Today is Repeal Day! Hip Hip, Hooray!

On this day in 1933 prohibition was officially repealed when Utah, of all states, signed on to the 21st Amendment, paving the way for nearly a century of great tailgating. I’ll drink to that.

Let’s install a bidet, people!

You can’t have a modern bathroom without a bidet. I know what you’re saying, now: what kind of man uses something French to lick his ass that can’t be charged anonymously to a credit card as “PERSONAL SERVICES, INC” from a Lyon hotel room? Not me, you say!

Wrong. It’s time to show some modern fluffy sensitivity and stop smearing the brown ghost of last night’s pot roast around your ass and get with the squeaky-clean, watery goodness of a behind blasted immaculate with the gentle but firm touch of a bidet.

We’ll even show you how to make your very own, extremely masculine Ohio State bidet just like the one that keeps Tressel’s trundle clean every week on ABC. Ready?

Step one: the bidet. Be careful–you can overpay for your bidet, as some built-in toilet/bidet models can run into the thousands of dollars. We can only say that the decision is yours, but for value’s sake the extra water you’ll use with a separate bidet is negligible. We say keep them separate to save a few bucks, and pick up a model such as the Kohler “San Tropez” for no more than $500 total.

Step Two: Installation. Don’t make the mistake of just drilling a few holes in the floor, hooking up a pipe, and firing away at the old log-mouth with a poorly installed bidet. Precision matters here. First, make sure your tiling is level, and that you’ve got your piping lined up accurately. Trace the outline of the bidet on the floor, and crack out the chalk line and level to make sure the bidet is attractively and evenly placed next to the toilet.

Now take a drill and make two 3/16″ holes in the floor for the anchor. Don’t forget your sealant! This all-important element will save you from nagging leaks and drips in the future, and you’ll thank yourself for the extra effort later.

Connect your pipes, drain, and you’re almost there.

Add some style. In this case, we’re going to jazz up the bidet with a familiar loving face. We’ve taken an image off the internet, printed and laminated it, and blown it up on an 8X12 scale. Then we we did a quick outline of the image on some pressed 1/16 inch aluminum, matched up the image, and cut a quick 1/2 inch hole to allow for the bidet faucet to poke through. Make sure your faucet hole is just big enough–a tight fit is essential here.

Take the mounting and run a quick solder and seal job around the faucet, and we’re ready to scrub. Oh, and don’t forget the waterproof sticker at the bottom of the trough for effect.

Step Four: Get that undercarriage Musburger-clean! Pardner, even in defeat no one washes your Buckeye balls more thoroughly and forcefully than the Brentster. You’re looking live! At my ass being cleaned just like Jim Tressel’s is on a weekly basis! Turn on thE water and feel the force of America’s announcer getting you a squeaky kind of clean only previously possible
with four hours of feverish man-amour. (more…)

I’ve known señor Swindle since around 1992. I like the guy. Really, I do. But sometimes he needs a little tweaking now and again. On that score, we bring you Orson’s least favorite cheesecake option of all time to celebrate the end of the offseason when we desperately need the weekly distractions. Without further ado, EDSBS’s Friday Cheesecake is the distinctly non-latin, silicon-filled, college football lovin’, Bobby Bowden worshiping Jen Sterger.

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Our daily affirmation for the starving college football fan comes LOOKING AT YOU LIVE from Hope Stadium, location 52 short days away.

As pointed out elsewhere, Washington’s got a testicle-busting schedule on their hands. (Holy mixed anatomical metaphors!–ed.) Ty Willingham and company have decided what a good day to die is, and that is on Saturday. To wit:

Syracuse: Um, the Washington of the Big East? Even pitching here, but played in the Carrier Dome, which Syracuse actually inflates with pure helium during games. Unaccustomed to the pure, toxic form of the gas, Washington dies a squeaky little death in this game. (Don’t believe it? You come up with a better explanation of why good teams go bad in the unassuming Syracuse game environment.)

Ty Willingham and the Huskies: this year, they dine in hell.

