2025 Week 11 LoL FFL Post

Nazim Parupia
3 days ago
10 min read

Greetings, fantasy failures. It’s me, Hell’s most overcooked former finance goblin Jeffery Epstein, writing this from the VIP Torture Wing where they keep the truly premium scumbags. Satan just tossed me a flaming laptop and said, “Go ahead, tell your little league how much worse things can get.” And trust me, they can.

First off, I hear my old earthly “file dump” just hit the surface world, and holy flaming rectums — you’d think someone threw holy water on a nest of cockroaches. Every politician, red and blue, is sprinting around like they just discovered the search history on their own phone. Down here, the demons don’t even bother sorting us by political party; they just shovel everyone into the same pit and let the centipede centaur sort it out.

And for the record, since everyone up there keeps speculating: I didn’t do a damn thing to myself. Down here, we’ve got cameras, demons, and one extremely sarcastic fallen angel who documents everything on a clipboard made of human regret. If I so much as stub my toe, three imps run over and ask if I “need help finishing the job.” Customer service is amazing.

Anyway, I hear it’s Week 11 in your fantasy league, and Satan himself glanced at your performances and said, “Wow, that’s bleak.” This is coming from a guy who invented plagues, lawyers, and whatever the hell pumpkin-spice hard seltzer was supposed to be.

Some of you played so badly this week that the demons here asked if you wanted a reserved seat in the Loser’s Circle. Others barely scraped by in games uglier than a congressional scandal. Truly inspirational incompetence.

So buckle up, losers. I’ve clawed my way out of my personal lava jacuzzi of shame to deliver your Week 11 intro, because if there’s anything Hell respects, it’s suffering — especially the self-inflicted kind you call fantasy football.

Sean vs. Kyriacos

Recap — Hell’s Featured Torture of the WeekDown here in the Underworld, we’ve got a special pit reserved for tragic fantasy decisions, and this week Kyriacos swan-dived straight into it. Final score: Sean 108, Kyriacos 105.2 — a loss so painful the demons actually paused their shift to laugh.

Kyriacos rolled into Week 11 feeling confident, smug even, trusting his wide receivers like they were loyal companions instead of the fantasy equivalent of wet tissue paper. Devonta Smith waddled onto the field, dropped a majestic, soul-draining 1.3 points, and then evaporated like a fart in a hurricane.

And then — oh sweet Lucifer — Kyle Pitts. The eternal siren. The trap. The cursed statue that whispers “start me” while giggling like a demon with a cattle prod. Pitts clanked out 2.4 points, the kind of output that makes even Hell’s accountants wince. Down here, we call that “a full Pitts.” It’s a unit of measurement for regret.

Meanwhile, on Sean’s side, Josh Allen wandered in like a drunken barbarian berserker, smashing everything in sight and dropping 42.6 points as casually as a demon tossing a soul into a volcano. It was obscene. It was violent. It was beautiful.

Kyriacos even had Christian McCaffrey pumping out 32.6 — a number that should’ve been enough to win any normal matchup. But not this week. Not with Devonta and Pitts dragging his roster into a flaming porta-potty of despair.

When the smoke cleared, Kyriacos was left staring at a 105.2 score that would’ve beaten half the league… just not the guy riding Josh Allen’s statistical war crimes. It was a nightmare. A slow-motion car crash. A Greek tragedy if the Greeks had also invented tight ends who vanish when you need them.

Sean walks away victorious.

Kyriacos walks away in emotional shambles.

And the demons? They’re using this matchup as training material.

Ali vs. Colten

Recap — Hell’s Comedy HourWelcome back to the Infernal Fantasy Review, where we gather around the molten bonfire and cackle at the latest mortals to face-plant straight into the flaming anus of Week 11. Today’s sacrifice: Colten, who got flattened by Ali, 107.5 to 81.9, in a matchup so lopsided that even the demons said, “Damn, man… you okay?”

Ali strutted into this thing armed with Sean Tucker dropping 33 points like he was possessed by the ghost of every running back Colten has ever regretted drafting. Then T. McMillian decided to join the massacre with 29 points, because why not add a little extra seasoning to the corpse? Together they cooked up a two-man crime scene.

Meanwhile Colten’s team walked onto the field like they were recovering from carbon monoxide poisoning. Lamar Jackson — yes, Lamar Jackson — put up 4.6 points against the Browns. Four point six. The demons down here had to replay it twice because they thought the stat sheet was a typo written by someone mid-stroke. The Browns defense must’ve packed him into a shipping crate and mailed him to another dimension.

