Boobs, or the worst song ever recorded: choose the right, reader.

Agenda:

1. Drive to Gainesville

2. DRINK. KILL. GLORY.

3. Come home in time for EDSBS Live on Sunday.

Enjoy your weekend and root for Florida. The choice is yours: root for the Gators, and you root for boobs on the internet. Root for Tennessee, and you get us singing “Rocky Top.” And no one wins there.

See below for details.

me: I, Orson Swindle, being of mind and body, do promise to record a version of “Rocky Top” upon the event of a loss to the Tennessee Volunteers for the Florida Gators football team on Saturday.

I will complete said recording in no more than three days.

And post the results on EDSBS.com

Holly: I, in turn, vow to stencil “PROPERTY OF MISTER TEBOW” on my rack, in University of Florida colors, in permanent marker in the event of a Tennessee loss in Gainesville.

The resulting carnage will be photographed, and made available to the internets, within three days of the game.

(You have to sing. I cannot emphasize this enough.)

me: I promise to sing.

In English.

With music.

Holly: I promise the photographs will be in color. And actually of my actual rack, actually.

And that I won’t wash it off, but let the letters fade even as the sting of defeat lingers.

me: The drafters of this agreement would also like to note that TCOAN has been alerted that a wager involving modest, family-safe breast exposure and these eyes, and that the wager has been approved by the proper authorities.

Holly: And that TCOAN is generally above reproach in all areas, but especially this one, and could straight murder my ass with a glance. Am she not merciful?

me: She is. Praise her names.

Holly: World without end, amen.

me: Terms agreed on herein on this date, September 14, 2007

Holly: Affirmed.

me: Affirmed.

Holly: [gong]

me: (Blood oaths exchanged.)

Holly: [internets blood.]

me: (Microsoft BloodOath 2.0, part of the Microsoft EvilOffice 2008 Beta)

Holly: [paralleled for Mac because I don't roll like that]

me: Shine ‘em up, darlin’.

Holly: My fightin’ shoes?

me: Your boobs. They’re going on tour in 48 hours

Holly: I’m from the Ridge, lawya. Them bitches got a glow.

me: Then no flash necessary.

Holly: Get your banjo strung up real nice now, you filthy fuckin’ reprobate.