For lack of a better term, we’re calling this the “Kiffin Effect.” Pop quiz, hotshot: Coming off a 4-8 season and a 45-0 vivisectioning by your big in-state rival in which you netted all of 37 yards, what do you do? What do you do? Evidently, this:

Houston Nutt phoned in just now to say he has sucked it, as a matter of fact, and the Delicious Creamsicle of Immediate In-State Superiority was everything he thought it could be.

The pressure of being the preseason #1 for the Fulmer Cup must’ve gotten to them. I know all you EDSBS regulars have been waiting with bated breath for the first time I’d make a blatant plug for my dear Georgia Bulldogs, and here it is: For what feels like the first time since I was an naive, apple-cheeked freshman, the Dawgs have gone an entire offseason without a single player getting arrested. One hundred law-abiding cocktails to all of you, gentlemen! By contrast, the Dawgs’ season-opening opponent, Oklahoma State, won’t be suspending two offensive players arrested for pot possession in June. Note to Mike Gundy: If you’re going up against Georgia and you’re the one that looks slack on player discipline, there may be a problem. Unfortunately for the Dawgs, that righteous indignation plus two bucks will get Willie Martinez a grande Pike Place roast at Starbucks.

Your “Suddenly My Problems Seem Pretty Minor” moment of the day. The Tulsa World profiles Tulsa QB G.J. Kinne, whose dad, a high-school coach in Texas, was shot to death by the angry parent of a player four years ago. By contrast, I’ve spent most of the past 24 hours raging at having shattered the screen on my iPhone, and officially consider myself humbled.

We have met the enemy, and he is Tony Franklin. I mean us. We knew the Auburn coaching staff was a wee bit divided during last year’s 5-7 debacle, but evidently so were the players. Why was that, you think?

“The offense had their problems and some guys started hanging their heads – just stuff of that sort,” said defensive end Antonio Coleman. “That led to a 5-7 season. It was just the little things that led to seven losses. Coach Chizik came in and corrected that; and all the guys have their heads up.”

Yeah, it was just the little things — you know, division, not having any semblance of an offense, that sort of thing. You drop off by a few hundred yards here and there, pretty soon you’re going 5-7. It happens.

Hasn’t Detroit suffered enough? With the cash-strapped Big Three automakers pulling their sponsorship of the Motor City Bowl, Little Caesar’s Pizza may be stepping into the void, meaning “We’re gonna probably be known as the Little Caesar’s Pizza, Pizza Bowl,” according to bowl co-founder George Perles. As a Birmingham resident and much-put-upon supporter of the Papajohns.com Bowl, I have but one thing to say: YOU BASTARDS. Can’t you just let us have this?!?

It beat out other mottos including “Bereft,” “Unfulfilled,” and “Empty-Feeling.” Ole Miss’s team motto going into 2009: “Unsatisfied,” taking a commanding lead in the Most Depressing Team Motto of All Time competition. Tip: If it sounds like something you’d circle on a restaurant comment card after a particularly disappointing meal, it probably shouldn’t be your team motto.

The anthem to which the Rebels will be charging into Vaught-Hemingway in ‘09.

Failure to plan means planning to fail. As for the Early Bird Award for Most Absurdly Diligent Scheduling, Oklahoma and Army have won that one in a runaway by agreeing on a home-and-home — in 2018 and 2020. Congratulations, Black Knights, on being the first D-IA program to earn a guaranteed loss in a season that won’t even begin for another nine years.

Now, you go back to doing something latently homoerotic, all right? We’ve already posted Still Life With Shirtless, Oiled Football Players and Lamborghini, the curious poster Tennessee is using to arouse . . . uh, interest in the 2009 season, or something; turns out there’s a “making of” video. Go click the link yourselves, pervs, we’re not posting that nonsense here.

File under “Up, Nowhere to Go But.” UCF offensive coordinator Charlie Taaffe is “pleased” with the improvement his team has shown heading into ‘09. Considering that the Golden Knights finished 120th out of 120 in DI-A in both total yardage and first downs, the fact that there has been improvement at all is probably reasonable grounds for pleased-ness.

Twelve-pack? Better go ahead and make that a case. Scott Wolf compiles every single college football game that will be on TV opening weekend. If you can look at this and not devise a way to remain laid out on your coach from noon straight through midnight on September 5, you’re not really trying.

ACC official and game-speed-retardant Ron Cherry begs to differ, as he’s givin’ the business more effectively than ever:

Just fine with his swollen staff size: Ron Cherry.

Texas A&M @ #2 Texas

HOLLY, QUASI-RATIONAL: Sorry to make an afterthought of you, Agros, but the question here isn’t a Texas win or loss, but a Texas win blowout-y enough to maintain its eensy BCS lead over Oklahoma or not.  Still worried about the ‘Horns run game?  They can leave it at home, thanks to A&M’s very gracious (91st-ranked) pass defense.  Light ‘em up, Battle Cattle.