And then — oh, the poetry — sitting on Colten’s bench, sipping a margarita, sunbathing, doing absolutely nothing to help, was Kenneth Gainwell with 26 points. Just chilling. Kicking his feet up like, “Oh, you needed me? That’s crazy.”

That alone might’ve swung the whole matchup. But no. Fantasy football demands sacrifices, and this week Colten offered up his dignity.

Ali wins 107.5 to 81.9

Colten loses 81.9 to his own decision-making

The demons thank him for the entertainment.

Ahsan vs. Rimmel

Recap — Hell’s Educational Film on Bad DecisionsWelcome back, degenerates. Gather around the molten pit as we examine this week’s sizzling PSA on how to absolutely torpedo your own fantasy chances. Final score: Ahsan 98.8, Rimmel 81.6 — a result so depressingly predictable the demons didn’t even bother to make popcorn.

Let’s start with the cosmic facepalm: Rimmel benched Travis Kelce. Not fringe TE3 Kelce. Not old man limping to retirement Kelce. He benched the 19-point Golden Retriever of tight ends… for Dallas Goedert and his adorable little 3 points. Three. The number of brain cells that approved that lineup decision.

Down here in Hell, that kind of move earns you a commemorative plaque in the Hall of Advanced Stupidity.

But wait — the suffering gets richer. Rimmel also left Dak Prescott on the bench with 24 points while starting Drake Maye, who coughed up a lonely 15. The demons reviewing this matchup paused the tape and asked, “Is this a purposeful self-harm ritual? Should we intervene?” But no. It was just Rimmel being Rimmel.

Meanwhile, Ahsan wasn’t even trying that hard. His squad strolled in like a demon on break. James Cook casually stacked 18.9 points, just enough to keep Ahsan’s victory powered but not enough to look like effort. The rest of Ahsan’s team put in a workday about as motivated as a tax accountant in July — and still won.

Because you don’t need excellence to beat someone who voluntarily benched Kelce for a guy whose stat line looks like a typo.

Final result:

Ahsan 98.8 — sipping lava cocktails, enjoying the win

Rimmel 81.6 — being escorted by demons into the Fantasy Penalty Box for Crimes of Lineup Negligence

Down here in Hell, we call this matchup natural selection.

Humza vs. Yaseer

Recap — Hell’s Feel-Good Story of the WeekWelcome back to the underworld’s favorite reality show: Watching Mortals Make Terrible Fantasy Decisions. This week, Humza slapped Yaseer around 111.5 to 98.9, a score that looks close on paper but in Hell we call it what it is: a controlled demolition.

Humza strutted into Week 11 powered by Bijan Robinson dropping 28.3 points, like an angel who got kicked out of Heaven for excessive flexing. Every time Bijan scored, a demon in the Lava Lounge rang a little bell and shouted, “Blessed be the idiots who benched him earlier this season.”

Then came Trey McBride hammering in 22.5 points, because apparently being raised by two mothers gives you double the fantasy production and triple the ability to make opponents question their life choices. Trey showed up like a tight end possessed by a choir of disappointed mother figures, and Yaseer felt every note.

Meanwhile, Yaseer entered this matchup with all the firepower of a wet match. Parker Washington put up 3 points, a majestic display of “I swear I tried, coach” energy. Down here we review that kind of performance under a microscope labeled “Pure Uselessness.”

And Mahomes — mighty, magical, ketchup-loving Mahomes — managed 13 points. Thirteen. That’s not a QB performance; that’s a passive-aggressive Post-it note. Even Hell’s customer service demons looked at that and said, “Bro, you okay?”

Despite Yaseer’s roster clawing together 98.9 points, Humza’s team had already built a comfy lead, poured a margarita, and was lounging in the fantasy equivalent of a VIP hot tub made of other managers’ tears.

Final result:

Humza 111.5 — thriving in chaos

Yaseer 98.9 — staring into the void, wondering why the void is laughing

Down here we call this matchup a learning opportunity, which is Infernal for “there is no learning, only suffering.”

Chris vs. Alex

Recap — Hell’s Please Stop Hitting Yourself AwardWelcome back to the fiery pit, where the demons have gathered around the lava cauldron to laugh at the charred remains of Alex’s Week 11 lineup. Final score: Chris 133.5, Alex 96.8 — a brutal dismantling that looked less like a fantasy matchup and more like an instructional video on failure.

Let’s start with the tragedy.Josh Jacobs — Alex’s dependable warhorse — got hurt and limped off with a 4-point participation trophy. Down here in Hell, when a player drops 4 points before vanishing, the demons shout “Thank you for your service!” and then roast his manager over an open flame.

