It’s now a running bet that he has a whole stack of Archie comics under his bed, and that he’d beat off any number of men to protect them.

UPDATE: Ole Miss has a correction in the Fulmer Cup. Jamar Hornsby, as noted in the updated Fulmer Cup post below, was not enrolled and will not earn Ole Miss any points. Andre Sterling, however, was very much enrolled at Ole Miss for football, and very much drunk when he was arrested last weekend for DUI. That’s a point correction to two points total for Ole Miss. GIGGITAH.

…hang in there?

Mark Richt is a dirty damned liar. Or the NCAA is full of terrible small men who make terrible small rules. (Our tipster suggests Kiffykins show up at graduation in Richt’s place. We could not agree with this plan more.)

A dodge worthy of that Wire headline. Is Nick Saban the next SEC coach ducking recruiting regulations? Eh. Maybe? We tire of these OOOOOH YOU IN TROUBLE NOW SON stories, and will default to Joel’s position:

Yeah, so did Nick Saban violate the “bump” rule when he obtained a commitment from Memphis wide receiver Keiwone Malone? It’s Saban. It’s Alabama. We’re Tennessee. So . . . OF COURSE HE DID!

There. We have a shortcut around this argument for the rest of the season. Onward.

Threet Matrix, we hardly knew ye. Steven “Embattled” Threet is making fast tracks out of Ann Arbor, surprising almost no one who saw him try and fit into RichRod’s schemes in ‘08. We will leave the analysis to Brian Cook, however, and instead devote our afternoon to mourning the demise of our trusty stash of “Threet Level Midnight” jokes.

Because Hell does the damndest things to your merocrine glands, is his point. Former UW O-Line coach Dan Cozzetto, now of Arizona state, will return to Washington next season with the avowed mission of “toughing up the running game”.

Cozzetto did not return calls made to his office late Thursday. His voice mail greeting ends with the line: “Remember, Devils don’t sweat.”

That’s absolutely correct, sir. They glow. And if he can harangue linemen in Tempe out of sweating, notching a single win with the Huskies ought to be no problem at all.

Items We Require, Vol. XVII: We’re declaring the pool officially open: Which team will get photographic evidence of one of these suckers in action first? Easy odds say Miami, Fresno State, and so on, but smart money’s on Virginia, by virtue of there being nothing better to do. ]]> http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/2009/02/17/curious-index-2172009/feed/ 12 http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/2009/01/13/eyewitnesses-corroborate-drunkenness-can-lead-to-bad-things/ http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/2009/01/13/eyewitnesses-corroborate-drunkenness-can-lead-to-bad-things/#comments Tue, 13 Jan 2009 17:56:14 +0000 Orson Swindle http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/?p=8511 We have an anonymous account of the poor, wretched sorority girl who beshat herself at the national title game, and we found it intriguing both for its clinical description of the situation, its veracity, and its sympathy for the poor girl involved–whose picture may no longer appear on Georgia Sports, but whose image is still burned into our forebrain.

Our own commentary is interlaced in between the italicized account. Remember: drinking is an adventure. Some adventures end with you holding the Crystal Skull and riding into the sunset on horseback victorious. Some adventures end with you hopeless and broken on the rocks with vultures pecking at your insides while you look on in mute horror. (See: Carrion Death, one of the most unintentionally funny Tales from the Crypt episodes ever. Kyle Maclachlan can act!)

Image result one for “alcoholic adventures,” and a much kinder image that the one we could have used here.

The account:

My buddies and I were tailgating when one of us noticed this girl popping a squat and peeing — or so we thought. The worst thing about it? She was 15 feet from two toilets.

We will state for the record that the toilet situation outside Dolphins Stadium was bad, but not abominable. TCOAN said the women’s toilets were overflowing, leaving us to believe most women did their business braced against the roof of the port-o-lets and bombing away from a high-altitude squat on the toilet paper holder and men’s urinal spout mounted on the wall. Doing this was not totally unreasonable. Continued…

We laughed at her, and when she was finished, she came over and tried talking to us. This did not go as she planned. Meanwhile, we have no idea she’s shit herself. So she’s standing there slurring some story about her
sorority sisters and being lost, when one of my buddies starts giggling like a girl and motions for me to look at the streak on her leg. She shat herself.

