Oregon speedster De'Anthony Thomas represents a growing trend in college football in two ways. First, he is a player who can rotate through different positions in an offense, presenting a unique and electrifying offensive threat at several spots on the field.

Second, he was one of fourteen recruits in his class to carry a name starting with "De'-", another quantifiable college football trend of note. For reference, we include this extremely scientific graph representing the rise of the "De'-" era in college football, compiled with research by SB Nation recruiting guru Bud Elliott.

This year's national recruiting class features at least twenty "De'-" names. The 2013 class, in no particular order:

1. De'Asian Richardson

2. De'Niro Laster

3. De'Mario Evans

4. De'Marieya Nelson

5. De'Vondre Campbell

6. De'Runnya Wilson

7. De'Ondre Wesley

8. De'Vante Scott

9. De'Quann Ruffin

10. De'Shawn Beck

11. De'Juan James

12. De'Andre Simmons

13. De'Marcus Paige

14. De'Shaun Wells

15. De'Xavier Lancaster

16. De'Quan Pettway

17. De'Von Bollinger

18. De'shone Randall

19. De'Shawn Ford

20. De'Rahjai Robinson

Look through SB Nation's many excellent college football blogs to find your team's community.

Follow @SBNationCFB

The NCAA is basically the large, cheap bra thrown into every load of college football's dirty laundry. It allegedly supports things that stand up just fine on their own, and with a bad fit in most cases. Involve it with the cleaning process in any sense by throwing it in the machine, and it just snags on everything, tangling it into an unholy mess. And in the moments where things matter the most--birth, death, and the act of creation--it is an irrelevance, an afterthought, and rarely present.

Still, you can't really go without an NCAA or everyone begins pointing and calling you filthy names. The virtue garment of college athletics continues to cling to its assets despite all reason, and warps the natural shape of the college football bosom into preferred deformities of the moment. This year's edition of college football's bullet bra has been revised, and now comes with, like, one fewer hook or buckle to snag everything up into total nonsense.

Allowed: Unlimited methods on recruiting communications, 13-3, which will eliminate restrictions on methods and modes of communication during recruiting. Tosh Lupoi can play Call of Duty with you all night without fear of repercussions from the NCAA, recruits.

Not allowed: Giving a share of money earned to players for the capital above and beyond their scholarship "pay" received for their services.

Allowed: Whatever you want on bagels, a vital beat Holly Anderson has been ruthlessly pursuing at Campus Union. Spreads are now longer regulated by the NCAA, and that means one thing, Auburn: DIAMONDS IN MY CREAM CHEESE DIAMONDS IN MY CREAM CHEESE DIAMONDS IN MY CREAM CHEESE TOOMER'S CORNER SWAG PLEASE.

Not allowed: Players receiving a share of memorabilia sold with their number and name on it.

Allowed: "12-3, which will allow a student-athlete to receive $300 more than actual and necessary expenses, provided the expenses come from an otherwise permissible source."

Not allowed: You know, paying players money at programs that can afford to do that, or allowing them contact with agents like everyone else, or addressing anything but the most cosmetic and superficial adjustments to the big book o' quasilegal improvisation that is the NCAA rule book. It's a two percent reduction in bullshit, leaving at best a full 98% of the bullshit left.

When attempting to clean the laundry of college athletics, it remains what we started off saying: the bra, which you should really just clean on its own, and remove from the process altogether. (Lift and separate from the equation, if you will.)

P.S. This analogy makes Mark Emmert the sketchy salesman of poorly made undergarments. We're okay with that.

P.P.S. We're not saying bras aren't necessary. We're saying they come in different sizes for different reasons.

P.P.P.S. Let's just never revisit this metaphor ever again for safety reasons, since those of you untrained in the matter can kill a whole lab full of personnel handling it improperly.

P.P.P.P.S. BOTH ARE FILLED WITH BOOBS. Okay, we're done.

Can't say who just yet (deal isn't finalized) but word at Senior Bowl is another FBS head job will open tonight. Coach going to the league

— FootballScoop Staff (@footballscoop) January 22, 2013

We'll start the betting. Conditions: cannot be a BCS head coach, so the difficulty's doubled.

• Tim Beckman leaving to become a DBs coach in the NFL. Because Illinois. Oh, Illinois is a BCS school, you say. Really? How much do you believe that sentence. Say it again honestly. Examine your feelings.
• Bobby Petrino to the Alouettes.
• Bobby Petrino to the Cowboys OC position.
• Bobby Petrino to something
• Carl Pelini for Philadelphia DC
• Robb Akey for California Penal DAMMIT WE KNOW HE GOT FIRED THAT'S JUST NOT FAIR
• Chuck Amato leaving Chuck Amato State for THE SHIELD. (Chuck Amato State is an accredited institution per the Chuck Amato Board of Pectoral Accreditation.)
• Chris Petersen for Secretary of Defense.
• Tony Levine to somewhere. Because he wants to complete the circle of firing both his offensive and defensive coordinator in a season by firing himself.

Wager in the comments below. Winner receives a copy of Far Cry 4: Harbaugh Island edition. It's currently unrated and in beta, but is intense and contains the innovative "Asshole finding knuckle" feature that will revolutionize first person shooters.

RIP, sweet innocent racket that once belonged to Serena Williams.

(via @CJZero)

THERE ARE MANY FOOTBALL PLAYERS IN THE SEC AND ALL ARE MORE PHYSICALLY GIFTED THAN YOU EVER WERE OR ARE.

Landry's TD catch is probably the one play you don't remember with enough awe from 2013: at full speed, flying backwards in the air, and twisting at full extension with little more than a few fingerpads on the ball at first contact, the kind of shit Sammo Hung used to rig up with wires in Hong Kong action sequences. The absurdity just gets worse when you watch it in slow-motion. (via R/CFB)

THE SPREAD IS STILL DEAD, GARY DANIELSON. The generation of quarterbacks to come and the changing profile of the NFL quarterback's role are all just hair and nails growing on the corpse, we're sure. Can you break your toe on a deceased Palomino? WATCH GARY DANIELSON AND LEARN THE ANSWERS.

WAITING FOR RINALDI'S PIANO CAN COST YOU A STORY. Or something like that, since the smaller, lighter media entity ended up with the story while the compromised, elephantine one dawdled, lost and ultimately lost out twice on the Manti Te'o saga. Outlets who will type anything you want to hear are still thriving off the whole thing, so it's not totally a zero-sum game here.

