by Idaho Chubbs
"What is it "Mad Glen"? We gotta get out there. The game is about to commence, and Alabama must lose. For this marks a new era for Spurrier, or not; probably not, but the Tide must not roll. The kevlar, steel twinned running backs formed from T2000's metal hide scraps will meet a lava flowed end today."
"Of course IC, I could want nothing more, but listen to my plan for post game jubilee. I only tell you now, before a contest where the outcome is uncertain because I'm sure Bolano's ghost will not be by my side when the conclusion of today's game draws near."
"Then out with it!"
*"We'll live like mendicants or child prophets while Paris trains a distant eye on fashion, movies, games of chance, French and American literature, gastronomy, the gross domestic product, arms exports, the manufacture of massive batches of anesthesia, all mere backdrop for our fetus's first few months."
I sighed a smirkish sigh, "Glen, I would like nothing more than to crawl back into a drugged up womb that sits atop the Eiffel Tower only existing in the movie version of "Funny Face", but right now we have to a win football game that will hopefully make Nick Saban voluntarily travel to Hades, where he will be promptly fitted for cement Sperry top-siders, dropped into the deepest end of the River Styxx to live in "Limbo" for the rest of his days where his Crimson Tide will get slaughtered by Utah in the 2007 Sugar Bowl over and over again for all of eternity. At the end of each loss he will be lined up much like Dostoevksy was, and be made to think he will be shot by a firing squad consisting of disgruntled Miami Dolphin fans who never forgave him for tucking tail and leaving after just two seasons. Mr Saban will exist twice in death and yet will always be on the precipice of a third go-around. Either fear will be irrelevant, or so present and gnawing that limbo insanity will cause him to flay himself until he is nothing more than a brained bloody vein piece of hair skinned head set that still has no choice but to be conscious.
Mad Glen smiled a creepily comforting smile. "We will rejuvinate Saban's soul, thus making him our new Paris fetus, who will grow up to coach Notre Dame and The "U" simultaneously in two different dimensions at the same time, restoring National Championship honor and panache to both storied programs. All will be right be in at least two realms....ROLL MAD CHUBBY COCKS ROLL!!!"
The College football season has been underway for some time. Despite bringing Masoli back from the dead to have him lose to a no name school, Karl Lagerfeld, Tim Gunn and I have admired his progress. His stats are solid, Ole Miss is very much in the SEC hunt, and most importantly Jeremiah's succinct smoothness is still intact. I pretty much blame the loss to Jacksonville State on the non fashion week uniforms Ole Miss had to don (Apparently G-Star's factory, where BANKSY has peasants create Simpson merchandise as well, needs to hire more three year old Copperfieldian seamstresses before they can finish Dark Knight SEC Couture). A new outfit can be incredibly invigorating to one's self esteem. Sometimes the same old thing, although classic and regal, can leave one uninspired, dormant of game winning verve. Speaking of which, where are these wonderfully comedic athletic thread creations? They have only been worn once by both teams (VTech vs Boise) in one game the first weekend of the season. The Hokies summoned their second half strength from the matte finish of their helmets that possessed all the ROYGBIV colors and more. Although hideous, I am a hundred percent sure Miami would have beaten Ohio State if they had worn their currency, palm tree colored greens. But nope, nothing. Per usual Oregon wears fashion week, EVERY week, and look at them go. They sit right behind Ohio State at #2 in the land. LaMichael James is the Heisman front runner (even though Mad Glen rushed for 853 yards in one game against Alabama). I have to admit I thought the Ducks would loose some luster from Masols exit, but oh how wrong I was, and it gladdens me. Jeremiah has been freed to paint his rough hewed ballet canvasses while Oregon's alien winged uniforms continue to run 4.0 forties all over The Pac 10 and several DIII programs. Their look might be absurdly ugly but I can never look away. I want that collective and creative west coast eye sore of a football amalgam to succeed. My gut worms tell me this, and I follow their lead.