Of all the past tenses in the world, “shat” is without a doubt the most satisfactorily used. It just feels good to say it.

We all pulled away from her Demps-like. Even Rainey would’ve had none of this girl.

Meaning they pulled away from her at 4.2 speed. Impressive.

Then we looked at the spot and, sure enough, there were shits for about five feet — look at the picture, there are turds in the grass to her left. So she started shitting while she was walking! If she hadn’t gotten it all
over her leg, I would remark that this is a skill I’ve not mastered.

Good lord, that’s drunkenness cubed. We’ve done many things while drunk. We’ve wandered around a party completely naked and attempted to play a grand piano while hammered. We’ve urinated in full view of an entire Chinese neighborhood. We once ate three hot dogs and let someone punch us in the stomach (yielding explosive, horrifying results.) Never, though, never have we beshat ourselves while sailing with the Captain, roaming the woods with the Deer Hunter, or patrolling the soft grassy plains of Vodkaland. That is a level of drunkenness that, like the final, dark levels of Star Wars: Rogue Squadron, we will never play long enough to achieve. We’re caught somewhere between congratulations and condemnation.

But as she made a mess of it, she deserves credit only for the attempt.

Agreed. The Russian judge deducts all points, but the British judge does toss a few sympathy points your way, lady.

Vidal Hazelton, the former USC wide receiver from Staten Island, has been barred from talking to any Pac-10 teams and Notre Dame in his search for a new school, the Torrance Daily Breeze reported on Thursday.

Well, transferring to Idaho is still on the table.

Hazelton’s from Staten Island, NY, so declaring West Coast verboten likely isn’t that big a deal for someone wanting to transfer closer to home. That’s not the point: Hazelton should have the right to transfer wherever he can get an offer, and USC shouldn’t be allowed to hold him once he’s made the decision to transfer. The year penalty–or some variation thereof–makes sense to discourage transfers, but restricting where a player goes after the transfer makes not using the word “chattel” very, very difficult when talking about players’ relationship with schools in the NCAA.

In sum, it is a crappy situation. (Hey, at least Florida crapped itself in an individual case, as opposed to 22 players doing it all at once on the field at home against Alabama and in Jacksonville.)

He is clearly allergic to Brandon Spikes, but most football players on the offensive side of the ball share this medical condition. Now what we’ve found yet another way to express our undying love for Brandon Spikes, it might help you to know that the offensive lineman featured in that video, Andre Smith, is an All-American pedigreed badass who eats whole pieces of chainlink fence for snacks and has anchored the left tackle spot for Bama since he was a freshman.

He is also suspended for the bowl game for unspecified violations of team rules. No ideA, aGain, whEther aNyone will geT to the bottom of why, but we’re sure some anonymous internet rumor will suffice for truth in the meantime.

(Also: the Papa Johns.com Occluded Artery StrokeFeed Bowl just got off to a crazygonuts start with a fake FG for a Rutgers TD and then a missed XP. Keep Shaun King away from the breadsticks; his jowls are getting to be positively Swindle-sized.)

Hey! That was…um…fun?

That said: if you have any illusions that the SEC is in a down cycle from stem to stern, here is further proof. Troy Had LSU down 31-10 going into the fourth quarter, a fourth quarter where LSU had to pull off the mathematically improbable feat of scoring 30 points in 15 minutes to win. Feat accomplished, but not before 45 minutes of football that had LSU fans dropping oaths like “Curly Hallman,” “Gerry Dinardo,” and “Mike Goddamn Archer.”

Add in Georgia’s struggles against the blip-bloop-ERROR UNIVAC offense of Auburn–the one run at random by feeding punch cards into a 1954 computer located in the bowels of Jordan-Hare Stadium–and the continued mediocrity of South Carolina, Arkansas’s year one transition hiccups with Arkansas…it all accrues into the somewhat heretical notion that the SEC is weak this year as a conference.

LSU makes the most baffling case, one likely attributable to HR issues in Baton Rouge. HR questions the decision to not bring in one defensive coordinator to rule them all, instead splitting the responsibilities between Doug Mallory and Bradley Dale Peveto. Sometimes this works–MattiStrong at Florida won a national title this way–and sometimes it doesn’t. By the numbers, they’re not bad, but filter for results against D-1 teams with a winning record things go pear-shaped: 40.2 points per game allowed, with twin fifty point tallies for Georgia and Florida.