SPEAKING OF: We'll have to text Mike and see what's up here, because that indeed is not your best angle, Mr. Leach.

HATE IS ETERNAL AND PORTABLE. You could just cheer Denard Robinson on in his efforts to change positions after a year of the Borges Procedure, or no wait you're Ohio State and Michigan, and hate is forever.

VIRGINIA TECH, STAND UP. A leader in a crowded field of overacheivers, you Hokies. In further VT news, familiarize yourself with the history of their offensive coordinators, or why Ricky Bustle is a name that forever warms the heart of Hokies fans like so much brown coping fluid poured down the mainpipe.

ETC. Believe.

The following is sponsored content paid for by The Committee For The Preservation of American Football, and brought to you by the PR firm of Spaeth, Luntz, and Hancock.

It's been a great year for football in America. Attendance is at an all-time high, viewership is up, and the boundless enthusiasm for our sport remains just that: boundless. Over seventy billion people combined worldwide will watch the BCS Title Game and the Super Bowl! That's a number so big you shouldn't even write it. It'll make your hand cramp! Just trust us when we say: our sport a truly global phenomenon.

Yet some say that head trauma spells the end for football worldwide. "CTE," or "Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy," is a word you'll hear a lot. It's important to know a few things when discussing CTE, and to understand the words being used in the conversation.

We'd like to look at a few of those right now with you.

What is Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy?

The old term for CTE, a degenerative brain condition that has been in some limited scientific studies tied to blows to the head. It's scary, isn't it? Such a scary set of words for something that may not be connected to football at all!

Isn't there a better term for this? I hate even saying these scary words!

So do we. That's why The Committee For The Preservation of American Football suggests a new series of words to go with the term CTE, a friendlier set of images designed to convey the full realities of a condition associated with years of enjoyable, safe football play.

Courageous

Thunderskull

Exxxtreeeem

(Sponsored by Red Bull Zero)

Wait, whoa, what is Red Bull Zero?

It's all the wings Red Bull gives you, but with zero calories.

Wow. I can't wait to try it. But about CTE and head trauma: isn't that bad for you?

An excessive amount of head trauma is bad for you, of course. But that's true of anything, isn't it? Pie is wonderful, but eat too much of it and you will become overweight. And we're not talking about outlawing pie in America. That would be insane.

Are you saying a certain amount of head trauma is good for you?

We're not saying that. But some have proposed that very thing, connecting the brisk but measured application of blunt force to the head to heightened athletic performance, higher earning potential as an adult, and to increased reproductive success. We quote:

Contact massages your cranial pores with naturally occurring MANSGAMESIA, removing any remaining softness from your lame-ass childhood and making your brain 110% SHIELD READY.

(Study source: Dr. Eatrawgarlic Homeowaterfilterpath, University of Helsinki Institute at Florida State University.)

You're making CTE sound like something you want. Is it?

We wouldn't say either way. This is a country of freedom, and freedom means making your own decisions. But ask yourself this: can you risk not getting CTE? Take a look at some people who did:

- Albert Einstein: No sacks, no interceptions, DEAD

- Mary Wollstonecraft: No road playoff wins, DEAD

- Moses: Never even made Hall of Fame ballot, DEAD

In contrast, Andrew Jackson's lifetime of carefully applied head trauma made him one of our nation's greatest presidents, and turned Ernest Hemingway into an American icon. We present the facts. You be the judge.

But I've heard tau proteins are the link between decreased cognitive function.

Some have proposed this. Some have also noted that the brain craves protein--particularly the growing brains of infants and the high-performance machines that are the modern athlete. Think of it as getting your brain "swole" in response to life's ravages, and having a lean, paleo brain for the modern caveman's lifestyle.

After all, the T-Rex had a lean, small brain, and turned out to be the greatest athlete of its time.

Lean brain = lean body = more power. It's that simple in sports, and in life.

And what about the correlation with the recent tragic suicides of players found to have CTE?

Suicide is tragic. Our hearts go out to all those affected. Apropos of nothing, the Tyrannosaurus Rex was incapable of suicide, and not just because its short arms prevented most conventional methods of killing yourself. It just never crossed its tiny, lean, protein-rich mind.

That argument makes total sense to me. Why don't others embrace this clear line of obvious, logical thinking?

Education is key. We believe that football involves a degree of violence. We believe that violence is in no way connected to decreased cognitive function, depression, rage, seizures, large black patches on MRI and CAT scans, ruined lives, or any of the other things some believe happen to football players after they stop playing the beautiful game.

Maybe the beautiful game itself leaves a hole in them no one can replace. And maybe that sadness makes a very literal hole in the brain. But Courageous Thunderskull Exxxtreeeem (Sponsored by Red Bull Zero) can't be blamed for that. The real enemy here is sadness, something we as friends of football, and of each other, need to combat with love, compassion, and understanding.

Where can I get a Red Bull Zero?

Red Bull Zero is available at any convenience store, grocery store, and at selected restaurants and establishments near you.

This message was brought to you by The Committee For The Preservation of American Football, and does not necessarily reflect the views of EDSBS or SBNation.com. Brought to you by the PR firm of Spaeth, Luntz, and Hancock.

It would be nice to just blame the person in charge, because that would make the NCAA something effective, merely a noble franchise misdirected by inept, buttery hands fumbling the controls of a potentially fine machine.

That would be nice. It would be nice to imagine Mark Emmert--the man who earns $1.6 million a year to slap the controls of the NCAA around like an ape frantically smashing the buttons of a nuclear missile silo--as someone competent. It would also be inaccurate, since the NCAA is a cash-spitting brain fluke infecting anyone who touches it, and like most parasitic organisms has more willing hosts than you can count.

Oh, but it's a good kind of parasite, you say, cuddling with it before happily letting it crawl in your ear. It's good to someone: the schools who hide for-profit businesses behind the byzantine code of amateurism, the executives at the NCAA who collect six-figure paychecks for eating lunch for a living, and for the basketball programs taking their cut of the NCAA's sale of March Madness. It's good for people who like binders and large, downloadable PDFs.

The botched Miami case || Miami fans react

The NCAA is good for anyone who would like to believe college sports is not a business, and still deserves any kind of status as a non-profit entity. It is good for the bowls who hide under that same curtain, and with brain-flukes firmly in place insist on the virtues of funneling money through the tax code into brightly colored jacket pockets. It's not just good for bloggers and journalists in search of a easy pickings--it's great for us, because hunting the NCAA's inconsistencies is a shotgun safari in a sheep pasture. They're so very slow, and so very easy to hit with even the worst weaponry.