Terrelle Pryor, big Heisman Candidate. I still think he's terrible and as much as I want to see Saban meet a fate that Sisyphus could only fantasize about, OSU must die. Before The Tide almost lost to Arkansas (getting single-handedly saved by Ryan Mallet's super "Strike me from any sort of player of the year list" melt down) and eventual demise against the "Spurriered Mad Glens"; they had crushed bad, bad teams...except Florida? Ohio State still hasn't played anyone, except for Miami, and well, look what Florida State did to them this weekend. As Jacory was disappointing yet yet yet again, at least the Yankees were tying up game 3, heading to their billionth ALCS. But I digress, The U is most definitely not back; and as far as the Buckeyes go, they've slaughtered some pop warner club college football teams, an over-rated Hurricane, and that is it, yet they are #1. The rest of their schedule is not intimidating in the least, it's BIG TEN! I see Wisconsin, Iowa, and Michigan giving them a challenge but no one else. Please Denard Robinson, PLEASE take down Columbus, Ohio and their Krenzeled Championshiped god-awful, undeserved nostalgia.
This particular weekend was a tough choice for me. I had secured permission from Scorpium Asylum for Mad Glen to play in a single football contest this season, which was all he had left as far as eligibility. In his previous life as a budding teenager in the late 90's, he was simply the best college football player anyone had ever seen put on a uniform, let alone a University of Hawaii one. From age 13-16 he won four Heisman trophies, three National titles, and broke Barry Sander's single season rushing record his freshman year, and then eclipsed himself each subsequent season. He even made BYU forfeit a game once simply by stepping onto the field for pre-game reps. They claimed food-poisoning, but the truth was that they thought he was a demon that Joseph Smith had forgotten to tell them about, and what they saw and felt was actually more terrifying and real then anything they had ever experienced spiritually before. The confusion of Glen's origins have always been hot topic of conversation. Most humans think he exists as an eccentric young lad who likes to collect hair and throw peanut butter against wood-paneled mid 60's kitchen walls, while living in TV boxes every so often on Sunday evenings. He only seems this way because he is not from that time. He is from this era, and he is 25 years old. I had mentored him in pop warner, witnessing his wondrous skill and talent as a child. The brain he possessed was off the grid, and for the first time in recorded history an adolescent genius was also an athletic FORCE that would make Achilles tremble. Starting his college football career at 13 did yield much controversy, but under my care, tutelage, and vast knowledge of all that is space, time, and god, he became a shining wonder of human achievement. The trouble struck hard in December of 1999. Mad Glen had just won his fourth consecutive Heisman trophy, and giddy from a libationous night, the two of us, the four runners up (who were all Rainbow Brodys as well), Arizona State's cheerleading squad, Robbie Williams, King Brody, the band The Cardigans, Prince Tebow, T2000 and the cast of RENT adjourned upstate a little ways to my compound, for the after party, which existed right outside the campus of Bard College, where I was teaching at the time. The night got pretty weird, which is par for the course for me, but what was truly horrifying was that Mad Glen stumbled into my lab and traveled back in time to the early 60's, where he managed to get adopted by a divorcae so he could pursue his unquenchable love for a woman that was way to old for him and another female who was a smidge too young for him. These two people were mother and daughter as well. For the two weeks leading up to the NCAA playoffs (Bowl games had been abolished some time before, but were quickly re-instituted right after Glen's demise, partly to directly punish me for my handling of the youngster) he travelled back and forth through time without me knowing, somehow figuring out how to do it from his off campus house in Manoa, HI. When I discovered this and confronted him, he calmly told me he was leaving for the 60's for good, as he had become engaged to both aforementioned females, and through his abstract deductions which sacrificed cognitive, moral and societal reasoning, he deemed that this was a totally fruitful endeavor that would satisfy a large part of his brain. I jested that he was jesting. He agreed in some sense, and basically said he saw the whole thing as an existential space/time challenge that dealt with human sexuality and relational bliss separate from lust. Before I could attempt to stop him, the authorities burst in to his house and took him away. Apparently the daughter he had fallen for in 1965 had recognized him while casually watching The Heisman Trophy Ceremony. She was in her mid 40's now, but unbeknowst to Glen, she had discovered his odd affair with her mother in the past, while he was in the future. And since he was not around, for time still moves forward in the past, even while we are living it in the present, she confronted a mother whom she already hated and learned the terrible truth. Then and there, she became a lesbian, left the house as an almost teen, and never looked back. December 1999, on national TV, would be the next time she would lay eyes on the angelic demented face of one Mad Glen. Reason told her it could not be true, but she knew it was, without question.