Combine that with Jarrett Lee’s ability to score for both teams with equanimity, and the ESPN Insider blue ribbon preview of the Tigers proves to be surprisingly accurate if read in the negative on the “If”:

The foundation is strong, especially on both lines, and the talent at the skill positions is impressive. If the Tigers find and develop the right quarterbacks and cornerbacks, they’ll be hard to beat once again this season.

If is a dangerous and powerful word. It’s further proof, too, that the snarling SEC of 2007 that went 7-2 in bowl games is short a few thousand megawatts of power this year. Let’s not get into the inanity of trying to compare conference (he says, sipping sherry from a glass and pondering the daylilies,) but admit this much: it’s down in terms of overall performance in-conference, and that is as undeniable and clear as the look of bemused and shamed relief on Jarrett Lee’s face in that photo.

So I was running the Sweaty Wishbone with this Filipina in the back of her car the other day when I thought: this girl has got some fight in her! Just like the Arizona defense. They’re eighteenth in the nation in total defense, and if the vaunted USC defense doesn’t stop Willie Tuitama two weeks ago, we’re talking about them being the dominant unit in the Pac-10, not the Trojans. Whew! The way that girl threw it around I thought we were going to knock the buttery brown skins off those luscious adobo-powered love onions.

God, just thinking about that gets me sweaty and desperate. I’m gonna take care of this in the car where the bank teller can see it. Thank God the boys aren’t here.

PHINEAS! J.! HOGGFATHERRRRRRR!!!

Sorry, I just had to take care of that. I mean, what’s with the Pac-10? It’s a complete muddle, and even USC can’t seem to throw it down like they used to do. I was at a swingers’ party talking to a guy about it, and how we just couldn’t figure it out. He was a fat accountant named Stu, and while he was playing pink thermometer for Nancy–er, sorry, “Randy Rita”–he asked me, “Hey, ya think Dennis Erickson lost his touch?”

I thought about it. Maybe he has: just look at Erickson’s dismal in-conference record. The woman’s friend was busy with him while I kept myself in a holding pattern. “The Sun Devils are 1-4 in conference games this year. I mean, that’s just not gonna get it done at ASU!” He agreed with me. Then, ready to go, we hosed those ladies down like angry riot cops and went to the buffet.

(The kids are mine. Donald’s in the Navy because he can’t support them and they’re mine. I can’t help myself. Daisy was like a remora. Twice a day for seven years. Insatiable. Like a she-wolf in constant heat. Don’t judge me.)

I mean, Oregon State’s in line for the Rose Bowl: that’s right, Oregon State, the team that got killed by Penn State 45-14 on the road. I don’t want to downgrade what they’ve done, but that’s not exactly who you’d guess was in the catbird seat, now would ya?

You know what else I you wouldn’t guess? I’m having sex right now with my hairdresser. In drag.

We’re friends with benefits. I get free haircuts, and she gets nine inches of gratitude in multiple, rapid installments. I’ll be done in a second.

RUTHERFORD! B! HAAAAYYYES!!!!

Whew! Where was I? They do have Jacquizz Rodgers, who almost proves that size doesn’t matter. Almost, because it does, ladies. I’m thick like great steak and can use it to roll bread dough. Pants fear me. Sometimes I just drape towels on it not to brag, but because it’s useful. Call me. I’ll ruin you for other men. Ducks. Whatever.

Speaking of the Ducks: talk about perseverance in the face of a curse. They get down to their third stringer at qb and still make it 6-3? Way to make sausage out of shinola, Ducks? Doing the name proud. I used that pride to push through a difficult menage a trois the other night. I was on the ropes, but Chandra and Jessica had to tap out after I caught my fifth wind and put them into submission holds. Oh, yes. Duck is kosher, and still undefeated in the Cocktagon.

I’m sorry. Just one second. I have to finish pleasuring the maid. Ludmila, lift your leg, sweetie.

HERCULES! P.! BUTTERWOOOOOOORTH!!!

God, thats’s refreshing. How bout that Stanford? Jim Harbaugh, you’ve got them at 5-4 and looking at a bowl. That’s a great rebuild job, dude. Man, anyone can win this conference! Hey, you. Yes, you. Meet me in the back of the hangar in two minutes. I’ve got to pick up Mr. McD in fifteen minutes. I can have you barrel rolling in four. Let’s do the math together in two. Any landing’s a good landing, and judging from those support hose, you’ve had a few crashes in your day. I’ll bring you home in one piece, baby. Trust me.