Grateful for: My veryown Daddy, for teaching me to recognize a 4-3 defense and how to grip a football before I had the training wheels off my first bike.

ORSON, DOING MACK BROWN TWO-STEP. If there is a crack, Mack Brown will be up between the sticky buttocks with a fierceness that will shock and astonish those who have never seen the politician in full attack mode. As much as we’d like Texas A&M to extend the dominion of Barlorath, the 5-headed visigoth spirit who rules the last three weeks of the season with a bloody sceptre and orders barked through a platinum megaphone, and disturb the Longhorns’ claim to a national title slot, the Longhorns are in resume mode. Snap to, Slothrop: them bombs is comin’ down hard and fast all day. The Aggies electoral map shows massive landslide for Senator Brown.

Grateful for: My dog, who holds down the couch with authority.

WFV @ #25 Pitt

HOLLY, WOOOOOOOOORATIONAL: VENGEANCE IS, Y’ALL!

This is the grudge match of the season, right’chere. “Pitty”Pat White will pad his QB rushing yards lead, couches will tremble, and the—wait, what? What do you mean, “Bill Stewart still works there”? Like, as a coach? Of the football team? Oh, man. Oh, they’re fucked.

Grateful for: Erik, JL, and their precious baby girl, my only family in California. (Even though they’re Penn State/Ohio State loyalists. Love knows no conference.)

ORSON, TOTALLY IRRATIONAL. Wannstache loses game they should have won: check. Wannstache should, by rule, demonstrate competence this week and win…unless the plan involves a counterintuitive collapse late, which with all this winning that’s been going on around Pittsburgh seems oddly logical.

Fighting this impulse: the Bill Stewart factor, which is like the Wannstache factor, but with worse clock management and a mustache. Take the Wannstache, because in the battle of which blind pilot’s landing this plane, we’ll take the guy who kind of looks like a swingin’ 70s Eastern Airlines air jockey.

Grateful for: The good people at TSN, who pay me to write about running and vomiting at the same time.

UCLA @ Arizona State

ORSON, QUASI-RATIONAL. Kevin Craft cannot throw a pass further than 7 yards down the field with accuracy; after the sticks, his passes might as well be paper airplanes. Arizona State puts their miserable season to an end with a satisfying final bullet against UCLA, who’s had it worse than poor Rudy Carpenter–and he’s the guy whose body is almost entirely made of spackle and bondo at this point.

Grateful for: Ole Miss beating Florida, which awakened some kind of latent awesome gene in them, thus turning them into world-beating ass barons this year.

HOLLY, IRRATIONAL: No one particularly understands how Rudy Carpenter is still alive (it would be foolish to discount the theory that he died in week 4 and it’s all being done with sticks and mirrors). Luckily for Rudy and any small children watching, while UCLA’s pass defense is quite serviceable, their sacks record is not.

Grateful for: The Edison, my personal mothership and the creepsome-freak-happiest place on earth.

#22 Georgia Tech @ #11 Georgia

HOLLY, QUASI-RATIONAL: After their oddly inept showings against Florida and Kentucky, I’m all kinds of done predicting Georgia will step up, particularly against GT’s stealthily excellent rushers (fourth in the country. Fourth!).  The Dawgs will prevail, but only because they have to, and I don’t see them doing so in a particularly skillful fashion.   You’re better than this, Georgia.  Act like it.

Grateful for: Gymnastics blooper videos.

ORSON, QUASI-RATIONAL. We’re actually thinking one of Georgia’s best quantities–Rennie Curran–could be a total liability in this game, as he’s so fast and aggressive that Tech’s three-card-monte option game could have him running past plays in pursuit of men who no longer have the ball. The other worry for Georgia: Tech’s defensive line, a truly heinous unit that turned a bad Miami offense into slobbering zombies in under a quarter of work. 6′7″ Michael Johnson will bring back the sun when he decides to, young man. Georgia, but only because you have just a teensy bit more talent than Tech does on the scoring side of things.

Grateful for: My mother, who doesn’t flinch when I say motherfucker.

Auburn @ #2 Alabama

ORSON, QUASI-RATIONAL. Auburn’s offense.

Alabama, because rockets should go further than two feet, and as Georgia Tech’s offense has shown, having an antediluvian offense is no excuse for poor execution.

Grateful for: The city of Atlanta, the home of chicken-fried surrealism.

HOLLY, IRRATIONAL AND BOARDING UP WINDOWS: Alabama has the talent differential, the coaching acumen differential, and the totally bitchingest proprietary fabric pattern differential working in their favor. Auburn, though…Auburn’s on the side of the angels. We’ve been toying with this idea like a particularly spiteful ball of yarn for a couple weeks now, but admit it: Tide fans aside, you want to see Auburn notch that crucial sixth win in Tuscaloosa. You have to. It makes no sense to think that they will, mind…but it’s crazy not to want it.

