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Well, here we are – last Friday of September. Goodness gracious me, what a quick month. Poof. Gone. Just like that. We’re days away from October, folks, which is by far – and I mean by FAR – the best month out of the year. 

Ain’t even close. I’m getting chills just thinking about it. But first, we show September the respect she deserves on the way out. 

How’d all my fellow Floridians fair last night? I certainly hope you didn’t ride it out if you were over in the Big Bend. If you did … first off, that takes stones. Big time stones. You’re braver than I am. 

I was at Lowe’s yesterday afternoon around 4 when we went under a tornado warning. 80 MPH winds headed our way from an outer band with spinnage. Not great. Turned out to be a false alarm, but it’s never a great feeling when you’re at Lowe’s under a tornado warning and your wife and kids are at home. 

Anyway, all that to say – if you rode Helene out, I hope you made out OK. We got some decent wind last night, but nothing beyond that. I know it was a different story just 80 miles west, so here’s to hoping everyone is alive, well, and picking up sticks today in one piece. 

Or, you know – at the Waffle House in Tallahassee!

God, I love my state. We fall down sometimes, but buddy, we get our asses back up and into those tight Waffle House booths for some cheesy eggs and Maxwell house. Let’s roll. 

On that note, welcome to a Friday Nightcaps – the one where we start the weekend with a Paulina Gretzky dress for the ages, and then go from there. Sound good? Good!

What else? We’ll recap the week with the best of the rest, talk about last night’s miserable NFL game between the Cowboys, Giants and Refs, and then maybe check in with the aviation industry. 

It’s been a while, you know. Frankly, I just sort of gave up. It was just too much to keep up with. But, when flight attendants start dishing on the onslaught of horny passengers they’ve seen recently, my ears perk up. 

I am a man of the people, you know. 

OK, that’s enough teasing. Let’s get this show on the road before Paulina’s dress falls off. 

Pencils up!

The NFL has a ref problem and I’m sick of it

Look, I don’t want to start on a sour note – it is Friday, after all – but last night’s shitshow in the Meadowlands left me no choice. 

I wrote about it earlier – shameless plug! – so bookmark this and read it later when you’re waiting in line at the gross bar at 11:45. Bottom line, though? I’m beyond sick of the zebras taking over these NFL games. Done with it. Can’t take it any longer. 

Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it. It’s miserable. You’re making us miserable. The product stinks, it’s fragmented, and, frankly, we’re all just getting tired of it.

You get a flag. You get a flag. You, you and YOU get a flag! Every single play, there’s a flag. My God. Hell, even when they throw flags, they get it wrong! They literally called a facemask on the opposite team last night. 

How the hell does this happen?

Again, these guys STINK. And you know what? So does every single coach in the NFL, apparently. 

You had, what, 7 months to get these guys ready for the new kickoff? And you still get called for a procedure penalty 19 times a game? What the hell have you been doing all summer? 

I don’t get it, and I’m so tired of it. Frankly, it’s why I stopped watching the NBA – along with the insufferable wokeness, as well. There’s a whistle every four seconds in the NBA. It’s brutal. The games blow and they have zero rhythm. 

That’s what the NFL is turning into. A whistle-fest. A dick-measuring contest for the zebras. I don’t want to watch a zebra dick-measuring contest every Thursday, Sunday and Monday. I want to watch football. Let us just … watch the football. 

The end. Now let’s go get a snack!

Whew. Let’s cool down with the best of the rest from a big week of content

What a rant! What a tangent! Didn’t think I’d be so fired up after last night’s game – especially because I had a good night gambling for once – but I woke up this morning after very little sleep and decided it was time to lay down the hammer. 

Sometimes in life you have to take a stand. For some folks, it’s world hunger. Or curing cancer. Or turning a hurricane into a race war (looking at you, Kamala!). 

For me, it’s calling out the NFL over their BS. Different strokes for different folks. 

OK, let’s get to the best of the best from a big week before we start over this weekend. 

Batting leadoff … Kamala Harris!

Horny fliers, poo-poo cans & Paulina takes us into October 

Hurricane alligators are a real thing, by the way. 

There are a couple of post-storm things we’re taught growing up down here: don’t walk in standing water because of downed, but very much alive, power lines & look out for anything and everything in the streets for the next 2-3 days. 

I’m talking fish, sharks, gators, water snakes – you name it, they’re out there. When the storm is gone, your ass needs to be on a swivel for the next 72 hours until it’s safe again. Don’t go anywhere near hanging tree limbs, either. You’re tempting fate with that one. Believe me, I’ve heard horror stories. 

And that’s your Hurricane 101 for the day!

OK, rapid-fire time as we barrel towards scary movie month. First up? Enough with the airborne sex, you animals!

Buzzfeed recently asked crewmembers to name some of the most outrageous incidents they’d ever witnessed on the job, with several saying mile-high romps were an all-too-common occurrence.

“NEVER have sex on an airplane,” one flight attendant fumed, saying they’d seen far too many passengers getting frisky during their 28 years on the job.

“You wouldn’t believe how many people think they’re being sneaky, doing it under a blanket, and it’s obvious what they’re up to,” they lamented.

The Buzzfeed respondent was particularly appalled by passengers who make whoopie in the lavatory, which is where 59% of these raunchy rendezvous allegedly occur (presumably for privacy reasons).

“I don’t know how clean you think those bathrooms are, but I can assure you they are dirtier than that,” they exclaimed. “It’s disgusting, super disturbing to the other passengers, and more often than not, it leaves an unbelievable mess for cleanup. 

“I don’t care how horny you are — save it for the hotel!”

First off … an underrated – and probably mostly forgotten about – movie from the early-2000s. Soul Plane! Bet you didn’t have that one on your Bingo card today. 

I’ve never, ever, even a little bit, had sex on an airplane. I feel like I read and see these stories all the time, but has anyone in class today ever actually witnessed it? 

(Notice I didn’t ask if you’d done it, but I reckon if you wanna go ahead and tell us your story, at least keep it sort of PG-13ish. This is a safe space)

I’m such a nervous flier, there’s just nothing – and nobody – in the world who could get me worked up enough to even consider having sex on a flight. I’m locked in up there. My head is on a swivel from wheels up to wheels down. I basically pass out with every slight bump. You think I’m gonna be able to produce in the 3-foot-wide shitter?

Don’t think so. 

Next? Let’s head to China!

My God. Nightmare fuel. You don’t ever fully come back from getting drenched with poop. You just don’t. Especially not adult, human poop. My newborn shits on me all the time. He literally did it just last night. 

But that’s different. That’s sweet. What happened in Nanning, China this week was on par with COVID. Just blatant disregard for human life. Lock those workers up forever and throw away the key. Disgusting. 

PS: what a quote from the Post – The “poo-cano” aftermath was quickly attended to and different ways to prevent a future sewage explosion are being investigated, local authorities said.

Can’t wait to see what they come up with!

OK, that’s it for today – and this week. Good week all around, folks. I had fun. Hope you did, too. 

Take us into the final weekend of September, Paulina Gretzky. 

OutKick Nightcaps is a daily column set to run Monday through Friday at 4 p.m. (roughly, we’re not robots).

Any Helene stories? Email me at Zach.Dean@OutKick.com.