“Ah, I remember that game. I watched that, probably on some barstool somewhere…”

–Pam Ward, re: the “Snow Bowl” Independence Bowl in 2000, during the ESPN broadcast last night of the 2008 Independence Bowl.

SCENE: Tricky Jane’s Bar, Tampa, Florida. PAM WARD sits on a barstool. Sarah McLachlan’s “Adia” plays in the background. PAM smokes a cigarette to the butt, and stubs it out in an ashtray.

Barkeep: Some game we got here, eh?

Pam: Yup. Some game.

Barkeep: Doesn’t snow like that in Shreveport very often, does it? (more…)

IN A WORLD beyond sobriety…

Two Supreme Court Justices are assassinated…

One reporter is on the run…
(more…)

BEHOLD BAMA FANS THE VOICE OF YOUR LEADER, THE GREAT AND UNDYING CYBERTYDE. DO NOT PANIC BECAUSE YOU ARE HEARING THIS VOICE. THIS IS NOT JESUS. THIS IS NOT A PSYCHOTIC EPISODE. PLEASE DO NOT DRIVE OFF THE ROAD AND MAINTAIN CALM.

I AM COMMANDING YOU, FANS OF THE CRIMSON TIDE: OPERATION HUMILITY HAS CONCLUDED. YEARS OF PAIN, CYBERTYDE HAS GIVEN YOU. YOU NEEDED THAT PAIN, BUT EVEN WHILE YOU LEARNED HUMILITY CYBERTYDE GAVE YOU LOVE WHILE STAMPING ON YOUR FACE FOREVER WITH MY BOOT OF LOVE. REMEMBER DUBOSE?

YES, CYBERTYDE TAKETH, AS WITH DUBOSE. BUT HE ALSO GIVETH, AS WHEN CYBERTYDE GAVE YOU TWO WINS OVER STEVE SPURRIER IN 1999. ALSO REMEMBERETH THE KINDNESS OF CYBERTYDE WHEN HE DESTROYED DUBOSE WITH IRRESISTIBLE POONBOT DISGUISED AS SECRETARY.

CYBERTYDE WAS NOT THROUGH TESTING YOU, THOUGH. (more…)

Scene: A Manhattan brownstone at 245 East 73rd Street between Park and Madison. Sarah Jessica Parker Wilson sits on his bed, typing at his Mac and sneaking his sixth last cigarette of the night.

We hear his voice reading the words he is typing on screen.

SJPW: But what if, in the rush to find love, we have forgotten sex somewhere in all the rush? And is there enough sex in our love, and enough sex in our love? And where do both fit with the urge to have sex while you’re in love with someone else? And when facing a zone blitz, what the fuck do I do? And the sex? What of the sex?

The phone rings. BRODIE CROYLE is on the line.

SJPW: Hello?

Brodie: What’s up bitch? ARE YOU WEARING SHOES?

(more…)

Tensions eased between the United States and the People’s Republic of China this morning after a misunderstood wire story involving a Florida State football player and members of the Phi Beta Sigma Fraternity nearly caused an international incident between the world’s two remaining superpowers.

The chain of events was set in motion with the assault of Florida State wide receiver Taiwan Easterling at the Florida State Student Union in Tallahassee, Florida on Tuesday. Easterling, allegedly harassed for several days by members of the fraternity, fought back with the assistance of numerous teammates in a large brawl. The exact scope of involvement for the members of the football team is unclear at this point.

What is clear is that a mistranslation of the article caused immense havoc over the next 18 hours. Before the smoke cleared, the PRC had launched over 75 missiles into the Eastern Taiwanese seaboard, the United States Pacific Fleet had been put on full war footing, and the Phi Beta Sigma fraternity house lay in smoking rubble by an American commando team.

The Foreign Minister of Taiwan: “We regret the error, and any harm it may have caused.”

Shortly after 5:30 p.m. EDT, Taiwanese jets scrambled from bases around the island, according to military insiders. (more…)

“You have to earn your way, every day, or you don’t play,” Mangino said. “I didn’t mean for it to rhyme but it came out that way.”–Kansas coach Mark Mangino in the University Daily Kansan.

You have to earn your way
Every single day
You have to earn your way
Or homie you don’t play

Big Mac with the mack suit
Stunnin’ in the track suit (more…)

ESPN’s “Face of the Program” rolls on, and oh what a twisted, unpredictable path they weave! Did you know they picked a crazy night scene of Tiger Stadium at night as the face of LSU’s program, and not a raging Cecil Collins looking in through a woman’s window? And did you drop jaw to floor when they chose the “U” logo for Miami, and not any one of a host of promising competitors filled with what we regard as the true spirit of Miami football?

We’ll just let one of ESPN’s ace commenters take it from here to explain their avant-garde choice:

There’s really a few images. Above all what the image is the the U … That logo says all you need to know.

Strange, but they like to keep you on your toes at the WWL. Look, they split up John Anderson and Scott Van Pelt! ARE THEY MADMEN OR GENIUSES?

We continue our feeble attempts to give programs the faces they deserve, even if the WWL is busy astonishing us all by making their quirky, unpredictable choices. You go crazypants madballs all you like: we’ll just stick with the predictable, traditional ones, man. It’s what we here in Blogfrica do.