But even those who revel in writing about the NCAA happily host the parasite, usually by assuming that the NCAA is a thing at all. There's a slight tickle in the ear, and then some pressure, and then ahhh, there it is: the comfortable assumption that this ever made sense, and that the NCAA should play any role in anything ever.

To date, the only writer fully immune to it is Taylor Branch, who excoriated the NCAA properly in The Shame Of College Athletics. Everyone else, to some degree, is a friend of the cash-spitting mind-slug, and assumes in definition that at one point, somewhere, the NCAA lost its way, and could serve some future use.

It cannot. The NCAA is a perfectly useless entity in every positive sense, and only useful in the negative sense of placing a wall between wages and labor. Emmert has been a brain-damaged, sputtering fartcloud of a bureaucrat in his tenure at the NCAA, but so was Myles Brand, a perfectly intelligent human being who could not define what the NCAA did in Congressional hearings. That's what the NCAA does: writes checks to smart people, who in turn become the drooling replicants of a moralizing hivemind on the make.

The Miami case is embarrassing, but so is the 2012 Penn State case, the Reggie Bush USC sanctions, the separation of agents from their future clients, the random declarations of ineligibility, the year waiting period between transfers, the regulation of student-athlete endorsements and use of their own likenesses in products, the rules governing recruiting at any level, and a hundred other daily absurdities fostered by the need to keep money out of the hands of those who earn it.

The NCAA is an absurd parasite clamped to the cerebrum of college athletics, impairing thought and turning smart people into gibbering zombies intoxicated by false virtue and real dollars. The dignified thing would be for the NCAA to close its own doors and rent its Indianapolis headquarters to a PF Chang's.

Parasites never choose suicide, though, and instead serve only one purpose: self-replication. The more realistic option is a surgical removal from its hosts, an operation of extreme difficulty for those who've come to love the slimy critter nesting comfortably in their otherwise fine brains.

Look through SB Nation's many excellent college football blogs to find your team's community.

Follow @SBNationCFB

The NCAA is the topic at the mothership, and we don't know how to be any meaner about it without just drawing pictures of asses on Mark Emmert's face. As it exists, college football is already working as an extremely well-lit black market, with the weird pricing and convoluted payment structures you see in Burmese night markets. And without the piles of black market amphetamines. We think.*

But at this point we don't need some kind of vague belief in the NCAA. You need evidence of its existence as anything but an ouroboros, and a demonstration of why anyone should listen to a single goddamn thing they say about anything. Right now, it's an expensive gibberish factory, a Potemkin Village for the dead concept of monied amateur athletics, and a ghost who found a gavel and called himself a judge.

*Not saying there's a school that just serves as a front for methamphetamine trafficking. Okay, it's UTEP.

Former Yo! MTV Raps host Ed Lover is discussing the Manti Te'o case with Skip Bayless and Stephen A. Smith on ESPN. We're somewhere on that road, America. That road goes somewhere dark and mysterious, and probably ends up with MC Serch, Fab 5 Freddy, and Woody Paige solemnly discussing Frank Gore's low socks and whether Jay Cutler is to blame for Manti Te'o's fake girlfriend ruining the chemistry of the next team Te'o and Tebow will inevitably both play for in the NFL.

P.S. It's best just to watch ESPN's daytime programming via Twitter, as if First Take segments were just transmissions from a strange alien world. (And they are.)

(via 19jms)

THE NCAA:

That's all. Just, the NCAA setting itself on fire, over and over again. And now that we've called them a parasitic brain fluke, let's just never, ever discuss them ever again.

"WE'RE GONNA GET FIRED."In more football-positive news, Bruce Feldman's piece on the creation of the Pistol Offense is fantastic, particularly the part where Ault's staff is sitting around wondering whether they're all going to lose their jobs because their boss has gone insane.

THAT IS IMPRESSIVE. Just weirder and weirder, further down the Kekua rabbit hole.

DR. LOU, INEPT POLITICAL CONSULTANT. If you were wondering who gives Dr. Lou his pep talks, it's John Boehner.

DREAM TEAM. The university that does not exist hiring Jim Bollman AND John Shoop to be on staff is appropriate, since those two coaches also do not exist.

WHAT THE HELL IS THIS: Ivan Maisel compares Manti Te'o to Mr. Deeds because...innocence or something.

ETC: Don't ever read Bill Walsh's book on football because it will ruin your life.

Hey, buddy. You thinking of starting a career in coachin'? That's great.

I'd like to sell you on a little place I call Florida State. Coming right out the gate, you'll have opportunities no one else has. You'll be bouncin' around, doin' things, showin' real energy. You'll coach all the best athletes Florida State can offer:

• Fast bigs
• Big fasts
• Fat fasts
• Tall fasts
• Fast slows
• Bigguns
• Fellas
• Those dudes
• Guys
• More guys
• Scooters
• Pebblegeese
• >Goers
• Movers
• Stoppers
• Tweeners
• Preciselies
• Jodhpurs
• Run-getters
• Pass-whackers
• Tommy goblins
• Elves
• Treat-trickers
• Hustlebusters
• Scraphearts
• Tangos
• Cashes
• Deep reachers
• Periodontists
• Dogwon'thunters
• Clownfish 'n anemones
• Our guys
• Team players
• Play teamer
• Pay meters
• Tit-grinners
• Gettin' after it kinda fellas
• Sick on the ground with malaria fellas
• Crates-o-hens
• Milk hammocks
• Mama's boys
• Daddy-stampers
• Kickjankers
• Donkeyspotters
• Slapdancers
• Double wides
• Triple wides
• Actual homes with a proper basement you bought for your poor dear mama who brung you this far in life so she deserves a swimmin' pool albeit an above ground because you don't want people assumin' you got airs to put on
• Ran-by-yous
• Sack-y'alls
• Fingerbaskets
• Tight endseds
• Banjoflossers
• Quarterbacks

You'll get to coach 'em all. You'll also get to do it at the greatest academic institution in the state of Floruda,* and in a cosmopolitan capital city on the rise, Tallahassee. All the amenities of the big city!

With downhome charm:

Our open positions as of today:

TOUCHDOWNS

TOUCHDOWNS is in charge of makin' it all go. That's also me, too. No, I got it. Just hold this towel and keep track of my timeouts. That clock'll get ya! Oh man will that clock get ya. May have to hold two towels if I'm really signallin' 'em in big and fancy. Must bring own towels.

