Live Tweeting Auburn and Arkansas' Football Contest, October 8th, 2011

As many of you may know, in a past life I was a journalist. It may also interest you that in this current life of mine, I ALSO made a living by journaling for publications at one point. While I don't do that anymore, I must confess, the bug to fill people's brainholes with knowledge hitherto unknown still gives me quite the itch from time to time, as well as the bedbugs that have infested my bed (NATURALLY).

Such was the case Saturday evening, when I watched the Arkansas Razorbacks play the Auburn War Eagle Tigers (I'm assuming this is some indiginous Native American mythological beast that is part tiger, part eagle, part soldier and part brown, that is able to receive large sums of money without people caring). I began tweeting behind-the-scenes facts about the game and its players. It received a BEVY of responses, and thusly, as per my journalistic mandate, I am sharing them with a larger audience to create even more responses, all of which will grant me a larger profile. Huzzah!

While some may protest my allegiances, know this: a true journalist is one who is objective almost all of the time, except when he is not.

• Auburn Coach Gene Chizik looks like a flesh Muppet Jim Henson aborted and flushed down an oft-used toilet. Pretty sure that's all true.
• It's a shame that the Auburn players holding the play-calling numbers on their sideline are only getting just above minimum wage.
• Michael Dyer burned every bridge he had in the vertically challenged community for using lifts to alter his height. Lifts, in that community, are lies.
• Arkansas RB Broderick Green gets eight to nine hours of eat a night.
• Arkansas RB Dennis Johnson, who suffered a season-ending bowel injury last year, opted for an experimental, speed-enhancing prosthetic during his surgery, hence his nickname "The Batmobile."
• Auburn QB Kiehl Frazier's favorite show, naturally, is "Frasier," even though he doesn't understand what a psychiatrist is or how to spell "Kyle."
• Auburn's starting freshman center, No. 50, is none other than Grammy-winning singer/songwriter Adele.
• Auburn's Barrett Trotter, QB, is currently under NCAA investigation for starring in one of those Toyota commercials where the parents are having a great time without him.
• Gene Chizik's pregame pep talk fell flat when he told a too-soon, albeit hilarious, leprosy/Al-Davis joke. Clearly, his team is still shaken.
• Auburn LB Eltoro Freeman's nickname "The Narrator" come from his ceaseless in-game orations, NOT because his dad is Morgan Freeman, which is also true.
• Auburn's TE Philip Lutzenkirken is pregnant. Please do not tell his parents or the homecoming committee.
• Arkansas Coach Bobby Petrino's genius does not stop on the gridiron. Not only did he invent Groucho Marx masks, but he has invested those earnings BRILLIANTLY.
• Auburn's DeAngelo Benton was that kid in your 10th grade biology class that got way too into dissecting frogs. Also, he always blinks twice when he blinks.
• HALFTIME: Chizik is going back to the Al-Davis-leprosy jokes to fire his team up again, this time using props. This does not bode well for Auburn.
• Auburn's offensive coordinator Gus Mahlzahn has never once used toilet paper, which is somewhat disgusting. However, in his defense, he's never needed it before.
• Auburn QB Kiehl Frazer went through fifteen blue mouthpieces before Gus Mahlzahn convinced him they weren't Airheads, or even edible.
• Sources claim the funniest joke Auburn's Barrett Trotter has heard or told is pronouncing his favorite treat as "Famous Anus Cookies." Get it? Me neither.
• Arkansas' Joe Adams has one rush for 92 yards, the second-longest rush in Arkansas history. Sorry, that bit of trivia was irrelevant.
• Kiehl Frazier has been downing Mike's Hard Lemonades since about halfway through the third quarter. This hasn't impaired his ability at all.

And BEFORE YOU KNEW IT, the game was over. Arkansas had scored 38 points, while Auburn had only scored 14. After some quick statistical analysis from replay officials, aided by the University of Arkansas' Department of Mathematical Sciences, it was determined that Arkansas had more points, and was therefore, the victor.

DID I MISS ANYTHING? Of course not. But if there were some other aspect of this game I neglected to mention due to unimportance, and you would like mentioned, mention it yourself here in our unimportant comments section.

Good day! Godspeed! Cheeseburger!

GRH Exclusive: Tiger Woods Banged Me/Sexted Me

This was found in the GRH Mailroom on our fax machine. We can only assume its veridity enough to publish it, having checked with other media sources who received the same message, and leave it to you, the discerning reader, to determine its genuine authenticity. Read on and thank you.

-The Ghost of Roy Hobbs

Ladies and Gentlemen of the far-reaching, vast and all-consuming media:

I'm sorry, but I have to come clean: Tiger Woods and I have been having an intimate affair for roughly three years. All of these were years in which he was married and I was aware of it. I'm so ashamed - and trust me, I consider it disgraceful to have sex with a married billionaire - but I cannot hide behind my convenient anonymity any longer.

