Here's as close as we'll ever get to an olive branch: The Illinois fight song, as lovingly rendered through Mario Paint's music feature.
[SONG REDACTED] sounds pretty tight there, though not quite as good as the Paint versions of "Through the Fire and the Flames" or "What is Love?" We have sex with women, we promise. Okay, a woman. That has to have sex with us, legally speaking, or she loses all the privileges that come with being married to us, like free socks on the floor and the ability to make liquor disappear from the refrigerator.
Worlds Collide. When the AJC goes online, they should hire Freek and pay him handsomely, as they're already using his stuff for content and all.
Because Florida would be slower on artificial turf. It would be a great idea to move the Cocktail Party up the Georgia Dome, because it would be just like the Cocktail Party except you'd have to tailgate under an piss-stink overpass strewn with the remnants of a homeless shantytown around you, you would pay even more exorbitant fees for parking, take away the pleasant weather and riverside setting in Jacksonville, take an outdoor game inside, remove at least half of the vibrant tailgating scene in total, eliminate any semblance of playing a game halfway between the two constituencies, get the city of Atlanta involved in planning this thing (NOOOOOOOOOOOOO), and take a tradition and heave it to the trash for no particular reason whatsoever. Except for all of those things, it is a spectacular idea.
Never give up. We're this close to starting the Daniel Moore Defense fund. All we ask is that he paint a picture of us as a running back snapping Merrill Hoge's leg going into the endzone as Jedi Ghost Bear Bryant gives the thumbs up from the back of the endzone.
USC'S Announcer is...open. And understands the pains of impotence as few do. If Ed Podolak loses his job for being drunk in a bar, then...wait, this is L.A. He could televise his Tijuana penis enlargement surgery without a sniff. USC play-by-play man Pete Arbogast says his wife's favorite sexual position is "a number," which we're pretty sure means 91, where she sleeps, and he masturbates and cries quietly.