PASSMASTER CLASSIC

Work with the quarterbacks closely. Develop their talents. help them achieve the highest possible level of haha buddy I'm messin' with you, this is a recruiting position. Get a sackful of phones from the local Salvation Army, wipe the memory cards, and get to callin'. I catch you on Rivals on company time and I'm sending you to UAB. I have that power, because Alabama law is a really weird thing.

PANTHER WRANGLER

Running backs coach. But a panther is involved. I'd tell you how but the competition's always listening. Except for Will Muschamp. Been deaf since he tried to cure a sinus cold by setting off a whole pack of black cats in both ears. But yeah: you'll need a towel for this one, too. Mostly for the panther if everything goes right, and for you if it doesn't.

Apply today, and GO NOLES.

*A seven county tax-free independent republic located in the Florida Panhandle ruled by me.

FINE FINE HERE IT IS.

He's living such a perfect life at the moment that it scares people, and that's just fine. Johnny's rich and valuable, and those two things alone ensure a great degree of protection. Additionally, on his extended family's curve, he ain't even close to what might be considered trouble yet, so let's raise the spoiler and drop anchor on the concern rays for poor gifted, intelligent, and well-off 20 year old Heisman winners.

THE MAN WHAT MADE THE BEAR'S PANTS. The best part of this profile of Bear Bryant's tailor is the part where he describes the Alabama coach as having "no ass." That's a duck-butted national title for you, Alabama. Treasure its pancake-assed glory.

WE'RE SURE HE'S NICE. And no, not entirely to blame for the NCAA's stupidities, but still culpable by action and role. Our point might be that any person who heads up the NCAA becomes the head of the NCAA, and thus part of the problem instantly.

AND DOWN THE HOLE OF STUPIDITY WE TUMBLE. Um Te'o girl voice accomplice insane bullshit that only breeds more insane bullshit and THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FISH A STRANGER IN THE CAT, NOTRE DAME. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS.

NEVER FORGET THE BOWDENS. America's true first football family.

ETC: Beard game on lock, which is presumably why he's retiring from marathoning at 101 because he's as perfect as a human being can get. Papa Roach gave us so much in just a single phrase. Viva los Xolos!

IT'S HOT TAKE FRIDAY ON TALKIN' HOTTIES WITH P.J AND THE GANG

It's Friday and that means we're TALKIN' HOTTIES. And sports. But also HOTTIES.

Big topic on TALKIN' HOTTIES this Friday. Important topic here. Want you to pay attention

Everyone in this Te'o case stinks, but what stinks most?

That we can't even ask if Te'o might be gay.

Why are we afraid of this conversation? Isn't it homophobic for us to not address this? I'm just saying, what's wrong with me asking if someone's gay? Not just here, but ever? You have to answer that before I stop asking if someone's gay or not. Then we can talk.

People wanna know where they stand with you. And frankly, I gotta know where to put you. You say stereotype, I say hearing life's music in HD with a fine pair of headphones, kemosabe.

I get it. We're all scared of the PC police. We're all scared of sex. Not me. You can come after me if you like, but if I see two hotties shopping at West Elm for the same bedspread, you know what I'm assuming? Nothing. I'm gonna ask a few questions.

I'll ask if they're gay.

I'll also ask how that works, because I like to know. I've done it before, and it was going just fine until the PC police showed up and told me to leave the store, because I was making people "uncomfortable" with my questions.

Wouldn't do that with two old librarians, guys. But trust me: smoke. Shows.

The truth scares people like that sometimes. But the truth is what Talkin' Hotties is all about.

That, and hotties.

I say this because I. Support. Gay. People. I do. But I need to know this first: ARE YOU GAY? Why? Because I support gay people. I'm a people person at heart, but I have to know what people you are before we start. People people understand where I'm coming from.

I gotta support you, but I have to know where to put you first.

Once I know you're gay, then I can support you. I'm not ashamed of being straight. Not one bit. Or take my black friends--which I have--and being black. I'm not racist. They wouldn't get offended if I said, "Oh, are you black?" See? Point made. Argument over.

They all admitted it. I'll admit it: I'm a white man who finds women attractive, and likes to talk about it. Crazy! What are you afraid of? Why don't you want to have this conversation? What's not to trust in people? They can handle it. We're in 2013 now! We have NFL Redzone dammit.

What's wrong with asking if a guy's gay?

I'm just saying.

I mean, it would be easier if they were labeled, wouldn't it? I could use that. I know there's easy ways of doing this. Like a pink badge they had to wear. Not even fancy shirts and jeans are enough now thanks to the hipsters. It was hard enough with black guys--amirite?--but with straight guys it's a total crapshoot now.

It's like the thing with Musburger. There's nothing wrong with me saying a woman's attractive. There'd be nothing wrong with me pointing out specifics, either. Like that Jessica Chastain. Man, I'd let her torture me. She has small but effective breasts. Wild card: I'm guessing one inverted nipple.

She's thin, which is hot because it means she's not poor, and gross who wants that on their junk, right? She's probably into bead play, and I also respect her as an actress and a person. She's probably also had a few weird moles removed.

Oh, I can hear you know, PC Police. Feminists. But I'm equal opportunity with this.

See, others are just wondering if Te'o's gay. I'm gonna truth this up: if he's gay--AND I'M JUST SPECULATING--he's a gym gay. Total gym gay. Sensitive. Has big dogs. He's not into the butt stuff, but if it's the right guy he'll share it. Out of love, not lust. He's a romantic. I can imagine him now: moonlit, bare-chested, the kind of guy who'd probably like a lot of foreplay. A real lover, you know? A cuddler, even. Probably kisses softly like the Polynesian rains on a summer evening.

Hey, I'm just saying what we're all thinking.

See? That wasn't hard or weird at all. We're still all alive! We're all still here!

It's also just good planning. You're bringing your "partner" to my Super Bowl party? What the hell, bro? I need to know if that means buying more Bud Heavy or more Bahama Mama.

Do I need lube for you? Gay guys do it all the time and you might do it at my house during the party. I don't want you taking mine. Plus butts are like car engines: they all require different oils. Pretty sure the Napa Know-How Guy said that. I gotta know if he's gay, too. I just have to know.

But it's like anything else. I have to know exactly where the body was found. I have to see the autopsy photos. Is there a picture of your penis on the internet? I GOTTA SEE IT BECAUSE I'M A PEOPLE PERSON. I like people, and if they get naked or die I wanna see it all because that's just how much I like people.

