Friday Misery - "You'll see."

Touring the post-Civil War South, Abraham Lincoln reaches the Tennessee-North Carolina border heading east and leans over to his wife, "Time has not been kind to those f--king idiots, has it Mary? Perhaps one day they'll realize they can get their corn from both a jar and a stalk."

Wrong.

Jim Bob Cooter's theory of de-evolution gives rise to half bear, half cat

The head bUTchugger bout to fly his freak flag y'all. (via @mckelsey19)

Ancient Mesopotamians invented writing as a form of communication and the wheel as a form of transportation. Medieval Europe saw the rise of mechanical clocks, water mills and gunpowder. On Rocky Top they discovered wet dreams about mutant animals and family trees with no branches.

Tennesseans' offering to civilization? Alcohol enemas and "advanced" animal husbandry. Of course, it is possible that the former begat the latter. But this we'll never know for sure because in order to reach the top of one's social strata in Knoxville one only has to be able to script the letter "X". So you see, no records exist. At least until a few years ago when court documents show a group of University of Tennessee fraternity brothers cracked opened a box of Franzia and got extra giggly one night.

Broughton insisted his alcohol poisoning was the result of a drinking game called "Tour de Franzia," but police said he "showed signs of physical and possible sexual assault" and had a blood-alcohol content of .40.

Sad. Truly sad. I mean, it's goddamn hilarious. Don't get me wrong. But mostly it's just sad. Anyway, most anthropologists with experience in this region agree that it all started something like this: "Hey Earl, stick this here tube up my butthole, pour some corn likkur in thar and let's get to wrastlin' with Ol' Man Deckle's goats."

It's a real blessing that Charles Darwin aimed for the Galapagos instead of the "smoggy smoke" on old Rocky Top. Otherwise, the term "smoggy smoke" would actually, somehow make sense to the rest of us because we'd be dumbed down so much from our own monosyllabic grunts and dim-witted gestures over the years that we'd all be wearing squirrel caps, cream orange checker board pants and trimming toenails with our teeth tooth.

In Athens, we tote the rock. Not bricks
This Tenersee program is hungry y'all. It is as rich in tradition as it is triglycerides. Accustomed to competing at the highest level, but in the last several years they have become largely irrelevant. The Vols are like that one mule with the gimpy leg, or an outhouse situated precariously on a steep slope. They're a pathetic, incompetent mess grasping at pathetic, incompetent straws.

I meant bricks.

Seen here, a Univ. of Tennessee Resident Assistant
steers a dormitory towards campus. #VolNavy

Historically speaking, after enjoying a thirty-one year run with two highly celebrated coaches, they've had four in the last six years. Lane Kiffin promised to rebuild. But after an encouraging season that even included a pantsing of Mark Richt in Knoxville, he left the campus in flames. Figuratively. And literally. In came Derek Dools and he promised to improve shower routines to a Tuscaloosian level. Wuh? Errybody knows they don't shower in Alabama. Dumbass. Fired before season's end, a dude named Jim Cheney kept the Vol Navy afloat for the rest of the 2012 slate. And so here we are with Butch Jones and his pile of shitbricks.

So, to sum up, they've gone from a lawless class of Pahokee raiding, Prius driving, pellet-gun wielding, barroom brawlin', orange jumpsuit wearing thugs...to...a soaking wet group of dumbass hillbillys holding a bar of Zest wondering what the hell it's used for...to...a team of hungry bricklayers holding boxes of cheap fermented grape juice. Of course, Jones has them believing they can build a wall, now! Not tomorrow, not next season. Now. But no one's bothered to ask why build a brick wall? And when they finish it they'll just be a bunch of creamsickle hicks with their thumb up their ass wondering where the endzone disappeared to.

Brick by brick. Seriously, that's nearly as dumb as Anchor Down. Nearly.

This ain't about laying bricks. No, not for Georgia. This is about manhood. This is about keeping an assbackwards, down-trodden, half bear, half cat, all inbred tackle football team down where it belongs. This is about gettin' right. This is about making a statement. In Athens GA we don't have intimate relations with domesticated or semi-domesticated animals. We don't need a signature victory, because we already know how to spell our name. We don't use our toes as an abacus and we sure as shit don't climb up a mountain just to turn a stranger into a friend.

"You'll see." - Todd Gurley. You got that right B3AST. You got that right.

Let's bow our heads in prayer...Lord, hand the ball to Gurley. And please let us somehow and in some way smack some more ugly off these knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing inbreds. And then let them find a way out of Athens, hastily, with their poo smelling funnels carefully packed away. Amen.