A few observations on tailgating in Athens:

–Athens happens to be a bit more eclectic and hipster-friendly than most college football tailgates period. Pop open a cooler and you will see foofy craft beers. Open an ear and you will hear something other than lite-country and pop-hop, like the fantastic Commodores/Ministry/Run DMC combo we heard across from us in Tent City. Unlike many SEC burgs, football seems to pull in the townie crew in Athens. They refuse to wear the red pants sure, but they still show out in their own way.

–Everything across the board in the Classic City seems to be at a B-plus or B across the board. The food, while not up to the Roman Orgy standards of Baton Rouge, is excellent across the board. The gear, while not on the mobile dining room standards of the Grove or Alabama, is nevertheless acceptably extravagant. (Quoth Paul Westerdawg: “If you can put it on wheels, we’ll do it.) While they don’t splash out on alcohol quite like Florida fans do (and note that this is the only thing Florida fans really go balls-out on, the booze, booze, booze,) the brands are mid to top range and poured with a shamelessly liberal touch, especially the brown stuff.

Like a well-managed NFL salary cap team, Athens’ tailgating necessities are all economically chosen to maximize potential enjoyment, making the scene the king of no single category but the master of the total array. Across the board Dawg fans are the most well-rounded tailgaters we’ve seen, quick with a bottle opener, adept with rapid satellite television array setup, and just menacing enough when you reveal your status as an opposing fan to be amusing.

–Scenery. We’re not just talking about the lascivious kind, either. It’s a beautiful campus with splendid weather, pleasant architecture, and proximity to bars. Trees surround the stadium. Attractive people of both genders are everywhere, so it’s not just the one-sided gawkfest every SEC lady has been through when visiting a place like Alabama. It’s a hair thing, mostly. Ladies can stand a lot of things, but bad hair will throw a woman on the hunt off the scent of even the most majestic mantelope. Like we say in the video: at least Athens offers a lot of different kinds of bad haircuts for one to choose from. As for the women, they are stunning. That is all we can say without sounding like a creepy old bastard any more than we already do.

PS. Check out the Alphabetical comments for the best Cincy/Chick-Fil-A logo illo EVAR.

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I wanna stand with you on a mountain…

Decker takes his 758 yards receiving and 5 TDs full of wan brilliance with him, meaning the burden of being the foremost honky skill athlete falls predictably to running back Toby Gerhart, who even more predictably plays for Stanford, is majoring in management, and has a profile that does not mention any of the following words: “nimble,” “fast”, or “speed.” Toby, you’re our only hope now. Take strength as thousands of slow-footed but determined white athletes have before you: in the completely plausible Rocky 3 training montage’s final sprint sequence.

(HT: FOTP, who was on the very same track mid-stream with us here.)

#11 Ohio State @ Toledo

Holly: Aaron Opelt IS The Brave Little Toaster IN The Brave Little Toaster. The toast (sorry) of the MAC brings his flingin’ arm up against its first real defensive test of the year. Will the Buckeyes rebound from last week’s debacle when faced with a team that should by all rights be an easy target? Hayll, no. Toledo will cover that unconscionable 20.5 line at the very least, and in fact, let’s pick them to win outright, because they’re named “Rockets” and because if I picked against them, Toledo fans wouldn’t send me poorly veiled and spellchecked death threats. Got a long car trip this afteroon, and I’ll need the entertainment.

Can that guy play linebacker? (And does the Brave Little Toaster die at the end? I forget.

Tennessee @ #1 Florida

Orson: Brandon Spikes IS the County Assessor in DON’T EVER FUCK WITH THE COUNTY ASSESSOR BITCH. You know who’s been teeny eeny weeny mouse quiet? THE COUNTY ASSESSOR BITCH. Brandon Spikes hasn’t said anything all week, but his presence in shutting down the Tennessee run game will mean mo’ Crompton, and mo’ Crompton means mo’ interceptions, since he has thrown many more interceptions than one should as a college quarterback. The County Assessor will decide what real estate you can afford, Mr. Crompton. Considering your credit rating, it looks like you can afford nothing in the ZIP code of 32601.

