TMcGee86
8/29/2008, 06:02 PM
(sorry if a repost I did a search and didn't see it)
http://www.gump4heisman.com/my_weblo...ll-season.html
August 22, 2008
Gump4Heisman's 10 Things To Look Forward To This College Football Season
10) Getting into it with 'The Greatest Generation'
‘Sit down.’ ‘We can’t see the game.’ ‘I pay money for these seats.’ ‘I like Ike.’
You’re bound to hear it. You’re at a game. You stand up. You cheer. And, mostly, it goes by unnoticed.
Then, at some point, the grey-hairs in the back start bitching. And rightfully so. The way they see it, they didn’t see their buddies die face down in the Battle of Antietam so young whippersnappers in zoot suits could stand up and act all uppity.
You pay it no mind. You glance back. Finally, the smuggled sock-bourbon forces it out of you:
‘Listen old man, it’s 4th and 1. Either stand up and watch, or just imagine the **** like you did during the golden era of radio.’
And before you know it, you have General Longstreet’s superior officer coming at you with an AARP seat cushion like he’s Sonny Corleone by an open fire hydrant.
The fight will rage on for eternity.
You’ll never see eye-to-eye. And not just because he’s bent over like an on-duty prostitute. Because you’re from two entirely different worlds.
When you were in college, 50 Cent was a rapper. When he was in college, 50 Cent was a damn good salary.
9) Going back to campus and exaggerating how much *** you'd re-get in college
If you were still in college, you would get so much *****.
You would smash *** at such an record-shattering pace that it would lead to televised Senate hearings. See that hot girl? You would tap it. That blonde? You would crush it. The curly-headed one? Your id just ****ed the **** out of her id. Doggystyle.
‘Man, do you know what I would do if I were still in college?’
If you were still in college, parents would send their daughters to school with ****ing wrought-iron panties. Dads would order their daughter's va-jay-jays to retreat to Helm's Deep to avoid being ransacked by the massive armies of your ****.
Never mind real life, and all the times you went home empty-handed and jerked it to Windows-Media-Player-porn.
Nevermind all the times you got shot down in front of the entire ****ing bar, took home the fatty, or got too drunk to spit game and was turned down by an army of 3 A.M. Plan B’s.
Because if you could do it again, you would be ****ing Pierce-Brosnan-with-the-cameras-rolling. Your dick would be so active, it would have a resume. You would **** until '1-UP's starting popping up over your head. You would would **** like Star Power.
Oh, and all the girls now are hotter than they were when you were there.
All of them. You have to say it. It's a rule. It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re used to working in an office all day with 35-year old women with tank asses and titties that look like Zip-loc bags full of water.
21 year-old girls now are hotter than 21 year-old girls were in the ancient bygone era of 1998-2002.
Uh huh. And you could bag them all.
8) Your girlfriend/wife questioning your sanity
Somewhere between the broken remote control and you shouting repeated obscenities at a 37”-inch Samsung LCD TV, it’s bound to happen.
‘You’re crazy.’
She’s right. You are ****ing crazy. You’re bat-****. And you know it. Then again, it’s the fall. 90,000 other people in hundreds of American cities go bat-**** every Saturday.
She just doesn’t understand. She’s a woman. And women are irrational. Women are so irrational they don’t understand why you spend 15% of your salary on season tickets and love your starting quarterback and hate your starting quarterback and love your starting quarterback and let the actions of 19 year-old strangers dictate your mood for one-fourth of the Caesarian calendar.
They just don't get it. Crazy bitches.
7) Deciphering incoherent message board code
'RTR.' 'WDE.' 'JFK.' 'FDR.'
WTF does any of this mean?
What in the name of monogrammed towels is going on?
No one knows, but in the midst of logging on to your team’s message board and trying to find legit info, you’ll want to find out. Because entering a message board as an abbreviation-virgin can be like the real thing: painful and confusing.
It starts out innocently enough. You log on in search of inside info on USC’s new 13-star quarterback signee. You click on a thread that catches your interest, and – boom – it’s like you’re playing scrabble with Gary Busey.
'LMAO.' 'ROTFL.' 'IMHO.' 'STFU.' If these aren’t the caps-lock ramblings of a deranged lunatic, well then just what in the **** are they?
They’re message board abbreviations. And it’s college football season. So make like Nicholas Cage and decipher that **** ASAP.
What does all of this mean?
DLAMJFTSOFY.
(Don’t Look At Me Just Figure That **** Out For Yourself.)
6) Breaking the spirit of the irritating small-school fan
You know that guy in your office, who invariably went to some non-BCS school, that’s more of an annoying **** than Gilbert Gottfried in a full vagina outfit? You know, the guy who cheers for the impossibly mediocre program yet has unbearably high expectations at the start of every season?
“Man, I don’t know, I just have this feeling this year. If our transfer JUCO QB can come around and the 12 freshmen on our offensive line can step up, I think our brand-new inexperienced coordinator will have a lot to work with and it won't really matter than our only scholarship running back runs a 23-minute 40. Shoot, we might surprise some folks in the [insert conference of choice].”
