Let me start this whole thing off by saying, I love Stetson cologne #notasponsor. But if I’m being honest, then I must confess that Stetson’s cologne commercials are geared for building a high wall with a moat that’s deep in front of it around America, and they mainly seemed concerned about Mexico. It is pretty unveiled racism.
The smell of Stetson is great, I don’t think anyone is denying that. Nevertheless, #notasponsor, we have to assume that the company is either inadvertently or directly promoting an agenda, and I for one would like to know which it is. Stetson, either you are stupid, or you are stupid, and I want to know from which tree your stupid fruit fell from because it smells so good. If you didn’t smell good, I wouldn’t care.
As for Stetson Bennet – he ain’t never won nothing!
Also, what the hell is wrong with J.T. Daniels? He’s Mr. Fucking Glass over there. Seriously, did someone breathe on you too hard, hon?
Lastly, Stetson Bennet is the worst name a person could have besides Easton, Laramie, Cheyenne, Skoal, Teetsy, Oakley, Porsche, Nefertiti, Colt, Case, Jeffrey, Todd, and Randy.
They ain’t never won nothing! They fold in big games! When have they ever shown up? Even this year, who exactly have they beaten? Auburn and Arkansas? A shite Clemson team? Congrats on beating a collection of nobody’s.
They may win Saturday, but they have not really won. We won! We won the decade more than any other program. We will win tomorrow. In this life or the next, we will win them all in the halls of Valhalla where the Book of Stallings will never speak of deer antler spray.
Everyone else can eat a bag of dicks. We run this fucking thing – so back the fuck off. What are the talking heads thinking? Just ask Gino Torretta how this goes. Just ask all those losers who wore black jerseys that time.
So, let me get this straight. He gets 8 years and $104 million or something, two houses and something, and keys to a jet? All guaranteed. He gets this to play a weak schedule and get his brains beat in at the end of the year – if he beats Oregon and makes the playoffs.
Riley’s situation is probably better than losses five Saturdays a year like Brian Kelly will get at LSU – bud. I think 99.9% would pick USC in his spot, but we have to question it. This is a Mike Leach guy, after all. You and I don’t have long, deep conversations about the functionality of the wrist bracelets – I don’t know what to call them – that Johnny Depp wears. But The Pirate and Lincoln Riley do. They are not cut from the cloth of mortal men. They are hobos of the sea.
This one is tough because 50 Americans die each year due to icicles. I recently had a Thanksgiving, you’re welcome. My aunt likes to say, “that’s the worst thing I can imagine,” or, “oh, can you imagine anything worse”? I think about what makes her say this, and I just have to laugh.
My Aunt Phyllis last said, “that’s the worst thing I can imagine,” to me saying my next-door neighbor only cuts their grass about once a month. Now, imagine at least the 50 people who discovered their recently deceased loved one that was decapitated, maimed, empaled, or frankly stabbed to death by an icicle. Go tell them that!
“Oh, my goodness, can you possibly imagine anything worse than your neighbors having more than ankle high grass, Doris?”
“Yes. Yes, I can imagine something worse Phyllis. In fact, a few weeks ago I left my house in the morning. Usually, my husband would have been gone by the time I left, but not this morning. On this morning, when closing the front door, he was impaled and killed by a fucking icicle that fell from our roof. So, yeah Phyllis. I can imagine something a tad bit worse.”
Thanksgiving is a time of family coming together, and a few days after decompressing from that, one can be thankful.
“I’ll tell you what they ought to do!” my uncle Dock will say. But someone more respected in the family would start to talk over him and Dock never told. My Uncle Dock has only five full fingers due to his incompetence while working in a lumber yard for his life. That feels like I am saying that I could do that job and keep my ten fingers. I would not be surprised if I lost several fingers working at a job like that over a career. I am not saying that; however, I am saying that if you were always competent at that job, then you would have your fingers.
“Well, if you ask me,” Uncle Dock says, but no one in the family ever does.
“So, what’s been going on with you, in this last year?” Great Uncle Kevin. No matter what my response is, and I have tried some doozies, he will tell me how I should go forth with my life. He feels completely at ease giving life advice based on his 1 second analysis. I never have the heart to tell him that the fifteen second summary of my life that I gave him was just the summary of whatever movie I have most recently seen.
Thank goodness the uncles are able to figure out politics, the application of religion when it suits their beliefs, and what isn’t working about Alabama’s secondary – either zone or man coverage, depending on the uncle. Of course, this is all based on their collective zero years working in politics, religion, or coaching any athletic competition. But what true Alabama fan doesn’t know more than all the coaches winning titles?
“Would you be a dear and go to my car and bring in the dishes from the trunk?” I blame the pandemic and the quarantine because this year was a time for everyone to bring every piece of Pyrex they own. Damn at the casseroles. How many gravies can we or do we need? We had four different types according to the Sandy’s.
The Aunt Sandys are great. They ask so many questions and then keep their opinions about your answers completely to themselves so as not to come off as judgmental. It’s fantastic!
Typical Aunt Sandy question, “So, are y’all happy with just the one child?”
I mean what is that comment supposed to even mean? Are we supposed to have a certain number and who decides that? Apparently, whatever bitch shares a bit more of my DNA than the next person. I’m sorry about that last thing I said there. That was rude of me, but I mean my great-aunt that asked me this doesn’t even have children. What a mean question for her to ask us at Thanksgiving.
There are so many that are dumb, but some that are smart. When I would watch cowboy movies, I never feared having my horse shot and killed and falling dead and squashing me as it rolled on top of me. That was because of the several times in my childhood when my cousins, which were and are still some of the best, piled like mouth breathing idiots on top of me. It was at times like those, which were often in childhood, with cousins piling high upon me when I was the unfortunate person who had the ball and got tackled, in one of a thousand games of smear the …… person who has the ball.
Cousins taught me to respect and aim bottle rockets, that bushes and shrubs can be cushions and skin piercing knives at the same time, and that no one could find nudie magazines in a wooded area better than Little Big Charlie. Everyone older called him Little Charlie because his dad was Big Charlie. But he was bigger than us, so he made us call him Little Big Charlie. He was a mouth breather of a guy who smelled as if he had never heard of deodorant. We never spoke of it because he’d beat the shit out of us, but I always heard there was a cousin who asked him about it once. Had his teeth knocked out so violently that he or she, depending on who was telling the tale, never came to family reunions or the like ever again. What an asshole he was when we were kids. Great guy now though.
Also, if you have a Ronald type cousin in your family growing up, then consider yourself lucky. Although, today he is the cousin who most often asks you to help him out with something. Cousin Ronald was the cousin who, when you were kids, had a magnifying glass and you two burned ants. Ha! Ha! That’s a bit weird.
Cousin ‘Ronald’s are great, but they’re no Cousin ‘Jason’s.
Cousin Jason, at nine years old, would bend a simple beam of sunlight in a microscope and then onto another microscope. At only seven years old you beheld the power of two microscopes and that power then focused onto the combed over forehead of your dozing great uncle Gary. If you have a Cousin Jason, then put both your feet in that cousin’s camp!!! Not only did that two-microscope gag leave a shockingly deep, subcutaneous skin melting, and confusing hole in Gary’s forehead, but also puzzled a team of dermatologists at UAB for months.
I was lucky enough to be born with a Cousin Ronald and a Cousin Jason, and Cousin Jason is going to be the guy ‘shooting that piece of shit down’ from his hollowed-out volcano.
That is all. Roll Tide. Georgia sucks!