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UPDATE ON THE UPDATE!!! All is right with the universe again, as the video has been reposted. HT: Nick.

UPDATE!!! The video this whole post is based on has been removed from YouTube. If anyone is IT savvy enough to figure out how to bring the video back from the void, please email us at harumphharumph at yahoo. And if you are the person who pulled the video, please bring it back, since it has brought the world so much joy in such a short time.

We don't divulge a lot of personal information here on the blog, mostly because we're not that interesting. To quote Fran Leibowitz: "Your life story would not make a good book. Don't even try." Who wants to hear about the daily exploits of an ex-CIA operative with an obvious case of OCD and five ex-wives, anyway? You do? Good, that's what Tom Clancy's for, and he'd be happy to help you with a nine-hundred page epic about how a middle-aged white guy saves the world with moxie, a little Grecian Formula 44, and the ability to clench their jaw convincingly. We're here to talk about football and football-related products, for the most part, with the occasional diversion into stolen lowbrow comedy and Renaissance history.

Yet, before doing what we're about to do, we have to divulge a few things. First, we've been drunk in public. In fact, we've been thrown out of a midget bar in Manila for not paying the cover, which qualifies as an embarrassing thing done while intoxicated. We can boast a pretty good number of less-than-flattering things done while drunk in public, now that we're thinking of it. The list includes, but is not limited to:

--Being naked in front of more than five people

--Kissing total strangers on the mouth in New Orleans (this really doesn't count, does it?)

--Dancing our ass off to "Last Christmas" by Wham!

--Various karaoke humiliations (most notably a garbled version of "Let's Get It On" that segued into Gregory Abbott's "Shake You Down" about halfway into the track.)

--Breaking down weeping for no apparent reason to a Bee Gees song.

These things happen, of course. Thus far, we've managed to avoid getting any of them on tape, which is important for reasons all too obvious after watching this:

Okay, if you didn't just take four minutes and forty-five excruciating seconds out of your day to watch that, don't read the rest of this piece. Instead, pat yourself on the back for being such a judicious, prudent soul, and go on and join the ranks of productive, cautious, and successful people you undoubtedly belong with. The rest of you, come with us.

The words that come to mind: ghastly? Abortion? Eye-gouge? Some of you may have not made it through the video, especially Notre Dame grads, who may be hanging by their neckties from the ceiling after watching it. (We take no responsibility, as we did warn you.) May God have his mercy on your soul, though if you did kill yourself halfway through the video, take solace in the afterlife that you have escaped any possibility of ever watching the Notre Dame Business School Tailgate '04 ever, ever again. Ah, sweet death...

There's so much wrong with this that a Caucasian War Crimes Trial should be convened, since we felt like handing in our Whitey Card immediately after viewing this. Really--if the legacy of slavery, bringing smallpox to the New World, and Scott Stapp didn't do it for you, this should have made all our fellow melanin-challenged brethren throw up their hands and begin applying for asylum in other ethnicities. (We're thinking of going Asian, ourselves, as we've already got the bad eyesight, a degree from Georgia Tech, and a fondness for organ meats.)

Charges, delineated one by one below:

1. Use of cliched Universal White-People Soundtrack. The playlist, far as we can tell, is the following:

1. "Back in Black," AC/DC.
2. "You Never Even Called Me By Name," David Allen Coe.
3. "Stayin' Alive," Bee Gees.
4. "Dance to the Music," Sly and the Family Stone.
5. "Ice, Ice Baby," Vanilla Ice.
6. "One Love," Bob Marley.
7. "Any Way You Want It," Journey.

This constitutes most of what you'd hear at a Hooters on a Saturday night anywhere in Exurbia, USA. This also happens to be half the playlist at any average honkie wedding. Evidently this is available on some kind of universally known mixtape or CD that we don't own, so if you're on the Caucasian Agenda mailing list, please add us to it since like the Gay Hollywood Mafia Agenda, the Left and Right-Wing Conspiracy list, and the Jewish Media Conspiracy List, we somehow missed getting in on it. We'd like to email you and let you all know that in hell, they play this music and make you watch a blonde guy in a Chad Pennington jersey do the worm.

Speaking of...

Charge Two: Shittacular Dancing. As we said, we've danced badly in public before. In fact, we do it most the dark of a ill-lit club, of course, which is how any sensible person dances: half-drunk and in the dark with everyone else doing the same.

The morons depicted in this video set up a parquet dance floor in the middle of a tailgate without thinking about two things: a.) it's probably not even noon yet, and b.) they're at Notre Dame. With the business school. We can only guess that this was an attempt by a cunning business student to sow the seeds of their own rapid ascent up the corporate ladder by videotaping their future bosses humiliating themselves in broad daylight and later threatening them with the debasing footage. (Thanks to Youtube, they're now foiled. Take that, junior Machiavelli.)

The flat-assed girl in the Tevas and the baseball cap doing the robot is bad--the electric slide may be worse. They resemble not bad dancers, but alien androids who have come across a manual about dancing, and are practicing in order to fit in with hu-MANN society. The most stinging indictment of the video might be this: the best dancer in the whole clip is the middle aged guy dancing with Twiggy O'Drunkley to Sly Stone. And even then the dude thinks it's acceptable to tuck your shirt into your jeans on a weekend. Relevant line from Henry V: O perdurable shame! let's stab ourselves.

Charge Three: Bad Poetry. Nothing keeps a party going like...poetry, right? We really only have our own tailgating experience to lean on here, but stopping the drinking, slurred chatting, and occasional fistfighting and taunting of an SEC tailgate would prompt nothing less than being pulled from the podium bodily by the sunburnt mob for a sound beating and apologetic refill of their drink. Here the goateed--the mustache of the new millenium, right?--bard of the tailgate recites a horrid poem about Notre Dame surging to championships...under Tyrone Willingham. We won't further humiliate the guy by reprinting his poem; rather, we'll construct a new, better poem in one minute below. Ready? Go:

Charlie Weis
Ain't very nice
Last year he lost thrice
Turned his blood to ice

He's got Brady Quinn
They'll probably win
ten or elev-inn
And a bowl game be in.

There you go. One minute, and a better poem than the shit that guy spat out on a cocktail napkin. Free of charge, domers. Free. Of. Charge.

Charge Four: Hypocrisy. There are jorts in that video, and unless they went to undergrad at UF, there's no excuse for that.

Really, there's too much for us to cover there. Please, humiliate these people into holding a proper tailgate next time--without cameras--by leaving your comments below. Short of mass hara-kiri, there's nothing that can atone for such lame public behavior now splashed across the internet.