Your Friday Hoodoo Thread | Week Ten

My dad graduated from UA twice. My uncle, two cousins, all graduated from UA. I grew up a life-long Alabama fan. My hoodoo admission is that I went to Auburn. Graduated and actually enjoyed my time there. If it wasn’t for a scholarship offer to Auburn I would have gone to Alabama. I don’t regret my choice. [wow that was hard to type]
I have never cheered nor will I ever cheer for them one time in any sporting event GO DUCKS WOOOOO!!!!

Alright, boys and girls, time to bring the heat. This will be the first admission I’ve ever made here and it will be the first of two that I post today (on account of the size of this game). As you may have noticed, my username is "Slice of Life", but alas, this was not always the case.

I first found this blog a couple of years ago. I lurked for a while and when I finally had something I wanted to contribute, I wanted to do it right then. Thus, I created an account using the first semi-clever username I thought of… "BamaHadMeAtHello". It was probably 3 months before someone casually referred to me as a "she". When I corrected them, it was pointed out to me that my name was a reference to a Renee Zellweger film and my avatar (which at the time was a pic of my wife and myself) featured a woman centered in the pic. Thus, it was revealed to me that for several months I had unknowingly likely been perceived to be a girl by everyone I talked to. I was embarrassed as it dawned on me that I probably could attribute much of the welcoming nature of the commentariat to their belief that they were interacting with a female (particularly in the case of Pete, who is/was not known for his use of kid gloves.)
 
Many months and a name change later, I’m still here. But my (no longer) secret shame lives on.

Im planning to visit a cajun restuarant Saturday afternoon for some golden colas, gumbo and a po boy. I never eat cajun, although I enjoy it.

Will I effect the Hoodoo by doing this? Since we have won all our games this year while I have been eating foods other than cajun, should I continue the pattern of not eating cajun? Am I over-thinking this? Might I steal just a wee bit of tiger Hoodoo by eating the stuff they thrive on? In a quandry…

Here’s a list of confessions for some of my shameful/embarrassing admissions throughout my life that are of the "less adult-related" variety. I’m afraid I might get banned and I’ve no doubt many folks (including all ladies) would lose all respect for me if I delved into some of my really embarrassing issues and immature exploits pre-marriage….and no game is important enough for me to lose my dignity. But I’ll offer these confessions up to the football gods and hope this hoodoo curries enough favor with them this Saturday.

1 – I actually found myself crying uncontrollably at the end of two chick-flick movies….Ghost (in high school) and Meet Joe Black (after college)…..but I was one of the few heartless bastards out there who never once shed a single tear when Old Yeller died because I was too busy still snickering at the "horny toad" line.

2 – In my 9th grade English class, I "borrowed" an extra VCR remote from the high school storage closet so I could inconspicuously rewind and then pause at just the "right moment" during the class viewing of the movie Romeo & Juliet (for the nip shot freeze frame). Never fessed up to our enraged teacher about it, quietly returned the remote later that day, and all my classmates even to this very day, took the vow of "omerta" for me.

3 – During one summer in the mid-90’s, I watched the movie True Lies 17 times…..all in the theater. And on two of those days, I watched it in the theater twice.

4 – Even at 37 years old, I daydream as I did when I was 10 years old, by thinking to myself that if I just worked really hard for a couple of months, I would still be able to secure the starting QB job for the Tide.

5 – In college, I once spent an entire weekend helping a gay man build an exquisite bookshelf for another gay man’s home simply because instead of money, he offered me all the beer and pizza I wanted during construction (and before you ask…no…..NTTAWWT).

6 – One night, I went with a group of friends to a building that was rumored to be a Satanic Church in Meridian, MS and proceeded to "take a leak" on the side of the building because I thought that might score me some brownie points in the after-life.

7 – As a pizza delivery guy in college, I once delivered an extra large Ham & Pineapple pizza to a girl (I did not know) who just happened to be getting out of the shower and holding her towel around her as she answered the door. And as I handed her the huge pizza box, she almost dropped it since it was too large and heavy for her to hold with just one hand. But instead of being the chivalrous hero and rushing off to the aid of a damsel in distress, I immediately recognized a unique opportunity and just stood there as she had no choice but to quickly take her other hand off her towel to grab the box and prevent the pizza from dropping, thus allowing me to get a brief, but at a very good angle, slip of the nip.

8 – In the 8th grade, I stole my science teacher’s grade book near the end of the school year so one of my best friends would be eligible to move onto high school when the teacher was left with no choice but to pass everyone in that class.

