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HE'LL ROLL ONE TONIGHT FOR YOUR SORROWS. This is the soundtrack for the following tweet. 

And this is the tweet, courtesy of former Tennessee wideout and convenience store bandito Nu'Keese Richardson


A whole zip of KUSHH will get your mind time to devour a whole angel food cake, a pack of trail mix, and seasons 1-3 of Home Movies. Tell us how, HOW did this man not go to Florida, where we welcome the amateur herbalists of the world with open arms? That this did not happen is surely one of the great unfulfilled parallel universe storylines in college football, along with "How many fractures would Terrelle Pryor have suffered behind Michigan's current offensive line?" and "What if Houston Nutt had been hired as head coach at Nebraska?" (Answer: TOTAL MADNESS) (HT: Andy

BANG FOR BUCK: Nutt's current home has it more so than any other SEC team in terms of dollars spent. Ole Miss runs on nickels and returns dimes, especially compared to comparative ROI-holes like Tennessee and Auburn that spend money with substantially smaller returns on their dollar. In case you wonder how Ed Orgeron was ever hired as a head coach, the answer may be that he was very cheap comparatively, and Ole Miss wanted him to double as a security guard to save costs. He did one of these jobs well, at least. 

WHEN WILL WE BEGIN NEGATIVE RECRUITING AGAINST MIDDLE AGE COACHES? If PItt can allegedly tell recruits that Penn State is in limbo thanks to Joe Pa's health, then certainly the natural counter would be to suggest that the middle-aged Dave Wannstedt will surely feel the pangs of a midlife crisis coming on and take off to the NFL to buy a new sports car, marry a woman half his age, and get that Tijuana penis enlargement he's been thinking about for years. 

HAPPY JUMP/ SAD JUMP. Jeremiah Masoli is going to come to Miss State to join the Dirty South's growing collection of spread option quarterback misfit toys! YAYYYYY! [sad jump] Wha? AWWWWWW. Cam Newton needed someone to play with! He gets so bored on his playmat some days, just kicking at the ball and staring at the ceiling fan. 

HE SHOULD JUST PULL A DON DRAPER. No contracts, man. You want me, just put the nameplate on the door, and if you do hand me a piece of paper, I won't be nice about it, Foley. A handshake and a candy bowl full of Prevacid, if you please, and we can go back to business. 

EVERYTHING THE MIDSHIPMEN DO IS BLING BLING. Navy better get the silver chafing dishes if they throwin' down six digits for the tailgate. (HT: Fesser.)