OBEY.

Michigan State earns one of the weirdest Fulmer Cup scores of the year, and we mean weird in the “Orwellian legal language we don’t quite get” instead of the “steals gay sheep while drunk” mode. Three Spartan football players were cited for “failure to obey the police” on June 30th after they ran from policemen.

“The officers were on campus investigating a crime that had been reported to them, and they approached (the players), who took off running,” Dunnings said. “When the officers caught up with them, they said they never heard them say ‘Stop!’ But that kind of begs the question of why they ran.”

What were they hiding? What had they done? The mystery is bottomless! Theories!

–They found the entrance to T.J. Duckett’s Enchanted Ancient Bombproof Snack Bunker, and didn’t want anyone to know.

–Found Charles Rogers’ old weed stash. Believed they were running from “squirrels the size of the Sears Tower,” not policemen.

–Thought policemen were actually newly Barwis-ized Michigan football players.

–All three share a morbid fear of male strippers, and were only acting on instinct.

Who knows? The possibilities are LIMITLESS, we tell you, unlike Michigan State’s Fulmer Cup points, which in this case total three.

Legality gets in the way of so many good things: the debate rages on as to whether the A-11 offense is even legal or not, but we would like to state for the record that we do not care, because like file-sharing and the discharging of fireworks in public places, we endorse them because we like them, not because they’re “good” or “in the community interest.”

Gawk at the wacky below on the modified Emory and Henry in motion. Just for the single-wing enthusiasts out there: no, this will not make you gay just looking at it, even if it is from California.

Read more about it here. And on the gay thing? We were kidding: watching video of the A-11 will make you completely homosexual, single-wingers. We regret the error, and recommend Blake’s on 10th in Atlanta for all your needs.

Inside the bag: charger, spray, and this.

The Eastern Kentucky football player whose flight from a Wal-Mart ended up tearing the tip off a sixty-seven year old woman’s thumb had his reasons for leaving the scene quickly. Not only was he stealing, but Davin Walker had another secret: he was in possession of cleansing products for his lady’s spiritual ladyflower, clearly something embarrassing enough to risk breaking the law over.

Walker dropped his backpack on the way out of the Wal-Mart, presumably in between allegedly shoplifting and inadvertently ripping the thumb off an old lady. Inside said backpack:

The backpack contained a cell phone battery charger, a box of douches and a bottle of feminine hygiene spray, Adkins said.

The real victim here? Walker’s girlfriend. Florence King wrote in an essay once about the virtues of dating a redneck. The redneck, while perusing the aisles of a grocery store, saw floral-scented douches lined up in row on the shelf and asked in a booming voice to no one in particular, “What’s wrong with pussy, dammit?”

Here here, Earl. An acceptance of well-maintained but au naturel hoo-ha could very well have saved the thumb tips of countless old ladies around the Wal-Marted exurbs of this fine nation of ours, or at the least would have saved Davin Walker from assault and shoplifting charges. Until then, the makers of FDS, Femaspray, and “Gee, Your Twat Smells Great!” will continue to reap profit from the quiet tyranny of vaginophobia.

(HT: Alan.)

Filthy creatures.

The clock is running out on tree-sitting protesters in Berkeley: today is the deadline for a lawsuit filed to keep the University from building a training facility on a wooded site adjacent to Cal’s football stadium, a minor, patchouli-scented drama extending back to last last fall when the facility was proposed and the last fifty-three hippies on the planet climbed into the trees to protest their proposed removal.

The issue at stake in the lawsuit (the actual, relevant, and legal part of this whole endeavor, not the poorly groomed jobless people in trees) is the construction of the training facility on a fault line, a minor detail since a.) the entire state of California sits on a fault line that could be opened wide with a single nuclear weapon (Superman can’t be wrong), and b.) Cal’s stadium that it fills with people several Saturdays a year is already on said fault line.

The deadline to settle the lawsuit expires today, meaning Cal can forge ahead with construction as soon as they remove the protesters from the trees, which they received permission to do back in October anyway. The tree-sitters confirmed our suspicions that the Ewoks must have been asshole upstairs neighbors when one, while being removed by arborists from the site, threw urine on the crew working on the site before biting one of them, as well.

Proving another point: throwing urine remains a universally ineffective rhetorical device. Now, urinating on someone? Totally different, and somewhat effective in limited cases, if countless Calvin window decals are to be believed.

With the towel, like a gentleman.

Keenan Jones of Hawaii has been arrested and charged with unauthorized entry into a motor vehicle and second-degree assault. The two counts are both felonies, and total seven points for Hawaii in the Fulmer Cup. Seven, you ask? Why add a bonus point on top of the three points a piece for the felonies? As usual: style, sir, sheer inescapable style, brought to this case by the inclusion of some low-quality PPV pr0n.

A court document on the latest charges noted “the catalyst” for the domestic problems between the two stems from Jones allegedly using the woman’s cable provider to rent 13 porn movies resulting in a bill of over $300.

Lady, you don’t understand: this is how the deal works. Keenan gets porn, you pay for it, and when you complain about it, I shut a door on your toes and break two of them, because your bill must be mistaken. And those charges must be from your chick movies like August Rush and shit, because everyone knows porno is free–you press a button and it just shows up there on the tv. Amy Adams, though…damn. That girl can play Keenan’s cello anytime. Or share the couch with me when I crack out the butter churn and get to work on the couch, which I would do with a towel under my ass just like a gentleman would. That’d be some positively Enchanted shit there.

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…)

Context is everything. We know, for example, that it’s likely that the first available photo of Antonio Henton the local station could find once they found out he’d been arrested for attempting to contract a little street lovin’ for himself on Monday night was a crappy old team program photo of dubious quality. It is, in fact, a photo so bad it resembles a mugshot photo taken after the arrest.

I-O! H-O! If we do this, that is.

We also know that Henton wasn’t arrested wearing shoulder pads. However, our imagination has the habit of attempting to make the world more interesting than it actually is, and in this case it’s rolling the tape in our heads of Antonio Henton, standing on a street corner in cleats and pads, trolling for rental pussy in full Ohio State regalia and yelling about somebody needing to put the “H-O” in “Ohio” before his 10:00 p.m. curfew–which, by being arrested at 8:30 p.m., he was clearly not violating.

(A note to the ladies: a man who wears his shoulder pads to bed is damn serious about sixty minutes of full-contact action, ladies. This being the Big Ten, that would be a pounding run up the middle 60 times a game for two scores or so…which ain’t bad.)

UPDATE!!!BULLETBULLETBULLET!!! Charges dismissed!

UPDATE!!!! BULLET X 4 File accidentally closed–new file open, charges NOT dropped, prostitution jokes may resume.

We must all learn from the example of the Oregon mascot, and that example is that when someone else wants to playfight, you need to put the -fight into the word with a capital WHAM, MOTHERFUCKER!

The only other possible explanation is that the mascoteer was high on PCP, believed they were really a duck, and that Shasta the Cougar really was a cougar. This would make total sense because Cougars would eat Ducks, and in case you didn’t know, ducks are mean as hell especially when threatened.

Though shame on Shasta for not putting up more of a fight. Houston brought us the Geto Boys and UGK, dammit–Bun B simply won’t stand for it. (Perhaps Shasta would have been tougher with a Paul Wall grill installed in this toothy grin.) Someone’s got to rep the 281, which is why the Duck will likely be shot sometime in the next month by someone zanked on purple drank in a Lincoln Navigator.

(HT: Larry Brown Sports, who points out that the Duck has been suspended.)