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Gentlemen,

I write for purposes of correcting an error in the recipe for Candied Grouse Meringue as published in last quarter's issue of The Jaundiced Oarsman.  For ideal crusting, the appropriate ratio of ankle flakes to angry monkey nerve sauce should be 4 (not 6) rack units per morgen, as congealment should then occur at the traditional 64 (rather than 58) furman foot joules.

Your kind attention is appreciated.

So much competence crammed into such a small space.

I'd be worried about shrapnel.

And from that moment on,

And from that moment on, nothing bad ever happened again.

We have somehow gone from Bad Luck Schleprock

traversed quickly through Sylvia Plath, late period Cormac McCarthy and the bad bits of Shakespeare and have plopped down right in the middle of the Book of Job.

This is some Old Testament shit right here.

I call bullshit.

Norse gods do not have knees.

There is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre.

Poot-tee-weet.

Clarification:

Angel and Wallace Anglerson, III split up over Christmas break, as her strict regal upbringing prohibits her from maintaining simultaneous intimacies with multiple prospective consorts.  (She told me he was a totally unsuitable match for her in any case, as (unlike me) he is almost entirely ignorant in Caprican Royal Court protocol).

In fairness,

Squash Unlimited's everyday low prices make a 30% sale a practical steal. 

Hobson, kindly procure my ascot ... we depart forthwith.

Denard killed tacopants

and Dee Milliner made his death irrelevant.  He appears to be good at the footballs.

Doubly frustrating

that State repeatedly did the exact same thing to OSU just a couple weeks prior.

Nathan Thurm.

Nathan Thurm.

Jim Nantz was not born of man and woman.

He sprung into existence from 2 egg yolks, 3/4 teaspoon of salt, 1/2 teaspoon of mustard, 1/8 teaspoon of sugar, pinch of cayanne pepper, 3 to 5 teaspoons of lemon juice or white wine vinegar and 1 1/2 cups of olive oil.

Indeed.

They have the good face.

I have never been more proud of a team after a loss.

And don't expect that I ever will be.

Jim Nantz is not so good at saying things.

He should stop.

I think I can safely say, without hyperbole, that that was

the greatest achievement by any collection of individuals in any endeavor in the entire history of all things ever.

And it's not even close.

In politics, I believe this is what is referred to as

"solidifying the base."

For better or for worse, this is the world in which we live.

It's always darkest before the dawn.

Except when you're dead.

/Switching to industrial strength paint remover.

This, I think, is exactly correct.

I remain optimistic.  This is not a terrible year to be competing with the NFL for a coach, given that: (1) there may, you know, not actually be an NFL season in 2011, and (2) Harbaugh's most likely destination, the 49ers, are not, to put it politely, exactly a model franchise.  If I'm Harbaugh, I stay at Stanford before I go to the NFL this year.

Well,

You can't say "Brady Hoke will not coach Michigan in 2011" without saying "Brady Hoke will coach Michigan in 2011".

I'm just sayin'.

In the surreal football experiences scale

in which the Horror earns the much coveted Bosch Award and the '87 Indiana game earns the Brueghel the Younger Statuette, I hereby award this Saturday's game the Worker and Parasite Plaque.  Well earned, gentlemen.

Pulaski Theory.

It works.

The fact that I feel horrible about this game

makes me feel good about this game which in turn makes me feel horrible about this game.

Where the hell are my pills?

My approach is

to assume the defense will give up 35 points, and treat each game as though the sole challenge is for the offense to score more than that.  If we can score 6 touchdowns in 60 minutes we win.  If not, we lose.  If we give up fewer than 35 points, it's gravy -- or, more likely, a hallucination (ideally, slathered with gravy).

If I ever compose a symphony,

it shall be called Requiem for Tacopants.

Our secondary,

she is apparently comprised entirely of Spinal Tap drummers.

This is why we can't have nice things.

Like, you know, safties.

This just in:

Chris Kramer is a giant, steaming turd.

One thing I have noticed about Michigan Hating God.

He hates Michigan.

Everything.

We suck at it.

Somewhere in the distance,

the plaintive wail of a distressed kinkajou is heard.

Poor Mr. Buckets.

We have not lost a single game since Smokin' Jabba was posted.

I'm just sayin'.

"Your favorite former collegiate head coach,

the guy in charge of your favorite team, one of college football's top coaches, and a guy with a meathead haircut".

hmmmm ... tomorrow's headlines:

SOURCE: BOB STOOPS SOON TO BE A "FORMER COLLEGIATE HEAD COACH"

BLOGGER: CHARLIE WEIS "ONE OF COLLEGE FOOTBALL'S TOP COACHES"

RICH RODRIGUEZ GETS MEATHEAD HAIRCUT; PROMINENT MICHIGAN WEBSITE ANNOUNCES "FAVORITE TEAM" NOW WISCONSIN

This

is by far the internetyest post in the whole entire history of the internet ever ever ever.

One day

each one of us will be dead.

Michigan 52, OSU 3.

And remember, I called it.

You had me until "the key will be the safeties."

Safeties key bad.

I wouldn't get too down on the backs.

The line, she is ... not good.