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.

Every teenager should subscribe to Sports Illustrated. This is fact. There’s 51 issues of decent sportswriting and it provides a good avenue to establishing a steady schedule and practice of leisure reading. All every positive traits for a growing, learning young man.

Then, of course, there’s the swimsuit issue, a flimsy excuse to trot out unholy amounts of cheesecake with increasingly nonexistent clothing to cover it. While there’s much to be said about leaving things up to the imagination, there are some things you just can’t argue with. Like, let’s say, a 23-year-old Tyra Banks bringing polka dots back to the land of sexy.

But though Tyra’s run in 1997 was outstanding, the overall body of work (sorry) was nonpareil the next year. It is no exaggeration to call it the most important publication of my teenage years, right above The Quintessential Calvin and Hobbes and the instruction manual to Street Fighter II Turbo.

Cover girl Heidi Klum was ridiculously hot, yes, but let’s give a nod to the other ladies of the issue as well. Heidi will start us off, and there’s more after the break, including That Look. Every man knows it. As always, work-safe by way of technicality, work-inadvisable by way of common sense.

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0:12–MEN! He always starts by addressing the team as men. Sexist pig, that Lou.

0:29–Refers to Baton Rouge as “The toughest environment in the world.” We call bullshit, Lou. Have you ever played football in the caldera of Kilauea? Or at Fashion Week in Paris? Because those bitches can be savage without ever making a tackle and have you crying into a candy dish full of blow before you know what happened.

Or that hell-stadium from the old Eric Cantona Nike commercial, Lou–ever think about that? They tried to kill Patrick Kluivert, Lou! Satan wouldn’t do that. (Actually, that’s exactly what we imagine Death Valley to be like down to the flames, blind refs, and dogs on the sidelines.)

0:44–Lou says “happiness is having a short memory.” There’s a joke here, but we can’t remember what Lou just said, and therefore will got to the fridge for some Craisins. YAY CRAISINS!

0:52–We’re so happy.

1:02–Lou’s got a newspaper out. Says the editorial page is for “people who can’t think.” Considering that Lou’s ripping up a USA Today, we’ll give him that one uncontested.

1:10–Oh shit. He’s not…

1:15–He is.

1:32–Lou Holtz just stole my reality and drove it into a retaining wall at 90 miles an hour. Instead of exploding, though, it turned to butterflies and dollar bills. It’s pennies from heaven, Lou!

1:44–”I wake up screaming in the middle of the night because I can’t figure it out myself.” It’s like you can see into our soul, Lou. We take back everything bad we’ve ever said about Lou Holtz, since the rest of his life has simply been a warmup for this role as the man who takes a pastry gun of madness, plants it firmly in your ear, and injects your skull full of pure creamy madness through the magic of television. We’re smoking LSU on their homefield now–he ripped up a newspaper and put it back together with his mind, man! If a 68 pound man can do that on national television, imagine what we’re capable of…men.

It was pointed out to us that, although we have featured Ms. Agustina’s (not her real name) posterior before, she was never officially a Friday Cheesecake entry. So here we go. We give you, Keyra Augustina of Argentina.

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You want regional diversity? Well, fine then. Here’s a link to Dennis Dixon, Oregon quarterback, demonstrating what is either a spectacular inner peace manifested in a nearly flatlined public face or a symptom of a dire need for a nap. There’s some West Coast video content for ya.

As for the other half of the Apple Cup Civil War duo: the big news out of spring practice is that they’re testing shoes, bitches. Shoes.

Okay, with that settled we move on to our second Steve Spurrier related entry today. This time, it’s Spurrier twitching, mumbling, and calling out incoherent Spurrierese to qb Blake Mitchell as he struggles through the Garnet and Black spring game. Watch as out of years of habit he covers his mouth when calling plays, even with the entire universe listening in on him.

We wish they could do this for every game just so we could listen to Pete Carroll say things like “Excellence!” when USC scores, or to hear Urban Meyer murmuring blood blood blood blood under his breath after a blocked punt.