Don’t forget about Cal? Anyone trust them to show up for two games in a row? Not this guy!

Please, people of Alabama: have mercy upon the endangered elephant. As we speak, you or one of your brethren is crouched in the bed of a safari truck, aiming a high-caliber weapon at the oblong skull of a bull elephant somewhere in the wilds of Africa.

Though you may be tempted to shoot it, sell its hide, and then immediately place its knee ligaments in a transplant cooler bound via air freight for Tuscaloosa, do not: Terrence Cody’s timing belt-sized MCL, sprained though it may be, requires no replacing, per ESPN reports:

Alabama coach Nick Saban is supposed to update Cody’s situation later today. He’s expected to miss the next week or two, but should be back in time for the LSU game on Nov. 8.

This is good news for the elephant, since you will not be taking the ligaments from its knee to put in Terrence Cody’s knee, a joint of similar size and load-bearing strength. This is also good news for Alabama, who have taken advantage of Cody’s mutant size to play a 4.5-3 defense and take the Tide to the fourth spot in rushing defense nationally. The Cody Effect was just as prominent in his absence Saturday: Hinton points out that Ole Miss scored on the drive Cody left the game and took five of the next six drives into Bama territory.

If you have already pulled the trigger and shot the elephant, however: give your guides ten percent, sell the meat as “jumbo buffalo” in the markets of Dar Es Salaam, and see our close personal friend Amir Massoud at the docks in Zanzibar for assistance with the rest of your “luggage.” He’s good people.

And then, after the jump, another hot piece of tail from the weekend.

…tiene tremendo CULO!

By hot, we mean temperature-wise. You could bake profiteroles in there. A whole pan of ‘em, we’d guess.

Sie sehen uns nicht. Sie chompen uns nicht.

CUTCLIFFE: Tell me, muse, of the storyteller who has been thrust to the edge of the world, both an infant and an ancient, and through him reveal everyman. I’m an old man with a broken voice, but the tale still rises from the depths, and the mouth, slightly opened, repeats it as clearly, as powerfully. A liturgy for which no one needs to be initiated to the meaning of words and sentences.

MAJORS: Are there still borders? More than ever! Every street has its borderline. Between each plot, there’s a strip of no-man’s-land disguised as a hedge or a ditch. Everyone carries his own state with him, and demands a toll when another wants to enter. The soul of today can only be conquered and governed by one who arrives at each small state with the password. So everyone migrates, and waves his one-man-state flag in all earthly directions.

FULMER: Sometimes I’m fed up with my spiritual existence. I’d like, at each step, each gust of wind, to be able to say “Now.” Now, and now, and no longer “forever” and “for eternity.”

MARTIN: To lie! Through one’s teeth. As you’re walking, to feel your bones moving along. At last to guess, instead of always knowing.
To be able, once in a while, to enthuse for evil. To draw all the demons of the earth from passers-by and to chase them out into the world.

MANNING: Stay alone! Let things happen! Keep serious! Do no more than look! Assemble, testify, preserve! Remain spirit! Keep your distance. Keep your word.

CROMPTON: Where are my heroes? Where are my own, the curious ones, the first, the original ones? Name me, muse, the immortal singer who, abandoned by those who listened to him, lost his voice. He who, from the angel of poetry that he was, became a poet, ignored or mocked outside on the threshold of no-man’s land.

Wait! I want to know everything.
You figure that out for yourself. That’s the fun of it.

The ads for Howard Schnellenberger’s Fortifying Rum for Gentlemen will be simpler: just a scorch mark on on the ground and a hole where a chump used to be. You’ll know it’s a Schnellenberger’s Fortifying Rum for Gentlemen ad from one sign: the smell of sex and Old Spice in the air.

2007: Recently unsealed medical records indicate that Patrick Cowan’s knee problems were an aggravation of a previous injury sustained while reenacting the mattress surfing scene from Disney’s Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement:

1991: Tommy Maddox sits out the entirety of spring practice after overturning a campus vending machine in an attempt to procure an extra can of Fresca.

