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The season approaches, and you're scarcely in credit card debt. Being American, this cannot stand. Your birthright is to work 35 hours a week, talk like you work 55, wallow in a sea of consumer goods funded by the Chinese and their 12 year old gymnasts, and then spend your leisure hours complaining about the cost of all the goods you spend your leisure hours playing with in the first place.

Nowhere is there a more spectacular chance to exercise this fundamental American right than in the field of college football fandom, where you can take your hard-earned inheritances and trust funds and pour them directly into RVs, walls coated in blazing flatscreen televisions, and barbecues large enough to cook other barbecues in while simultaneously prepping a whole brisket on the side. Ante up, skinflint bitches, and break out the plastic. It's time to put a little red into your team colors in the form of debt-funded tailgate fodder for the fall.

Necessary things include, but are not limited to:

The Hitch 'n View. Are you tired of hammering nails into your largest friend's back in order to hang your flatscreen at your tailgate? Ashamed of the cost of all those vandalism citations from drilling holes in campus bulidings and trees for a good tv mount? Want a football-related excuse to follow someone at the NASCAR-approved distance of 3 inches from their rear bumper?

Enter your solution, the miraculous Hitch 'n View.


You could watch the game from a lawn chair with a cold one in hand, sure.

Or you could stop being a pussy and watch College Gameday at eighty miles an hour from the driver's seat of your car, pounding hot coffee, Mao-ing down on Ripped Fuel, and shaking with glee just a single brake pump away from certain disaster. That's how a Viking would do it with bits of brain in his beard the whole time.

Your own chicken leg flash drive. Two variations on this one. First, you could keep your data secure in the chicken foot variant, a must for all South Carolina fans who want to bring the Cock 'n Fire sputter to computers they infect with viruses stored in their files, or just want to make it look like they've crammed their an entire cock into their usb drive.

You may also take this chicken themed flash drive, which in piles left on tables at the Tennessee football complex could be loads of fun! (Fun=choking hazard.)

Your own blimp. For the extremely exact figure of somewhere between two thousand and ten thousand dollars a month, you can rent your own blimp, depending on the amount of flight time you use, the amount of advertising you put on the beast, and how many kegs of beer you want haul up there with you. ("It's ballast and booze! Yes!")

We'll be charging the Hornet L2V to the Swindle Industries card, a swanky little sportster made for you, one fine lady, and the bags of fake money you plan to shower the crowd with during the third quarter. For just a few thousand more, have an LED installation put on the side to flash useful messages like "NICE CALL, SHIT FOR BRAINS" and "GRAVITY IS STUNTING YOUR PERSONAL GROWTH" to the masses.

Oh, and don't bother to make a flight plan. DHS hates it when you make those.

A Fathead for your windshield. Vision is for the faithless. Pop that Fathead right over the windscreen, hit the gas, and let victory do the rest. Champions find a way, and you will, too, even if you have to take that way through buildings, shrubbery, and public parks filled with screaming pedestrians. There are no shortcuts for excellence here.

The Vantare Platinum Plus. We have some issues with the name. Must luxury brands continually pile adjectives and lustrous nouns into meaningless piles of wording? "Emperor's Club," "Platinum Plus," "The Virgin Atlanta Largesse Silverwhore Ultraluxe Suite, Home of the World's Only Sanctioned In-Air Prostate Massage"...the price tag and Italian marble counters on wheels speak for themselves, don't they?

The Vantare doesn't even have a bedroom: it has a state room, which is like a bedroom, but for dignitaries, admirals, and emperors. If you have 2.5 million dollars to spend on an RV, chances are you can purchase a title to being either of these from a third world nation for far less than the price of the RV.

In the midst of all the multinational descriptions of the RV's plush furnishings, though, sits a sentence that confuses us slightly:

The galley and dining area comes fully stocked with utensils with an international feel.

When we think "international utensils," we think of a drawer full of AK-47s, Hello Kitty plush dolls, and filthy packages of UNHCR high-energy biscuits. Which, for 2.5 mil, should come standard with the RV anyway.

The bathroom of the Vantare looks like this:

Rest assured when you let a trashed 19 year old hurl up a twelve pack of Mike's Hard Lemonade and a meatball sub all over the bathroom at a tailgate, you'll have them doing it on only the finest mobile bathroom fixtures imaginable.