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Putting our cheese where our mouth is. This seems a bit ununsual to me--mostly because, logic aside, team biases all but ensure a universal declaration of failure for Future Lane Kiffin and his cyborg compatriots as they travel through time to decide the fate of VolManity. ("Come with me if you want to taste a luxurious buyout package in four years.") Remember that it was a plurality, if not a majority of SEC folks who saw Urban Meyer's system as not working in the SEC. If he's yours, he'll work; if he's not, he's a brave but moronic desert astronaut sitting with his button on the ignition of the JATO pack of FAIL strapped to his roof.

The crater will be spectacular, but let's put some cheese on the table in the most literal sense.


We hate cheese. It's not lactose intolerance, but rather a lifelong dislike so intense that our sister used to chase us with pieces of it. We can't eat it on anything, and the smell of it cooking will drive us out of a room. It's a minor form of madness, but heat up some parmesan in a room and we'll show you some theatrical but genuine dry heaving. Cheese is bad milk that can walk around.

So, if Lane Kiffin is still coach at Tennessee in three years, we volunteer to eat a 6 oz piece of cheese on film to commemorate the occasion. The exact variety shall be left up to relevant experts, though really if Joel wants us to eat limburger so ripe it can hold up liquor stores at knifepoint after hotwiring a car, that's what we'll eat, even if we end up vomiting up a spleen over it. That's how convinced we are that Kiffin will fail.

This man disagrees. It looks like someone slaughtered a troop of Oompa-Loompas in there. There is an LSU fan out there with a live tiger in his LSU room, but it's loyal to him and only him, and the minute he takes a picture of it the Department of the Interior is going to want to have a few words with him.

His name is funnier if you rearrange it to "Horrin Atch." Orrin Hatch gets fat softballs lobbed at him all day in a Real Clear Sports interview about the BCS, something Blutarsky gleefully shreds to tiny little batter-covered tasty pieces.

Spellcheck, enabled. Me gusta to the retro-agricultural stylings and fonts of the Mississippi State rebranding. All good football programs begin with powerful font, and defeat stings twice as badly when your opponent signs his correspondence with lacy cursive.

TNIAAM is an absolute magician. And further proof of this in a discussion of Doug Marrone's panty-dropping minivan. The LaGreat is such a superior name for a minivan.