Grateful for: The Sports Night 10th Anniversary box set.

#4 Florida @ #20 Florida State

ORSON, LITERIRRATIONAL: Urban Meyer in rivalry games has a special knack for channeling the seventh century B.C. poet Archilocus:

My one great talent lies in making
those who wrong me suffer horribly.

As far as the poetry on the other side goes:

As he is not half as eloquent as his classmate Archilocus, Bobby Bowden loses the battle of poetry and that of the gridiron, because simply by being the coach of his designated other, he must suffer the wrath of Meyer and his team of mach 5 Lilliputians. To the pain, Florida.

Grateful for: The Economist subscription my in-laws get me every year. It is the only thing standing between my brain it becoming a tasty gel-like substance served on toast points at parties.

HOLLY, LOSING INTEREST: Whatever video game the Gators have trapped the bulk of their competition in since, oh, September, they might want to ratchet up the difficulty level just to keep us interested.  Florida State will be of no help in this regard. Bring on Bama already.

Grateful for: Shark Week.

Baylor @ #7 Texas Tech

HOLLY, BAWWWWWWWWW LOOKIT: There are some bears that are not to be feared.

Grateful for: My mother, who while still not over last year’s post-Florida wagering “incident”, has at least stopped yelling about it every time anyone mentions The Internet. And for never telling my dad about it.

ORSON, WEARING BLACK SUIT. Look away. Nothing to see here. That screaming is a drill. No, wait, that’s screaming. Fire? No idea what you’re talking about. That’s merely swamp gas reflecting the glow of the full moon. Bodies? They’re just sleeping. If you could look into this light, please, you’ll soon understand that this wasn’t so much a game, but a release of great anger and pressure upon a hopelessly outmatched opponent [FLAAAAAAAAASH!]

Grateful for: LSUFreek, Holly, and Donnie, without whom this site would be infinitely poorer than it already is in every way.

Kentucky @ Tennessee

ORSON, QUASI-RATIONAL. We expect Randall Cobb to show his best game as a starter here, and to be unleashed hell in cleats next year. What the hell: Kentucky, because both teams are a push on defense and because Tennessee’s offense remains so horrendous its black cloud of suck is altering weather patterns in North Carolina.

Grateful for: Coffee.

HOLLY, RESIGNED: I don’t know. I really don’t know about this one. I can’t name a single genuine gamebreaker in blue and white, but will it matter? Also there’s this. Dammit, man, your name had “Claw” in it! We trusted you! More importantly, you could’ve had the greatest pantheon of nicknames in the history of college football, had you managed to, y’know, coordinate an offense. Oh, what might have been.

Grateful for: Eric “Jesus Football Christ” Berry, Britton “BAC” Colquitt, Nick “Tell ‘em, Nicky-Steve” Stephens, and all the rest of Tennessee’s once and future gamebreakers.  Heads up.

#23 Oregon @ #17 Oregon State

ORSON, IRRATIONAL. Even without Jacquizz Rodgers we trust Oregon State to win because they’ve stolen Tommy Tuberville’s close game mojo, cobbling together winning scores from one TD a game and a magic grab bag of safeties, field goals, defensive scores, and whatever else he can turn into points. The Coupon Team of the West Coast makes it three in a row over the Ducks for your improbable Pac-10 champions, the Oregon State Beavers. Beaver. Heh.

Grateful for: Someone giving me a copy of P.J. O’Rourke’s Holidays in Hell.

HOLLY, IRRATIONAL: Oregon State, for the sole reason that a USC-Penn State Rose Bowl would be the sleepiest bloodbath.

Grateful for: Herr Swindle, for giving me a very large platform upon which to call Tennessee AD Mike Hamilton a goatfucker with ever-increasing frequency and ardor, and for telling me, “Write whatever you want, whenever you want”, and meaning it.

#3 Oklahoma @ #12 Oklahoma State

HOLLY, TREPIDATIOUS: If Oklahoma plays like they’ve been proving they can, there’s not a whole lot Gundy & Friends will be able to do to stop them.  Fine. What we’re all really looking ahead to is the horrorshow scrum to follow as the Big XII South teams are reduced to BCS dependency to get them into their own conference title game. SEC East Ghost of Seasons Past (You Know, When We Were Good Too) nods knowingly and extends a sad fist bump. Courage, gents.

Grateful for: You lot.  No, really.  Yes, Bammer/Barner threadjackers, even you.  Especially you.  It’s like having a buncha them pet fish that fight, or a playroom full of toddlers that can drink and talk back, which is to say you are all unbridled joys, each in your own way.

LOKI, JUST BEIN’ LOKI. WOULD NOT IT BE A FUN IF YOU HAD DE SOONERS LOSE DIS GAME! JUST LIKE LOKI’S FINEST WORK, WHEN HE FOULED UP ALL SWEDES UNDERWEAR WITH THE POWDER MAKING THE UNSTOPPABLE ITCH! MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAA!!!!