Glen was taken into custody briefly and let out due to the seemingly preposterous charge, claiming that a 16 year old existing in the late 90's had committed unsavory acts in the mid 60's. But I saw that he would be trouble for all of mankind if he were freed. So I sacrificed all my work with this protege and set him up at Scorpium Asylum. I employed Stephen Hawking, Pope John Paul, Rabbi Schmuley Boteach, Christopher Hitchens and David Lynch as his personal consultants (all vastly lacking in the knowledge of which I possessed). I did this simply because I supposed that Mad Glen would never want to speak to me again. All I could do was write him a letter which at the end told that there would come a time where his talents could help the world, and because of this future and most important endeavor I also employed Michael Vick to keep him in tip top shape.
So was the most important time to utilize this mad genius talent of all talents during a South Carolina/Alabama college football game in 2010? YES. And because Glen could see the Evil Saban-less future a Gamecocks win would yield, he agreed, and he rushed for almost a thousand yards that day in Columbia, toppling the #1 Crimson Tide, playing his last college football game, a decade later, to set our plan in motion. Yes, I did get greedy, inserting T2000 as a linebacker for Indiana against Ohio State, attempting to kill two of the most awful college "birds" with one stone. Unfortunately it was too much for "T". Even though Terrelle Pryor can't pass worth a lick against quality defenses, he still has legs that can cover fifty yards in five steps; and that is hard to defend, even for a terminator robot.
What I didn't say before, is that in the letter I wrote Mad Glen several moons ago, I told him that at the end of the favor he was free to go live his life however he chose. It is a great risk, I know. But he had made wonderful progress with his sociopathic tendencies in the preceding years, or so it would seem. Nothing is set in stone in most human minds, as hard as we try; but I guess I thought he deserved to have another go at life, finally as a full fledged adult. I have not heard from him since the game. He disappeared before any reporter could get ahold of his jersey. I'd like to think he's incepting himself into Nick Saban's Sugar Bowl hades nightmare per our plan, or maybe he's sitting atop a cozy beautiful wine bar facing the Basilique du Sacre-Coeur in Paris on a radiant mid October night, sharing a bottle of shiraz with a certain fifty-five year old former lesbian.
