Drunken Omelette

Today’s ‘We’re still alive’ post is brought to you by the Taco Bell chihuahua, who, unlike us, is dead.

A lot of things happened while we were out saving souls, feeding poor kids, and making love to beautiful women who we saved from racist biker gangs plotting to kill the president and aforementioned poor kids and crazy, intolerant Ricin-dirty bomb plot.*

In the meantime, a lot of things happened. First of all, WordPress — our fine, presumptuously left-wing, elitist, hippie electronic enablers — decided to change our posting interface to something that, while less aesthetically pleasing, is so much more intuitive and helpful.

You may not understand this, fair blog reader looking for cuckholding p0rn, but we assure you that one of the holdups in ending our brief sabbatical was taking in all this new helpfulness and pretty.

Wonder what else is going on? Hope nothing else big happened while …

Whoops.

Chris Henry allegedly acted a fool again, got frickin’ cut.
Oh, oh my. Um, yeah. (more…)

You are not hip. You are dead.

We like watching college basketball in overloaded, screen-crossing championship tournament form. We do not, however, like the flood of adcrap that seems to fill each of the 40-something breaks per game.

If we commit murder in the next two and a half weeks, one of these commercials will likely be the source of it.

1. KFC’s attempts to rebrand itself as kewl people food.
After appealing to the heartland, then realizing the heartland has no money because of a murderous economic downturn, KFC is now appealing to the well-money 18-34 market and the uber-self-conscious middle-aged yuppie they will one day become.

In recent days, we’ve chatted about the first(circa 1991?) Hot Wings ads, which offered the unlikely premise of two baseball players gradually working their way through a bucket of Hot Wings while busting out home runs at an empty sandlot. We don’t know why we think two young black men using a mouth of dry fire as a relaxing motivator for sharpening their batting skills is so school, but we do.

But an ad with some ditsy chick deciding to date someone because Hot Wings can be sauceless is made only for killing. Obviously this girl has never eaten at variety of down home Southern restaurants or at Hooter’s — even when she worked there, maybe. (more…)

None of your damned business.

Do not mess with the woman who makes the Volunteer nation endure powder blue striping — and like it.
Pat Summitt does not want to answer questions about the UConn coach. Her relationship with the UConn coach is what it is. Stop asking Evil Female Bear Bryant questions, silly ESPN reporters, or you will get mention of your verbal beatdown in a Tennessean story that can be viewed here.

More importantly, you prompt this woman’s awful talkback response that we will never ever be able to wash from our minds: (more…)

I totally saved your ass. You can thank by drafting me … to the NBDL.

Thank you staving off the inevitable, bro. Totally.
Remember when we said that we thought Gottfried was going to win the SEC tournament? Mykal Riley’s magical 3-pointer took the game to OT, then nature happened all over the Georgia Dome.

Here’s what Mykal said a few days back when asked about making that shot:

I couldn’t sleep last night because I kept thinking about it. A lot of people could be dead if that hadn’t happened. I believe it was God. I keep thinking about how the ball just rolled in. It was supposed to happen so that no one would be hurt.* I believe God had His hand in that to protect the people who were in the Dome.

And somehow magically saving a bunch of people’s lives with a J doesn’t even earn a spot in the NIT. Go figure. (more…)

Sorry Belmont basketball kids, only placating failure awaits you.

Things we thought we would never hear.
While watching Bruce Pearl toy with American like a cat chewing with a rat with broken hips , we heard the following:

Vandy’s a really tough place to play.

Wait, you mean in sports? Like, not boccie or some crap? Really?

Oh, yeah, that’s right. Vandy does own the state title in men’s basketball right now.

Huh. That explains the flaming borders and stink of brimstone emanating from the Foul Parallelogram of late …

The overrated game.
And by that we mean the game that, on a March day without much madness, was the only thing that came close to being less than sane. Thank you Belmont for playing like you aren’t just used by Vandy to wipe up what they leave behind on the hardwood when they’re done peeing on the rest of the state.

It was a fun scare, though, as Duke’s anxiety always feeds our souls. But ultimately, those fearsome Nashville Bruins realized they are effin’ Belmont and that they were playing Duke, not some NAIA turd sponge that’s been lobbed their way.

…

Good show, though.

Go Dawgs!

Reality did win.
Sorry, Dick Vitale, but Georgia’s impossible run to the Sweet 16 really was impossible as Xavier took care of business after a brief scare early in the first half.

Take notes Mark Richt: Start petitioning now to play your entire 2008 season in Athens or Atlanta, including the bowl/title game. You’ll have your best shot since the Georgian God is, by default, a Georgia homer.*

Quick hits.

• Notre Dame AD Benedict XVI’s orders of hustle paid off, killing the hopeful Know-Nothing ticket yet again.
• We were very disturbed by the overwhelming accuracy of our prediction of brutal victory over Mississippi Valley State. That might have been crime. We’re not sure.
• Congratulations on making it to the first half, Winthrop, but it might’ve been good if you stuck around for the whole game.
• We’re still not sure who the hell Davidson is, but we’re glad they won.
• Dammit, Adam Morrison, must you set new standards for effeminate and ugly for pro basketball players? Go the hell home!

*With occasional assists to Valdosta State and Southern.

Today’s bracket dissection is brought to you by Nostradamus, who used a fruity rhyming scheme to pick Florida and Histler State in the title game.

We satisfy our initial bracket-related compulsion today, crowning our early pick for national champ from the South bracket hours before the tournament is set to kick off.

Why didn’t we post it last night?

Because we were tired. Screw you.

Why don’t you pick your own bracket?

Oh, you did?

Well, why don’t you pick a bracket that doesn’t suck?

Also, read this Slate piece. It’s intelli-funny.

You don’t like intelli-funny?

Well, enjoy being caught on fire. (more…)

Today’s bracket breakdown is brought to you by Ween, whose music you may remember from … um … uh, ever seen Road Trip? You know that part where they go shopping at the Target?
…
Ah, screw it. Ween sucks anyway.

We continue or study of the bracket cutting among America’s youth with a quick and even dirtier dissection of the Western bracket matchups.

Rick James was dead when we found him.

No. 1 UCLA versus No. 16 Mississippi Valley State
So Mississippi Valley State, you’re in the tournament, huh? Must make feel really good to be invited to the Big Dance, huh?

Well, let us ask you this:

You ever had a lead pipe shoved through your teeth into the back of your throat, then had someone pipe in carbon monoxide gas until you just let the pain just faaaaade away … ?

Well … see you Thursday. (more…)

The deathmatch everyone in the Midwest bracket really wants to see.

We continue our mad descent into bracketnessness with a rundown of the Midwest bracket, which we will go ahead and forecast will be ripped to shreds by the angry, probably powder blue winner of the East bracket.

WRONG!

No. 1 Kansas versus No. 16 Portland State
Strange what another sport means to a different school. In football, Kansas is a feel-good story when it makes it to the big stage. In basketball, the Jayhawks are supreme failures if they don’t make it to the Sweet 16 — and we happily root against them.

We cannot with sound minds and somewhat sound bodies call an upset in this situation.

First of all, 16-seeds do not beat 1-seeds. Read your damned Bible.

Second, no one from a major conference should ever lose to oddly misplaced Pacific Northwest Vikings.

We can kind of understand cougars — we imagine there are some up in Pullman that like smoking dope and hang out the Price’s Choice strip clubs bemoaning Bill Doba. (more…)