Boise St: Beat a better Pac-10 team this past season in Oregon State, which looked like ashen heaps of shame for the Beavers until the Statue of Liberty Game. Now they’re the favorite here, which means they’ll have difficulty dealing with the pressure, stumble, and still win this game running.

Ohio State: Loss. Will not get ugly after the second quarter. Because it will be 20something to three then, and Tressel and the Sweatervest Mafia will call off the dogs. Fortunately, as this will be Tennessee/Florida week, no one will watch this game anyway, so it will be a quiet death.
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Meat on the hoof on the move! For all the big boys out there, your five seconds of glory: the tackle eligible, executed to perfection here by Colorado’s Sam “Lightnin’” Wilder.

Even Musburger couldnt’ work up the nerve to say “If he breaks that tackle…”, a sentence only appropriately completed with “he goes another two yards and collapses due to a pulmonary embolism.”

On the heels of an Alabama Crimson Tide fan actually naming their child “Bryant Crimson” this past week, suggest names for babies and the fans who have them.

Auburn Tigers.…Shug Plainsmen. Delightful mix of the formal and informal. Seriously, give us a month, and there will be a baby named this.

Arizona State Wildcats Sun Devils.…Ripper McTavish. Just because with the Dennis Erickson takeover, the names have got to class up to the level of scoundrality brought to the program by the original football contract buccaneer. Ripper’s the man here.

Colorado Buffaloes…Rock Brockford. Because Colorado needs a dude named Rock.

South Carolina Gamecocks…Brock Cockford. Because South Carolina needs a dude named Brock Cockford.

USC.…McKay Peter. Just tony enough to have the West Coast aristocratic feel, but with enough football nods to keep people from assuming he was bound for Stanford, god forbid.

LSU.…Cannon Chineezebandito. Historical, yes; but with enough flair to make it onto the roster.

Oklahoma.…Sodbuster Switzer. How much would love to make an announcer say the name “Sodbuster.” It would be, like, close to De’Cody Fagg good, especially if Oklahoma was blessed with the gift/curse of being the Musbergame of the week.

(Brent Musburger, btw, is aware of your internets googles and youtubes, and is being careful about what he does in bars:)

Florida. Obeecee Jackson. Combines phonetics of Ol’ Ball Coach’s acronym with the name Jackson. If you want your child to play for Florida, it helps to have the last name Jackson, since something like 40 percent of all Florida Players have.

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

Okay, so Joe Theismann (however the hell you spell it) might, just, possibly, kind of sorta may be looking at calling college football next year now that ESPN’s booted him off Monday Night Football in exchange for St. Jaworski and the Gilded Telestrator of Turin. (God, do we love Ron Jaworski.)

Click here for our reaction. (Thanks, Brian.)

Take a moment. Good. If you vomited, please clean yourself up. If you require medical attention still after this moment of collection, dial 911 and lay prone on the floor with your head tilted to the side. Consider what a good life it’s been, and how you’ll die in the prime of youth without experiencing the cruel indignities of old age.

This actually presents a golden opportunity for you as a fan to experience one of life’s sweetest pleasures: toluene, one of the key ingredients in paint thinner.

Between Thiesmannnn and paint thinner…we choose paint thinner.

If the story pans out, we’re breaking the seal on our unrealized potential as an inhalant addict. Why? Via Wikipedia, the specs on inhalant abuse:

Inhalation of toluene fumes can be intoxicating, but in larger doses nausea-inducing. Chronic or frequent inhalation of toluene over long time periods leads to irreversible brain damage.

Which sounds a lot like the long term side effects of exposure to this: (more…)

Forget that they were the town that once banned a Robert Mappelthorpe exhibit: Cincinnati is just as kinky as any other town in the United States (except for Boise–if you only knew how saddle-sore you can get in Potatotown without ever getting on a horse. HA-ha: numb chundles.)

Their erotic Q rating is enjoying a tumescence lately thanks to University of Cincinnati and their football recruits, who engaged in a totally-not-gay group sex encounter involving current Bearcat football players, recruits, and one brave former female soccer player who played the sexual corollary to Poland in multiple, videotaped acts of sexual European geopolitics. This means she was taken by one power, screwed by another, then thrown back and forth between multiples until she was spent and useless. Being Poland sucks historically, unless we’re talking in sexual metaphors. Then it just might be your kind of thing.

