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Corso: I'm just going to do this segment with the bag on my head now! 

Crew: [laugh] 

Chris Fowler: Well hey, let's go to [finger quotes] "Baghead" for his pick in the Oregon/Arizona State game. Lee?


Baghead The Morbidicious: I see flies. And a a radio tower. You're chained to the side of it. This experience will teach you humility with perspective. The condors may spare you. If they do, you'll climb down with a new appreciation of how fear and discomfort that chisel away the rock of human character to unveil the figure of a god. 

Confused looks. 

Kirk: Hey, LC, I think you mentioned in a meeting this week--


Baghead the Destroyer: The flies bring the eggs which bring the maggots to clean the dead flesh off this corpse of a life. Only through degeneration can we regenerate. Hear me, Boise: The surest path to degradation is an unnatural fixation on purity, health, and cleanliness. Only through the rotting of the cornstalks can the fields know new flowers i spring. Come, let us accept our fate and give gifts to the rosebuds of tomorrow. 

Fowler: So that's a--


Baghead the Extractulator: Life feeds on life, Chris Fowler. The man in the boat drifting for days at sea understands this. He sees the see roiling with tentacled evil and toothsome disregard for life. Respect for life is at root a respect for death. I see him drinking the rainwater from his cupped palms. See yourself passing him without stopping. He must discover the base truths of life: panic, isolation, and death. Robbing him of this experience to rob him of himself even in death. Let him drink from the sea of agony and never quench his thirst like the maddened sailor 

Desmond Howard: What the fu---

More awkward silence. 


Baghead the College Football Picker: But I fully expect Arizona State to give its bones to the wolf willingly today and repay its debt to the earth by returning to her icy bosom. 

Fowler: [walks off set and into the woods.] 

Gameday announcer: Baghead has been sponsored by Cheez-Its. Cheez-its: when terror becomes chest-tightening existential horror, you've always got Cheez-its to pass the time between birth and inevitable, painful death.