2025 Week 6 LoL FFL Post

Nazim Parupia
Oct 16
9 min read

Right, listen up you pack of overconfident, underperforming donkeys. What in the name of burnt risotto was THAT disgrace of a fantasy week? Half of you drafted like you had a blindfold on and a concussion, and the other half are somehow getting outscored by a bloody kicker. A kicker, you absolute soggy doughnuts. Let’s start with the league "champion" from last year — oh, how the mighty have stumbled into luck again. Fuck you Nazim! I hope you lose this week. You drafted a team with the tactical brilliance of someone trying to fry ice. But dammit you bloody bastard! You did it again And fucking Parth and Kyriacos — yes, the two blokes who somehow should have started players on bye. Are you taking the piss? Did you think it was a bake-off and you just left half your ingredients at home? Your lineups are still so raw and undone, I can still hear them mooing. You fucks! What the fuck guys. Embarrassing. Meanwhile, we’ve got that one smug sweet sweet twat Rimmel with no running backs but is somehow 5 and 1. Congratulations, mate — you’ve got the strategy of a hungover giraffe, but the fantasy gods apparently owe you money. Don’t get too cocky. One injury and your whole team will collapse faster than a flan in a bloody cupboard. Kyriacos an Idiot Sandwich though, especially for trading up for fucking Tee Higgins? Ya donkey!!! Sucks to suck! In conclusion: most of you need to wake the hell up, set your lineups, and stop treating this league like a warm-up episode of "Kitchen Nightmares." Next week, I want blood, fire, and touchdowns — not this undercooked, underseasoned disaster stew. Now piss off and make some bloody trades to save your season. (Just not with Nazim) Let’s get into the recap

Ahsan vs Humza: The Raw Chicken Massacre

Right, let’s break down the absolute SHITSHOW. A matchup so one-sided it should’ve come with a parental advisory warning. Final score? Humza 104.8, Ahsan 76.7. It felt worse, didn't it, Ahsan? You didn't just lose—you collapsed like a soggy soufflé. You fielded a lineup with all the firepower of a damp sparkler, and Humza didn’t even have to break a sweat to wipe the floor with your sorry, undercooked squad. Let’s start with the biggest joke of the week—Mason bloody Taylor. What in the actual hell was that decision? The lad gave you 0.7 points. Point seven! What does that even mean? Did he trip and fall forward for a half-yard? Was he on the field or just warming the bench with his arse cheeks? That wasn’t a fantasy start—that was a cry for help! That's the fantasy equivalent of seasoning your risotto with fucking bleach! Then there’s Saquon Barkley, once a fantasy god, now reduced to 7.7 limp, miserable points. He looked like he was running underwater with bricks in his boots. You expected a steakhouse performance and got a soggy corner-store sandwich. Pathetic! Honestly, Ahsan, your entire team looked LOST—like they showed up to a boxing match wearing oven mitts. Meanwhile, Humza, the smug bastard, came in, didn’t say a word, and quietly kicked your teeth in. Bijan Robinson? 32.8 points! Absolutely outrageous! That bloke was gliding through defenders like a hot knife through marshmallow. And the surprise star: Trey McBride dropping 17.2 points out of nowhere like some kind of budget Travis Kelce. Humza’s tight end was COOKING while yours was probably in the locker room googling “how to catch a football.” The worst part? Humza was just... functional. Which made this beatdown all the more embarrassing. You didn't get outgunned, mate—you got out-basic-ed. This wasn't a battle. It was a public cooking class where you showed up with raw chicken and served it to the judges with a wink. Absolute fantasy food poisoning! In conclusion: Humza, congratulations on the win. Ahsan, PISS OFF!