9 – At the beginning of the football season just this year, for the Kent State game, I faked an illness (for about 4 days straight, so it wasn’t too obvious) because my "darling wife" agreed that our entire family would go to one of her friend’s daughter’s birthday parties at the same time as the game. I pleaded "too sick" to go, thus making my poor wife have to keep up with our hyper and loud kids of 2 and 4 years old all by herself at the party just so I didn’t miss the first game of the season, however insignificant the game must have seemed to have been for some.

10 – I’ve read (and really, really, enjoyed) all four of the books in the Twilight series and I am as giddy as a junior high girl waiting for the first part of Breaking Dawn to hit the theatres on November 18. On opening night that Friday, if you see a really creepy-looking, middle-aged white man all alone in shades, top hat, and possibly a fake mustache/beard in the back of the theater, you’ll know who it is.

There, hopefully that will suffice and I can still keep my dignity. Roll Tide!

anything for the team!! Ha! Roll Tide!

Three Super Bowls ago (Pittsburgh vs. Arizona) I had just moved to New York, just gone through a horrible break up, and didn’t know a soul in the city. So I did what any reasonable 25 year old would do- I went to a random bar and proceeded to get absolutely shitfaced. It ended up being in the top five drunkest nights of my life. Wisely, I took a cab back uptown to my apartment rather than risk the subway, and as I rode in the cab I realized I was needed a bathroom, and quick. I wasn’t nauseous, it was something a bit more pressing, and I couldn’t just open the door like I could if I just had to throw up.

Long horrible story short, I made it to the elevator of my building before everything just let go. I had to throw away a lot of clothing, and I still pity the poor janitor who ended up stumbling onto that when the elevator doors opened the next morning.

This one is actually pretty fresh and hard to do with that GD Nickleback playing in the background.

I’m in the reserves for the Air Force as an Electrical and Environmental systems. Two weeks ago, i and another guy were doing an operational check of the engine fire bottles. Long story short because its difficult to explain the technical aspects… I fired off some explosives that, set off a 30lb fire bottle and put out a non-existent fire in one of the wings of the aircraft. Engine troops ran for their lives, the hanger gave off the loudest echo you’ve ever heard and here i am in the cockpit thinking…fuck did i really just do that. Ya i did. Fucking idiot. I had to go see chiefs, a Colonel, Safety etc. I’m now referred to as “that guy” in many circles. It cost the A.F. and you the taxpayer around $10,000. Happy now football Gods? I was gonna save this for a national championship game but without this win there won’t be one.

When I was a child I was told not to watch The Simpsons.

Well…. I attempted to watch it anyways. My cousin was younger and we were watching it at his house when I noticed my Aunt was about to walk into the room. I didn’t say anything and ran away to hide. He was stuck there watching it by himself when she walked in.

Nickleback…? Really…?

Since Im young and I dont have much too say….My friends always wonder why Im sick or feel like major crap on Saturdays, but I never really am, I just lie so that I can watch Alabama play.

I put the condom in the salad in the 9th grade. It was me. Maurice: I’m sorry I let you take the fall. Well, I’m not really sorry.

I was always did very well in school and a girl who sat next to me started capitalizing on that by copying my work. I got wise to it and instead of ratting her out, I began to fill out my tests with about 90% wrong answers. Then, when time was about to run out I’d shield my answers, erase them, and put in the correct ones.

I don’t know if she just never figured out that she was being duped or what but she kept copying so I kept intentionally putting down wrong answers.

In middle school, I went to a Backstreet Boys concert with my best friend and her sister. At that time they had 3 albums out and each of dressed up as one of their albums.
I won’t even try to explain how ridiculous we looked, but to this day I’m grateful that no pictures of us have surfaced.

And this one is a bit of a doozy. I’ve stated on here before that I’m a relatively new fan. I’ve only truly cared about CFB for about 4-5 years. What I’ve never discussed, though, is the depths of my apathy towards all things Bama before my redemption.

My father has always been a die-hard Bama fan, and sometime in my teens (16-18ish) my dad brought me along with some people from his church for a father/son trip to a Bama game. I’m sad to say that I could not have cared less about being there that day. I don’t know who we played. I don’t know the final score. I don’t even know if we won. I do know that I squandered my first trip to Bryant Denny Stadium by focusing more on the concessions than the on-field product. I wish I could revisit that trip and do it right.

Yes, I lived through it. No, I don’t wanna talk about it.

The one year I attended Bama I skipped a Friday band practice so I could return home for a football game at home. I lied to Ms. Scott and told her I had a migraine to get out of practice, then slipped out the side door of the dorm so my other fellow band member would hopefully not see me so I cold make the 3 + hour drive home to hand with my high school friends. I’ve felt bad about that ever since.

