Jim Tressel is not on vacation yet, but this is pretty much what it will look like.

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.

Good to see that Jenn Sterger’s still getting work. Well, we don’t actually care if she’s employed or not anyway, but for the good fo the faltering economy we’re happy to see one less person on the streets. Seriously we’re just trying to get to a 35 Seconds plug here. Yup. Any second now. Without saying anything too bad about poor Jenn…

SHE BLENDS IN BECAUSE WITH HER FOUNDATION SHE’S ALREADY ORANGE!!!

Faux-queen remark typed and therefore expelled, we may now move on to two things. One, despite coaching for Tennessee, Bruce Pearl rules. (”There’s a difference between Pat and I. She has talent, and I have no shame.”) Two, Patrick’s doing fine work over at 35 Seconds, and you should read it if you’re into bas-ket-ball. We’ll be really into it in a few minutes, since we’re heading down to the SEC tournament at the Dome shortly.

See this if you want to make any sense out of what follows.

New Michigan Athletics Consultant: The Bishop Don Magic Juan

Rich Rodriguez sips at his drink and looks around the bar.

Bartender: Another, ma’am?

RR: Yeah, make it another Jack and Coke.

Bartender: If it’s on his tab, it’s gotta be well brand. Sorry, but that’s what he said.

West Virginia’s in the corner playing darts and yelling out WOOOOOOOOOOOOO! for no particular reason, and not paying attention to RR, who’s wearing a low cut top and tight blue jeans.

RR: It’s like he doesn’t even love me sometimes.

Bartender: What?

RR: Well’s fine, man. Just pour it.

Bill Martin, Michigan Athletic director, walks into the bar. He is wearing his customary captain’s hat, but has eschewed his old suit and tie for a frilly blue shirt, skin-tight yellow pants, and a full-length chinchilla coat that extends to the floor. At his side is a woman dressed in a matching chinchilla coat, hot pants, and a Foxy Brown top.

Bartender: What the fuck is that?

The bar stops, and the sound of a needle being dragged across a record is audible in the background

Bill Martin: What is up, you…um…

Martin: You trick bitches and skank duffel bag boys. Bow…(swallows)…to a pimp!

The bar goes silent. Bouncers flex quietly and crack their knuckles.

Mary Sue Coleman, Michigan President, leans into Martin’s ear and whispers.

MSC: sotto voce Try to sound less mincing when you say that. Use the pimp juice, Bill!

Martin: Right-o. BOW….TO A PIMP!!!

He fumbles in his pockets and pulls out fistfuls of money.

MSC: Bill, you have to throw it in the air. It’s called “making it rain.” (more…)

EDSBS Live. Tuesday. 7:30 p.m.

Phil. Steele.

Note: buy Phil new t-shirt.

You are not ready.

As a breather from accusing the New York Yankees of being marginal partners in genocide, we bring you Malcolm Kelly, Oklahoma wide receiver, goin’ freestyle after the Sooners’ Big 12 Championship win over Nebraska.

We’d talk some more, but we gotta sip some codeine ’cause we gotta kill a cough. (Purple Drank, lawya. Nothin’ less.) Take the mic, Malcolm.

Let us say that Kelly’s not bad–he’s got that rubber-mouthed Dirty South, UGK thing going for him in the rhymes department. And it’s hard not to like the “‘Coz I’m a playa, from the Himalaya” line, especially because he might be insinuating that his true identity is that of the Yeti, which is VHT, indeed.

Too bad dope rhymez don’t get you past Boise State. BURRRRRRRN SSSSSS!!! He could blame too much purple drank, however; it worked for DJ Screw, after all.