Holly: Lane Kiffin IS Chuck Barris IN Confessions of a Dangerous Mind. Is any of it true? Who cares; we’re just here for the spectacle and the stories. Giant motherfucking catfish rains down the sky, Nick Reveiz racks up thirty tackles, Boo Berry breaks the NCAA career interception yardage record on the road in Gainesville and Tennessee returns to the Motherland victorious by a score of a billionteen to six. (What the hell were you expecting?)

#3 USC @ Washington

Holly: Steve Sarkisian IS Luke Skywalker IN A New Hope. Bratty early Luke who just wants to pick up some power converters. Yoda’s coming to YOUR swamp now, Sarky, and he likes your moves but you’re still Washington. Trojans, but a close enough game to send the Huskies to the locker room with the cuddly moral victory.

Orson: USC IS Martin Blank IN Gross Pointe Blank. It’s not me, says Pete Carroll, as he plugs three in the head of Washington at close range. Even friends get it if the name’s on the contract, Steve BLAM! /picksupdiscovermagazine /readsidly

Tulsa @ #12 Oklahoma

Todd Graham IS Patrick Bateman IN American Psycho . Up the coaching ladder no matter the cost, even if he had to stab people to get an incremental jump from Rice to Tulsa (the equivalent of strangling a co-worker for a promotion from assistant general manager to senior assistant general manager.) Now looking around and noticing the subtle bone-white of other people’s business cards, and sensing the sudden hollow cheapness of his world. I’m not saying he flexes in the mirror while filming his own sexual encounters. I’m saying he flexes in the mirror and screams “Yeah, Todd!” while filming his own sexual encounters. Two entirely different things. (This means Tulsa loses, btw.)

Holly: Bob Stoops IS Dana Marschz IN Hamlet 2. Completely and cheerfully divorced from reality. Look, it’s entirely beyond possible that I’m not coming back from this weekend alive, so let’s really live and call the upset here as well. Is it really an upset without Sam Bradford? Vegas seems to think so, setting the line at 17.5. Is that even going to be an issue with the departure of Gus Malzahn? What the hell, we’re about to find out. The Golden Hurricane (oooh, singular MLS-style name, edgy!) has torn up two previous (and bad) opponents by a combined score of 81-23. This is only slightly larger than Oklahoma’s last margin of victory at their previous meeting.

#19 Nebraska @ #13 Virginia Tech

Holly: Urban Meyer IS Rosie Perez IN Do The Right Thing. With a gun to my head and Diamonique Cold Meyer at the other end of it, I could not come up with a game I have less interest in watching than this one. Can I pick the West Virginia game instead? Because speaking of Malzahn, he’s about to bitchmake Bill Stewart at Auburn in primetime like the bitch Bill Stewart is.

Orson: Bo Pelini IS Alex Baldwin IN The Bear. The Bear’s antagonist–a bear–all too perfectly sums up what it’s like to play Virginia Tech, a huge, mean animal that, if you have one or two well-aimed bullets, can be killed nine times out of ten. Nebraska has a few of those in the form of an actual offense, something Virginia Tech continues to innovatively play football without. Close, as BEAMERBALL (TM) tends to be, but ultimately leaning towards the Cornhuskers.

Michigan State @ Notre Dame

Orson: Golden Tate IS Pele IN Victory. Notre Dame will go down early to the Spartans. Defeat will be in the air. Doom will tunnel up through the locker room at halftime and beckon the Irish to follow them to a season of bailing right nastily on Weis, but then everyone will remember that no one can cover Golden Tate, and that Charlie Weis should just go back to the four play “Toss-Draw-Deep ball-crossing pattern” offense they’ve been running since halfway through last year, and then it’s Dantonio Face time for the entire second half. Victoire! Victoire! Victoire! It will be just like the end of Victory, except for the raunchy sex with the locals, since that will get you kicked out of school if you do it in the wrong places in South Bend.

Holly: Tate Forcier IS Pete IN Pete’s Dragon, with a special guest appearance by Rich Rodriguez as HOLY SHIT A DRAGON. If we were even keeping track of our scores week to week, I would be logic-bound to take the Irish. We are not, and I am not, and though that one Domer troll has mysteriously disappeared since The Recent Unpleasantness, this is kind of a fun habit. Dantonio over Weis in a surl-off, and Spartans over Irish out of uncut Colombian spite. (I’m sorry, Harrison Smith. Forgive me, Golden Tate. It’s Hate Week, and it’s leaking everywhere.)

