GOT PRODUCT?

Looks like ole’ Todd is officially at minute 14.

While you’re there at CafePress, buy some Journalism Is For Rockstars gear.

Nice. My 1980 UGA MNC Coke bottle sits on my bookshelf, ever-awaiting its destiny of bottled-up oblivion or freedom due to a moment of madness by a curious or drunken (or both) interloper.

If the “Free Katie Holmes” T Shirt seller guy can push thousands of units of product, then this dude should be able to push tens of units of product. Hopefully he can earn enough to buy his way out of Statesboro.

Statesboro, by the way, is Darwin’s holding pen for the unwary young college student. In addition to a brisk drug trafficking problem, the town has one of the highest AIDS rates this side of Belle Glade, FL.

Though it could be argued that there is not a more fitting modifier than “penis” when it comes to describing Game Day’s In House Octagenarian, I feel I must point out that the true “dick” of the tiumvirate has to be Chris Fowler.

Several weeks back, I had the the displeasure of eating dinner next to Kirk Herbstreit and “Dick” Fowler at the Jacksonville Morton’s. Whereas Kirk had perma grin the entire evening, and openly engaged in conversation with all comers, and there were quite a few, Fowler sat there huffing and puffing, rebuffing all requests for pictures, predictions, etc. It was a small miracle he was even able to locate the food on his plate with all his exaggerated eyeball rolling.

I realize it must be quite annoying to have a group of overzealous star struck drunken wannabes come up every 10 seconds when you’re trying to have a meal, but his attitude was the same at the bar, througout the meal, whether food was there or not, and continued out into the parking lot.

I was having an after dinner smoke out in the parking lot, when the .667 Game Day crew left the restaurant, with their “entourage” in tow.

Fowler, in keeping with prior behavior, turned to one of his lackies and inquired whether he had “fuckin tipped the guy.” It was clear the 91,000 that pack the Swamp every game had nothing on this guy. When it comes to alligator arms, Fowler has no rival. After the human colonoscopy bag (called so due to his lips being permanently glued to Fowler’s ass the entire night) coughed up a few bucks, Fowler climbed into his Saturn Vue and sped off.

It goes without saying that when I asked Herbstreit and Dick Fowler who they liked, Herbstreit responded “I know it sounds crazy, but I’m really gonna’ have to sleep on it”. I wish I could say Fowler scorned me for having infringed on his precious time (It did appear he needed to race back to the hotel to dye his graying temples), but he gave me nary a look, let a lone a customary grunt.