OREGON LINEMEN MAKE A CALENDAR SO HOT YOU WILL DIE LOOKING AT IT

"Cameron, you thought you wouldn't see anything good today. But you got to watch me bagpipe Sloane. You got to watch me strangle a hot dog vendor with a timing belt for looking at me in an odd way. And you got to watch me set fire to a hot air balloon to show your father the true meaning of the tyranny of gravity. Don't tell me you haven't seen anything good today."

From the Ferris Bueller's Day Off script, as remixed by Orson Swindle.

Ferris promised things. And today, reader, so do we. Today, you get to behold the majesty of the Oregon offensive linemen's calendar, put together by the husky but powerful men of the Ducks line. The article intro'ing the thing is: well: poetry.

He’s wearing scuba gear, holding a harpoon. The belted, Euro-style swim trunks could have come from James Bond’s wardrobe.

But it isn’t the accessories, or the svelte physique, that make the photograph sizzle.

“My eyes are amazing,” he says. “You can’t teach that.”

Caveat: Before we begin mocking them, let us just say at the start that the Oregon offensive line is now the official EDSBS Offensive Line of Preference for 2008 for doing this. The photos all emit cheek, verve, and a brisk and perverse sense of humor we've come to know and love in offensive linemen. The photos are fucking hilarious. Nothing can take away from this, or from the linemen's bearish charm and willingness to pose semi-clothed for a good cause.

Now: gay jokes and other mockeries.

Nothing we can say can improve this already perfect photo. Further verbiage debases its excellence.

MINDFREAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK!
MINDFREAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK!
MINDFREAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK!
MINDFREAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK!

"That's a nice buck, dude. Good shot."

"Yeah, but the antlers seem small."

"A bit."

"And it's wearing a reflective vest."

"Sure is."

"And holding a stop sign."

"..."

"..."

"Man, those kids are freaking out."

"Let's get her on the ATV NOW."

"Those wind sprints killed me today, man."

"Me, too. Hey, you know what else is killing me? YOUR WEAK GRIP. Get it closer to the base."

"Like that?"

"Finally! Remember: we're just celebrating each other's strength."

"We're majoring in animal husbandry."

"Yeah. He's the husband. I'm the animal."

"Stop it."

"No YOU stop it!"

[/slapfight]

Flummoxed by reality. CORE LOGIC BREACH IMMINENT NEXT...

It's the least appealing gay personal ad ever: "BIG man with even BIGGER wrench looking for BIG NUTS to twist until your WHEELS FALL OFF. Um, or just for coffee or something. I promise no nut-twisting." Either that, or one of the selling points for linemen coming to Oregon is a special habitat where, for the first time in their lives, they may feel as small and dainty as little girls.

Perhaps you have never seen a man emerge from a ditch full of runoff behind your house. And, extending this hypothetical line of questioning, you probably would not consider dating that man. Let me implore you to abandon this line of thinking, because, contrary to what your brain may be telling you, the man emerging from the tepid, bacteria-rife waters of your pesticide-laden runoff ditch is a gentleman of great sensitivity and charm who, following a thorough cleansing with several industrial solvents, will love you like no other man you've ever met or will meet in the future.

Oh, and that tank on my back? It's filled to the brim with nitrous oxide. I, like the poet, love laughter and mystery. Let me share it with you, frightened homeowner.

Don't call it a barrel. Call it my "danger corset," or just marvel at the world's biggest codpiece in action. I'm up to my nipples in scotch as this photo is being taken. Don't act like the envy isn't giving you a rectal tumor just thinking about how good this feels for me, because it's better than you can possibly imagine.

And finally: the soundtrack the slide show needed all along.

HT: Clay and Robert.

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