No, you aren’t surprising anyone. Your team's mascot should be Danny Devito. Your favorite team is a legalized midget. And yet every year you display the same ****-me-in-the-brain hope syndrome.
And last year only made things worse. Giving these *******s the parity-driven ‘07 season was like handing a homeless guy the keys to a non-existant Jaguar. False hope abounds.
South Florida. Boston College. Appalachian State. Kansas.
Thanks Football Gods. Now, dumb *******s everywhere think teams like the Tulane Green Wave are going to pull a BCS six-peat.
At the start of the season, these small-time dreamers are more annoying than big-school blowhards.
But, come October, when their team is sporting a fat 3-loss lip, the bounce in their step has been replaced by cold, hard, satisfying reality.
If you have a state university coffee mug, this is the time to bring it to work.
5) Making hung-over Fantasy Football decisions
If you’re a true college football fan, you don’t give a proper **** about the NFL. You watch it, you like it, you follow it. But you don’t really give a **** about it. To true college fans, the NFL is like the show that came on HBO after a really good episode of The Sopranos. Just because it’s on your TV screen, doesn’t mean you care what happens.
And so, in the choice between Saturday night and Sunday morning, Sunday morning gets run over like a fleet-footed possum.
The after-effect of this concrete fact? Fantasy football shame.
Should you go with Marshawn Lynch against the Patriots D or go to the bathroom and puke straight vodka?
Did you sleep in? Did you get lucky last night? Were you two up until sunrise playing 'Tag, you're it' with your pants down? Good for you. Hope you enjoyed it. Because while she might have been the one getting pounded last night, once 12:00 P.M. strikes, it’s your turn Cinderella.
And in your sad state, you're ****ed. Your clothes smell like the Zoo. Your hair smells like Afghanistan. You aren't fit to lead a group of men onto the football field. You aren't fit to lead a group of men to Waffle House.
And when you come around to your senses at 8:34 P.M. with your fantasy team down 42-116, you have only your college fanaticism to blame.
What were you thinking sitting Edgerrin James against the SF D/ST? Why did you think Eli Manning was a must-start against the BYE?
Because you didn’t know what the **** you were doing, that’s why.
Because your left eye was shut like the door to George Wallace’s guest house.
Because you couldn’t see straight. Because you couldn’t see at all. Because your face looked like Rocky Balboa's at the end of Rocky IV.
Because you needed a bald sweaty black guy over your shoulder yelling “Start the one in the middle!” to even have a ****ing chance.
Because either set your ****ing fantasy line-ups during the week, or get Clubber-Langed. Fool.
http://www.gump4heisman.com/my_weblo...ll-season.html
August 22, 2008
Gump4Heisman's 10 Things To Look Forward To This College Football Season
10) Getting into it with 'The Greatest Generation'
‘Sit down.’ ‘We can’t see the game.’ ‘I pay money for these seats.’ ‘I like Ike.’
You’re bound to hear it. You’re at a game. You stand up. You cheer. And, mostly, it goes by unnoticed.
Then, at some point, the grey-hairs in the back start bitching. And rightfully so. The way they see it, they didn’t see their buddies die face down in the Battle of Antietam so young whippersnappers in zoot suits could stand up and act all uppity.
You pay it no mind. You glance back. Finally, the smuggled sock-bourbon forces it out of you:
‘Listen old man, it’s 4th and 1. Either stand up and watch, or just imagine the **** like you did during the golden era of radio.’
And before you know it, you have General Longstreet’s superior officer coming at you with an AARP seat cushion like he’s Sonny Corleone by an open fire hydrant.
The fight will rage on for eternity.
You’ll never see eye-to-eye. And not just because he’s bent over like an on-duty prostitute. Because you’re from two entirely different worlds.
When you were in college, 50 Cent was a rapper. When he was in college, 50 Cent was a damn good salary.
9) Going back to campus and exaggerating how much *** you'd re-get in college
If you were still in college, you would get so much *****.
You would smash *** at such an record-shattering pace that it would lead to televised Senate hearings. See that hot girl? You would tap it. That blonde? You would crush it. The curly-headed one? Your id just ****ed the **** out of her id. Doggystyle.
‘Man, do you know what I would do if I were still in college?’
If you were still in college, parents would send their daughters to school with ****ing wrought-iron panties. Dads would order their daughter's va-jay-jays to retreat to Helm's Deep to avoid being ransacked by the massive armies of your ****.
Never mind real life, and all the times you went home empty-handed and jerked it to Windows-Media-Player-porn.
Nevermind all the times you got shot down in front of the entire ****ing bar, took home the fatty, or got too drunk to spit game and was turned down by an army of 3 A.M. Plan B’s.
Because if you could do it again, you would be ****ing Pierce-Brosnan-with-the-cameras-rolling. Your dick would be so active, it would have a resume. You would **** until '1-UP's starting popping up over your head. You would would **** like Star Power.
Oh, and all the girls now are hotter than they were when you were there.
All of them. You have to say it. It's a rule. It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re used to working in an office all day with 35-year old women with tank asses and titties that look like Zip-loc bags full of water.