*Quote from Bolano's "2666"
The College football season has been underway for some time. Despite bringing Masoli back from the dead to have him lose to a no name school, Karl Lagerfeld, Tim Gunn and I have admired his progress. His stats are solid, Ole Miss is very much in the SEC hunt, and most importantly Jeremiah's succinct smoothness is still intact. I pretty much blame the loss to Jacksonville State on the non fashion week uniforms Ole Miss had to don (Apparently G-Star's factory, where BANKSY has peasants create Simpson merchandise as well, needs to hire more three year old Copperfieldian seamstresses before they can finish Dark Knight SEC Couture). A new outfit can be incredibly invigorating to one's self esteem. Sometimes the same old thing, although classic and regal, can leave one uninspired, dormant of game winning verve. Speaking of which, where are these wonderfully comedic athletic thread creations? They have only been worn once by both teams (VTech vs Boise) in one game the first weekend of the season. The Hokies summoned their second half strength from the matte finish of their helmets that possessed all the ROYGBIV colors and more. Although hideous, I am a hundred percent sure Miami would have beaten Ohio State if they had worn their currency, palm tree colored greens. But nope, nothing. Per usual Oregon wears fashion week, EVERY week, and look at them go. They sit right behind Ohio State at #2 in the land. LaMichael James is the Heisman front runner (even though Mad Glen rushed for 853 yards in one game against Alabama). I have to admit I thought the Ducks would loose some luster from Masols exit, but oh how wrong I was, and it gladdens me. Jeremiah has been freed to paint his rough hewed ballet canvasses while Oregon's alien winged uniforms continue to run 4.0 forties all over The Pac 10 and several DIII programs. Their look might be absurdly ugly but I can never look away. I want that collective and creative west coast eye sore of a football amalgam to succeed. My gut worms tell me this, and I follow their lead.
Terrelle Pryor, big Heisman Candidate. I still think he's terrible and as much as I want to see Saban meet a fate that Sisyphus could only fantasize about, OSU must die. Before The Tide almost lost to Arkansas (getting single-handedly saved by Ryan Mallet's super "Strike me from any sort of player of the year list" melt down) and eventual demise against the "Spurriered Mad Glens"; they had crushed bad, bad teams...except Florida? Ohio State still hasn't played anyone, except for Miami, and well, look what Florida State did to them this weekend. As Jacory was disappointing yet yet yet again, at least the Yankees were tying up game 3, heading to their billionth ALCS. But I digress, The U is most definitely not back; and as far as the Buckeyes go, they've slaughtered some pop warner club college football teams, an over-rated Hurricane, and that is it, yet they are #1. The rest of their schedule is not intimidating in the least, it's BIG TEN! I see Wisconsin, Iowa, and Michigan giving them a challenge but no one else. Please Denard Robinson, PLEASE take down Columbus, Ohio and their Krenzeled Championshiped god-awful, undeserved nostalgia.
This particular weekend was a tough choice for me. I had secured permission from Scorpium Asylum for Mad Glen to play in a single football contest this season, which was all he had left as far as eligibility. In his previous life as a budding teenager in the late 90's, he was simply the best college football player anyone had ever seen put on a uniform, let alone a University of Hawaii one. From age 13-16 he won four Heisman trophies, three National titles, and broke Barry Sander's single season rushing record his freshman year, and then eclipsed himself each subsequent season. He even made BYU forfeit a game once simply by stepping onto the field for pre-game reps. They claimed food-poisoning, but the truth was that they thought he was a demon that Joseph Smith had forgotten to tell them about, and what they saw and felt was actually more terrifying and real then anything they had ever experienced spiritually before. The confusion of Glen's origins have always been hot topic of conversation. Most humans think he exists as an eccentric young lad who likes to collect hair and throw peanut butter against wood-paneled mid 60's kitchen walls, while living in TV boxes every so often on Sunday evenings. He only seems this way because he is not from that time. He is from this era, and he is 25 years old. I had mentored him in pop warner, witnessing his wondrous skill and talent as a child. The brain he possessed was off the grid, and for the first time in recorded history an adolescent genius was also an athletic FORCE that would make Achilles tremble. Starting his college football career at 13 did yield much controversy, but under my care, tutelage, and vast knowledge of all that is space, time, and god, he became a shining wonder of human achievement. The trouble struck hard in December of 1999. Mad Glen had just won his fourth consecutive Heisman trophy, and giddy from a libationous