Courage Wolf suggests you listen to EDSBS Live tonight and join us as we make chicken salad from the chicken shit that is week 12. 9:00 p.m. is when we put on what some people call a basketball hoop, and we call a cockring. Throw away the gum, chew the tin foil, listen here, chat there, and quit being such a pussy. Some call it cancer: we call it week 12, and it’s just something you haven’t ripped through yet.

Link to listen is here; link to chat is here. It is a balla convention with free admission, but you have to bring your own bottle. See you at 9:00 p.m. EST, Bravehearts.

Men! Lou Holtz, in case you have not noticed, has tremendous hands, albino tarantulas that flap at the end of his wrists like meaty windmills during the dialogue. Here is he stating that LSU has won “two national titles in the past ten years.” Lou Holtz, in addition to being ape-handed, is also bad at fractions.

Lou Holtz also insisted last night the Tim Tebow Towel is too small to properly shower with, a matter of personal opinion, since Dr. Lou likes to really luxuriate in his baths and then emerge, pink and pruny like a great, giant-handed infant, into the warm embrace of a fluffy bathrobe and towel whipped around his head lady-style. Actually, we’re imagining this right now, and he looks like our grandmother did padding around the kitchen in the morning. She’s dead now, but unlike Lou, she did not rely on steady injections of fetal bone marrow for survival.

Lou Holtz carries around a deck of cards. Of course he does. First, he does the whole deck as pushups depending on the card like the guys in Generation Kill. Keeps the manboobs perky and the ladies sweating. Second, he likes to hook rubes in backalley games of three-card-monte. You’re laughing until you saw the safe house it bought for him in Guadalajara, so don’t snicker, sonny boy. Third, he keeps the ace of spades for himself, because if you like to gamble, we tell you Lou’s your man, you win some, lose some, it’s all the same to him.

AND NOW CARDS RAIN FROM THE SKY. Thanks, dick. Someone’s got to pick those up now. Also, it’s a great idea to remind players just how badly a team beat you last year just prior to walking out. These men played you last year like grown professionals cockslapping a team of Pop Warner brats who just ran out of juiceboxes. In most states it would have qualified as a sex crime and an assault, but in Florida that’s considered foreplay. I’m sure that will change tomorrow. LET’S GO.

Sometimes it takes years to realize someone’s insanity. You know someone for years, interacting with them on a daily basis for months on end, and never suspect it until one day a third party says “You know she’s never forgiven you for not writing a thank you card.” And you think, “Really? For a Starbucks’ gift card for my birthday? The spoken thank you wasn’t enough?” Then, from that point on, you move around them like they’re seconds from stabbing you with the nearest sharpest implement, because their inner crazy has been unveiled in all its glory for you to see, and you can never sit in peace with them for longer than a careless instant ever again.

Some people hide it for years. Lou Holtz, unleashed in front of a camera in a hypothetical dramatic roleplaying situation, takes about 16 seconds to unveil his. In that sense he may be the most honest man on television. He can’t even hide the hideous bandaid he has on his gigantic index finger, the one he waggles at the camera when he really wants to make a point. The three gestures Lou Holtz relies on:

1. Finger-wag.

2. Double Karate Chop (hands six inches apart)

3. Arms Spread Wide for emphasis (aka the Fuck You I’m An Anteater Pose.)

Holtz finishes the segment by flubbing Les Miles’ “Have a Great Day” motto from his 2007 SEC Championship presser by saying “Have a nice day,” which only accentuates the loopy, insane charm of a Lou Holtz pep talk. He had to screw that up, almost as surely as he cut the tip of his index finger on a meat-cutter in his weekday job at a Deli Counter Worker at Kroger. You never know where your next meal is coming from, and that something Lou learned the hard way during the Boxer Rebellion. “Oh, those Koreans. Such passionate, easily riled people!”

Play me off for 6-8 weeks, Keyboard Cat.

No permanent or lasting damage, as the piece of angry, disunited bones in my back aren’t load bearing. They do hurt like I swallowed a plugged-in soldering gun, which is why I’m waking up in a few hours to dust off some more delicious, nutritious Percocet.

Thanks to all the well-wishers on Twitter and Facebook. (Our phone doesn’t work, as the iPhone battery died last night, too.) It’s pill and sleep time, and we’ll see what “we” feel like tomorrow.

Incidents, clarifications, and rank inaccuracies follow the board.

Ryan Mallett learns the Arkansas qb playbook. The Matt Jones one, to be specific. Ryan Mallett takes an epic mugshot in his arrest for public intoxication in Fayetteville this weekend, earns Arkansas two points on the Big Board, and gives Michigan fans further reason to crow that losing the blue-chip wunderkind was no real loss, after all, as he’s the kind of guy who will smirk but not outright smile during his mugshot. (The smile indicates you’re just insane; the smirk implies ’smug.’) Bobby Petrino responded by interviewing for the Saskatchewan Rough Riders’ head coaching position. (Score equals one point for public intox, and one bonus point for the mugshot mugging.)

I thought those Shirley Temples tasted odd. Shaun Prater could have given Iowa a mere two points for an OWI on Sunday, but he insisted on chatting with policemen, and chatting with policemen means they start writing the stupid things you’re saying down, and then they end up on the internet for all to see. (There’s a cheaper way of doing this, and it’s called blogging.) When Prater blew a .134, he responded with this perfectly understandable explanation:

Prater told police his bartender “must have put alcohol in his Coca-Cola,” the report said.

That earns him a bonus point for style, and gives Iowa a grand total of three points in the Fulmer Cup. It also marks another sign that the cosmos is working on fresh batteries, as a Fulmer Cup without Iowa is like an orgy without the sad fat guy in the corner that no one will so much as fondle.

Buck-high. Two Ohio State linemen get nabbed with “drug paraphernalia” in their car, a tantalizing charge since we’d love to see the broad definition of what qualifies as “drug paraphernalia” in the eyes of Ohio State campus police: Visine, a reading list from an English major’s classes, a sleeveless t-shirt, or anything else subversive you’d like to go ahead and tell us you have in the car, hippie. Each count gets a point, giving Ohio State two points in the Fulmer Cup and insuring that Ohio State never gets on the board for anything but minor marijuana offenses in the contest for the third year running.

Nebraska won’t make the big board for this, but TE Ben Cotton was cited for having a piddling .085 BAC in a dorm this weekend. That is enough for a single point, not enough to make the board, and certainly more than enough to get at least one coach on his ass in an unholy manner in spring drills. His father, Barney Cotton, is the Cornhuskers’ current offensive line coach, and owner of a striking lipstripe .

USF: Even Our Film Guy Is Leavitt-Intense. USF’s film guy may be charged in an alleged scuffle with a student. No points awarded, but we point this out just to show that if you’re going to work for Jim Leavitt, you’ve got to be ready to strike at any moment at any time for any reason. (Perhaps a reason they’re having difficulty filling the defensive coordinator position: there are so few DCs with cross-disciplinary experience in Muay Thai, Jiu-Jitsu, and Greco-Roman wrestling.)

ALL HAIL MIGHTY CATLAB. Your obeisance is required by penalty of death, but is still appreciated.