Don’t forget Poland here.

The quote from Cincinnati head coach Brian Kelly:

If anything of the nature described in the allegations did occur, Kelly said, “It’s absolutely inappropriate behavior, period. End of discussion. … That is pretty standard relative to student conduct or even appropriate human-being conduct.”

If the videotape gets out–um, harumphharumph of the yahoo variety if you have a copy–Cincinnati could end up making Colorado’s hookers ‘n cash recruiting strategy of the Gary Barnett era look pretty-kitty tame. It could be worse, though. If Bob Huggins were still coaching there, he would have been the one in the tape visibly hammered and making fierce, drunken, and confused love to a Honeybaked Ham over in the corner.

Besides muscle atrophy and indigestion, bowl season also gives the viewer something else: a great opportunity to comparison shop between networks. A few highlights from a long and intense weekend of bowl viewing that’s left the pants feeling a bit tight this Tuesday.

1. NFL Network catches Mike Leach losing it. When a major earthquake hit Kashmir in 2005, donations for the quake disappointed many relief agencies, who blamed what they called “disaster fatigue.” Enter why we’re not talking more about Texas Tech (yarr) and their epochal comeback from being down 38-7 to defeat Minnesota 44-41. We watched most of this from a bar, and am about to dislocate shoulder patting self on back. The scene:

EDSBS Legal Counsel B.J. Strykker: Doesn’t look good, man.

Orson: They can come back. They’re pirates.

Strykker: Really?

Orson: Yarr. They’re pirates.

The dialogue may not be correct–it likely included a few more yarrs, actually. But we did call it, since Texas Tech can run off forty point scoring binges with terrifying ease. Glen Mason, Minnesota head coach and obvious non-samurai, did not slit his belly open after the game and keep his ancestors from disgrace. Minnesota did this for him with stunning speed, firing him after the game. Sadly, this was not caught on camera.

What was? This. And we thought Mike Leach was too cool to care.

2. Clemson player practices the ancient art of ikebana…in his pants.

Kentucky and coach Red Foreman beat the stripes off Clemson, whose head coach must have questioned whether the team wanted to win or just jack off on the sidelines and lose. The answer, thanks to some alert Tivoing (HT: Jason), was clear on the scoreboard and on camera:

Dig deep, team, and find victory.

3. Gary Danielson calls Calvin Johnson “The Toilet” Reeling from the realization at what Georgia Tech could have been had Chan Gailey not started a 42 year old midget auto mechanic from Austell at quarterback for four years, Gary Danielson struggled to come up with a good nickname for Calvin Johnson. Riffing off Johnson’s well-publicized work with a clean water/sanitation project in Bolivia, Danielson actually said something like this:

“Well…maybe we should call him ‘The Toilet.’ I mean, around him, nothing hits the ground, right?”

Gary has never used a bathroom in China. This we can guarantee.

4. Musburger goes apeshit over a punt landing in the endzone for a touchback. In the course of any Musbergame, there will be several of these along the way: a stray bee flies into the booth, a b-list celebrity is shown picking his ear on the sidelines, a three yard run with a hint of potential occurs. Our favorite came in the second quarter of Michigan’s effete performance against USC. A USC punt sails toward the endzone, hits at around the eight, and begins what to the viewer is an obvious bounce into the paint for a touchback. Musberger narrates thusly.

And there’s a highhhhhh punt bouncing at the eight NO WAIT THAT’S SLOWING DOWN AROUND THE FOUR THE THREE WHOAAAA HOLY SWEET BABY JESUS THAT COULD BEEEEEEE aah that’s a touchback through the back of the endzone.

Brent Musberger could call a colonoscopy like it was the 2005 Rose Bowl and still try to get you to hang around for the biopsy. He may not succeed, sure; but he’s gonna try.