night, the two of us, the four runners up (who were all Rainbow Brodys as well), Arizona State's cheerleading squad, Robbie Williams, King Brody, the band The Cardigans, Prince Tebow, T2000 and the cast of RENT adjourned upstate a little ways to my compound, for the after party, which existed right outside the campus of Bard College, where I was teaching at the time. The night got pretty weird, which is par for the course for me, but what was truly horrifying was that Mad Glen stumbled into my lab and traveled back in time to the early 60's, where he managed to get adopted by a divorcae so he could pursue his unquenchable love for a woman that was way to old for him and another female who was a smidge too young for him. These two people were mother and daughter as well. For the two weeks leading up to the NCAA playoffs (Bowl games had been abolished some time before, but were quickly re-instituted right after Glen's demise, partly to directly punish me for my handling of the youngster) he travelled back and forth through time without me knowing, somehow figuring out how to do it from his off campus house in Manoa, HI. When I discovered this and confronted him, he calmly told me he was leaving for the 60's for good, as he had become engaged to both aforementioned females, and through his abstract deductions which sacrificed cognitive, moral and societal reasoning, he deemed that this was a totally fruitful endeavor that would satisfy a large part of his brain. I jested that he was jesting. He agreed in some sense, and basically said he saw the whole thing as an existential space/time challenge that dealt with human sexuality and relational bliss separate from lust. Before I could attempt to stop him, the authorities burst in to his house and took him away. Apparently the daughter he had fallen for in 1965 had recognized him while casually watching The Heisman Trophy Ceremony. She was in her mid 40's now, but unbeknowst to Glen, she had discovered his odd affair with her mother in the past, while he was in the future. And since he was not around, for time still moves forward in the past, even while we are living it in the present, she confronted a mother whom she already hated and learned the terrible truth. Then and there, she became a lesbian, left the house as an almost teen, and never looked back. December 1999, on national TV, would be the next time she would lay eyes on the angelic demented face of one Mad Glen. Reason told her it could not be true, but she knew it was, without question.
Glen was taken into custody briefly and let out due to the seemingly preposterous charge, claiming that a 16 year old existing in the late 90's had committed unsavory acts in the mid 60's. But I saw that he would be trouble for all of mankind if he were freed. So I sacrificed all my work with this protege and set him up at Scorpium Asylum. I employed Stephen Hawking, Pope John Paul, Rabbi Schmuley Boteach, Christopher Hitchens and David Lynch as his personal consultants (all vastly lacking in the knowledge of which I possessed). I did this simply because I supposed that Mad Glen would never want to speak to me again. All I could do was write him a letter which at the end told that there would come a time where his talents could help the world, and because of this future and most important endeavor I also employed Michael Vick to keep him in tip top shape.
So was the most important time to utilize this mad genius talent of all talents during a South Carolina/Alabama college football game in 2010? YES. And because Glen could see the Evil Saban-less future a Gamecocks win would yield, he agreed, and he rushed for almost a thousand yards that day in Columbia, toppling the #1 Crimson Tide, playing his last college football game, a decade later, to set our plan in motion. Yes, I did get greedy, inserting T2000 as a linebacker for Indiana against Ohio State, attempting to kill two of the most awful college "birds" with one stone. Unfortunately it was too much for "T". Even though Terrelle Pryor can't pass worth a lick against quality defenses, he still has legs that can cover fifty yards in five steps; and that is hard to defend, even for a terminator robot.
What I didn't say before, is that in the letter I wrote Mad Glen several moons ago, I told him that at the end of the favor he was free to go live his life however he chose. It is a great risk, I know. But he had made wonderful progress with his sociopathic tendencies in the preceding years, or so it would seem. Nothing is set in stone in most human minds, as hard as we try; but I guess I thought he deserved to have another go at life, finally as a full fledged adult. I have not heard from him since the game. He disappeared before any reporter could get ahold of his jersey. I'd like to think he's incepting himself into Nick Saban's Sugar Bowl hades nightmare per our plan, or maybe he's sitting atop a cozy beautiful wine bar facing the Basilique du Sacre-Coeur in Paris on a radiant mid October night, sharing a bottle of shiraz with a certain fifty-five year old former lesbian.
*Quote from Bolano's "2666"