Yaseer vs Sean: The Bottled Disaster

Right, let’s talk about the chaotic dumpster fire that was Sean vs. Yaseer, a matchup that ended with Yaseer somehow crawling away with a 124.8 to 118.1 win. Sean, you’re left face down in the mud, wondering how the hell you lost. Let’s be honest, Sean, you didn't just lose—you bottled it. Big time. And it all starts with your brilliant decision to start Jauan bloody Jennings, who rewarded your blind faith with a whopping 1.2 points. One. Point. Two. Mate, that’s not a fantasy player—that’s an NPC who accidentally wandered onto the field. What did you think he was going to do? He was more invisible than your playoff hopes! And then there’s Travis Etienne, who decided to ghost you at the worst possible time. 7.5 points from your RB1? That’s not running back production—that’s fucking cardio! Meanwhile, Yaseer didn't even need to be clever—he just let Patrick Mahomes COOK like a Michelin-star quarterback with 31.4 points, and De’Von Achane absolutely TORCHED the scoreboard with 29. Those two carried Yaseer’s entire squad on their backs like fantasy Hercules while the rest of his team basically stood around picking daisies. And here’s the part that should haunt you, Sean—you only lost by SIX points! SIX! One decent start, one lineup decision made with a shred of common sense, and this recap would be roasting Yaseer instead. But no, you handed it to him like a silver platter of undercooked lamb and said, "Here, mate, take the win—I’ll just go fuck myself." In conclusion: Yaseer, congratulations on the win, you lucky bastard. Sean, sort your life out!

Chris vs Nazim: A Crime Scene

Right, gather round and let’s dissect the absolute slaughter that was Nazim vs. Chris. A matchup so humiliating, it should be archived in the Hall of Fantasy Shame. Final score? Nazim 154.6, Chris 76.8. That’s not a loss—that’s a fucking crime scene! Chris, you didn’t get beaten—you got violated, with Nazim gleefully drop-kicking your soul across the league. Let’s start with Emeka bloody Egbuka, who gave you a whopping 3.4 points. Three point fucking four! Was he even on the field, or just out there sightseeing? That’s not a player—that’s a bloody placeholder! A traffic cone could’ve done more damage. Meanwhile, Brian Thomas Jr.—the one guy on your roster with an actual pulse—is rotting on your bench like a steak forgotten in the back of the fridge. He put up solid numbers, and you just sat there twiddling your thumbs, letting potential points ferment into regret. That’s not managing a fantasy team—that’s sabotage! And now we come to Nazim, the smug bastard who didn't just win—he put on a bloody fireworks show while you were trying to light a wet matchstick. Rico Dowdle—yes, RICO FUCKING DOWDLE—dropped 31.9 points out of nowhere like he’s some kind of fantasy messiah. And to add insult to injury, Nazim’s bloody kicker—EDDY PINEIRO—put up 19 points! A kicker, Chris. A FUCKING KICKER! Scoring more than half your team combined! That’s the fantasy equivalent of losing a cook-off to a microwave! This wasn't competitive. It was a massacre. Your team looked confused, undercooked, and about as threatening as a soggy crouton. In conclusion: Nazim, congratulations on the clinical domination. Chris, fix your life, you donkey!

Ali vs Parth: Two Drunk Toddlers (Half Haraam)

Right, let’s talk about this absolute shitshow of a matchup: Ali vs. Parth—or as I like to call it, "Who Can Disappoint Me More in Four Quarters?" Final score? Ali 91.2, Parth 87.6—a pathetic excuse for a fantasy battle that looked less like a game and more like two drunk toddlers slapping each other with wet napkins. Now, Parth. You lost this game because your lineup was about as threatening as a limp breadstick. Let’s start with RJ bloody Harvey. 4.5 points! Was he running plays or just running around in circles? The bloke had all the explosiveness of a fart in the wind! And Marvin Mims? Don’t even get me started. 3.8 points. Starting him was like showing up to a knife fight with a spoon. What the hell were you thinking? And you still almost won! Which brings us to Ali, who didn’t so much win this game as fall into the win headfirst. Your team was mid at best—Caleb Williams, painted nails and all, somehow scraped together 19 points. And then comes the real surprise: rookie Tet McMillan—who the fuck even is that guy? I had to Google him mid-recap. And yet he went off for 16.4 points. That’s not skill, mate—that’s pure fantasy voodoo! But let’s be clear: this was two clumsy, underperforming squads limping toward the finish line, and one of them happened to trip slightly less. Ali, congrats—but don’t act like you earned it. Your team still looks like a preheated mess! In conclusion: Ali, congratulations on the win. Parth, stop starting cardboard cutouts! PISS OFF!

