It's on, and we're on it

Twas the night before Christmas,
And all through the hizzo
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even Ronaldhizzo.

Do you feel me? If you’ve been in a K-hole for the last couple months, or in a real good groove with your Xbox, or just, you know, all high… let me alert you to the fact that the World Cup begins tomorrow. Soccer. Football innit mate. Line up your bongs, arrange your toilet mags, stock the fridge. This is gonna take a while.

And here at No Mas, we're in it for the long haul, dedicated to bringing you the type of World Cup reportage you No Masians deserve. The blood, the sweat, the coronaries, the frenzied trips to the loo, the insane Brazilian babefans with their big fake tits hanging out of their very patriotic but otherwise insufficient bikinis. We’ll cover the games, and the people watching the games, and where they’re watching the games, and where pretty girls are watching the games. Our writers plan to blanket NYC on a World Cup blitz, not to mention our international dispatches from some mysterious guest writers of international mystery (James "His Word Is" Bond, Kate "A Rolling Stoner Gathers No" Moss, and I, Large, who will dig the Coupe de Monde from Paris, planning to watch the France/Switzerland bloodfeud from Les Ulis, hometown of one Thierry Motherfuckin Henry).

Look, what I’m trying to say is, it’s on, and we’re on it. Keep coming back to us and get your World Cup love No Mas-style.