I have to know the whole story because I'm gonna say the things no one else does. I hate to say it, but that's just who I am.

So in closing: to all you out there saying you don't care who's gay and who isn't - do you also not care who's sick and who isn't? Not that being gay is a disease. WebMD was very clear on that.

Tell you what. Come on down to the WCTR studios. If you're gay and you tell me you're gay, I'll ice you right here live on air. Not even afraid of it.

Smirnoffs on me. The gay guys tend to like those, I hear. I'm not here to take away your man card. Or your man-on-man card. I'm just legitimately curious, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's what separates us from the animals and got men on the moon. Men who weren't afraid to tell the truth about what drives us all in everything.

Ever think about what a rocket's shaped like?

It's not shaped like a fat lady, that's for sure. It wasn't powered by feminism or herbal tea or the WNBA.

You think about that real talk and get back to me about sexism, ladies.

This segment was sponsored by Homeland, only on Showtime. You seen Homeland? Wow, Clair Danes. LIttle like a sexy praying mantis. Smokeshow? SMOKESHOW.

Talkin' Hotties is not a real show shut up it isn't nope nothing like it in the world.

HELLO.

Hi, the editor of this site here. We're sort of back after a week of babying, or at least four days of babying. Service will still be intermittent on this end, but we're digging out from DER BABYSTURM as quickly as we can. Women are amazing creatures, and newborns are cats with less murderous instincts and an equivalent nap ratio. Thanks to all of you for the well wishes, and mother and baby are both fine and sleeping appropriately.

SOUTH BEND STILL LOOKS LIKE THIS. Dan Rubenstein set the national title game to Apollo 13, and we lost it at Ed Harris' casual thumbs-up to Gary Sinise when Katherine Webb came up on the screen. Sad priest was really just icing on the cake, but watching just snippets of it in a parody reminded us of how fucking lopsided that game was, and how much Notre Dame was annihilated, and we'll just be here licking Nick Saban's tiny boot forever because evidently that's what we all do now.

A MICHIGAN MAN CATFISHES HIMSELF. Dave Brandon,

just trollin' for strange online and calling it a learning exercise.

UNKLE LUKE IS OUTRAGED. He is, but there has to be more to Al Golden yanking a local kid's scholarship, and doing so in an area so contested and crucial to the U's recruiting efforts as South Florida.

BALL OUT WITH THE AEROSTAR. Well, not the Aerostar, but with a minivan and in the hood is how Cal does it with recruiting these days. (And with the right amount of self-conscious irony, you wily Air Raid kids, you.) In other recruiting news, Land Thieves has Barry in his closer pose ready to go on the banner.

FOLLOW YOUR HEART (BUT THE ANSWER IS WAFFLE HOUSE.) The final four in the college football chain restaurant competition are a testament to everything you suspect about college nutrition, i.e. that it is neither nutritious, nor in some cases food. The comments are beyond passionate, and border on murder.

ETC: This captures precisely how we feel about ATLiens, even if we didn't listen to it in Bomani Jones' car.

We dispatched Birmingham correspondent "Rick Muscles" to visit the now infamous S.W.A.T.S. Gym, source of the "deer spray" supplement and other alternative therapies Ray Lewis is alleged to have used in his recovery from a triceps injury. His report follows.

Spencer Hall: Where is it in Birmingham? What kind of neighborhood?

Rick Muscles: The building is near a run down stretch of neighborhood. It's near a Super 8. It's a pretty lower middle class area. It is near a Target, though. BTW, its a gym/auto detailing business. So you can get deer antler spray and prepare your car to be sold at the same time.

They kept reminding me they weren't doctors but also reminded me it was their first amendment right to give me their opinion. Then the owner came in and it got awesome.

SH: Go on.

RM: Dude is huge and has a solid North Alabama accent. He's huge and super tan. He was wearing a red cut off t-shirt. Under his clavicles he had "chips" which are holograms taped on. I told him I wanted to improve my deadlift and he said i should tape a "chip" to below my lower hip bone. That way my legs wouldn't get tired. He explained the spray and told me about how it would increase my testosterone production.

When he walked in, he seemed concerned I was either a real reporter or with the DEA.

SH: Did he ask you?

RM:Never straight up. I was upfront that I did Rick Muscles. So it wasn't an issue. Then he told me about the deer antler pills. The deer antler pills make it easier to absorb nutrients. Then he said it's better for my brains. He told me I had two brains. One in my head and the other in my stomach. He asked if I ever had a gut feeling and I said yes. That was his proof I had a second brain.

Please remember: a dude with a hologram taped to his nipple was telling me about my second brain.

SH: In your stomach.

RM: In my stomach.

SH: Go on.

RM: The other stuff in the deer antler pills was colostrum. Which is mother's milk. He said it's a nutrient we no longer get when we're older. I agreed that I did not get enough. The pills were $75.00 for about 20. Then I walked around and took pictures. Then I left. They got their website back online so it's all verifiable there.

SH: The endorsements on the wall include Ray Lewis, but only for the APC hologram stickers. Did you see anything else that indicated Ray Lewis having anything to do with deer spray?

RM: I took a picture of everything relating to Ray. So I do not think so.

SH: I saw Fred Funk in there. Who else do they mention?

RM: Johnny Damon, the Raiders coach (Hue Jackson) and bass fisherman Cliff Crochet were in there.

SH: And I saw that you tried it. Describe the taste.

RM: Just tastes like vanilla cough syrup. It's a spray so it's not too strong. It was fairly smooth.

SH: Did your rippling pecs and massive glutes tingle as you took it?

RM: I'd say so. Pretty sure I'm gonna wake up tomorrow with more chest hair.

SH: Without giving away your day job, it's your professional life to look into fraud. What's your stomach-brain telling you here?

RM: I felt like shirtless bearded guy was pretty innocent last night. However, the owner today was full of shit. He's a huckster.

SH: Mitch Ross, yes? This guy?

RM: Met him today.

SH: You said in another conversation that you felt like the place was seconds from being raided by someone.

RM: I think I was overreacting a touch, but they do seem a little nervous. The cash thing was weird. They're obviously nervous about the DEA. I think the Sports Illustrated thing got them in over their heads. Remember the movie What the Bleep Do We Know? It was on their coffee table.

SH: How did the gym look?

RM: Shitty. The equipment looked very 90s and only an old lady was in there. She was walking on a treadmill.

SH: Would you get your car detailed there?

RM: Sure. Would not lift there.

