Note #1: Warning, this is Steve Kragthorpe's actual diary. We can't control the fact that he has a sailor's mouth and is misogynistic towards women. We can only love him for it.

Note #2: Previous, even less polished editions of The Kragthorpe Diaries can be found here (I), here (II), over here (III), and even right here (IV).  Oh yeah, here (V) too.  And we can't forget here (VI). And the very last version, over a year ago, here (VII).

Note #3: Written in conjunction with @5thYearSeniorWV.

Well Kragtron, it's been awhile since we last talked, but it is time to get in touch with your inner Krag. You've been laying low, avoiding crack rock and hookers, against your better judgment. But now, finally, is the time to let loose. and get a job, because last time I checked, there's no such thing as an LSD tree.

Hell, there are all kinds of fresh face dweebs on the hot seat in the Big East looking for assistants.  What better way to upgrade your program than with The Krag.  The Kragocalypse knows all things good.  Krag knows how to smoke dank, play Dark Side of the Moon and watch Wizard of Oz.  You think Randy Edsall knows that shit?  Yeah fucking right.  Dude's dream job is Maryland.  Krag's dream job is being the Macau version of Charlie Sheen, but with more cocaine. Krag Pao Chicken, y'all!

OK, who is the first sucka on my list.  Looks like 'ol Stew boy.  His offense sucked big donkey dong the last few years, but I think I remember hearing someone through the dumpster walls talking about shit getting real in Motown. All I need to do is talk real fast and slip some angel dust in his ovaltine to get him to hire me.  Kragalicious.  Let's get him on the kPhone, stat.

Stew: Stewart residence, Bill Stewart speaking.

Krag: Bill, buddy, what the fuck is up?

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Note #1: Warning, this is Steve Kragthorpe's actual diary. We can't control the fact that he has a sailor's mouth and is misogynistic towards women. We can only love him for it.

Note #2: Previous, even less polished editions of The Kragthorpe Diaries can be found here (I), here (II), over here (III), and even right here (IV).  Oh yeah, here (V) too.  And we can't forget here (VI).

Dear Diary,

I know what you think I'm going to say.  "The Krag is fucked," right?  Well, wrong.  Allow The Krag to set the scene...

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Note #1: Warning, this is Steve Kragthorpe's actual diary. We can't control the fact that he has a sailor's mouth and is misogynistic towards women. We can only love him for it.

Note #2: Previous, even less polished editions of The Kragthorpe Diaries can be found here (I), here (II), over here (III), and even right here (IV).  Oh yeah, here (V) too.

Dear Diary:

The last few weeks have been very tough on me.  My appetite has been waning, my sleep habits are disrupted, and I have been spending a lot of time sitting by the lake on my property, simply pondering both my future and the meaning of life.  My mood has been very self-reflective, and I don't always enjoy what I see.

Have I made all the correct choices?  Have I done what's needed of me to reach heaven?  Have I lived a good life?  These are all questions running through my head at a mile a minute.  At night, when I can't sleep, I read passages from my favorite authors: Emerson, Thoreau, Whitman.  These great writers paint a picture of what I wish my life was, because at the end of the day, when I reflect on all things I have done, only one sentence runs through my mind:

The fucking Krag is here to stay.  Oh, you thought I was serious?  Suckas!

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Note #1: Warning, this is Steve Kragthorpe's actual diary. We can't control the fact that he has a sailor's mouth and is misogynistic towards women. We can only love him for it.

Note #2: Previous, even less polished editions of The Kragthorpe Diaries can be found here (I), here (II), over here (III), and even right here (IV).

Another day, another diary entry.  And once again, The Krag is fucking stoked.  Ha, you thought he was going to say he was fucked, didn't you?  Well you're shit-stick out of luck skippy, because The Krag is getting things done.

Sure, The Krag is 9th on the Coaches Hot Seat Ranking.  And yeah, The Krag is 14-16 in his career at Louisville.  You know what else?  The Krag don't give a shit.  The Krag is as good as fired, so he is going to live life, take the buyout, and do what The Krag does best: get high and fuck.

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Note #1: This is Steve Kragthorpe's actual diary. We can't control the fact that he has a sailor's mouth and is misogynistic towards women. We can only love him for it.

Note #2: Previous, even less polished editions of The Kragthorpe Diaries can be found here, here, and here.

Dear Diary,

Fuck.

The season hasn't even started and The Krag is screwed. Let's see here, what has gone wrong this offseason?

• Our star quarterback recruit is a drunk, stoned, retard.


• We're picked to finish last in the conference (yeah, like Syracuse counts).


• We have about 13 scholarship players

Fuck, if I wasn't stoned right now, I would be worried as hell. Weed helps The Krag unwind and forget about all his problems. I just pack my bowl, fire up "Dark Side of the Moon" on vinyl, and catch everything on the other side. It's a great mellow. Works every time. Of course, then my reefer-savant-of-a-backup-QB has to go and steal my stash. Fan-fucking-tastic.

So he's out for 4 games. That leaves us with what, 12 players? Not good. Even weed can't mellow that harsh. I have assistants in strip clubs right now looking for bouncers to play offensive line. I loaded them up on singles and sent them toward those titties. That was two weeks ago -- I haven't seen 'em since.

OK, let's recap: we don't have any players, the players we do have don't know their ass from a hole in the ground, and our backup QB doesn't realize Facebook is used by everyone in the fucking world. Plus we have assistant coaches motorboatin' every girl named Destiny in the Queen City. The way I see it, that's about the only thing we have going for us.

Seriously, watching us play football is like watching a monkey fuck a football. It's retarded, but people in Kentucky will still do it.

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Note #2: Previous, even less polished editions of The Kragthorpe Diaries can be found here and here.

Woah, woah, WOAH! Back the fuck up, holmes.

They tell me I've taken a top 10 program and made them irrelevant in 9 months. How the hell did that happen? I must've blacked out for about, say, the entire 2007 season. That's what I get for eating nothing but 'shrooms and Fruity Pebbles for 4 months.

Even Lee Corso couldn't do that. When you think about, it's pretty impressive. Hell, with our roster, even Greg Robinson could probably close his eyes and win 6 games. Not The Krag. The way I see it, if you're going to fuck up, might as well fuck up right. And I fucked up right.

I mean, have you seen the steaming pile of shit I called a recruiting class? A bunch of 2 and 3 star nobodies. Most of them probably couldn't find their dicks with both hands and a flash light. I've never even heard of half of them. Towards the end, we just started cold-calling high school coaches. Apparently, they sent the retarded kids. They probably don't even know they have dicks.

Seriously, look at that list. Rock Keys? Shit, I just made him up. Used a name I saw in a porn a few years ago. Damn, what an awesome name - Rock Keys. One minute he was a pizza delivery guy, the next minute he was plowing half a sorority. To be honest with you, he's my fucking hero. Plus he runs a 3.8 second 40 and has a 57 inch vertical, so he's a helluva ballplayer. Ha, I said ballplayer, that's funny.

At least he could find his dick.

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When you Google "Fire Steve Kragthorpe", WBGV is the 6th 2nd-highest ranking site. I don't know why, but this really excites me.

Now he's still pretty new, but The Krag is well on his way to earning "Save Dave" status. I am wet with anticipation.

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