Navy @ Pitt

Holly: Dave Wannstedt IS David Spritz IN The Weather Man. Navy and Miami were my ‘09 BCS sleeper picks. The Baby ‘Canes are acquitting themselves quite nicely, but Navy took a heartbreaker of a haymaker early in Columbus before righting the ship against a not-awful Louisiana Tech team. And if anyone’s prepared to deliver a loss when he shouldn’t, it’s the Wannstache. Make it happen, Pitt Kitties.

Orson: Ken Niumatololo IS The Wolf IN Pulp Fiction. I have a mess, Ken. A huge one, since I’m now in week three of Wannstache Upset Alert, and have zero to show for it save for this tripled-down bet on Dave Wannstedt doing what comes naturally to him: blowing a game against inferior competition. I’ll make you coffee, whatever you need, man. Just clean up the dead bodies a suddenly consistent Pitt team keeps leaving in my car. Buffalo’s brains are all over the backseat.

Florida State @ #7 BYU

Bronco Mendenhall IS Kirk Douglas IN Spartacus. Running from the hills to terrorize an old empire wearing nothing but a spear and a jock strap. Okay, more than that, since these are Mormons, but remember two key plot points:

1. Spartacus rips Rome a new one, and

2. He ends up dead in the end.

But but but but BYU is a BCS buster and beat Oklahoma and THAT’S JUST WHAT COLLEGE FOOTBALL WOULD WANT YOU TO THINK. The patron god of this sport is Loki, and he’s telling you that mischief would be a tattered, tottering FSU team rolling into Provo and beating BYU. Mischief, he will have.

Holly: Bobby Bowden IS Theoden IN LOTR: The Two Towers. Not a whisper of an upset here. With a defense that’s as somnambulant as Bowden The Elder himself, and Max Hall in his third year flashing 325 passing yards, this will be over fast, but that doesn’t mean it’ll be pretty.

#23 Georgia @ Arkansas

Holly: Mark Richt IS Edmond IN Edmond. Which is more to be feared? Evil Richt with a chip-shouldered, something-to-prove team or Bobby Petrino leading a squad of indeterminate quality? Depends, are we playing football? Georgia, but not without a few scares.

Orson: Bobby Petrino AS Willard IN Willard Actually, I just wanted to imagine Petrino as the king of Rats. (No reason! We swear!) Remember what happens when SEC East teams go to the West? Horrible, terrible, unpredictable things, for the most part, especially against an improving Arkansas squad. Holly says “scares;” we say “hordes of rats devouring Joe Cox.” Arkansas gets its first big scalp in the Petrino era in a shootout.

Texas Tech @ #2 Texas

Holly: Will Muschamp IS Ben Wade IN 3:10 to Yuma. Say, did you know these two teams have a history? Because it seemed very important last night in the midst of an actual football game being played on television at that moment that concerned neither Texas nor Texas Tech that we know Texas Tech and Texas have met before! I wonder how that turned out? Anybody hear? I’ll take a jittery McCoy over an unfinished Potts, though if he hadn’t gone and shaved his beard this would be a treacherous pick.

Orson: Taylor Potts IS Hudson IN Aliens. You want some Texas defense! (Discharges 5 TDs in a noble loss.) HUH BITCH? (Fires seventy passes constantly throwing until the final whistle.) Oh, now you want some? (Scanning for open receivers, sees none, tries to buy time.) IS THAT ALL YOU GOT? (Fires off fifteen yard completion as he his eaten and killed by Sergio Kindle.)

Peter and ourselves, after long hiatuses due to work, putting together Maple Street Guides, building our own stunt biplanes with nothing more than materials scrounged from old car parts and lego kits, and the responsibilities of being two of America’s most in-demand male escorts, have decided to resurrect EDSBS Live. The short-notice test drive will occur tonight at 9:00 p.m. EDT, will consist of Peter and Orson clearing their throats, talking over each other, and giggling uncontrollably. In other words: a usual show of EDSBS Live.

Future installments will settle back in for their usual spot at Tuesday, 9:00 p.m. The listening widget and link will be posted here as the final post of the day. Hit the liquor store, because cocktail hour returns with a vengeance tonight.