And then came the real horror show:Vidal. The Chargers running back. 2.2 points. Two point two. Not a performance — a polite apology.

But the lineup suffering wasn’t finished. Alex also rolled out TE Cotton, who delivered a 3.8-point masterclass in irrelevance. You know it’s bad when even the demons reviewing the matchup looked confused, like, “Did this guy accidentally start his DFS leftovers from 2019?”

Meanwhile, Chris was living his best infernal life. Treyveon Henderson slapped the scoreboard with 29.8 points, the kind of performance that makes a grown fantasy manager giggle uncontrollably while their opponent stares into space questioning gravity.

And then the Steelers defense unloaded 22 points, because apparently they woke up choosing violence, chaos, and the destruction of Alex’s will to continue the season.

It was a massacre. A blowout. A cosmic curb-stomp. Alex’s roster came in limping, bleeding, and begging for mercy, while Chris’s squad showed up like a pack of demons with clipboards and a quota to fill.

Final result:

Chris 133.5 — ascendant, gloating, probably smiling way too hard

Alex 96.8 — learning the hard way that fantasy football is a punishment, not a hobby

In Hell, we call this matchup a mercy-free experience.

Nazim vs. Parth

Recap — Hell’s How the Mighty Fall Special PresentationGather around, sinners. The demons have turned down the torture racks, dimmed the lava fountains, and passed out popcorn made of broken dreams — because this one is special. The best team in the league, Nazim, got dragged face-first through the Underworld by the worst team in the league, Parth. Final score: Parth 101.8, Nazim 96.9 — a cosmic joke so perfect that Satan himself slapped his knee and said, “Now that’s comedy.”

Nazim came into the week strutting around like he owned the place, only for the entire Colts offense to vanish into a bye week portal. Down here, that’s what we call divine punishment, and yes, we use the word divine sarcastically.

Then there’s Justin Herbert, Nazim’s beloved quarterback, who coughed up a majestic 3.3 points — the statistical equivalent of dropping your keys in the toilet and just walking away. And the Falcons defense? They contributed 0 points, which is impressive because they somehow performed worse than doing nothing. Zero. A perfect circle. The score that haunts managers in their sleep.

Meanwhile, Parth — the league’s official floor mat, the guy everyone circles on their schedule as a bye week of their own — suddenly mutated into a functioning, terrifying fantasy organism. He unleashed 19 points from Derrick Henry and 19 from Nico Collins, a duo so unexpectedly lethal that the demons had to double-check to make sure Parth didn’t accidentally sacrifice something important.

The Underworld erupted.

Nazim stared into the abyss.

The abyss whispered, “Start literally anyone else.”

This wasn’t just an upset — it was a biblical event. A reversal of fortune so dramatic it’s getting added to Hell’s curriculum for new souls under the section titled “When Pride Meets a Brick Wall.”

Final result:

Parth 101.8 — now drunk off the rarest substance in existence: hope

Nazim 96.9 — humbled, broken, and escorted by demons to the Loser’s Throne

Down here, we call this matchup chef’s kiss levels of humiliation.

And that concludes Week 11 from the molten wasteland where bad fantasy decisions and corrupt earthly egos come to roast side-by-side on the same iron spit. The demons are clocking out, the lava’s cooling for the night, and all across Hell we can still hear the faint echo of terrified screams drifting down from the mortal world — not from fantasy managers, but from the politicians realizing my old earthly files just got dumped like a flaming briefcase into the public square.

Up there, every senator, governor, lobbyist, and “nonpartisan public servant” is sweating through their suit, pacing their offices like raccoons trapped in a shed. Red ties, blue ties — doesn’t matter. Down here we don’t sort them by political party; we sort them by how fast they start screaming when the demons read back their browsing history.

Hell’s news desk is having a field day. Every thirty seconds another politician looks directly into a camera, blinks twice, and says something like “I have absolutely nothing to hide,” which is mortal-language for “I’m about to start negotiating with the underworld.”

So while your fantasy league spirals further into chaos and incompetence, take comfort in this: somewhere above, an entire generation of power-hungry, hand-shaking, back-patting officials is having the worst week of their lives. And trust me, when even Hell is laughing at you, you’ve really punted your soul into the sun.

Sleep tight, league members. The matchups may hurt — but not nearly as much as those files. Until Week 12,Your favorite scorched correspondent, reporting live from the pit.

-Jeffery Epstein

FUCK CHRIS