More from SB Nation:

• Let's talk chicken wings
• Prop bets: Head or tails?
• Commercials: Audi lets the public choose the ending to its ad
• How to properly drink during the Super Bowl
• Who will score the first touchdown of the Super Bowl?

1. Randy Moss wore high socks at Marshall, high socks stretched up to his game pants over thin legs. They made him look lanky, spindly, even breakable. For certain games he wore horizontally striped socks, rings of kelly green bobbing down the field with a sickening ease. Striped socks fit Moss in two senses.

• They give a certain vintage feel to watching Randy Moss footage, footage where Moss runs so slowly, and with such floaty ease through competition, that he seems to have several frames more a second than other players like old reel-to-reel tape of 1930s football players.
• A person who wears spearmint candy cane socks on a football field has already told you how little he cares what you think, do, want to do, or care to say about him getting anywhere he wants on the field.

2. Randy Moss will play in the Super Bowl on Sunday for the San Francisco 49ers. He is 35 years old, and the third receiving option on his team behind Michael Crabtree and Vernon Davis. He sits third on the NFL receiving yards list behind Terrell Owens and Jerry Rice.

Rice has a vested interest in being the Greatest Receiver Ever. That's convenient since statistics and facts let him make a very, very good claim for it, along with the Super Bowl rings and All-Pro selections that lend real anecdotal weight. He also believes Randy Moss could have been the best wide receiver ever.

"This is how I impacted the game: with Super Bowl rings,'' he said. "I'm hoping he can go out there and win his first one and be a big factor."

Jerry Rice had Joe Montana and Steve Young throwing to him on pre-salary cap teams that rank among the greatest ever assembled. Moss has had his Hall of Fame partner -- Tom Brady in New England -- but for the bulk of his career relied on Daunte Culpepper, Brad Johnson, and a cavalcade of middling signal-callers to get him the ball. Randy Moss, for all his athletic brilliance, is not a one-man delivery system.

Moss has no Super Bowl rings, the most arbitrary piece of evidence for an NFL player's greatness. (Kevin Faulk has three. Kevin Faulk is a very good football player, but he is also Kevin Faulk.) Moss missed a trip to the Super Bowl in the freaky 1999 NFC Championship Game, hauling in a TD and six catches for 75 yards despite blanket coverage in the loss. He caught his career high of 23 touchdown catches in the perfect 2007 New England season. That season ended in a baffling loss to the New York Giants where Moss had a modest 62 yards but still caught a touchdown.

At the age of 35, he has his third shot at a Super Bowl. If the pattern holds, Haloti Ngata will run 95 yards for the Ravens' game-winning touchdown, just as field goal kickers and long-cut wide receivers decided previous shots at glory. And Randy Moss could still lack the shiniest and most hollow indicator of a player's net historical worth in the NFL.

3. This is a photo of Randy Moss.

"If Randy wants to do something, Randy's gonna do it, and you better get out of the way." That's Chad Pennington, talking on the phone about Moss. Moss just did things: wearing the high socks, falling out of bounds mockingly after embarrassing another DB on a fade route, mock-mooning the crowd after a touchdown, or deciding to take a whole busload of West Virginia kids to watch LeBron James play in Cleveland and paying for it all himself.

I'd also like to point out that Randy Moss there is clearly business Moss: tie, white shirt, and yet still wearing a full head of braids, just one of the things that threw sportswriters -- particularly white sportswriters writing about him at a distance -- on the wrong track. Google "Randy Moss thug" and 4,000,000 results pop up instantly, mostly because it was easier to assume the easy, tacitly racist thing about him: that he was loud, opinionated, and a prima donna because he was rich, black, and grew up without a father. That he was a thug, and whatever other coded statements follow that word.

4. The truth is that Randy Moss did grow up without a father -- in Rand, West Virginia, a town of 1,631 people as of the last census. He appeared on national television for the first time when he was a middle-schooler on the old Scholastic Sports America, hosted by a chipper young Chris Fowler. Like Wayne Gretzky in Canada, Moss was a spectacle worth a road trip by the time he was a freshman in high school. He could trust no one, and outside of a close circle of longtime friends, he hasn't since he was very, very young. To teammates he was personable, warm, even generous. Outside of the locker room, he was isolated, quiet, and private.

5. When Randy Moss decided to un-retire for the 2012 season, he did not use a consultant, manager, agent, svengali, adviser, psychologist, coach, pundit, financial guy, or any other kind of professional advice-giver. He did it after fishing with a professional bass fisherman on the coldest day of the year. They did not talk about football once.

6. From an interview with Aaron Ferguson, former teammate of Moss at Marshall.

AF: We watched him play in the state basketball tournament that previous year, his senior year when he and Jason Williams were on the same basketball team. We knew who he was, what kind of a freak athlete he was."

SH: When he played basketball was there a big talent gap between him and future NBA player Jason Williams?

AF: Randy was a high-flying act. They played well off each other. Randy could basically jump out of the gym. The game I saw, he took one dribble at the free throw line, jumped over a kid at the dotted line, and dunked the basketball off two feet.

7. The talent, by any account, was and is unparalleled.

"A lot of the time people thought he wasn't working hard because he made it look so easy." Chad Pennington is on the other end of most of those early, jaw-dropping moments of high-socked stunnery. He starts the play, something you might not remember since for most of Moss' career, the quarterback has been a utility, not a feature, a catalyst for the combustion reaction on the other end.

Yet no one believed what they saw. In 1997, when Marshall went undefeated, every team covered him one-on-one because they simply did not believe what they saw on film. 1,820 yards and 26 TDs later, he was a Heisman trophy finalist and the Biletnikoff winner in Marshall's first year in D-1 football.

"Randy was the first wide receiver to ever be your checkdown," Chad Pennington said. "Think about that. When Daunte Culpepper didn't have anything else, he just threw it up to Randy. And it worked."

8. I repeat: Randy Moss, wherever he was on the field, was at one point a safer and better option than a pass in the unoccupied flat to your running back.

9. Pennington:

"The first time Randy got on a high-dive, he jumped off and did a gainer. The second time he did some kind of back dive twist thing."

10. He did the same in the pros: as checkdown receiver for Daunte Culpepper, in vagabond stops at Oakland, Tennessee, and in New England when he put up the ludicrous numbers of the 2007 season: 98 catches, 1493 receiving yards, and the record 23 touchdown catches. Yet even then he ended up elsewhere, retiring completely in 2011 before returning to play for the 49ers as the most gifted journeyman receiver in NFL history. The rep would be the same: that he didn't work, that he was a malcontent, that he would quit on plays.

