San Francisco may claim one of the world’s most politically correct strip clubs: the Lusty Lady, an establishment where patrons pay by the quarter to keep the windows up and open to a semicircle of attractive young ladies wearing very little. The whole place is female-owned, no touchy-touchy, and even earned a profile on HBO’s Real Sex as an innocent but still satisfying public spankmart of great prestige.

Cal linebacker Chris Purtz allegedly violated this “safe place for women…and quarters” early last Sunday when he became unruly after management dared to inform him and a friend he introduced as “his agent” that they could not, in fact, get prostitutes there. Then Purtz allegedly engaged in some behavior we’ll assume is expressly condemned by Berkeley’s student code, according to club staff:

Timmons said Purtz and his friend started calling him “n—-r” and “faggot.” Two other club employees corroborated this account with The Daily Californian.

Purtz said that he did not use slurs or solicit prostitutes, and also said there was no physical confrontation. He confirmed he was at the club and said he returned on Tuesday to clear up the facts of the event with employees.

Cal coach Jeff Tedford has suspended Purtz for having a name that would naturally drive one toward severe overcompensation in the form of participating in violent sports and theatrical behavior at strip clubs. Oh, and for the alleged incident, too, which the university is currently investigating.

The Lusty Lady: Is this Applied Women’s Studies?

WOO! Spurrier! WOO! Ric Flair! WOO! Listen up people, and listen good: Spurrier was ringside with Ric WOO! Flair at an ECW event WOO! and thoroughly endorsed the WOO! action by saying it was WOO!

“…okay.”

WOO! Lukewarm endorsement! WOO!

Spurrier WOO! didn’t miss the opportunity to get his WOO! Queen Bitch on, though.

“He WOO! used to be married to a girl who was WOO! a big Gator fan,” Spurrier said. “So they WOO! would come to the Florida-Georgia game every WOO! year. Bill Goldberg was the Georgia WOO! Bulldog wrestler, so whoever won got the bragging rights. Obviously, Flair WOO! got most of the bragging rights in that series.”

WOO!

(The preceding article was brought to you by the Ric Flair Speech generator, which after five minutes is about as funny as the “shizzle-speak” bit you got forwarded to you a thousand times in 2000. Which means WOO! not.)

President Flair has an announcement: “WOO!”

Since we didn’t have time to put together a quality guide to Auburn, we’ll instead rely on the experts at Lonely Planet for their expertise. Enjoy.

At a glance

The town of Auburn, Alabama merits notice for the intrepid traveler for a plethora of reasons. In addition to being the sole barter-based economic zone in the United States, Auburn also features a landscape devoid of interest, a colorful native population of sewer-dwelling mutants, and a university that boasts 42 Nobel Prize nominated scholars, 38 of whom also played football on the varsity football team. The lack of electricity, armed gangs of obese ATV bandits roaming the wilderness, and wild boar attacks that occur in every home and apartment may intimidate the casual tourist, but for the pioneer in you little can beat the sensation of eating an MRE on top of your Bradley fighting vehicle while watching the nightly ritual of locals burning each other’s plastic shelters to the ground while pelting each other with rocks.

When to go

Auburn has a climate similar to that of the surrouding Southeastern United States: semitropical, with four relatively mild seasons. Every August, however, a freak effect of El Nino showers the area with sealife picked up from the Gulf of Mexico, an effect know by the locals as “The Rain of Dogs.” Repeated efforts to explain the phenomenon have failed, and animal shelters fill up annually with dead fish on leashes and gasping sea turtles, producing a smell visitors have described as “ghastly,” “worse than death,” and “WHY? GOD, WHY?.”

Tourists are urged to avoid the month of August for this reason.

August: not the month to visit.

Background info.

The city of Auburn was founded by a band of Georgia militiamen over fifteen years ago. Originally searching for a build site for a cinder block bunker, they settled on the location out of necessity, as the flat landscape of scrubby pine turned out to have residents after all, a horde of bloodthirsty rat-monkeys bent on killing all intruders. A lengthy battle ensued, and the site was named for the red stains the rat/monkey army left in death.

