You might not want to check this at work, or at home, or at any place in the known universe. Why? Because human skin begins to burn at 140 degrees fahrenheit and ignites somewhere around 1600 degrees, and this collection of cheesecake photos far, far exceeds the capacity of mortal men to handle them properly. In fact, we don’t even know what they look like because we’ve only heard the lore of their hotness secondhand; we fear their heat, an intense warmth we feel typing this from seven computers removed from the xenon-cooled hard drive where the files sit.
You are warned and aware of the dangers. Proceed only under the understanding that you act of your own volition and understand that EDSBS bears no liability in the matter.
With that, proceed. Good luck, soldier.
Marisa Miller Cheesecake. Visible femoral arteries roaaaarrrrgggh.
Monday’s Curious Index contained an item referring to the Kent State Golden Flashes as “the stupidest team name in Division I football.” The Kent State Golden Flashes is, in fact, the stupidest name for anything, ever. We regret the error.
Thursday we posted a video we claimed was Matthew Stafford doing a keg stand. We clearly misidentified him here.
We regret the error.
A Wednesday night news bulletin showed video footage of obliterated dock pilings on Alabama’s Lake Martin, and attributed the collapse to “flash flooding”. The cause of damage has since been identified as “Auburn University’s offensive line.” We regret the error.
On Monday, we labeled the 1971 Nebraska/Oklahoma game as the “Game of the Century.” This was inaccurate, as the universally recognized “Game of the Century” was the 2004 Colorado/Colorado State game, where Bradlee “Dr. Kannenpeniz” Van Pelt, a.k.a. the Banging Dutchman, (more…)
Jack Mildren, Oklahoma wishbone genius qb, died on Thursday at the age of 58. In addition to being one of the savviest wishbone qbs ever to fake, run, and then pull up for an option pass, Mildren also served as the lieutenant governor of Oklahoma, worked as the vice-chairman of a local bank, and maintained a spot doing talk radio in Oklahoma. (You haven’t even answered all your emails today, have you?)
See the footage below for a taste of Mildren’s brilliant captaincy of the ‘bone against a hapless Oklahoma State team, a clue of the reads and on-field brainbrawn that got Oklahoma 472.4 yards rushing per game in 1971, a standing record in the NCAA’s books.
I want a playoff! Dammit, how else you gonna find out who the best team if we just, you know, all sit around at the end of the season and stare at each other’s asses like a bunch of Roman bathers? Let ‘em play. I’m tired of this.
ROAR! PLAYOFF!
I also want a simple phone bill. You used to just get a bill, and there was an amount, and you paid it to Ma Bell. Now there’s numbers, and more numbers, and a lot of the time it’s the same number all over the place. Just tell me what I owe! I make four phone calls a month! The rest I do by post, just like ya should if you really care. The wax seal tells them you mean what you’re saying. Mine’s a minotaur with a lion on its back. That’s how you know if it’s Joe.
I also wish men and women had more conventional roles, you know? I have to talk to mothers like they’re fathers, and fathers like they’re mothers, and to the kids like they’re men. In my world women worked at home, men wore short ties, and gay men worked retail or in the theater. I know I’m old, but it’s not too much to ask for when I want a gay guy to tell me if my shirt looks good. They know better than we do. It’s because of an extra gland they have in their neck.
You know what I like, though? Velcro. Everything just comes on and off now. I can put a pair of slacks on in three seconds now thanks to these custom slacks with velcro seams. Hey, I see that look on your face. That’s between me and Sue, though I’ll tell you: I’d probably tear a rotator cuff trying to pull a fancy exotic dancer move like that. I do everything slow these days.
Boston College has “permanently dismissed” lineman Brady Smith from the team, though there’s some good news: rather than being charged with rape, he pleaded to indecent assault and battery. This is good, because for future dating he’ll be able to put “convicted of indecent assault and battery” on his Match.com profile. They don’t have a box for “rape”, and my, wouldn’t that be a pickle of an explanation to give on the first date!
In case you wondered how Jamar Hornsby got his hand on a dead woman’s credit card, well, here’s one explanation.
“We’re going to have one in every formation,” Miles said Monday night, drawing laughs from the packed house at LSU’s Lod Cook Center.
We make fun of people in two ways: mean spicy, and affectionate-tangy. Miles, we fear, is moving over into the affectionate-tangy, since over the course of his tenure he’s only grown on us more and more. The oddball press conference at the SEC championship game (”HAVE A GREAT. DAY.”), the breezy rapport with the local press, the endlessly insane/ballsy fourth down calls, the fake kicks and punts…Les appears to have forgotten anyone’s watching what he does, and that will do it for us anytime.
We once saw a guy on a toll road in Chicago working the booth. Pulling up to the toll booth, he had the door open despite it being around fifty degrees, and was wearing his toll booth worker’s uniform open to mid-clavicle. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. A stereo set up in the booth was BLASTING Foreigner’s “Blue Morning, Blue Day,” and he was doing a dance best described as “The Teamster Stomp” in the booth, a kind of high-kneed two-step stomp with accompanying fist pumps. The radio probably cranked about sixty decibels, but he could clearly be heard bellowing out-of-tune accompaniment to Lou Gramm’s vocals.
This is precisely what we imagine the inside of Les Miles’ head to look like: a toll booth full of rock. It is difficult not to like.
Drew Weatherford has recovered from arthroscopic knee surgery, a real accomplishment for people his age.
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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.
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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.
Lake The Posts Northwestern football, which is purple and smarter than you and no thank you would NOT like a ten win season at the cost of academic integrity, thank you very much.
Maize ‘n Brew And still yet another strong, funny, and literate Michigan blogger. Embarrassment of riches over there, really.
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