How you live so large, man? Icehouse on tap at the Mermaids Casino, that’s how we do.
Kanu explained it best: “It’s like they had a lot of shitty beer, and just said ‘Hey, we can sell it if we just add more alcohol.’”
Enjoy your evening.
With the towel, like a gentleman. Keenan Jones of Hawaii has been arrested and charged with unauthorized entry into a motor vehicle and second-degree assault. The two counts are both felonies, and total seven points for Hawaii in the Fulmer Cup. Seven, you ask? Why add a bonus point on top of the three points a piece for the felonies? As usual: style, sir, sheer inescapable style, brought to this case by the inclusion of some low-quality PPV pr0n.
A court document on the latest charges noted “the catalyst” for the domestic problems between the two stems from Jones allegedly using the woman’s cable provider to rent 13 porn movies resulting in a bill of over $300.
Lady, you don’t understand: this is how the deal works. Keenan gets porn, you pay for it, and when you complain about it, I shut a door on your toes and break two of them, because your bill must be mistaken. And those charges must be from your chick movies like August Rush and shit, because everyone knows porno is free–you press a button and it just shows up there on the tv. Amy Adams, though…damn. That girl can play Keenan’s cello anytime. Or share the couch with me when I crack out the butter churn and get to work on the couch, which I would do with a towel under my ass just like a gentleman would. That’d be some positively Enchanted shit there.
Blogtoberfest! Because we haven’t done one in months edition.
Jay Barker’s marrying a country star, and you’re just jealous that he has a hot wife with huge cans. Their marriage promises to be a heart-breaking cycle of domestic bliss/front-porch swangin’ alternating with periods cheatin’, beatin’ raw dealin’, stealin’, lyin’, and cryin’.
Holly and Kanu have the breakdown of our night out in Vegas on Saturday. We deny it all except for the Tylenol Orange Drank, an essential ingredient of any night of frenetic wagering and casino-hopping.
Run! Live wolverines on leashes. Always a great idea. (HT: Brian.)
Percy Harvin, dinged; Carl Moore, slow for fast. Percy Harvin is heeling; Carl Moore is merely a 4.45 guy.
BHGP’s madness rolls on in their brackets. Our money’s on the City Boyz, Inc.
We’re overdue in our congratulations to T. Kyle King on the birth of his son daughter. Congratulations, sir: he should utter his first 750 word sentence sometime in the next two years.
Stay at least a kilometer away from Pete Carroll today: he is jacked to a point of DANGEROUS EXCITEMENT.
If you see a bright star somewhere over University Park today in Los Angeles, then the next stage in human evolution has begun. You’ll recognize it because Pete Carroll’s Blackberry will be repeating the message “ALL THESE WORLDS ARE YOURS EXCEPT THE COLISEUM ATTEMPT NO LANDING THERE USE THEM TOGETHER USE THEM IN PEACE” and broadcasting it worldwide. Also: monoliths, like, everywhere man.
Stephen, what would the Great Eagle Spirit do, man? HE’D DRINK THAT FUCKIN’ BEER, THAT’S RIGHT.Stephen Garcia sits in his dorm, alone except for the tiny, floating Matthew McConaughey on his shoulder.
SG: I’m fucking bored man.
Tiny, Floating Matthew McConaughey: Brah, stop the bitchin’ and get to itchin’. If it’s too quiet in the church, who’s gonna make some noise if you don’t ring some bells, man?
SG: I’m gonna set off the fire extinguisher. I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks.
TFMM: RIGHT ON. Take your shirt off and make it happen. You’re like a primitive warrior ready to fight in mud with a loincloth naked, and the fire extinguisher….it’s like some ancient sabretooth you’ve got to own. Just like I punched those dragons in Reign of Fire.
SG: Fuckin’ right. Sometimes I can hear it taunting me.
TFMM: It IS taunting you. Can’t you hear it now? I can because I’m Toll Housed.
SG: Ring ring, you little red bitch.
TFMM: You’re a dolphin in a sea of purple freedom, baby YEAH. (more…)
Tooter Sooner!SI’s got their archives mostly open and running, a boon for tweedy archvists like ourselves and something that had us sprinting straight for rock star Rick Telander at his most glorious: the February 29th, 1989 article “You Reap What You Sow,” which for the EDSBS underclassmen will serve as a cheat sheet (pun!) for what we mean when we say something is “Barry Switzertastic” in terms of program mismanagement and lax discipline.