NARRATOR (V/O): You’re watching “When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong.” Percy Harvin was one of the most talented athletes in college football history: A five-foot, eleven-inch receiver out of Virginia Beach, he broke records as an all-purpose offensive player for the University of Florida, totaling 32 career touchdowns and helping to revolutionize the role of the wide receiver in the modern-day spread offense. He was drafted in the first round by the Minnesota Vikings and signed a five-year contract worth more than $14 million.

Scene: A classroom in a Florida high school. A dozen or so high-school football players are seated at the desks; PERCY HARVIN, flanked by the high-schoolers’ coaches as well as some of his own former coaches, stands behind a podium at the front of the room.

NARRATOR (V/O): Harvin had a speaking engagement at a high school in Florida to tell some potential Florida recruits about his time at the university and how it prepared him for the NFL, when one of the students asked him a fairly innocuous question.

STUDENT 1: So, like, I know the football program at Florida is one of the best in the nation, but what’s it like outside of football? Do they let you go off and have any fun?

NARRATOR (V/O): As one of Florida’s biggest stars, Harvin was used to making public appearances and giving pat, innocuous answers to the media about practice or upcoming games. As an NFL player no longer bound by the athletic department’s strict rules, however, he felt he had the freedom to talk more candidly about his time as a college student, particularly if it might help “sell” the university to an interested youngster. In other words, Harvin decided to “keep it real.”

HARVIN: Oh, hell, man, Gainesville is a blast. Let me tell you something, brother, high as the football program is ridin’ these days, people on campus know you play ball, you are the king. There ain’t nothing you can’t do down there: Go to bars, go clubbin’ until four in the morning, and the girls — good lord. They jump on you the minute you walk in the door, I mean, if you wake up in the morning and you got less than six girls in your bedroom, you weren’t even trying, son.

FLORIDA COACH (hurriedly): Yes, well, there’s time for socializing and everything, but the strongest bonds you make as a Gator are with your teammates, wouldn’t you say, Percy?

HARVIN: Oh, no doubt. Me and the guys, if we didn’t go out we’d just sit up in someone’s apartment, firing up jays and drinking and playing XBox — man, have you ever played 2K9 on weed? It’s hilarious! Me and Brandon Spikes were going up against each other one night, and he was acting the fool and –

STUDENT 2: They let you smoke weed?

FLORIDA COACH: Oh, no, no, that’s not a –

HARVIN: Let me? Man, they can tell you not to do it, but when it comes right down to it, what are they gonna do, babysit us every second we ain’t at practice? I mean, yeah, there was that one coach who barked at me because I was late to practice and showed up all bloodshot and everything, and I guess I kind of went off and choked him and whatnot, but it wasn’t like anybody was gonna let that get out. Trust me, you keep bringing home those SEC trophies, they’ll take care of you.

STUDENT 3: Can we go back to the girls for a second? Which sororities on campus are the biggest sluts?

HARVIN: Now y’all got your heads in the right place. Check this out: Me and Chris Rainey were driving down the street one afternoon and we saw all the AOPi pledges standing out in front of the house waiting on something, so he leans out the window and yells, “I haven’t seen that many white girls in one place since my . . . ”

FLORIDA COACH: OK, OK, thanks, guys! Thanks for coming . . .

NARRATOR (V/O): After being de-scheduled from Florida’s remaining recruiting visits, Harvin is back in sunny Minnesota, gearing up for his rookie NFL season with last year’s 25th-ranked passing offense. It doesn’t get any realer than the pros.

Scene: A quiet evening at Harvin’s condo. Outside, the weather is gray and drizzly. Harvin is on the phone with the Vikings’ offensive coordinator.

HARVIN: Yeah, you put me in wherever you want, man. Between me taking those direct snaps and then Favre throwing to me on those deep routes, we gonna be in the end zone so much we’ll be payin’ rent, baby. Huh? (pause) He didn’t? He’s staying retired? But I thought he was talking to . . . (long pause) Well, hell, who’s our quarterback, then? (pause) “Tarvaris Jackson”? Who the fuck is that, one of the Jackson Five? (pause) Whatever, man, whatever. Call me back later. I got weekend plans to make.

Harvin hangs up, pulls out a joint, and lights it. He then dials a number on the telephone.

HARVIN: Fuck Minnesota, I’m calling my boys down in Gainesville to see what’s up. I gotta go someplace real.

NARRATOR: Percy Harvin: Once a college superstar, today an ominous reminder of when “Keeping It Real” goes wrong.