5. ESPN’s replay work in the Outback Bowl. With practice and a year of experience the camera angles are multiplying. Whether by luck or through design, the Outback Bowl crew caught as perfect and defnitive an image of the fumble as one could imagine having: Foster, parallel to the ground and lunging forward, his knee tantalizingly close to the ground with the ball clearly out and tumbling away from him. Mike Patrick cooed on the replay: “Outstanding work, guys.” We concur.

Foster’s only hope–that he hadn’t fumbled–was hopeless, according to superb replay work.

6. A Song Girl’s butt roast appeared for 0.3 seconds on live television. Go here and check it out if you like. Some will claim she went commando, which is highly unlikely; it’s more likely that she’s got a wedge or wearing a thong. Either way it’s semi-SFW cheesecake, and it’s the funniest thing we’ve seen since we sent the whole office that email of that monkey doing the thing. You know, the monkey thing we sent you.

A bowl sponsored by a flat-screen television just begs for one team to come out in similar fashion: flat, overpriced, and showing it all in crystalline clarity. Oregon did just that last night in the Pioneer Purevision Las Vegas Bowl, losing 38-8 to a clearly furious BYU team. Mormons, despite what you might hear, are not nice: they vented a missionary’s rage on the Ducks, who looked like they rolled off the bus after a single fifteen minute pregame meeting for preparation, whipping the Ducks into a smooth, even confit by halftime and snacking on the remainders for the whole of the second half.

Mmm. Confit.

That fifteen minute meeting must have gone something like this:

1. Hey, guys. Ugly-ass helmets. Play like you don’t ever wanna wear ‘em again.

2. We’re gonna jerk around quarterbacks, too, because Crowton totally left his playbook at the hotel. Plays will be relayed in via text message, so keep your phone on you at all times.

3. We just found out you can’t carry a cellphone on the field. Um…check with me, aight?

4. Ryan Leaf’s in the building, and he’s watching. Make him proud, Brady.

5. Again: ugly-ass helmets, over there. Play the way they make you feel, boys.

Bellotti needs to rekindle his late 90s magic by regrowing the mustache. Like Sampson and his locks, Bellotti’s coaching strength has waned with each year since parting ways with his donut duster. (And Jeff Tedford, former Oregon OC. But enough with that–it’s obviously the mustache that caused his and the Ducks’ minidecline.) Oregon never defended a single crossing pattern, never strung together a single meaningful drive on offense, and looked all night like a team praying for death. Their only touchdown came on a heave and hope late in the game, which BYU–living to win–answered with a touchdown.

Credit ESPN, though: they provisioned for a blowout well. In fact, if Musberger serves any purpose in life besides hyperbole factory, it’s as blowout facilitator. The second half, rendered meaningless by Oregon’s vacation of will to live and the hitting of the ugly button, featured Musberger reeling through a bizarre grab bag of Vegas celebrities, outmoded highlights, and freewheeling bullshit sessions with Craig James. The Tarkanian interview was great enough, as was a surreal interview with Ryan Leaf.

The crowning killtime moment came when the second-tier blowout filler arrived: Craig James SMU highlights. Banter about tearoff jerseys rapidly devolved into this:

James: You know, those guys in the SEC would run through fifteen jerseys a game.

Davie: Well, back then, with the budgets teams had, you could do that.

Musberger: Of course, the budget down at SMU was bigger than most, right Craig?

James: (giggles) Uh, well, um…

Musberger: I mean, you guys had everything you wanted down there. Cash wasn’t a problem.

James: (full-on laughing) Um…yeah, but but but….

Musberger: I mean, you were snuffling like a hungry sow at the trough of one of the most corrupt football programs ever, right? SNUF SNUF PIGGY PIGGY OINK! Right, Craig?

Sherriff Brent will get you through this blowout, sweetcakes.

Actually, Musberger did not say that last line. The rest is fairly approximate, though. Bob Davie could only sit in his camel hair jacket and watch as Musberger dared someone to put the Brent express back on the rails. Fortunately no one did; had someone actually intervened, we’d have had to pay more attention to Oregon getting Rochambeaued by a BYU team playing like blood-doped convicts on parole. And after a half and a quarter of that, we’d seen enough.