UNFORTUNATELY THE LOKI IS BUSY FILMING CAMEO IN NEW WAYANS BROTHERS MOVIE “THAT ASS WHICH IS SO STANK,” THE TALE OF THE BROTHERS BORN WITH BLACK BODIES BUT WHITE ASSES WHO MUST HIDE THEIR SECRET IN ELABORATE AND THE FUNNIEST OF WAYS. OKLAHOMA STATE, WE SEEING YOU NEXT YEARS!!!

Grateful for: TCOAN, the greatest boss anyone could ask for. The beatings will continue until morale improves, and we’re fine with that as long as you use the rubber hose, and not the claw hammer. Unless we ask specifically for the claw hammer, that is.

Notre Dame @ Navy

HOLLY, QUASI-RATIONAL: Navy possesses what may be my favorite stat line in college football this year: 2nd in the country in rushing, 119th in passing. (Second favorite stat line: Jimmy Clausen’s 13 interceptions.) A Notre Dame defense that has been merely all right against that bitchcake schedule won’t contain Shun White and Eric Kettani both. Not for long, anyway.

ORSON, QUASI-RATIONAL: Ram Vela is still on the roster, meaning at any point he may fly into a horrified Jimmy Clausen and sack him for a drive-crippling loss. Navy has a winning record. Notre Dame is 1-16 in the Charlie Weis era against teams who have more wins than losses. Gravity pulls down. Girls with hats want attention. Zingers are an underappreciated snack food. A guy coughing repeatedly at a party though he has no apparent head cold is flatulent and covering up for it by theatrical hacking. We do not bet against immutable laws of nature, and a possession-killing offense like the Navy triple option means ND’s best weapon, Clausen and cast of receivers, spend too much time on the bench to get ND a road win.

#11 Ohio State @ Illinois

ORSON, TOTALLY IRRATIONAL. There’s a scene in The Office where Michael Scott comes to an annual meeting and, when asked where his numbers are, calmly presents them shortly after a co-worker goes down in flames when asked for his. Coach [REDACTED] lost to Western Michigan last week. The equation demands that Illinois win this game, because just when you are totally ready to write off the comically incompetent, they do something to support the notion of being merely inconsistent. (He has his numbers, and is happy to give them to you.)

HOLLY, QUASI-RATIONAL: Breathe regular, America. A two-loss Ohio State is no threat to our precious national title game. Which means you can enjoy them beating the living daylights out of Illinois. (Which they will. Wells, if not healed, is healed enough, and Pryor is going to be truly frightening in seasons to come, but for now, we can watch and point and snicker with impunity.)

Northwestern @ Michigan

HOLLY, IRRATIONAL: Allow me to summarize this matchup in easily digestible Around-the-Horn-steezy form. Northwestern: gritty, gutty, gutsy, plucky, spirited, spunky, tenacious, moxie, gumption. Michigan: eh. I kinda do wish they were better, so I could make more THREET LEVEL MIDNIGHT JOKES. They are not.

ORSON, IRRATIONAL: Michigan finishes strong because the universe demands that Rich Rodriguez begin to ascend while Bill Stewart stumbles to a finish. Tyrell Sutton being hurt is the actual impacting-type factor here, but citing mystical astronomical law is more fun that saying “GOOD RUNNER GUY WRIST HURT OWIE LOSE.”

#3 Texas @ Kansas

ORSON, QUASI-RATIONAL. Todd Reesing’s arm has kept Kansas in most game until late when the defense coughs up one too many scores and puts the offense into Sisyphean territory, heaving point after point of effort up a hill they cannot possibly conquer. We bet on further heroics for our new favorite existential hero, Dr. Reesing, who attends to the plague-stricken Kansas team though he sees no hope or cure because he cannot tolerate the thought of surrender, and that, mon ami, is enough in zees bitter vale of tears. (CAMUS FTW!!!)

HOLLY, QUASI-RATIONAL: Kansas has lost three of the last four. Here are points allowed by Kansas in those games: 45, 63, 45. Here is what Texas is really, really good at: Scoring points. They’ve racked up 40 or more points five times this season. Their lowest-scoring game? 28 points. Yes, it’s the Big XII, and yes, these numbers are to be expected—but Kansas doesn’t have the firepower to keep pace with this fully operational Longhorn battle station.

#10 Georgia @ Auburn

HOLLY, IRRATIONAL: Georgia has not fared so hotly against top-caliber SEC talent this season. Auburn is not that sort of team, though; even this snooze-button-abusing Dawg squad should dispatch them with ease. And they could use the tuneup—a suddenly sinister Georgia Tech is lurking in the finale slot. (In all honesty for just a second here—to be clear, we’re all pulling for the red and black this weekend in the name of Auburn getting its sixth win two weeks from now in the Iron Bowl, right? Right.)

