Andrew Symonds, like most Australians, is awesome from birth and has the antivenom for seven major venomous snakes running through his veins naturally. He’s also a cricketer, meaning we should downgrade him from total badass to “merely tougher than we can possibly imagine ever being,” but alas, the evidence doesn’t lie: he may even be cooler than the average Aussie for his dispatch of a male streaker at the Aussies’ match against India.

Warning: this video contains male nudity. And by male nudity, we mean specific glimpses of the asscrack, testicles, the taint, a bit of flapping tackle and a brief and horrifying shot of the man’s actual butt-hole on the way down. (Yes, we looked.) If you don’t like male nudity, you should watch anyway, because this man gets hit harder by Symonds than anyone got hit by Florida’s secondary last season.

We love the reaction of the in-house crew to the announcement of a streaker: applause, cheers, streakers. That and the color guy suggesting that “That was the first tackle of the State of Origin match” make this at least the ninth-best thing we’ve seen in 2008 thus far.

Ron Paul: ’bout that bling.

Our guest columnist today is Presidential Candidate Ron “Dr. No-Huddle” Paul.

Thanks for having me here. I’m not sure who you are, what you want, or why I’m even here. In fact, I don’t know who I’m writing this to. Why do people send me letters? Why do people on the internet like me? I don’t know. Really, I don’t know. Someone picks me up from my house in the morning, takes me places, and I just start talking until someone claps. These are all things I don’t know. Where am I? Really, where am I?

What I do know about is freedom and 1970s standards of gynecology. That’s why I still believe in two things: the Dalkon Shield and the Constitution. Especially the Constitution. I may have had my hands in more vaginas than any other member of congress except for John Boehner, but at least I got paid for doing it, and not the other way around. Is that a joke? Why are you all laughing? I’m confused? Yes, I’m confused!

Hey, why’s my name on a blimp? A blimp? Really? I’m thrilled about the possibilities of dirigible travel. It’s one of my passions, but I’ll tell you this: you won’t see me telling you that the government should be involved in making blimps, unless they’re blimps equipped with machine guns to put up along the Mexican border, because it’s a well-known fact that Mexicans fear both guns and blimps. It’s natural law, just like the Constitution and the rules of Yahtzee.

Speaking of games that involve hitting your spouse: football. I’m here to talk about football? Really? Okay, I’ll talk about it. Ron Paul likes football, but doesn’t like a few things about football as it stands in America. (more…)

This Guinness commercial has been haunting our dreams. Who are these little men? Why do they die every time we drink a Guinness? What goes on in their souls? And why are they wearing helmets? We get inside on of their brains in this piece below. No, we’re not on cold medicine.)

I look so tough: the chin jutted forward, the helmet down. I don’t even know why we wear helmets: there’s the boom, the whoosh out of the cannons, and then the meaningless impact, chaos, and disintegration that is my life.

That may look like bravado. But it’s only looks. You see bravery. I see a hollow man rocketing toward the only destiny he’s ever known or ever will know: falling, gravity, and ultimately my demise in a mist of droplets of what used to be my soul. (more…)

We’re taking the fourth quarter off for a meeting that will, like an Auburn offense, hold the ball for much of the period. As an offering, accept totally unrelated Indian dancing with bizarre subtitling. (HT: Dave.)

Now poop on them Oliver!

We really wouldn’t want to hang out with most football players. As a fan, we’re necessarily put in the tension-filled position of being passionate about a sport whose participants would, on the whole, rather chew their own leg off than hang out with our ilk. (”Hey, wanna come over and watch the DVD of Big Love! It’s the one where Marge finally gets that job she’s been angling for! I’m sooooo happy for her!”)

Sprint/Nextel bitches.

Yet, we think we’ve met the first player we actually would love to hang with on a weekly basis: Michigan’s own Marques “Grand Marques” Slocum. His quiz on his facebook entry is reprinted below, and we don’t mean this in a snickering, elitist, or ironic way at all: Marques sounds fucking awesome. In fact, we’re calling our mom right now to tell her she’s the realest bitch alive. She’ll appreciate it, since she did say “motherfucker” live on the EDSBS radio show.

Sprint/Nextel, bitches. Enjoy.

(Begin edited interview. Questions in italics, answers in bold.)

What is your favorite song of all time?

Just another n***a- state property II

Do you own any pets, and if so what do you have?

Fuck lion say what!

i got a fuck lion now come fuck wit me

Who do you admire most?

My mom CARLA, dat bitch da shit, i love her i think she da realest bitch alive
(more…)

Since it is Friday (and the only interesting thing we can see going on is one piddly arrest for FSU for a dude with an ancient warrant), we’ll resort to LOLFutbawl to keep us amused.

The subject this week is Kenny Irons, who if you’ll recall from earlier this week, keeps a midget in his suitcase for erotic purposes.