We had us a lot of sex. He also talked dirty to me from his cell phone to mine.

I know. It's hard to believe. I wouldn't have believed it myself had I not been involved. Him being the most prestigious, well-recognized, and wealthiest professional athlete of all-time and...me. Me being a portly, balding, Caucasian male who makes less than $15K per year and will hold off going to the restroom to avoid climbing those taxing stairs. It all happened so fast. He waltzed into my place of business, a McDonald's in Portageville, Missouri, like he owned the place. Sparks flew, numbers were exchanged and a lot of sex was had in the middle. Now you know the rest of the story.

One time he told me to go to the bathroom and send him a picture of myself doing something sexy, which I did without hesitation and am willing to speak about it with even less hesitation. Woe is me and my shame.

The real irony comes into play around this weekend. I had been mustering up the courage and emotional fortitude to come out to the deserve-to-know public for about a month. Really, about a month. Give or take. I just couldn't believe it when I heard that Tiger (or as I called him "Tigre") got into a violent car accident by backing into a fire hydrant on his property. It looks like he beat me to the punch. He was obviously clearing the air and confessing his love for me, again, the Costanza with the fast-food vocation and lateral lisp, which I'm certain was much to the dismay of his 5'10", perfectly bossomed, beautiful, smiling Swedish model/wife, Elin. All of those things are proven to be crystal clear by the simple, somewhat benign act of dinging up not just any car, but an Escalade.

We're like a modern day Romeo and Juliet, lovers forbidden and shamed from the public arena where we belong. Just like Twilight. Only nothing rated PG-13. Definitely Rated-R bangage.

And just because accredited news sources such as E! News, TMZ.com, CornholeBangers.net and Golf Weekly keep asking me, this isn't about money or fame. This is about truth. And the truth is that Tigre and I were together before he became history's first billion dollar athlete. This started three years ago, before all that billion dollar business and he was just Tiger, the humble, affable, multi-($998)millionaire who stole my heart and me, a person who's only brush with fame was when I made the front page of the Portageville Post for eating 11 live frogs and only bush with opulence was when I won a free apple pie from the Monopoly game at my office.

Opposites must attract, because he carved me like a jack-o-lantern. He also sent me a text with a photo of his can-of-biscuits-sized dingdong.

It'd be silly to say that I'm just one of several who happen to be coming forward. The difference is the truth. I can only speak for myself, and not for those other clearly impoverished and schizophrenic trailer dwellers who claim to have been sexed and sexted by my Tiger. I'm not sure about compensation, it'd be so awful to talk about money at a time when he is so clearly on the verge of breaking down - you know, due to all the clandestine intercourse we've been engaging in behind the globe's back - it just seems wrong. But when that time comes, I'm sure Tiger and I can work out something simple, something that can give me some piece of mind. And by "piece of mind" I mean, a blank check that will grant me the prestige, honor and respect befitting someone with millions and millions of dollars of disposable income.

I'm sorry it all had to come out like this. It seems sordid, but really, it's about love. And not about this being my only shot at making something somewhat meaningful out of what has become the underloved, oversexed, vomit-filled, meth-singed, cross-eyed, rusty abortion that is my day-to-day existence. Not at all.

Tigre, if you read this call me.

Do' Tompkins

NFL: The Year of the Dong

At least I didn't have to live through this.

Well, it's a fitting time to put this out there anyways, what with how homoerotic this site has been this week. I mean, an open thread about soccer being gay, a gay pose caption contest, AND an article about the SEC? I think we all can agree that the writers here need to put down the Cosmos (magazine) and the cosmos (drink) and get back to the manliness that this site was founded on.

Just kidding, I'm going to talk about penises.

If you're like me, you've noticed a few more NFL penises have been making their way into the public eye this year. Not like we've been looking for them or anything...
Let me start over.

The internet and television has found three NFL players' penises this year. Some were put there on purpose (Santonio Holmes), some were accidental (Visanthe Shiancoe), and some were borderline anonymous (Chris Cooley). They were all male sex organs, though.

What's up with this? Well, there's an element of stupidity in all three. Santonio took a picture of himself full frontal nude, and put it on the internet. Chris Cooley took a picture of a painting he had just done, and didn't notice that there were elements of himself in the picture, and Fox was stupid enough to go into a room, the sole purpose of which is for men to change clothes, with live cameras rolling.

It started out funny enough, I mean Cooley just wanted to give everybody a picture of his new painting. But it's getting ridiculous. This is worse than that Abu Ghraib shit, when you couldn't turn on the TV or look at a newspaper without seeing an ugly chick standing next to a pile of naked dudes. Shit was gross.

The internet is bound to be the place where everything captured on a camera phone is going to go first, but let's be sensible, please? If you're going to put naked pictures of yourself on the web, have the decency to make people pay for them. If you don't want naked pictures of yourself on the web, don't take them yourself. Fox, show some goddamn sense.