21 year-old girls now are hotter than 21 year-old girls were in the ancient bygone era of 1998-2002.
Uh huh. And you could bag them all.
8) Your girlfriend/wife questioning your sanity
Somewhere between the broken remote control and you shouting repeated obscenities at a 37”-inch Samsung LCD TV, it’s bound to happen.
‘You’re crazy.’
She’s right. You are ****ing crazy. You’re bat-****. And you know it. Then again, it’s the fall. 90,000 other people in hundreds of American cities go bat-**** every Saturday.
She just doesn’t understand. She’s a woman. And women are irrational. Women are so irrational they don’t understand why you spend 15% of your salary on season tickets and love your starting quarterback and hate your starting quarterback and love your starting quarterback and let the actions of 19 year-old strangers dictate your mood for one-fourth of the Caesarian calendar.
They just don't get it. Crazy bitches.
7) Deciphering incoherent message board code
'RTR.' 'WDE.' 'JFK.' 'FDR.'
WTF does any of this mean?
What in the name of monogrammed towels is going on?
No one knows, but in the midst of logging on to your team’s message board and trying to find legit info, you’ll want to find out. Because entering a message board as an abbreviation-virgin can be like the real thing: painful and confusing.
It starts out innocently enough. You log on in search of inside info on USC’s new 13-star quarterback signee. You click on a thread that catches your interest, and – boom – it’s like you’re playing scrabble with Gary Busey.
'LMAO.' 'ROTFL.' 'IMHO.' 'STFU.' If these aren’t the caps-lock ramblings of a deranged lunatic, well then just what in the **** are they?
They’re message board abbreviations. And it’s college football season. So make like Nicholas Cage and decipher that **** ASAP.
What does all of this mean?
DLAMJFTSOFY.
(Don’t Look At Me Just Figure That **** Out For Yourself.)
6) Breaking the spirit of the irritating small-school fan
You know that guy in your office, who invariably went to some non-BCS school, that’s more of an annoying **** than Gilbert Gottfried in a full vagina outfit? You know, the guy who cheers for the impossibly mediocre program yet has unbearably high expectations at the start of every season?
“Man, I don’t know, I just have this feeling this year. If our transfer JUCO QB can come around and the 12 freshmen on our offensive line can step up, I think our brand-new inexperienced coordinator will have a lot to work with and it won't really matter than our only scholarship running back runs a 23-minute 40. Shoot, we might surprise some folks in the [insert conference of choice].”
No, you aren’t surprising anyone. Your team's mascot should be Danny Devito. Your favorite team is a legalized midget. And yet every year you display the same ****-me-in-the-brain hope syndrome.
And last year only made things worse. Giving these *******s the parity-driven ‘07 season was like handing a homeless guy the keys to a non-existant Jaguar. False hope abounds.
South Florida. Boston College. Appalachian State. Kansas.
Thanks Football Gods. Now, dumb *******s everywhere think teams like the Tulane Green Wave are going to pull a BCS six-peat.
At the start of the season, these small-time dreamers are more annoying than big-school blowhards.
But, come October, when their team is sporting a fat 3-loss lip, the bounce in their step has been replaced by cold, hard, satisfying reality.
If you have a state university coffee mug, this is the time to bring it to work.
5) Making hung-over Fantasy Football decisions
If you’re a true college football fan, you don’t give a proper **** about the NFL. You watch it, you like it, you follow it. But you don’t really give a **** about it. To true college fans, the NFL is like the show that came on HBO after a really good episode of The Sopranos. Just because it’s on your TV screen, doesn’t mean you care what happens.
And so, in the choice between Saturday night and Sunday morning, Sunday morning gets run over like a fleet-footed possum.
The after-effect of this concrete fact? Fantasy football shame.
Should you go with Marshawn Lynch against the Patriots D or go to the bathroom and puke straight vodka?
Did you sleep in? Did you get lucky last night? Were you two up until sunrise playing 'Tag, you're it' with your pants down? Good for you. Hope you enjoyed it. Because while she might have been the one getting pounded last night, once 12:00 P.M. strikes, it’s your turn Cinderella.
And in your sad state, you're ****ed. Your clothes smell like the Zoo. Your hair smells like Afghanistan. You aren't fit to lead a group of men onto the football field. You aren't fit to lead a group of men to Waffle House.
And when you come around to your senses at 8:34 P.M. with your fantasy team down 42-116, you have only your college fanaticism to blame.
What were you thinking sitting Edgerrin James against the SF D/ST? Why did you think Eli Manning was a must-start against the BYE?
Because you didn’t know what the **** you were doing, that’s why.
Because your left eye was shut like the door to George Wallace’s guest house.
Because you couldn’t see straight. Because you couldn’t see at all. Because your face looked like Rocky Balboa's at the end of Rocky IV.
Because you needed a bald sweaty black guy over your shoulder yelling “Start the one in the middle!” to even have a ****ing chance.
Because either set your ****ing fantasy line-ups during the week, or get Clubber-Langed. Fool.