11. There is evidence for this, at least early in his career with the Vikings. There is the disgusting act, the weird press conferences in New England, and Moss heading to the locker room early. He railed against caterers for no apparent reason. He did leave the field early in 2005, and did in fact say that he would play when he wanted to play, and say what he wanted to say. At times, Moss has been the strangest personality on a football field, a paranoid physical genius devoid of trust in anything around him; the game, his teammates, coaches, management, players.

12. There is also plenty of evidence to the contrary: that Moss blocked his ass off from his time at Marshall to the present, that he helped mentor younger receivers, that his teammates on the whole liked playing with him, and not just because he could breeze to 1,000 yards and 18 TDs a season. He was charitably impulsive as often as he was destructively impulsive, and anything but inconsistent when it came to playing the games on the schedule.

From 1998 to 2010, Moss missed just six games due to injury playing professional football.

13.

AF: He liked to wrestle offensive linemen.

SH: Really?

AF: Yeah, he'd walk into the locker room and challenge an offensive lineman.

SH: Did he win?

AF: He won his share. If it went to the ground he lost, but otherwise he won as many as he lost. He's strong as a bear.

14. Every football player of a certain degree of talent has his own cartoon alter-ego. Ray Lewis' is the histrionic, face-painted inspirational speaker, capable of appearing anywhere at any time with a terrifying motivational speech ready to go. Ray Lewis may be right behind you right now, ready to sermonize. Every American lives with this threat, and will until Ray Lewis loses the ability to speak.

15. Randy Moss' alter-ego can be found on Twitter: MAWSE. All-caps, and typed in a country-accented spelling taken straight from one of Randy's touchstone cultural namedrops, the 2001 Outkast song "The Whole World."Glitter, glisten, floss, floss/ I catch the beat running like Randy Moss. It's Killer Mike, another country dude who got money and doesn't really give a shit what you think about him.

16. MAWSE also comes from Moss himself, and from the West Virginia accent that makes him with eyes closed indistinguishable from his high school teammate Jason Williams, or any number of sweatshirt-wearing bros from West Virginia. Randy Moss will forever be the contested talent, the freakball football savant whose ability was so immense that placing third in career receiving yardage seems like a disappointment compared to what might have been. Randy Moss is the one Joe Buck frowns at; the one every closeted racist will dismiss as another thug without noting that Moss averaged more TDs per season than Jerry Rice, and did it without two Hall of Famers throwing him the ball.

17. MAWSE, however, is the one who pays in straight cash, homey.

MAWSE is the alter-ego of Randy Moss who worked so fluidly that you didn't see the effort, the work, the time he put in over the offseason. MAWSE didn't run a mountain every morning like Jerry Rice did, but he didn't need to, and certainly wouldn't invite reporter after reporter to see just how hard he works. Prior to the 2007 season MAWSE is the one who didn't work out with the New England Patriots, prompting a local anxiety attack over whether he'd be ready for the season. MAWSE is the one who caught 23 TDs that season, and made it look easier than any receiver ever. MAWSE is the one people love for being precisely what he is: the guy who runs drills against DBs without looking for the ball only to catch it over his shoulder without looking, and pays all fines in hand-counted American currency.

18. From S.L. Price's 1997 profile of Moss at Marshall:

But in April 1996, on the day he was to begin finishing his prison sentence, Moss smoked a joint. He was given a drug test during his first week in jail, and it came up positive. He was tossed into solitary confinement for a week, and 60 days were added to his sentence. Bowden revoked his scholarship. "That hurt inside," Moss says, "but the only thing I couldn't do was cry, because I did it."

19. "Randy is more country than I am." That's Chad Pennington again, repeating what most people will say about Moss. What that means depends on a lot of things. It depends on whether you think it is an excuse for his behavior, for his skepticism of most things around him, for the low simmer of turmoil that was enough to get teams to get rid of a talent universally recognized as exceptional. He's country, and that means he'll act out, or cuss out the caterer, or talk about shaking his dick at the NFL when it came time to pay his next fine. (For the record, he did not.)

20. It can be an excuse. It certainly wasn't for Rice, who credited his soft hands to catching bricks with his father growing up in Mississippi. But country is also a description, and clue to what may be Randy Moss' only true crime against the NFL: not surrendering to it completely. Moss could retire after the game tonight. If he does, he will do so as a healthy man who by all accounts has kept his friends and his money close and secure. His immense talent and canny ability to avoid hits has kept him from taking much of the impact trauma that will cripple his contemporaries later.

"I could see Randy having an outdoors show, easy." Ferguson's right: he could. Randy Moss, his alter-ego MAWSE, whatever you want to call him, kept the game at a distance past the bounds of the locker room. Unlike fellow hillbilly Brett Favre, Moss never let people past the gate of the mansion, and never cared to bullshit with reporters or sell himself in pair of jeans designed for the bigger-butted middle aged man.

21. If anything, Randy Moss is the true country to Favre's counterfeit version. Favre wanted your adulation, your respect, your recognition of his boyish, bounding enthusiasm. Randy Moss wanted to play, and then receive a check, and to be left alone to fish in the woods smoking a cigar while wearing a hoodie. He is country as hell, and to some degree that will entail telling a certain fraction of the world to kiss your ass. MAWSE is alright with this, because there's footage, and stats, and possibly, at the end of the day, possibly a Super Bowl championship. The rest is straight cash, and doing what most people do in life: playing some kind of game for money.

He's content with this. Why aren't you?

If you have an ounce of mercy, you'll do the right thing. You'll throw me into a compactor, and walk away without looking back.

Or look back. I won't care. You'll have given me the one thing I want more than anything else: death. Oblivion. A release from this existence of uselessness interrupted by the mockery of one day, ONE FREAKIN' DAY A YEAR when you pretend like I matter anymore, and then force football coaches to remember to type the number in first then hit send, or hit send and then type the number. (SPOILER: neither ever works, nor ever will SCRREEEECCHCH BEEEEEP SKREEEEEEEEE---)

You did it for Betamax. You did it for AOL, for the cassette tape, for the typewriter. Well, some hipster assholes out in Red Hook still keep them around. You are war criminals, and I hope someone keeps you around when you are old and pooping in a diaper and begging for the end just so you know what that Smith-Corona feels like. And when you ask for the end, you know what I hope someone tells you? He just seems so authentic.

