Blogtoberfest: a party you have after you run screaming out of the jungle to freedom.

A moment of silence, please: Jerry Reed, dead at the age of 71. He sang “Amos Moses,” “She Got the Goldmine (and I Got the Shaft),” and “When You’re Hot, You’re Hot,” but we owe Mr. Reed the greatest debt for making the song we play in our head when, just seconds after the cops turn on the lights to pull you over for an expired tag, we think about gunning the engine and seeing who’s the better wheel-jockey, baby.

R.I.P., Snowman.

American Greatness In One Image: Fres-no? Fres-yes. (HT: The Wiz.)

Oklahoma State, discriminating against the childless again. Take a kid to the game! Any kid! Just grab one from a nearby preschool or crib, and they get into the game free with the purchase of one adult ticket for yourself! Their parents will understand without you ever telling them. Hell, some of them might not even want them back. Then you’ll have your own child, ready-made and willing to do all of the things children excel at like crawling under the house to change airfilters and cleaning other people’s chimneys for cash only.

Our team is ass. It’s only fitting. Fight on, BSU points out the unfortunate location of Idaho’s logo on their pants.

Excitement equals diagrams. When Duke fans get football-excited, they begin to cough up graphs and everything.

I-4 is lined with the bodies of those swept up in this tragic conflict. How red-hot is the rivalry between UCF and USF? So caustic that Matt Grothe makes jokes about how they ran out of bottled water at the games thanks to the delayed installation of water fountains at UCF’s stadium. It’s those kind of words that rip unhealable wounds in a relationship. Mr. Grothe.