We remember the exact instant when we read this article: sitting in a Fantastic Sam’s in a strip mall in Franklin, Tennessee, waiting on a haircut with Mom and vacillating between adolescent moral horror and unabashed admiration for the gusto Oklahoma’s football players displayed in their abuse of petty privilege.
A few of the finer cuts:
Earlier that week he had lectured children at a nearby grammar school about the evils of drug use. “Regardless of what anyone has told you about drugs,” he told the youngsters, “they’re the quickest way to end your life, the quickest way to be in jail.”
Three days later the FBI charged Thompson with having sold 17 grams of cocaine for $1,400 to an undercover agent on Jan. 26.
And:
Parks, who reportedly had been drinking, barged in and angrily confronted Peters about a cassette tape that he claimed Peters had borrowed. Peters told Parks he didn’t know what he was talking about. The two had gone to high school together in Houston, and Peters knew of Parks’s volatile temper. But Peters was much bigger—240 pounds to Parks’s 176—and once the shouting turned to shoving, Parks was on the floor.
In a rage, Parks bolted from the dorm and into the parking lot. He returned with a Harrington & Richardson eight-shot .22-caliber revolver. He threatened Peters with it and was taunted in return. “You’re not going to do anything,” said Peters. “I dare you! Go on, shoot me! Shoot me!” Peters stepped forward and pushed Parks yet again. Parks shot him. The bullet missed Peters’s heart by three inches. Parks fled to neighboring Jones Hall, where he was apprehended by university police officers. “I’m the one who did it,” police quoted Parks as saying. “I had no choice.”
The next time someone complains about “kids these days,” just send them this link and remind them that “crazy-ass motherfucker” has never gone out of style.
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Karma’s a motherfucker. Clemson’s losing tailbacks just after they cut Ray-Ray McElrathbey. Make a snide laugh now, because this will all end up with Tommy Bowden running through the streets of Clemson handing out cooked goose on Christmas and embracing crippled children. The part with the ghost of Christmas Past featuring Jackie Sherrill in the role will be especially frightening, because Sherrill will be naked and drunk. Bears Necessity examines out of conference schedules and concludes that the Big East is the real out-of-conference road warrior–and that’s not just the Mountaineers calling in either with their traditional forty point bowl shootout. He also notes that business class on Singapore airlines rules. If it doesn’t come with a complimentary compulsory caning of a random passenger in coach for chewing gum too loudly in their seat, it’s NOT Singapore Airlines! Bill Callahan had them playing tag, dammit. We would kill for an uncensored spring practice audio of Bo Pelini in his first spring as Nebraska head football coach working with the defense. According to Pelini: Callahan wouldn’t call what he had the defense doing tag, exactly; rather, it was a “binomial game of optional tactical label transfer, with status dependent on pursuit, angle calculation, and escape strategies.” Or, yeah: tag. Heivaha Mafi: can haz hair. Heivaha Mafi, Juco transfer for UNLV, is your latest shock-haired raging Polynesian badass, according to the Runnin’ Rebels coach Mike Sanford: “(Mafi’s) got a lot of hair,” coach Mike Sanford said, “and he plays with it on fire.” Mafi’s playing for a starting spot at the hybrid DE/LB spot, marking yet another appearance of the Patriot end in college football out of a flexy 3-4 that can, in a snap, morph to a 4-3. They call Alabama The Crimson Tide, so call me Faggy McGee. The greatest hangover/sleep deprivation song ever helped us through a long, airport delay-ridden day yesterday. The story behind the chorus: It was originally speculated that the song was written about the Wake Forest University Demon Deacons, but in a Rolling Stone interview, Donald Fagen said “Walter and I had been working on that song at a house in Malibu. I played him that line, and he said, “You mean it’s like, ‘They call these cracker assholes this grandiose name like the Crimson Tide, and I’m this loser, so they call me this other grandiose name, Deacon Blues?’ ” And I said, “Yeah!” He said, “Cool! Let’s finish it!” Thank you, cracker assholes of Alabama, for making that song happen. Oh, and for beating us twice in 1999. That was awesome. |
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Orson Swindle and Stranko Montana are two men pushing thirty who should know better than to run a college football blog, but evidently don't. Both graduated from the University of Florida, and both agree that college football is far too important to be left to the professionals.
Comments? Questions? Long strings of profanities directed at something we said? Please send your comments to harumphharumph -a- yahoo -dot- com. Please direct all tailgating photos and stories to edsbsfans -a- gmail -dot- com.
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