ORSON, QUASI-RATIONAL. Auburn’s offense may be paralyzed with a neuromuscular disorder, but the right treatment may be a dose of Georgia’s extremely healing defense that is now handing out 38 points a game just because NO ONE WILL BEAT THEIR LOW LOW PRICES. Take the ten points of Auburn suckage off that sum, and you’re talking 28 points. Georgia can score that and will.

#25 South Carolina @ #4 Florida

ORSON, TOTALLY IRRATIONAL: KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL.

HOLLY, IRRATIONAL: It seems like the perfect trap game. Spurrier returns to the Swamp under cover of night, bringing a South Carolina team with a decent record. (It’s at 3:30, so barely dusk, really.–ed.) [Dramatic license. --ed.2] But this is not the OBC of yesteryear, and more importantly, this is not the Florida team of September. All the juju in the SEC won’t be enough to overcome the hordes of raw talent on the Gator sideline.

Cal @ Oregon State

HOLLY, IRRATIONAL AND BAFFLED: Webs within webs, y’all. Get a bead on either of these teams. I dare you. OSU has found its equilibrium nicely just in time for the balance of their conference schedule…after losing to Utah, a team whose relative worth we still cannot decipher. Cal trails by a game in conference play, hung in there in that weird USC game, but lost to Mike Stoops, which violates our Mike Stoops Loses Football Games EDSBS Law Of The Universe. I mean, the Beavers will win. I’m not saying they won’t. But I can’t shake the feeling that both these teams are just fucking with us.

ORSON, QUASI-RATIONAL. We bet on a Jeff Tedford team at the risk of giving up our footing and surrendering the fight in order to get a killing blow on a prediction. That is how one ends up in the icy lake. Oregon State and Jacquizz eke this out in what will be a low-scoring scrum of a game.

#16 UNC @ Maryland

ORSON, CHANNELING PASCAL. It is incomprehensible that the ACC should exist, and it is incomprehensible that it should not exist; such is the probabilistic agony of the ACC as the roulette wheel turns and more random moments terrify your overwhelmed and faithless mind. Maryland should lose this game. They will win. If the silence of these infinite spaces terrifies you, well…they should.

HOLLY, SCREAMINGLY IRRATIONAL DON’T YOU DARE JUDGE ME: Maryland will beat UNC so badly Tennessee will lose interest in acquiring Butch Davis as a head coach. They will do this because of all the nice things I have said about turtles this week. Don’t argue. This makes just as much sense as anything else Maryland has done all season.

Boston College @ #19 Florida State

HOLLY, SIMPLISTIC BUT RATIONAL: The ‘Noles have a run game now! Neat! BC is allowing the fewest rushing yards in the conference. Oooooooh! Yeah, it won’t matter. Florida State only loses to good-ish teams this year.

ORSON, CONTRARY TO CURRENT EVENTS. Boston College will play a Florida State team currently wincing from the public embarrassment of an on-campus brawl. You forget: schools in Florida who have people get arrested are called “good college football teams.” Florida State by default ACC score of 21-17.

#6 USC @ Stanford

ORSON, QUASI-RATIONAL. Watch Stanford blitz. It’s like watching us eat a bowl full of mixed nuts. Some people nibble at mixed nuts. We don’t; we hover over them using our hand as a scoop and devour until fine, expensive tropical oils begin to seep through our flesh. Exception: Brazil nuts. Fuck Brazil nuts. They taste like dirt and require a hammer to open. Stanford’s just like that, but with blitzes. Stanford covers with pressure, but still loses to a far superior USC team.

HOLLY, QUASI-RATIONAL: You could argue USC will know better than to let Stanford pull another upset stunt. But you could have said the same thing when the Trojans traveled to Corvallis. That defense, though…it’s first in the country for a reason. And that reason….is NUMBERS. YEAH. UP TOP, BRAH. [/rickreilly'd]

Steve Spurrier:…and…..ROLL!

Steven “The Snake” Garcia: You like that baby? Oh, yeah, let’s do this…

They begin their scene. Garcia gets into rhythm.

Garcia: YEAH! That’s right baby. Deep and down the middle. Cock! A-doodle! DOOOOOOOO—

Steven: —CUT! Okay, go in Chris.

Chris: But I’m not, you know…ready.

Spurrier: We gotta keep her guessin’! Get in there!

Steven: But I was just startin’ to get her cookin’, brah!

Spurrier: STEVEN! BENCH! NOW! Aaaaaaaaand…ROLL!

Chris: Maybe, you know, we could just cuddle, and then work up to things here…

Spurrier: CUT! TIME OUT!!! Chris, you gotta get in the game here. We’re switching you in to get them confused! She just looks bored. I want her to be guessing! You sit down now.

Chris: (shrugs shoulders, sits)

Spurrier: Garcia, you’re in!

Garcia: Fuck yeah, coach! Top Cock, ready to strut.

