WOOO. Man, it's been a while since we took that shirt off. Feels good. Let's the areola breathe a bit. Tans the corpsey flesh of the cave-dweller. Feeds those little moles some valuable melanoma gas, and gets the blood pumping. What we're saying is that we're going on vacation next week, and this means you shouldn't ever look at yourself with your shirt off, ever, unless you have the confidence and blind swagger of a Bret Bielema, which you don't.*
*If you are Bret Bielema, you do, and what are you doing reading the internet YOU THINK SABAN DOES THAT HELL NO HE CAN'T EVEN TURN ON A COMPUTER WITHOUT HELP BECAUSE HE'S BEEN WATCHING FILM FOR THE PAST 40 YEARS.
You'll be in good hands with guest host Celebrity Hot Tub and a cavalcade of internet stars to fill the week, Then it's back full steam until January, where we will collapse in a weeping heap as we write "ALABAMA WINS THIRD TITLE IN A ROW" like we didn't know it was happening all over again.
This is what we will do on vacation:
- Create "Chuckie Keeton for Heisman" website
- Pull Bielema out of pool, find he's still breathing underwater somehow, place back in pool
- Read Phil Steele, pretend we just memorized an entire conference's offensive lines, and then puke acronyms from our eyes for days afterwards
- Sunburn-proof back of neck by layering sunburn with rolls of moleskin under new layers of sunburn
- Practice Will Muschamp sayings by yelling confused questions at tree in seaside park. "WHAT'S A PADAWAN, LIVE OAK?"
- Begin acceptance of inevitable Florida loss to Vanderbilt
- Prep conditioning for couch-ass with 1000 yard pantsless scoots on exposed sandbar
- By request, brew gallon of blinding moonshine and send to Frank Beamer for use as "cure-all and genital tonic"
- Hahahaha, like Frank doesn't brew his own.
In the meantime, y'all behave, and try to clean up so the parties weren't so obvious.