Monday's Meatloaf - but at least my name's not Michael F. Adams

Time to address the elephant in the blog space. You’ve been very kind to keep your questions at a distance while I mourn this loss, this abject failure that will tarnish my legacy as a Georgia Bulldog and UGA alum for years to come. I appreciate your consideration. Let’s muddle our way through this shall we?

(steps up to podium wearing wrinkled golf shorts, his Lebowski t-shirt, wife’s terrycloth robe complete with cheese puff dust and UGA slippers. Readjusts vintage ray-bans and speaks uncomfortably into microphone…)

"Who's the guy outside in house slippers
with a bullhorn?"

If you come here often and/or are one of the unlucky and incredibly misguided souls that follows me on twitter, you know that I launched a campaign to become Prez Adam’s successor. It’s been a longtime ambition of mine, dating all the way back to the time the office of the president was disgraced by a pair of high water lady jeans swinging a leg unathletically in the direction of a rubber ball. In the years since I have been laying in wait, readying myself for the time in which I could restore order to our beloved campus. I planned to put grits back on the menu. I was going to bring morale back even faster than the Timberpond fella brought sexy back. Y'all would be invited to my box at Sanford…anytime. Because that’s where I would live. It has a shower right?

Anyway. It was to be a dream come true. Out with the old fat yankee; and in with the blogger that has wifi and a half empty highball. So long you pestilent pig; hello you long lost Athenian with hundreds of dollars of unpaid parking tickets. Hand over the checkbook you money grubbing freeloader; here’s the key to the executive bathroom Mr…ahem...President Bernie.

But lo, it was not to be. A number of semi-egregious and somewhat shameful transgressions led me to withdraw my candidacy, albeit quietly and with little to no CNN coverage. I will enumerate some of these sins below in an effort to purge myself of the foul taste and the errors of my ways. But before I did that I wanted to thank you for your support and beg y'all to give incoming President Jere Morehead your full support. He may not be able to blog, play cornhole, swill bourbon from the still, cook a grilled cheese sandwich, operate a blender, skim wifi, eat a grilled cheese sandwich, bark, tweet, pour a Guinness correctly, nap on an Orbit bus, or crush souls with his air guitar the way that I can. But he is our new president. And his name isn’t Michael Adams. 

Amen.

Today’s Ingredients

- Speaking of that guy, Blutarsky will miss Adams' penchant for administrative douchebaggery. Although I think he typed that with his tongue in his cheek.
- BigRedBaller catches up with one of Georgia's newest commits - Jeb Blazevich.
- Evidently Tyler spent the last four days with Mel Kiper and a Costco-sized can of hairspray. He runs down the first three rounds, the last four and the undrafted free agents.
- Lady Sportswriter looks at Baccari Rambo's past and future after being selected late by the Redskins.
- More draft stuff from CCRider as he grades out the first round. Have to agree that the EJ Manuel pick by the Bills and the trade up by the Falcons to get Trufant are two very big mysterious decisions.
- Yesterday Mother Nature was kind enough to replace the Hogs' brooms with umbrellas.
- I was about to call bullshit on this piece by Spencer Hall as I was travelling through Grayson GA this weekend, but then I realized that yes...their Blockbuster Video is going out of business too.

Some of my most trivial and unilaterally embarrassing transgressions, ladies and gentlemen. Exposed to you like an English bulldog rolling around on his back next to the famed hedges, I bear to you my soul and only ask that you not hold these sins against my family. They are but innocent bystanders here, as they unpack the boxes that were marked for the presidential estate and let loose the dreams of living between Sanford Drive and East Campus Road. Just above where the trumpet sounds and Dawg hunkers down.

Some of these may seem overly cryptic. Most names were redacted because I enjoy using the word redacted out of context.

He's a little bit taller. But other than that...

*My second junior year at UGA I broke the rope on the Chapel Bell, injured my leg on a rusty nail and had to get a tetanus shot. *After all these years, and considering myself an Athenian, I still don’t particularly care for most of REM’s music. Plus, having met them, they’re assholes. Except Peter Buck. He casually acknowledged my presence.  *I once resorted to dangerous levels of taunting mixed with intense hatred and grotesquely high levels of alcohol in the blood stream, embarrassing myself and my school for telling a Vandy fan to bark like a Dawg. I mean, it’s Vanderbilt dude. Let it go. *This one time, at band camp… *South Carolina peaches are better than Georgia’s. (Dear God that hurt out loud.) *I never had sexual relations with Monica Lewinsky, even back when that seemed to be the popular thing to do. *I have a filthy vocabulary and recently had to pay a fine for absolutely no %$#!@ reason.  *JASPER’S KNEE WAS DOWN GODDAMNIT!!! *During my first sophomore campaign I was caught taking sandwiches out of Bolton Dining Hall one Friday evening. I was on the five day plan, not the seven. This made for some intense hunger pains on Sunday nights while Homer chastised Flanders about not drinking Duff beer. Still, I knew it was wrong. *In yet another Chapel Bell incident Fred, Nama and I were scolded by undercover UGA cops pretending to make out for ringing it too late in the evening. WTF? *I hate gators too much. And yet not enough. Both at the same time. I’m flawed people. Turn your heads in shame. Please! *Recently, while on a boat, I molested a mic stand while singing Jesse’s Girl. (Mrs. Bernie is so lucky.) *I’ve worn orange inside of Clempson’s Death Valley. I was very young and it wasn’t my fault. But it was real and it happened. (Shit. Someone please stop me!) *While touring Italy, I photographed David in all his glory even as the guards screamed at me “NO FOTO! NO FOTO!” In my defense, duh! I don't speak Italian. Can't they recognize a tourist taking pictures in a museum? *Later I also posed as David in all my own glory. But I was not accustomed to drinking fermented grapes. Still, this is my burden to carry for my lifetime of agony. *Never once did I invest money with Coach Donnan. That’s "guarandamnteed". *Lastly, and most painfully, while enrolled at UGA my GPA once rose to a level higher than my BAC. Oh God! The shame!

Come to think of it, that might be why I graduated so early after only eight years.

So there it is. A festering wound exposed with one rip of the band-aid. Take a good long look people. Cast your judgmental eyes upon it and pretend that you have no such wound of your own. As the philosopher once said "Hating people will engage themselves in hating behavior, repeatedly." While I'm proud of each one of these acts individually, collectively they have lead to this much deserved and costly consequence. Forever I will be known as the guy that failed to replace the lying, cheating bastard as UGA President, all because I rarely manage my drunk and don't care for "shiny happy people". With the office of president within my grasp, my past came back and ripped it from my clutch before I could cross the goalline. I'm so sorry y'all. I so totally Jordan Reed'd this whole campaign. I can hear Gary Danielson and Uncle Verne countlessly recalling my epic failure.

Quoth the raven, "You suck dude. Eternally."

Well, until the day Morehead gets caught pulling some semblance of a Damon Evans and my alma mater needs a leader to step in. Of course, that Kyle King guy probably will be out of weblogging rehab retirement by then. Anyway, here's your fork Reader. But no napkins today. I used them all to try and clean up this mess.

Bernie