The scene resumes in thunderous fashion.

Garcia: Come on! Yeah! Coach, you want me to finish this cinnamon bun off with some frosting?

Spurrier: –AND CUT!!! Naw, that’s just what they’re expecting! I use two guys a scene. At least two.

Beecher: Me? What about me, coach? When do I get in?

Garcia: No way I’m doing a scene with him. There’s no telling where he’s gonna put it, man.

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!

Hi. You know who I am. This thumb’s for you, Colt McCoy, because you’re a champion who takes my breath away and turns in slow motion away from onrushing defenders bent on crushing you. You took the highway to the danger zone but took the exit toward Victory Lane, and for that I’m buzzing your tower and oiling myself up for a one-on-one volleyball game. You’re invited.

No more playing with the boys, Colt: just you and me, a Colt and a Maverick out in the field doing what animals do. I’m bringing this thumb. Let’s role play: this time, you be Sam Bradford, and I’ll be Brian Orakpo and Sergio Kindle.

This is your open thread for the afternoon. We don’t judge you, whatever you’d like to do with or to Colt McCoy and the rest of the magnificent Texas Longhorns, who played the finest game of the year thus far against the Oklahoma Sooners. Boom. Motherfucker.

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
Cash money got the honeys
On my personal jack-fruit

Four bills on the scale
Still sippin’ Champale
Trick bitches get crushed
Snort ‘em up like they fat rails

Might think we droppin’ retro
cause we rock the velour
Might think we frontin’ classy
‘Cause we rock the couture

But we street to the nines
Don’t be fooled by the shine
Chewin’ ass on the sideline
Like we was 0-9

The Marky M’s the lawya pimp who brought the fuckin’ gravy
The Marky M’s the one who’s givin’ all these ladies babies
The Marky M’s the one who’s breakin’ all the lawya’s beds
The Marky M’s the one who’s gettin’ all the crazy head

You can’t stop me, gump
Only hope to contain
You know I bring the mayo
Like I’m bringing the pain

So step fast, playa, them looks is deceivin’
Marky M made it on these streets with straight thievin’
Like Andre Berto, laywa I’ll have you bobbin’ and weavin’
Like epilepsy I’ll have ya straight fuckin’ seizin’

Like butter toast, I’ll spread you and burn you up
Like Sonic cheesecake bites, I’ll straight turn you up
Like my realtor, I’ll call ya and straight learn ya up
Like your daddy, I’ll pin ya, give ya straight buttercups

I’ll eat your hope, and then I’m gonna eat you
Gimme the club and I’ll eat your fuckin’ crew too
Get the party pumpin’, screamin’ Gasolina!
Let’s wreck some shit like we was Hurricane Katrina

Then we roll to the crib where I keep my cheese
Get you mayonnaised up and keep ya weak in the knees
Then we go to the tub and we hit them trees
Got enough for the hungry and we eager to please

In the morning you know ho go to go
Got to hit that film session with the cookie dough
KU don’t sleep, and we at it again
Marky M, thrill to kill, Jayhawkin’ again–WHAT!

[outro]

WOO!!! Can’t front on that, lawya

This has been the indomitable Marky M.

You lawyas best mix your mayonnaise and ketchup

Cause we bringin’ them spicy fries for that ass.

For the 785…I see ya…

Chase Daniel…batter-fried chump-ass pizza lawya…I see you, too.

Lawya Todd Reesing: respek…

We out…

We’re left a bit speechless. Provide your own commentary below for this retro pile party pic from Texas A&M. That coach in the background looks jacked that this is happening.

Handler Two: Man, she’s flipping me out right now.

Ralphie: Trample. Kill. Ram. Trample. Gore. Crush crush trample. Fear. Two legs everywhere. Trample them all. Desperate hunger for grass. Kill.

Handler Three: We’ve got to go in two.

Handler One: Look at her eyes. It’s just one pit of black surrounded by white fear. God, that’s unnerving.

Ralphie V: Hunger. All that grass. Must crush, then eat. Sun. Buffalo in heaven. Demand blood. Ram. Stomp. Run. Kick. Destroy two legs.

Hander Two: Where’s Trey? He’s supposed to be here. We can’t do this with just three handlers.

Handler Three: We ready to go?

Trey, Handler Four: Hey, guys, when are we—AAAIIIIGGGHHHHH

Handler one, hanging on for dear life: OH GOD HER EYES HAAAAIIIIIILLLLLP!

Ralphie: OPEN SPACE RUN KILL.

Handler Four: My insides feels leaky and warm…I can’t feel…my…hands…

Handler One: I CAN’T HOLD ON JESUS CHRIST WHY THE HELL DO WE HAVE A BUFFALO THEY DON’T LIKE LEASHES!!!!

Dan Hawkins: Well done, boys! That’s a division one football mascot!

Ralphie: Sun. Grass. Trampled. Yes. Suddenly tired. Hungry. Stop.