FADE TO BLACK

Todd Reesing, crushing it in the fifth quarter. If that’s your mom, we want to meet her and buy her as many margaritas as she’ll take. (HT: Bully For Old Mizzou, who has more pics over at their place.)

Hmm…what shall we pour into the Stadium Sipper? These two Bud Lights? This Montrachet 1978 Domaine de la Romanée-Conti? 20 shots of Jager? You’re right, Ed. The Montrachet don’t go with the stadium popcorn at all. Go with the Jager, and we’ll save the wine for the cold chicken fingers at the after-tailgate.

Holly suggested taking one seat filled with Jager Jameson and Irish Cream in, and one with Guinness, and then car bombing the entire section. That would work, you’d need ten for beer and one for Jager to make it work out correctly, and who’s going to do that when you could just have twenty stadium seats full of Jager?

Another idea we wanted to foist on security would be filling the stadium seat with something entirely non-beverage related, like delicious peppered sawmill gravy or a molecular gastronomy creation like liquefied marrow. Hand it out like shots at a game (preferably an insanely hot one,) and when security comes to throw you out, calmly explain that it’s not booze, but instead is tasty homemade gravy you’re sharing with the public for free out of the kindness of your heart. They might throw you out for just being cheeky, but you could say you were tossed out for handing out free hot gravy at a 90 degree football game, and that’s something you can tell your grandkids (to disturb them, and therefore leave creepy old you alone to watch your favorite show, McGillicuddy, or “An Elderly Paul Rudd Fights Young Criminals With the Assistance of a Sassy Rapping Cyborg.”

(All that said, the deluxe kit is 40 bucks, people. Pounce, consumer!)

Peter Beard, the real Most Interesting Man In the World, is your Patron Saint of Spicy Living this week. You have to read the whole 1996 article in Esquire to get an inkling of just how spicy a life he’s truly had, but this should give you a good taste:

The first day of my visit to Hog Ranch, Beard finally ambles out of his tent in early afternoon to begin the day. He is clad only in his usual kikoi, a colorful sarong-like loincloth. His torso is sinewy and nut-brown, with not an ounce of extra flesh, and he looks surprisingly fresh for someone who stayed out until five a.m. Apparently, after I begged off at two a.m. to get some sleep, Beard stopped in at the Carnivore, a local hangout whose menu features zebra and ostrich and crocodile as well as a diverse array of Nairobi night crawlers. It isn’t until the Ethiopian girls begin to wander out of his tent that I realize he didn’t come home alone.

As more girls appear, I finally ask, “How many of them are there?”

Beard shrugs. “Four or five.”

“Did they all sleep in your bed?”

Beard nods, grinning.

“Wasn’t it crowded?”

“We were very cozy.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“It’s such a waste, sleep,” he says dismissively. “You’re just lying there.”

He also survived being trampled by an elephant, is the heir to a dwindling fortune he has misspent extravagantly, and once held his breath for four minutes to win a dare with Aristotle Onassis. He also once had an awkward moment just to see what it felt like.

Drink.

Holly: The Log Flume. What’s in it? Doesn’t matter, as long as it’s blue. Take all the leftover alcohol in your bar, mix in pitcher, and add a splash of orange juice plus enough curacao to turn the liquid the color of the log flume water at Dollywood. I solemnly swear this is a real thing, and that looking at it is not nearly as traumatizing as consuming it, which itself pales in comparison to what follows.

Orson: Please bear in mind that any descriptions we type this week will be accompanied by the obfuscating haze of longing, since technically we are not supposed to have any alcohol while loaded on the heavy dose of painkillers currently coarsing through our system. (They go down so much easier with vodka.)

This week’s cocktail of choice is The Sidecar. Formerly reserved for choicer slices of the VFW crowd and select bridge parties, the old-man appeal of the Sidecar is only part of its Sansabelted charisma.

The Sidecar will educate you, as you did not know that there is both a French school of Sidecardom (equal parts Cognac/Brandy, Cointreau, and lemon juice) and an English school of manufacture (twice the ‘yak and brandy, natch.) It will wobble your senses in a particularly satisfying way, as the brown liquor/sugar combo tends to do, generating a rubbery drunk ideal for socializing and breaking delicate furniture in an entertaining manner. It will prove useful as a social tool, as it is not only a way to find refined company (those who actually know what the drink is,) but also helps when you’re out drinking with black dudes who are sticking to cognac for the evening, and don’t want to be the lameass white guy who begs off of the French Kerosene in favor of Miller 64.