Midgets. Oral sex. The Irons Brothers. Life writes its own jokes. We just put them on a tin platter and present them to you, because with ingredients like these, the chef can only stand in the way of such succulent flavors.

Hope that even with steady beta-testing and years’ worth of improvement that the NCAA franchise doesn’t lose its its glitches, the hiccups and oddities of programming that reward the gaming addict with little unintentional Easter Eggs of high-larity.

And please, please don’t lose the best glitch of all, one that should have been turned into a special unlockable character in Campus Legend Mode: the seven-inch tall linebacker.

We’re not sure what his name is, but one thing’s certain: if Ron Prince doesn’t stop calling us and asking us for the kid’s highlight tape, we’re changing our private number, bayyybeeeee. We’ve never seen a man with such a passion for midget running backs in our lives. And plus, as the YouTube clip makes clear, he’s obviously just a linebacker and special teams guy…albeit a hellacious one.

Feel, feel, feel my bandwidth: the Swindle Empire, all three square semantic feet of it, has expanded to AOL in the form of Das Fanhaus.

The Fanhaus is an excuse to do several things at once.

First, it’s our excuse to validate a degree in international affairs. Seriously, it hasn’t made us a dime yet, and it’s time to get some of that sweet student loan money back. Compound interest is a bitch, y’all, and she’s not getting any friendlier.

Second, we can post about international sports, which means we can literally post anything we want. Seriously: by definition, EVERYTHING is international sport. Even this:

The beast has beat the man! Suck it, little people!

And third, it’s an excuse to fulfill our dream of including a Youtube Clip with every single post and simultaneously write about some of the constant derangement of international sport we can’t really shoehorn into a college football blog. It won’t interfere with EDSBS, mostly because it’s stuff we’re reading about and IM’ing with friends about anyway. In that respect, it might actually improve our productivity, since we spend half the day chatting with Weo Tai and sending each other Mercenaries 2 preview and bike crash videos. Now we can just write about them and be done with it.

So stop on by. You have nothing to gain but lost productivity at work, proletarians!

That whole “this is sparta” business?

Um, we retract. Welcome back, Billy. Didn’t mean to kick you down the well just yet.

Have a great weekend!

Leave it to the Germans to show us how to really get a drunk on.

We checked the calendar to see if we’d been Sid-Finched: nope, it’s April 25th. Checked the byline: that’s the Times, all right, and not terribly prone to making things up under Lee Jenkins’ byline. Evidently the whole story on Walter Thomas, dark horse draft pick for 2007, is real and verified fact.

And barring some spectacular photoshopping, this shot of Shamu doing a backflip is real, too.

And Sea World applauds!

If you’ve ever wondered what all those pesky academic and behavioral regs surrounding college football prevent you, the college football fan, from seeing, Walter Thomas provides an extreme example of just that. Booted from Oklahoma State for a sprained cerebrum after a year (Sooners fans, wait a moment for the guffaws to settle,) Thomas settled at Northwest Mississippi Community College before being arrested on a charge of conspiracy to commit armed robbery. (Kids!) He only played two games in his entire career, but we’ve decided to love him for the following reasons:

–Runs the 40 in 4.9 seconds
–Is a 6′5″ defensive tackle
–Showed up a day late for his interview with Jenkins
–Can bench press 475 lbs and squat 800 lbs.
–Is part of a rap group called “Tre Slide”
–Would be a perfect running mate for Pac-Man in Tennessee:

“Growing up, Thomas was somewhat self-conscious about his size, so he befriended the smallest kids in school. They played a game called “Cut the Cake,” in which they found the biggest building in town and raced each other around it.”

Smallest kid meets biggest kid? BFF? Two thugs make good? Or destroy whole wards of Nashville during one of their 30th birthday parties? Either way, it must happen, Mike Reinfeldt.

Multiple updates of collegiate football feloniousness and falderol follow…

Florida’s Keg Incident involving an unnamed player, an unnamed complainant, and an alleged failed theft of a beer keg has evaporated in a matter of hours. The alleged victim withdrew their complaint this morning without ever positively ID’ing the assailant.

POOF! Points be gone, though we still hope someone ends up puking their guts out for weeks on end during mat drills as a result of whatever happened in this case–and not because they’re hung over off all the stolen beer sloshing around in their stomach.

Hoping for something like this at mat drills.

Free money in Ames, Iowa! YAAAAYYYY!!! That seemed to the extent of the thought process for three Iowa State players caught pilfering goods from a purse left on a city bus. Caught either by witnesses or videotape, the three players (all redshirt freshmen) are charged with fifth-degree theft, which is just one degree of theft away from a White Elephant holiday party.

A point each equals three for the Cyclones in their slightly lame debut on the board. Welcome to head coaching, Gene Chizik.