Overwhelmed with emotion–simply overwhelmed. 41 out of 50 AP sportswriters can go choke themselves with a Twizzler right now. After five minutes, this game was out of reach. It’s not that Florida was merely good–they were flawless and magnificent like anyone who’s ever appeared on The Actor’s Studio with James Lipton. Chris Leak played a magnificent game-no Evil Chris, lurking in the shadows in the third quarter. No blocked punt, a la Auburn. No improbable decisions.

(Chris…we’re so sorry. We’re so, so sorry.)

And it’s not that Ohio State was bad–they were pathetic. Odious. Null. Reeking. Inert. They had no answer, no adjustments, no nothing. Alex Boone and Kirk Barton spent all night reaching backwards into the void where Derrick Harvey and Jarvis Moss should have been, and instead turning over to look at Troy Smith, eyes wide as dinner plates, turning away from one 270 lb. man attempting to kill him to find another 270 lb. beast running at him with 4.7 speed. His line becomes a paragraph unto itself:

Troy Smith: 4-14, 35 yards. 0 TDs, 1 INT. Sacks: 5

Heisman! UF outplayed them in every single facet of the game. No Ted Ginn excuses, no blown calls, nothing. Florida kicked ass until their toes fell off. It was like watching a small animal get crushed between two glaciers. It was like watching Roy Jones in his prime boxing an Olsen twin. It was like watching Clarence Darrow squaring off against Starr Jones in the courtroom. It was defeat, served rare, with a side of raw loss.

And for us: scoreboard, bitches. Scoreboard. We. Win.

Information overload is the m.o. today. Only a speed freak with bionic wrists could honestly keep up with everything unfolding in the blogosphere today, and since our bionic implants are still in the mail, we’ll just have to content ourselves with being merely mortal today.

That said, we did find the second finest woman in the world, and all the coaching carousel updates will wait. How do we know you’re gay? Because you got put in a headlock by a cheerleader. That and the dip in the breadbowl totally convinced us.

On behalf of all mankind and speaking in the collective male voice: a cheerleader who puts a cadet in a headlock convincingly is a woman we all would be proud to have as our bride. Whoever you are: we love you, and salute you. Please reproduce so that your perky, brawling badassedness finds its way into future generations of peppy grappling sideline enforcers.

If only we could cross her with FIU crutch-swinger A’Mod Ned…behold, the Superman!

Just click and watch the VMI cheerleader in the upper right portion of the scrum. (Mega HT: PFHokie.)

What gonna do with all that ass? All that ass that you just kicked?

Every now and then, something in the news cycle that has nothing whatsoever to do with college football breaks but is so important that we feel compelled to let our readers know about it.  Not since finding out that Santa Clause was… well, I can’t even bring myself to talk about that one… anyway, not in a long time has our faith in humanity been shaken to this degree.  We are no longer sure that love exists.  What is it that causes us this angst?  Britinay and Kevin are calling it quits.  The fairy tale is over. 

How can we be expected to vote after hearing this news?

As an editorial position of EDSBS, we’d like to state for the record that we believe in love, and not just for people we’d like to see naked. No, we believe in love for all, even for the ugly, homely, undereducated, diseased, unkempt, addicated, violent, and antisocial. We even believe in love for the fans of the University of Tennessee, though we certainly don’t care to imagine them consummating their bond on a heavily (very) reinforced matress. (Hello, frightening scene from Sideways 2: The Mechanic’s Revenge.)

You cynics look away, because you’re about to see true love if you click through to see the tale of two Alabama fans who found happiness via the internet. (One of many fine prescription drugs available via the internet at sketchyjuarezpharmacy.com. Gracias for el effexor, amigos! To view the video, click on “related videos.”)

You may point and laugh, but dammit, there’s something going right in a society where two people may find each other online, meet, and still get married in an empty stadium after seeing each other’s…”ironic” hairstyles.

The part that should hurt Crimson Tide fans: the couple, shortly after getting married, drove to the nearby Holiday Inn Express, where they scored two more times than the Crimson Tide did against Tennessee on Saturday. The part that really hurts: half the married people reading this had Corinthians in their wedding, too. Don’t lie–we did.

Why Mike Judge understands the soul of this nation more than you ever will.