Handler One: MY SHOULDER! OH GOD MY SHOULDER!

Hawkins: Can we get her to skydive onto the field? And then trample someone? That would be EPIC.

(HT: Rashaan Salaam)

More worthy cheesecakery after the jump

Ly Jonaitis, Ms. Venezuela.

Ms. Mexico doingher Jessica Rabbit impression.

Although she falls outside of our current Cheesecake theme, Ms. Angola, Micaela Reis, deserves some love too.

But if Cheesecake isn’t your thing, and you prefer public humiliation, watch Ms. USA bust ass below:

How to Make Love to a Texas Longhorns Fan

Hello, darlin’.

I can tell by that special glint in your eye, that only appears once a year around the second week of October, that you’ve got two tickets to Texas-OU burnin’ a hole in your pocket, and you’re just itching to ask me to be your date for the weekend. I won’t sit in a guy’s SUV (with Ducks Unlimited sticker) for the three-hour drive to Dallas for just anyone, baby- you gotta put on your best burnt orange button down (bonus for pearl snaps), polish up your best belt buckle (not one of those icky big ones the cowboys wear- the pretentious kind with sterling silver shotgun shell caps, like the Texas Cowboys wear) and scuff up your oldest pair of Red Wings. I want you to go all out, like Roy Williams reaching for the end zone. You like it old school? Then I’m looking for a Priest Holmes level effort, sweetheart. (if you were looking for a Tyler Rose or James Street reference, my dear, you’re way too old for me.)

Looking for you to score like Priest Holmes.

Can I go ahead and request some Cory Morrow, Ragweed and Reckless Kelly for the drive? It’s mood music that will get me ready for our weekend of lovin’. I can’t wait to see the swank, $65 a night hotel you reserved for us for the weekend. Who am I kidding, baby, I know it’s a motel- the doors open to the outside of the building- but we’ll rock that pink carpeted, Ansel Adams prints on the wall, complimentary coffee breakfast joint like it’s the Driskill. We won’t be spending much time there anyway- all that matters is that it’s got a bed for bangin’ at night, and a toilet for pukin’ in the morning.

Your dance moves out in Deep Ellum on Friday night will be legendary- in fact, I’ll just call you VY. No, I don’t mind skipping dinner so we can get straight to drinking. The smell of Shiner on your breath, and spilled down the front of your shirt, is like musk to me. And I will love the way you randomly curse out Sooners on the streets, and get in 3 near-fights and one all-out brawl. You know I love it when you go all Stonie Clark on those land thieves, taking a stand and robbing them of their dignity.

No one robs Longhorns fans of their dignity…except Matthew McConoughey.

When it’s time for the game on Saturday, you know I’ll be in my cute heels and top and skirt, and you’ll be wearing the same sexy, sweaty, beer-stained clothes that you drove up in from Friday. That’s hot. No, really- it’s hot in the Cotton Bowl, so you’ll need to pull that flask out of your boot and get me liquored up. Nothing’s better than Maker’s that’s warmed up to a toasty 85 degrees thanks to the heat from your sexy body. What’s that? You pack two flasks, one in each boot? Honey, I can tell this is gonna be one hell of a weekend.

And when the Longhorns beat the hell outta OU (again), I’ll totally let you cop a cheap feel (or three) in the stands. You’ll deserve it, baby- you’ll have made it through 4 quarters (well, except for the first part of the 3rd, when you’ll puke in the trashcan up underneath the stadium)– and all without cussing out that little Sooner kid next to us. You’ll try to drive home (of course), until one of your friends take your keys away, and then you’ll cuss him out, and then you’ll make up and give a man-hug and sing a Willie Nelson song together while we’re walking the eighteen blocks back to your SUV, (parked in someone’s front yard in the sketchiest neighborhood in Dallas).

Lovin’, football: always on our minds.

I won’t even complain when three of your buddies and the chicks they picked up at the bar all crash on our floor. I just wanna kick it through the uprights with you, Phil Dawson style.

What: EDSBS LIVE online radio Click that or the banner thingy to your right to listen…if you want your brain exfoliated.

Where: At NowLive, where you can chat with each other and the show hosts throughout the broadcast in the online forum (which has gotten damn lively). To phone in to the show, just call (310) 984-7600. We’re having real, live RADIO PROFESSIONAL PAUL FINEBAUM ON TONIGHT, just because we want to feel bad about ourselves. (Low self-esteem = more drinkz0rz yay!)

What: Tonight’s special guest is…Paul Freakin’ Finebaum, Alabama journalistic provocateur and current Saban-watcher. We’ll ask him if he’s interviewed Saban and find out if the new coach has had time for that shit or not.

We’re also going to talk USC football, the other goliath under discussion tonight, with Scout.com’s beat writer Garry Paskwietz, who will tell us how Pete Carroll gets those kickin’ abs.