Colorado State says fuck your couch, lawya. No Fulmer Cup points for basketball offenses, but we must mention Colorado State for something other than their ability to bulldoze four-year olds in spring scrimmages. Xavier Kilby, CSU basketball player, was arrested on suspicion of felony menacing and prohibited use of weapons following an incident early Sunday morning involving teammate Ronnie Aguilar.

…Kilby and Aguilar got into an argument in the living room and that Kilby pulled out a small revolver, pointed it at Aguilar’s head and then pointed the gun at a couch and discharged the weapon.

Fuck your couch, indeed. Kilby’s been suspended pending investigation. (HT: Rory.)

We really only mention this to take the spotlight off poor CSU receiver George Hill, who was making a diving TD catch during CSU’s scrimmage on Saturday when he encountered a 12th defender, a four year old who was quoted after the hit as saying:

“It was kind of scary ’cause I got bonked by the football. It kind of hurted.”

We pray the reporter writing this made this up, because children do not and should not speak like this. If they do, heaps of assy shame must fall on the parents, who no doubt egged him on by saying “OOOhhhh, isn’t that just precious?” It starts with accepted bad grammar; it ends with him stealing cars and slinging his seed around like so much confetti before ending up in prison or–heaven forbid–business school.

It hurted! Goddammit, bad grammar gets us peeved. You go, George Hill. Hit him again–this time, it’s for Strunk and White.

The Aqua Teen Movie is here. We’re too consumed by the idea to really consider anything else, since ATHF is the dominant, generation defining work of our time, a slice of the zeitgeist: chickens on fire, molestation jokes, occult references, random surrealist violence, Chechen prostitutes, cameo appearances by Geddy Lee and Bruce Campbell…it’s a like a semantic geek Olympics playing out before your eyes.

The creators have been jerking around the public by publishing false endings with dialogue like “After high school, I never returned to Blood Mountain…but I carry it with me. In my heart. In heart.” We’re counting the minutes ’til we can leave work, purchase tickets, and enjoy our 83 minutes of brain Drano exposure.

Addendum: Joey’s got the thorough link guide for n00bs here.

Nudists never are who they should be. Ideally, nudists would be people you want to see in the buff. We can report that from hard experience (umm, unfortunate choice of words there) that they are not the people you’d like to strip off and cavort pantsless. They also, fortunately, are not the people you would elect not to remove so much as a sock off their body in your presence.

Ladies and gentlemen…Kenny G!

Based on our experience one intrepid afternoon in the early 2000s, nudists come mostly from the soft middle of American demography: middle-aged, middle-tempered, and middle-heavy. They’re also exceedingly pleasant, even when you’re obviously rubbing sunscreen on your testicles for the awkward first time. Do not, however, walk leisurely into one of their volleyball games. It is a fact universally acknowledged tbat nudists make savage, pitiless volleyballers.

Even in Berkeley, this seems to be true, since the nude protest against the University’s plan to raze a grove of oak trees brought out not the troll squad nor the Berkeley Hottz0rz team, but rather average-looking people bent on dropping trou in order to…well, we think in order to save some trees.

Racist hippies allow only naked white flesh in their protest against better football.

The removal of the trees to build a new training center for Cal football remains part of a larger plan to bolster the literally shaky construction of Memorial Stadium, which stands on a fault line and could collapse in event of an earthquake.* The rationale behind the protest, as described by coordinating photographer Jack Gescheidt:

“What I do is show people at the most vulnerable — naked — with trees to illustrate the relationship and beauty of nature,” he said. “I hope to do a quiet, reverential photo of people and trees. . . . Humans are drawn to trees…”

…for firewood, in order to barbecue animals they’ve caught and slaughtered…

The people up in those trees are not crazy, they are doing something beautiful and important,” Gescheidt said. “They don’t need to destroy this grove.”

No–but they really, really want to destroy it. The only hold-up to the plan comes via an Alameda Superior Court Ruling claiming Cal did not properly assess the risks of building on a fault line. (Just write “MAY FUCKING FALL DOWN AT ANY INSTANT” on every inch of the structure. Does that cover liability? Um, no.–EDSBS legal. Killjoy.–ed.) Once Cal addresses that small issue, the plans for stadium expansion and the slaughter of the trees will continue apace.

One quote of worth from the SFGate article bears memorization, however:

Shawn Alexander, who came from Fresno to visit her daughter Madison at Cal, was a bit surprised to see naked people in trees.

“I can confirm there is nothing like this going on Fresno,” she said with a laugh.

We’ll only pay further attention to this story from this point on if and only if hotter people get naked to support the demolition of the trees. Hot naked people with chainsaws and hardhats–just another example of how the universe in our heads leaves the real one in smoking shame in comparison. Trust us on this.

Click here for a video of the protest where absolutely nothing you see or hear will surprise you. (NSFW, technically, but boring as all hell anyway.)

What’s Department of Homeland Security head Michael Chertoff doing there?

*Applicable to anything in California except Barry Bonds.