--Forecast for the Upper Midwest: Partly cloudy with a 100% chance of jizz flying. Holy fucking Derrick Thomas, Batman. Adrian Peterson has two (minus one) bastard kids. Nope, make that five. Nope, make that seven. The audacity of these stupid motherfuckers never ceases to amaze/sicken/appall us. A condom, you say? A magnum for my huge athlete cock? No fucking way--those things are like a tourniquet.
"We've only got one night to do it all. I know baby, its such a pity. Tomorrow night, we hit another city." ---Too Short, 1990.--For all these years, we never believed the rumblings about Irving Fryar intentionally tanking the 1984 Orange Bowl against Miami. This changes things. Fryar's mother, mentioned in this article, called PYB's home when he was a young lad in New Jersey to thank his own mother for sending some Omaha World-Herald articles to her after the latest NU game. Aaah, the pre-internet days. Perhaps she would have made a personal thank-you visit had a few C Notes been included in the envelope. Maybe God just asked for the money. Praise be, Allah.
--Does anyone else not give a fuck about all the college football playoff comittee hubbub? The media talks about Cunnilingus Rice (yammering on ESPN about her qualifications for said committee as we type. FYI, she's a self-described "student of the game."), integrity, common sense, experience. We think rigged, manufactured, contrived. Boring.
--The full 2018 and 2019 Nebraska football schedules came out yesterday, and people are losing their shit about the "murderer's row" that Nebraska has to face in Big 10 play--especially in 2018. How ever will the Cornhuskers survive after running the gauntlet of Colorado, Troy, South Alabama and Northern Illinois in non-conference tilts?
That's it today. Short, and hopefully sweet. As ESPN blows its load about Derrick Rose scoring a bucket on a nice-but-not-amazing preseason crossover move against the Pistons, we sign out. But before we do, if you have time, watch this nine-minute clip. Win or lose, college football was better 30 years ago. The emotions and excitement were real, and not propped up by the almighty dollar. Instead of going into 17 sets of uniforms, they went into the players' pockets. The good times!
Have a good week. PYB