Finally, we’ll have BearMeat’s creators on, since we can’t talk megaprograms without discussing…Baylor.

Finebaum: currently diagramming your next five outrages at him, Alabama fans.

Four Questions: As always, our four questions for the night.

1. Big program you really think deserves the awe. Texas. Something about the power of livestock compels us.

2. Big program which has caused you the most personal anguish.

FSU. The lone consistent brown streak in the clean white undies of the 1990s Florida story. We say consistent to rule out that little 1996 Fiesta Bowl thing ouch bleed thanks for the pain, asshole.

3. Little program you wish was a big program? USF. They’re on the way, but Tampa trash gone college gonzo would be just epic.

4. Name an overrated hottie. Kirsten Dunst is a sunken chested lamprey-woman. Why Spider-Man goes to any lengths to save her mystifies us. Personally, we’d prefer to fight for Jean Grey (Famke Janssen) from X-Men, if only because she looks a little too excited when Wolverine assaults her in the first one.

The Ladies crew in conjunction with EDSBS have created the ultimate in playbook science: how to make love to a specific kind of sports fan. Since we’re all a little different, you need to know how to turn the corner on a toss sweep of a Volunteer fan’s panties, or turn a routine swipe of the bat into an inning-ending double play with a Red Sox fan. It’s knowledge the world needs, and we’re giving it to you cheap as free, internets dwellers.

The first installment? Our own unveiling of the intimate secrets of: HOW TO MAKE LOVE TO A FLORIDA FAN, written by EDSBS Senior Gator Copulation Tactics Correspondent Orson Swindle. Holly and Texas Gal’s guides on how to make love to Texas and Tennessee fans will follow. That’s actual women writing about sex, and not the “women” you chat with on AOL who turn out to be state troopers.

How to make love to a Florida fan. Start by being Good Chris Leak, not Evil Chris.

Again, how you lived without this we’ll never know. Warning: contains sexual language of such a frank and unbridled nature that it would make Trick Daddy blush.

HOW TO MAKE LOVE TO A FLORIDA FAN

Oh, Florida fan. You love scoring, and tonight I will hang fifty on you by halftime and have you begging for more. And that, Gator, will just be the start.

You cannot be prepared for fun, or the gun, that this bull gator is bringing to your wallow tonight. Both are unprecedentedly awesome. I can honestly say that you are not prepared. Like Fred Taylor, you will be perpetually injured after I freak you like I’m gonna. Like Chris Leak, you will go down in a beautiful crushed heap again and again. Like Steve Spurrier, I’m going deep on you tonight. Like Ohio State’s offensive line, you will be penetrated deeply, frequently, and completely.

And in the end, there will be no need for overtime, because you are about to be Swamped. Brace yourself, Gator fan.

I’m about to show you my Tim Tebow stiffarm without using my arms. Consider yourself warned.

The pants? Thigh-high jorts of the finest quality. I wear a shirt both tantalizing enough to tan my ripped, tattoed arms, but subtle enough to let you know that when I read the sign that says “No shirt, no shoes, no service,” I am a gentleman who can push the rules, but live among the brotherhood of men with a unique mix of panache and respect.

The shirt I am talking about is a sleeveless shirt with extra-wide vents. Because heat like this could kill a man if I don’t let some of it into the surrounding environment. It is a real danger–you will understand this when I take it off and extend a glass of fine Franzia to you, my sun-roasted flesh exuding the look of melanoma and pure raw male sexuality.

“Thunderstruck” by AC/DC will play in the background. I will pump my fists in the air and bang my head, and watching me rock you will want me so badly that you will shed your tube top and jean shorts and begin begging me to run the spread option on you without delay.

And I will, Gator fan. I will make you earn the Miller High Lifes we will consume in between bouts of love-making as intense as Urban Meyer mat drills. I will make you so hot that Sister Hazel will sound like pleasure to you afterwards because of the association of it with my Ol’ Ball Coach-like strategy and Urban Meyer-esque intensity in my lovemaking. That is just how talented I truly am, Gator fan: complete and utter sonic shit will sound like spun audio gold after I am through with you.

You will never smell Speed Stick Sport the same way again, or pass a Comfort Inn without thinking of the sweet, scaly humping you once received in one of their 2000 worldwide locations. The mere sight of the ice bucket and its lonely plastic wrapper will remind you of the pleasures we shared together while watching Bloodsport and banging babyblocks one exquisite Saturday night.

Oh, and we’ll do it in the butt, too–because we’re about the future at the University of Florida, and the ass is the pussy of the future. We totally have to do that. And you’ll like it, because I’ll be wearing my Oakleys and telling you to take it like a Bulldog in Jacksonville.

This is how sensual and loving I can be, Gator lady.

Room 214, Comfort Inn, Williston. I’ll be waiting. Just listen for the Molly Hatchet–because missing this opportunity would truly be flirting with disaster, baby.

Ciao,

Orson