Kyriacos vs Alex: The Dogshit Casserole

Right. Let’s break down the absolute dogshit casserole that was Kyriacos vs. Alex—a matchup so disappointing it made me want to punt a kicker into the sun! Final score? Alex 116.3 to Kyriacos 94.4—and frankly, it wasn’t even that close. Kyriacos just stood there and let it happen like he was waiting in line at the DMV. Let’s start with Kyriacos and the absolute shambles he calls a lineup. Rhamondre bloody Stevenson—1.8 points! Was he injured? Hungover? Playing in flip-flops? That’s not an RB performance—that’s a fuckin’ cry for help! The man ran like he was dragging a mattress behind him. And then there’s Kyle Pitts, the so-called “unicorn” of tight ends. 3.3 points! Mate, unicorns are supposed to be magical, not invisible! You'd get more production from a boiled potato at tight end! Meanwhile, Alex, the smug bastard, didn’t even have to try hard. His team was out there COOKING, and Kyriacos was just serving raw batter! George Pickens was on a mission, dropping 27.3 points. And let’s not forget Josh Jacobs, finally waking the hell up and smashing 29.5 points down your throat like a bloody sledgehammer! This was a full-course beatdown, and Kyriacos, you served up the fantasy version of raw chicken with undercooked rice! No seasoning. No flavor. No chance! Your lineup is so bland it should come with a “may contain sadness” warning label! In conclusion: Alex, congratulations on the win. Kyriacos, bench the frauds! Absolutely disgraceful!

Colten vs Rimmel: The Flavorless Sludge-Fest

Right, let’s talk about the absolute sludge-fest that was Rimmel vs. Colten—a matchup so limp, so flavorless, it should’ve been served with a side of Pepto-Bismol. Final score? Rimmel 87.2 to Colten 79.2. Honestly, I’ve seen more fire in a frozen shepherd’s pie! The only reason Rimmel came out on top is because Colten’s team collapsed like a soufflé in a hurricane. Colten, mate, what in the actual fuck was that lineup? Cameron Sutton gave you a grand total of 2.2 points! That’s not a fantasy stat line—that’s the nutritional value of a soggy crouton! And then there’s Rome Odunze—4.2 points! Christ. That’s not a wide receiver, that’s a bloody stage prop! You could’ve thrown a scarecrow out there and gotten the same result! Now on the other side, we’ve got Rimmel, who somehow—some-fucking-how—walks away with the win while barely cracking 87 points. That’s not winning, that’s escaping! But fair play, because at least he had two players who showed up with a pulse. Jaxon Smith-Njigba dropped 26.2 points like he remembered, “Oh shit, I’m actually good at this.” And then Dallas bloody Goedert—who I swear has been asleep all season—randomly goes off for 21.5 points! The bloke looked like vintage Gronk out there while the rest of the roster was busy doing fuck-all! But let’s not get it twisted—this was still a disgraceful fantasy match. Combined, you two barely scraped over 160 points. That’s not fantasy football—that’s fantasy constipation! No explosiveness. No flavor. Just a slow, uncomfortable grind to an unsatisfying finish. In conclusion: Rimmel, congratulations on the win. Colten, your roster is a bloody joke! (I wish I had your roster)

That wraps up the carnage of Week 6

To the winners: Enjoy the fleeting taste of success. We know half of you got lucky. Stay humble or you'll be next week's main dish in the Kitchen Nightmares special.

To the losers: Your season is collapsing faster than a cheap tent in a monsoon. The waiver wire is open. The trade market is not closed (unless you're dealing with Nazim, seriously, don't). Stop serving raw chicken and start making moves. I want to see desperate, irrational, season-saving trades by the end of the day.

Set your lineups. Start your studs. Bench the frauds.

See you next week. And for God's sake, put some bloody effort in.

Peace. And fuck Chris!