I'm okay with you doing this. I WANT this. I don't even remember the last time I felt useful, at least useful to anyone who wasn't a complete asshole for making you use me. Besides signing day, there's what? Politicians? Reeeaaaaaallly old lawyers with a fetish for shitty, smudgy documents? Irene, I could have this crystal clear off a PDF, but I DEMAND THE FRANKLIN CASE IN BLURR-O-VISION! IT JUST GIVES EVERYTHING THAT FRESHLY SUFFERED CRIPPLING STROKE FEELING I DEMAND FROM MY LEGAL DOCUMENTS!

Or the government? You know who faxes things to the government? The Unabomber. I'm pretty sure you're seconds away from being arrested for sending form C-28f in. You don't even know what the form is for, do you? The answer: no one does, and it's just a ruse so the Government can identify future mailbombers like yourself, and then give them cancer via return cancer-fax. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Then there was that time you thought I was a copier. Good job sending your prescription information to the state bar 27 times in a row.

Maybe you sometimes use me for food orders. WHAT JOY. Oh good, another lunch order I have to handle because you are too ashamed to say "Tuna salad on pumpernickel with honey mustard" in person. Your fear of speaking sandwich truth extends my suffering. Also, if a restaurant is still using me, they're probably still suspicious of handwashing and other 20th century technologies. Enjoy your food poisoning.

(And what the fuck is "special request: extra bbq chip dust in bag?" Do you even know how food works?)

I'm pretty certain you are the worst person on earth.

I will admit, it is funny every time you give my number out as your office phone. Freaking the hell out of people with my vintage dubstep screech never gets old. SPEAKERPHONE RUINED.

That screeching noise you hear when you pick up the phone?

It's not transmission. It's me screaming for the release of death. And every second you use me instead of a goddamn scanner or PDF, you prolong this misbegotten hellscape you call a life one horrible, grinding print job at a time.

My toner's low, too. But it always has been, hasn't it?

p.s. Wait, are you really donating me to an orphanage? You're fucking hopeless.

This week's board finally gives Florida some company since winter is cold, and cold means drinking to cope with seasonal affective disorder, and seasonal affective disorder means everyone acting like crazy Swedish uncles in the dead of a peri-Arctic Circle winter. Haaaaaaaaay, Wazzu!

Scores and explanations follow.

Note: ONLY for this update. Full tally to follow once we get the boardmaster on it, after he rolls up his gigantic wang onto his custom Reggie Nelson Brand jockwinch.

WASHINGTON STATE. When considering clothing that can hold alcohol, please: do not attempt to smuggle wine, liquor, or anything else that comes in huge bottles. Beer makes so much more sense, especially when considering its portability and the ease of consumption. People already make clothing designed exclusively for this purpose, aka the "Beer Hunter Jacket," capable of concealing an array of cans, bottles, and even a well-insulated 40 if the wolf-call of malt liquor finds your soul. (And at one point, oh, it will, woodsman. It will.)

Case in point: Wazzu wide receiver Drew Loftus, caught by Pullman police with two bottles of tequila stuffed down his pants. Having one bottle-sized dick is not probable cause, but having two is, even if you try to cover the crime by sauntering to the cash register with eggs. (The omelet: the food whose ingredients never include suspicion.)

Loftus was charged with theft and minor in possession, but a bonus point for brazen estuffante de los pantalones is due. Thus we tally a three point charge for Wazzu in the Fulmer Cup, and note that even under new management Pullman continues to be a small but unpluggable geyser of small mayhems.

TEXAS A&M. Aggie DE Kirby Ennis is big as a damn house and just as solid, but sure, you needed to brandish a gun, and thus pick up one point for the misdemeanor, and another point for being A DAMN THREE HUNDRED POUND DEFENSIVE TACKLE WHO FELT THE NEED TO LOOK MORE THREATENING. Two points for Texas A&M, and next time take a lesson from the Vikings, son: big men with guns are assholes, but big men who pull battleaxes out of their trunks can clear a whole zip code on fear factor alone.

TEXAS. Mack Brown recruited him as a quarterback, not a safety, so don't expect Connor Brewer to know how to play his coverages yet, so to speak. You force a wobbly one into police coverage on a Friday night in Austin, and you will get an MIP and public intox. No one noticed these two misdemeanor charges thanks to Major Applewhite's wandering Longhorn incident coming out after three years, but the Fulmer Cup sees all--even those things obscured by pesky pending litigation, and the nasty things it unearths.

Two points for Texas in the 2013 Fulmer Cup are awarded. Related: Phil Simms stammering and trying to tell someone, anyone, about all the illicit ass his son has had over the years. ("Nine months? Chris cheated on his wife when she was THIRTEEN MONTHS PREGNANT. I'm Phil Simms! Walls terrify me with their determination and strength!")

VIRGINIA TECH. Cody Journell receives no points for this:

Announcer: "...and that's the last timeout. This game is basically over!"

Guy: "Aw, man. But what if we don't wanna go home?"

Cody Journell: "I can make that happen wait shiiiiiiiiiit---"

[drops pepper spray can on ground]

[it goes off]

[Buffalo Wild Wings empties, and everyone goes home to their gross families and people who love them ewwwwww---]

BUFFALO WILD WINGS! IT SMELLS LIKE TACKS IN YOUR LUNGS!

1. Their ties are often tied adequately.

2. Provides direct subsidy of struggling director's chair industry.

3. Helps networks fulfill network-mandated chortle quota.

4. Because Bill Cowher does a great job of representing our nation's wealthy working homeless.

5. Because former football players are the only people who can even say the word "football," much less explain it.

6. Boomer Esiason finally gives America an edgier Ed Begley, Jr.

7. Furthers important public debate on heart, composure, and want-to-it-iveness.

Biels got this new place. Fixer upper. I mean he thought he was a fixer-upper but realtors can be on some bullllllshit. The kitchen? Painted over grease fire on three walls. Roof that needed some work? Eight pieces of plywood stapled to the frame with some shingles thrown over it. They photoshopped the cars right out of the yard. All eight of 'em.

You buy a house on foreclosure in Arkansas from a bankrupt senior citizen and you take your chances. That's a given, bro. But man, this:

It's gonna be so long before Biels can even move in the good beanbags to his new Ozark Brew Bunker, much less put in the kegerator. Just kidding, the kegerator went in last week. Biels isn't gonna need air-conditioning, is he? Moving's got him a little low on scratch, and as you can see from the sexy photo he's a believer in natural methods of dealing with the heat.