Royale with cheese

A fucking classic!

Damn, I guess November 23rd has come and gone already and I missed it. Time flies like the wind. (Fruit flies like bananas.)

He may be done as a coach but damned if it doesn't look like the boy's got a future in stand-up.

And you can live on the air there.

It precedes a golden shower. Or maybe it follows one. Hell, I don't know shit about fuck when it comes to those kinds of things.

An older friend tells this great wedding vs. Longhorn football story: A good friend of his was getting married at four o’clock on December 6th, 1969. Yeah, then. The Game started at 12:30 and we all know what happened in the fourth quarter. My friend wasn’t going to miss the end of that game, wedding or no wedding, so he waits ’til the last possible moment to leave, then breaks all speed records getting to the University Methodist Church on The Drag. He goes in and sits on the back row, barely before the bride and her father start down the aisle. He doesn’t recognize the bride, but he doesn’t know her anyway, so he doesn’t worry. Then, the groom and groomsmen come out and . . . he doesn’t know them from Adam’s off ox. He’s in the wrong wedding. Obviously. Well, he's pissed but he can’t just get up and walk out, so he grudgingly sits through the ceremony. It’s finally over and since he’s on the back row, he’s one of the first to greet the newlyweds. He takes the bride’s hand, kisses it, and whispers, just loud enough for the husband to hear, “I can’t believe you did this to me,” and walks out. He calls his wife from a payphone and finds out that the wedding was at the University Christian Church. It’s over when he gets there, of course, but the reception’s still going on. Barely. He tells his friend and new wife what a beautiful wedding it was, then sheds his tie and joins the celebration on The Drag. True story. We never learned what happened with the Methodist marriage, although it’s been the subject of speculation over drinks for more than 50 years.

Jimmy Hoffa has it.

And he brews a hell of a beer, too . . .

Big win-win: He helps the D this year and improves his draft stock at the same time.

Why are y'all bringing up old shit when we're about to skull drag--when we're about to drag their deceased bodies across the field? "Son--I say, son . . ."

That Harmon doofus's headline reminds me of a Pravda story from back in the Cold War era. It seems that there was a two-car race between an American car and a Russian car. We won by three laps. The Pravda headline read: "Glorious Car of the Soviet People Finishes Second; Americans Come In Next To Last."

Goin' up the country, mama. Don't you want to go

Nationalsozialistischer Deutscher Studentenbund in action. "It was Greggie and Dougie and some of the other Hitler Youth . . ."

Hey, man, summers are great up there. Last year it was Wednesday.

The reign in Spain falls manely on the plane.

I sure hope that's the case. Hate to have lost him if he was in our plans for next year and we were actively trying to keep him.

Forget it, he's rolling.

Brownsville Station approves--well, of the Marlboro, at least. Not so sure about the Fresca.

So these are the rings the aggys are clamoring after . . . Or, how to say you flunked Marketing 101 without actually saying you flunked Marketing 101.

Moo point.

Whoever he is, I hope he got paid a lot of money to wear that stupid hat.

High-Altitude Cerebral Edema?

From the Dexter Lake Club (just as we were . . . LEAVING? What a good idea!) FIGHT!