It will also also give you a hangover leaving your brain feeling like a horde of locusts has taken up residence in your frontal lobes, so go easy. Vary if you like with the Balalaika, a mutation of the Sidecar done with vodka, for a slightly less evil hangover.

Comestibles.

Orson: Sriracha Hot Sauce. The best condiment in the universe. Think of it as Thai Tussin, a kind of fix-all wonder paste used to enliven eggs, soups, stir-fries, sandwiches, and to heal broken limbs. I’m rubbing some right now on my broken back, and expect to be squatting heavy in a matter of days.

Also serves as a quality industrial paint stripper, a painful but effective disinfectant and antibacterial, and a fine catalyst for pipe bombs when combined with enough fertilizer and a well-charged car battery. According to Wikipedia, this Tony Jaa of sauces is sometimes referred to as “cock sauce” by Americans because of the rooster on the label. According to Wikipedia, Tony Jaa is going to fly off a helicopter knee first and turn shitbags like these into piles of so much human pad thai.

Holly: Back to the barbecue well, but for a noble cause: to encourage the immediate patronizing of Territory BBQ & Records, which is exactly what it sounds like, which is a barbecue joint inside a record store. While this is the sort of endeavor that would not be out of place in Austin, it is entirely out of place here, and ought to be celebrated. (Also, you can get vinegar sauce here, none of that tomato-based swill.) Quoth the proprietor: “Eating barbecue out here breaks the bank. Everywhere you go it’s like fifty dollars, and then the potato salad is weird.” For breaking that cycle, and for serving Cheerwine, we offer him our thanks, and all our disposable income.

Combustibles.

Holly: In honor of the forthcoming holiday, and the grand American tradition of Blowing Shit Up Rill Purty, here is (allegedly) the last 24-inch firework shell in the States, doing what it do:

Orson: Danger, danger: high voltage in Nevada.

Texas will have eight of those mounted on the top of the Godzillatron in six months time if that state has not turned into a bunch of long-haired weenie-kissin commies.

Transit.

Orson: The Volkswagen Thing.

The doors come off, the windshield folds down, and in the event of an accident the composite parts of the VW 181 would fly off in all directions, generating a hellish whirlwind of flying angular metal sure to decapitate nearby bystanders and anyone unlucky enough to actually sit inside this wheezing shitbox of an automobile. Naturally, I want three of them, each preloaded with confetti and explosives to make the final scene both festive and gory.

I saw one once with my attorney when I was in Florida. It was parked near a beach; the front side passenger’s seat had been turned around so they faced backwards, and the headrest practically sat on the windshield. The car had no roof, and was festooned with survivalist bumper stickers like “GO HARD OR GO HOME” and “OFF THE GRID, ON TRACK.”

My attorney asked: “Why is the passenger seat facing backwards?”

Me: “So you can stab someone and drive at the same time.”

Clearly the greatest vehicle ever designed, the “Thing” will be mine one fine day, and for one fine day only, because it is a total fucking deathtrap even before you throw in the bonus of VW’s complimentary flammable wiring.

Holly: Jeep Renegade, the scaled-up answer to Orson’s childhood Power Wheels longing at 110 mpg. In my misspent years of gainful employment, I made a lot of car commercials for television, web, and auto shows. Of all the freaky concept cars I ever worked on, and they were legion, I kept coming back to this one, and for the longest time I couldn’t figure out why:

…right.

Canon.

Holly: Danger Mouse. British cartoon running from 1981-1992 that was imported by Nickelodeon back in the days when that sort of thing was still possible, since released in entirety on DVD, and mercifully never remade. (You may recall his nemesis, Baron Silas von Greenback, from his guest appearances here and here.) Might have been better listed under “Combustibles”:

One of those shows you need to return to post-adolescence to pick up all the Bond and Dr. Who in-jokes you missed the first time around, and sure to engender a lifelong fixation on shiny things that blow up in the minds of your more impressionably-aged offspring.