The leader of the group, Goodman Parson Lowder, decided to scotch the plans for a new republic after taking into account their complete expenditure of ammunition. (more…)

After yesterday’s nominations, we have made a momentous decision regarding the official EDSBS Cheesecake Lady. And the winner is…

Ms. Univision. Any of them. It may be cheating to take them all, but since telenovelas seem to involve tons of unrequited love, overwrought affairs, and lots of people mooning over each other through soft focus lenses, we figure the ladies need something to do in the downtime besides pine after men with too much gel in their hair who wear windbreakers all the time.

Remember our qualifications, which we address below.

1. Must be curvy. Umm, done. Univision’s women–especially the Republica Deportiva crew–all sport physiques not recommended by your local cardiologist for viewing during cardiac episodes.

2. Must be plausibly intelligent, or at least not demonstrably stupid. They speak Spanish, which allows us non-hispanohablantes to imagine that everything they’re saying is brilliant, witty, and just a bit flirtatious. Anyone attempting to ruin this illusion by actually translating will be beaten upon entry into the EDSBS lounge.

3. Must have style, even of the quirky variety. Tight clothes are a style, right? (Nodding, yes…)

4. Cannot be Kristin Davis, since T. Kyle’s got her on lockdown. (Being a lawyer, he knows the hundred foot restraining order is null and void at one hundred and one feet.) Done.

So ladies of Univision, congratulations. You are hereby awarded the title of EDSBS Cheesecake Queen for the year 2006-2007. Your duties: jiggle and preen once to twice a week in between football stories. We’re not Sports By Brooks, so we can assure that you will never have to show up for any events or even take vacations with us, since that’s how motherfuckers get shot. (TCOAN is a wicked sharpshooter, at least with a bb gun.)

The benefits? We’ll work on those.

To remind everyone why this was such a good idea, here’s Vida Guerra on El Gordo y La Flaca doing an interview in a bikini while stepping into a bathtub with El Gordo. Why American television even attempts programming with plot, we’ll never know.

Get video codes at Bolt.

Josh Hyman, the number two receiver for the Virginia Tech Hokies, is busted for driving under the influence in Blacksburg, Va, earning himself an indefinite suspension from coach Frank Beamer. The incident happened Friday night.

(…struggling…not…to…write…this…must…not…give…in…)

No news on whether the process was painless, or whether or not the police were gentle with Hyman.

Hyman: busted.

Solon brings a passel of picks with him this week as well as a tale of why those raised near race tracks have a mysterious fondness for gambling. Enjoy.

Greetings all.

A story from my youth from the “Sport of Kings” this week, to illustrate a point.

In my early gambling days, soon after discovering Vegas, it occurred to me that there was no better spot to try to use my smarts to get “something for nothing,” as it is sometimes called, than the racetrack. As a native Southern Californian, I was presented with 9 races/day, 6 days/week, 11 months/year, at either Santa Anita, Hollywood Park, or Del Mar. Since Santa Anita was only about 10 miles from my house, and I was attending junior college at the time and finished with classes by noon every day, I could get to the track every day by first post, and I was there more often than not.

Your college experience was much, much different than Solon’s.

Over the course of time, I became immersed in the national horse racing scene, and Friday night in September 1988 while perusing the Daily Racing Form, I saw that a filly I was very high on–Miss Brio–was running in the Maskette Mile at Belmont Park the next day, and was listed at 10-1 to win. Her high odds were largely the product of that year’s Derby winner–Winning Colors–running in the same race and listed as a prohibitive 1-5 favorite. Earlier that year, I’d had Winning Colors in the Derby, but she’d been run into the ground in the Preakness by Forty Niner, and by the time the fall season hit, I was pretty much convinced that she had little value.

As it stood, I couldn’t bet races at Belmont Park in Southern California, so I drove to Vegas that morning and got my bets down. Due to some late money, Miss Brio only went off at 3.40-1, but I dropped $200 on her and collected $880.

Since getting to Vegas from Los Angeles is a 4-hour drive, instead of turning around and heading right back after the race, I decided to stick around and play a few more races with the money I’d won. (more…)