclaimed. “Ees good,” Hugo Chavez chuckled. “Ees good joke.”

“Enough!” Barack Obama yelled, his fist slamming angrily on the table. “Now is not the time for racist jokes! Now is the time for us to use Santa’s gift-giving operation as a front to corner the world narcotics market.”

In the corner, Adam Lambert sat silently, listening. “The fools,” he thought.

Many of you may remember how much fun we had last year with the Alf Landon Bad Writing Competition. Well we’re doing it again this year, with the Bad Christmas Novel Competition. Here’s how it’s going to work. It can be one short sentence or  up to 75 words, as long as it creates the worst opening possible to a Christmas tale. It can be about the Baby Jesus, about Ol’ Saint Nick, heck it can be about Alf Landon’s fruitcake for all I care. Just make it funny and bad. Really, really bad. Worst opening paragraph will win a $20 gift certificate to the Sidecar Bar and Grille, a free t-shirt courtesy of our friends at phillyphaitful.com, and a large bottle of Sly Fox Christmas Ale. Just post your entry below in the comments by next Tuesday at Noon, at which time I will select the worst ten and put them up for a vote. You must fill out a valid email address in the comments or I won’t be able to contact you if you win. Therefore people who don’t submit an email address won’t be eligible to win. No, I won’t be selling your email info to some major corporation that specializes in teeth whitening or penile enlargement. I am way too lazy to do something like that. I’ll get us started with my submission. 

There was no way that Santa could have known that the Soviets were going to attack. As he looked around a bombed-out workshop filled with tiny, lifeless bodies, though, that served as little consolation.

Get crackin, and may the worst writer win!

NOTE: I can’t accept submissions that are too graphic. Sorry, but my grandmom reads this site for heaven’s sake.

Hey kids, just a heads up that we have a very cool contest going on over at iSportacus. We have teamed up with Phillyfaithful.com to give a sweet new AI t-shirt to the winner of our Allen Iverson haiku contest. To get in on the contest, click here and post your haiku in the comments section, and may the best haiku win.