Orson: True Blood. Vampires, romance, whatever. True Blood is 12 episodes of non-stop fucking, drinking, drug abuse, violence, and more fucking from Alan Ball, who finally ditches all of the morbid American Beauty/Six Feet Under schtick to loosen up, have some fun, and set a show about depravity and animal behavior in the middle of a perfect environment for said behavior: rural Louisiana. Sense be damned: every time I turn around on this show someone’s drunk and hitting someone with a bottle, getting bitten in gory, close-up fashion by a vampire, having violent trashy sex, screaming at someone, staking someone through the heart, or making guffaw-worthy puns only excused by whatever dramatic act of sex or violence immediately follows it.

A worthy trashy addition to the canon if only for the scene where two characters, fucking violently in the open, are caught, covered in a pile of trash thrown by an angry woman, and then continue fucking in the pile of garbage without a blink. If there weren’t so many vampires in the series, I’d be convinced it was a documentary. (Note: “so many.” If there were only one or two, it would be indistinguishable from the actual Louisiana.)

Las Vegas. 10:17 a.m., yesterday.

Cooler: You, uh…need me to go over there, boss?

Pitboss: I dunno. I kind of want to see if he can keep going at this pace. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Cooler: He’s a machine. Barkley passed out an hour ago.

Pitboss: Yeah. We woke him up with a cognac enema. That always perks him up.

Cooler: I’ll head over there if you want–

Pitboss: Nah. You don’t stand in the way of a storm like this.

Stunning Floozy 1: Daddy, you want me to blow on the dice?

Tressel: Oh, yeah baby. Whore germs got me this pile of chips, and they’ll make it bigger.

Stunning Floozy 1: You’re mean!

Tressel: Roll them bones, baby, and we’ll see what else gets bigger.

She rolls the dice.

Dealer: Another seven! I’ve never seen anything like this!

Waitress: Need something from the bar, sir?

Tressel: Another Panty-dropper, please.

Waitress; But that’s your 38th, sir.

Tressel: Do you see my panties on the floor?

Waitress: No.

Tressel: Then keep bringing ‘em. Then we’ll see what we can do about yours.

To be continued.

Also, don’t believe what you hear: there’s all the sex you can handle in the Champagne room. Just register, login, and WHAMMO. Sex. We promise. And now, the obligatory clip to accompany such an announcement.

It’s yours. Fuck it up, kids.

A slow week on the big board overall, presumably thanks to end-of-semester hecticness and a lack of spring-break style foolishness going on around the college world. We’d like to think this commanding lead in the Fulmer Cup standings means Missouri finally gets one shining moment all to itself. Unfortunately for them, Kansas fans have documented a number of shining moments in the history of Missouri athletics.

(HT: PeteJayhawk.)

If someone’s interested in putting this together for Florida State, we’d be thrilled kthxok?

We’re past the halfway point, meaning there’s good news: you’re more than halfway to next college football season. We’ll wait for you.

Okay, now that you’ve kicked the front out of your desk in excitement, deep breaths. We still have a long summer to go, meaning we’ll give odds on upcoming crimes we’ll undoubtedly see over the next four months in the Cup.

30/1: Arson. A coveted charge for the collector, and usually one started not in a pyromaniacal way, either, but rather with fireworks, alcohol, and a moment of weakness when you let the Imp of the Perverse grab the wheel and steer. Leading suspect: Auburn. Middle of nowhere, drought conditions, and plenty of nuke-powerful fireworks to be had. When you see the smoke and a pickup truck fleeing a burning forest, you’ll know what happened.

17/1: Counterfeiting. As long as Ryan Perrilloux is in this cup, this bet stays on the board. Leading prospect: LSU. Because it’s Louisiana. More said would be wasted words.

6/1: FnDC. The classic, and one we haven’t seen much of as yet. Fightin’ ‘n Da Club is a summer hit just waiting to happen, and when it does, the points rack up fast and furious. Leading suspects: Miami or Florida. If Miami gets involved in a fight in public, they will win nine games this season. If not, they win five.

3/1: DUI. The trusty CD in Fulmer Cup investments. Leading suspects: Tennessee. If the Vols claw their way back into the race, it will come by falling out of a car in full sight of a dashboard camera. We blame the state: we’ve never lived in a place where DUI was more commonly accepted as something that “just happened” when you were young, much like acne or wearing a regrettable button-down patterned shirt.

Much, much more of her after the jump (NSFWish). Happy leering; see y’all Monday.