1988: Troy Aikman is rushed to the hospital after ingesting a packet of silica gel he found in his new cleats, misses week of practice leading up to USC but recovers in time to take the field.

1984: Steve Bono undergoes season-ending surgery to his left foot after becoming entangled in a mall escalator.

1983: Rick Neuheisel is held out of the Arizona State game following a “Sun-In incident.”

1972: Mark Harmon misses four games with a sprained face.

1966: Gary Beban slices off entire left hand opening a can of pears, is held out of Rose Bowl.

1961: Billy Kilmer misses the College All-Star Game after dislocating his shoulder while removing tags from a new mattress.

1943: Records from this time period are spotty, indicating only that Bob Waterfield did not play in the first two games of the season due to “freckles”.

In all seriousness, for rills: This does suck, we’re in no way looking forward to playing a UCLA team that’s at anything less than full strength, because where’s the fun, and we wish a speedy and actual recovery to Olson and the rest of the Pac-10 QB casualties.

According to the Charleston Gazette, the Fulmer Cup scoreboard is due for a major correction in the case of Kendall Washington, the redshirt freshman wide receiver who broke, entered, and feloniously assaulted a man in putting the ‘Eers on top…for a hot minute, that is, since Washington wasn’t even on the team.

This was evidently a point of confusion for more than just your average sloppy blogger:

According to the story, “it’s unclear what this means for his football future at West Virginia University, where the 6-foot-2, 192-pound Washington was in the mix to be a receiver for the nationally ranked Mountaineers this season.”

Uh, not exactly. Yes, Washington was a member of the Mountaineer football team last season. He even caught a 4-yard touchdown pass in the spring game from backup QB Jarrett Brown.

There was additional confusion with the listed rosters for West Virginia, as well; Yahoo had him, then didn’t have him, Rivals didn’t have him, and so on into mediocre confusion, etcetera. Consider all of the points for Washington’s offense removed from WVU’s record, thus returning them to their prior total of nineteen points.

Additional revisions: Georgia’s Clint Boling had a DUI reduced to reckless driving, meaning his ability to convince the judge he was merely “operating a vehicle in a frisky fashion” and not “driving drunk” equals a reduction of one point for UGA. In response to emailers: Jeremy Lomax’s weapons charge has already been removed from the total, and should be correct. If not, we will penalize other teams for no good reason and even things up in the second half.

In his own words, we give you Marques Slocum, remixed in sonnet-ish form. Read, remember, and mourn.

got a fuck lion now come fuck wit me
i hope my wife know ima be man! fuck dat spider
I like 2 licky licky licky licky
My mom CARLA i think she da realest bitch alive

i dont give a fuck i just want 2 get on
sprint/nextel bitch! dey got da best phones

You’ll never take smack away from us, nor the glorious comedies it inspires.

Two, smack and smack-talkers off the field suck, and suck at what they do for the most part. A little convivial ribbing? Acceptable. A well-tuned jab and skillful riposte? Excellent. Bellowing in a parking lot at a total stranger? Well, legally that’s just assault, and if you’re going to do it, you may as well get the red-mist blood flowing and throw a drunken punch or two before you get pulled apart by your friends, who you’re lucky were there “or the Beast would have taken over, man, and I don’t want that to happen again.”

Three: Jim. (Four minutes of silence.) Rome.

Yeah, but fuck all that, cause the SMACK WAGON is comin’ your way, brah!

At each stop, the RV is giving away t-shirts and mini-footballs, meeting with student groups, distributing fliers, participating in radio promotions, attending university games and generating overall excitement. Garrity and other MSL staff, including former NFL All-Pro Chuck Muncie (a partner with MSL), are traveling with the RV.

“All of these schools are in it to win, so the competition is incredible,” says Garrity. “We expect it to become especially fierce as text votes begin coming in and the schools’ running tallies of tickets sold get posted.”

Text votes make me wanna fight like a brave! The promo is part of the Fox Sports/Big Ten Network’s Gridiron Bash, a series of college football kickoff concerts including:

–Fergie
–Maroon 5
–The Black Crowes
–Dwight Yoakam.

If you happen to be a college student longing to seduce your best friend’s mother, your train done come in, son. Five margaritas, a Fergie show, and two hours of sustained attention should be enough to convince her to play a little modern day Emma Bovary adventure with you.