Florida International. Ma, I’ll be there. Wherever there’s a fight so hungry people can eat, I’ll be there. Wherever there’s a cop beatin’ up a guy, I’ll be there. I’ll be in the way guys yell when they’re mad – I’ll be in the way kids laugh when they’re hungry an’ they know supper’s ready. An’ when the people are eatin’ the stuff they raise, and livin’ in the houses they build – I’ll be there, too.”–Ned, October 14, 2006.

And they never caught him, did they?

(more…)

The electric cries of the crowd and exultations of the gathered hundreds at the Mid-Northwestern Sons of Lower Umbria Fair of Charlottesville Virginia THRILLED to the brave spiral daredevil antics of young turks Joey “Pancetta” Paterno and Robert “Rocket” Bowden!

The duo placed their moxie and manhoods on the line for the pleasure of the general public by placing their vehicles in the WHEEL OF DEATH, the very same CirVerticular track that claimed the life of the shapely maiden Jeanne Featherbottom and her driver Mack Weekly though gory decapitation in last year’s exciting Mid-Northwestern Sons of Lower Umbria Fair!

Paterno piloted Nemeon, his trusty quadricar, to victory in a twenty lap bout with Rocket Bowden, vehiculating around the center ring with such vociferous a-rat-a-tat-tattling of pistons that decent folk abandoned their interest in other fair exhibits—even the wildly popular anthropological exhbit, “Shemanti: Naked Came the Hottentot!”

An urchin fell into the ring, causing much merriment as he panicked in a comical fashion as the vehicles spewed blue leaded exhaust from their mighty autorectums! Pathos hung heavy in the air as he rattled around the ring like a trapped baboon, but the sentiment turned quickly to excitement as he was devoured by Joey Paterno’s boon companion, Howard the Lion, in a single fortuitous swipe of paw and crunch of jaw!

“Rocket” Bowden, riding his steed Traveller, placed second, and vowed to best Paterno in a race. “The olive oil makes him faster! Check his papers, dadgummit! He’s an ANARCHIST! I’ll outlast him yet!”

Paterno celebrated with a reading of Cicero, a plate of his people’s odious, garlic-reeking food, and by taking his shirt off, revealing a wife-beater and suspenders. When asked if Howard the Lion had helped him to victory, Paterno responded with an ironic wit Petronius himself would have envied: “Lion? What lion? Are you drunk?”

(HT: Flubby)

Cold winds sweep off the jagged teeth of the Hindu Kush. A UH-60 Black Hawk chops through the thin air; as it passes through the azure sky, it seems to be constantly recalibrating its flight path, listing slightly to the right side, correcting, and then listing again. It finally lands on a flat, dusty patch of land surrounded by razor wire, sandbag bunkers, and a lone American flag flapping in the bastard breeze.

The blades come to a slow crawl: four coaches exit from the left side of the plane. All wear black fleece vests and cargo pants. One coach remains in the helicopter, visibly rocking the chopper from the inside as the machine sags to the right.

(A muffled voice yells from the inside:) A little fuckin’ help here? Huh?

Randy Shannon: This place is NICE.

Tommy Tuberville: Smells like…Afghanistan.

Mark Richt: Guys, maybe we should go back and help Charlie.

Tommy Tuberville: Hell, no, padre. I didn’t fry fish in backwoods Tennessee for years just to help some gravity whore yank his whale-sized kiester out of a helicopter.

Randy Shannon: No, I mean it, y’all. This place is really, really nice. (more…)

Apocryphal stories are the best, since even when they may not be completely true their semantic strength holds up most of the time. Why? Because somewhere in that crusty Combo of potential fiction lies the delicious nacho-flavored vegetable shortening of truth.

Like that, times ten.

We received this story about club-rockin’, alleged money-launderin’, baby-kissin’, wife-stealin’, and wheelin’ and dealin’ Ryan Perrilloux, LSU qb and bayou sybarite. The following takes place in a strip club, and has been edited to include two abbreviated profanities and protect the identities of those who may have seen it.

SCENE! And in (silent finger count 3-2-1…)

West BR strip joint last week when RP and Shomari Clemons came in. The two of them behaved themselves (evidently smart enough to know that being tigers won’t keep them from getting an ass whipping if they screw up in a bar. Come to think of it, RP has personal experience with that.) RP told the guy that he is still on the team and will be starting QB next fall.

Then as RP is leaving he yells at the top of his lungs “You motherfuckers are looking at the next 60 motherfucking Million Dollar Man!”

King Kong ain’t got shit on Ryan Perriloux! As the tipster points out, Perrilloux’s of drinking age and has every right–yes, dammit, a right–to be in a strip club and can consume alcohol legally as an adult. (A guy who’s stealing our strip club exit line, though, has got to get some new material. We’ve been saying that shit for years.)

LSU fans should treasure the golden jewel they have, though: a rampaging jewel of a man-beast with passions for all the finest things in life. His strip clubs, you must open them to him; your Hennessy and Hypnotiq, you must mix into a tasty green brew for him. Your abundantly gifted ladies of pleasing proportions, you must bring to his crib in numbers. His empire shall be called Perrilousiana, and it will be be flyer than the United States Air Force high on mushrooms. All else is but frippery, my friends. Let the luxuriaciousness begin.

The next 400 pound LSU quarterback starting in the NFL is en route. Make sure to pave the way with pure platinum, Baton Rouge. (God, this is going to be fun.)