I almost broke in the “Photograph” song…but hanging in there. Co workers are offering their support. We should send Nickelback to Guantanimo to offer “enhanced” interogations.

but I cut off my little sister’s finger. Were the doctors able to reattach..? No, it’s just gone.

I once took a date to see “The Slugger’s Wife”. And we sat through that horror, including Rebecca De Mornay slaying “Little Red Corvette”, until the end. She and I keep in touch on occasion on Facebook, but we never. ever. mention that.

But I grew up an Auburn fan. It was mostly in defiance of my family, but the shame still lingers from before I saw the error of my ways in college
Also, as a die-hard Red Sox fan, I would like to dedicate Boston’s abismal month of September and the loss of the manager and GM to the football gods. I feel like it should go to a good cause. As a first-time poster but long-time follower, I’m not sure if it counts but I wanted to try anyway :)

I’m seriously going to buy her flowers after work.

Small town station, mid 1980s; listeners have a chance to win small prizes worth $10-$20 from various advertisers through the weeks leading up to Christmas; weekly winners all entered in the Big Prize drawing at the end, which was some odd amount (like $1234.56) for reasons I forget.

We quickly found we had to limit the repeat winners. A couple folks were persistent and determined to boost their chances (“well, use my sister’s name…”). One of these went to pick up her minor prize, a brass cuspidor, not knowing just what it was, at a furniture place who were big advertisers. When they brought it to her, she looked disgusted, dropped it on the floor, and left.

Lo and behold, the time of the big drawing comes, we’re live on the air, and my program director reaches into the fish bowl… and pulls out this person’s name. From behind the sound board, I made a “fish-again” gesture just as he had the same thought, and pulled a different name out. “And your winner is…!”

Didn’t feel bad about it. Still don’t. So, this is a first-time-ever admission, just without the embarrassment factor. Football gods, hear our plea… Amen.

Bonus: the winner turned out to be a sweet little old lady, with numerous prescriptions, living on a fixed income. She brought us a pie, and hugged us all, with tears in her eyes.

I hadn’t had a girlfriend yet, but had all kinds of ideas on how to woo said girl when she finally did come along. One of my many brilliant strategies was to learn Chicago’s “You’re the Inspiration” on the guitar, and have her walk into a room where my band (which was also a dream, by the way) was playing it and I was singing to her. I am ashamed to admit how many times I listened to the song thinking about that romantic moment.

I was going through a bad divorce (like there is such thing as a good one) in 1999. My ex was being cruel and evil in every possible way. I really had no malice toward her when she told me she just didn’t want to continue being married. We had just been pretty much roommates for the last 18 months of our marriage anyway. I think she just felt the need to hate me to make it easier for her to justify getting divorced. Heck, we never even had an arguement of any kind while we were married. Once we started getting divorced she went off the deep end with the hate.
I had enough of it about three months into our divorce. I had moved out of the house, but still had keys. I waited until she was at work and went into the house, in what was our bedroom, got her “toy” and coated it with hot pepper oil. If you have ever had dried hot sauce on your finger and rubbed your eye then you can get the idea. I did this every day for a week. I went to recoat one day and it was gone. I found it in the trash.
Do I feel bad? Not really. We do get along now though. Took her about 5 years and she apologized for being so cruel to me. I apologized also, but I just didn’t say what for.

I don’t really do hoodoo but Ima try to contribute. Some years back, I did some work as a salesman.

OK, that’s not really the admission but it might be bad enough.

In any case, I was visiting a couple’s house with another salesman to make a presentation on the product we were selling. I hadn’t been feeling all that well and, right in the middle of the presentation, nature called. Hard. Problem is, there was something of an unwritten rule against dropping the bomb in a client’s bathroom. Y’know, first impressions and all. In any case, failing to think ahead, I feigned an important incoming call on my cell phone as an excuse to get up from the table and go outside. Well, I got outside… and realized I had no place to go. Looking around quickly, I saw a little patch of woods between the house I was and the next door neighbor. So, there I went… and I went, again failing to think ahead and consider that I had no TP. Resourceful chap that I am, and facing a critical lack of paper goods, I did the only logical thing. My briefs made the ultimate sacrifice, subbed for the TP, and ended up buried under a few leaves as best I could. Went commando for the rest of the evening and luckily had no more episodes. I’ll never forget what those poor drawers did for me.

and I had my youngest daughter with me (she’s now 4). I had put her in the main part of the buggy and went about doing my shopping. As we were passing people, my girl kept greeting everyone with a sweet little, “Helloooo”. She was facing away from me, and it dawned on me that people were giving her very strange looks. I called her name, and when she turned to me, I realized why she was getting all of the awkward gazes. She had somehow gotten my purse and had been going through it. She had found one of my feminine hygene products, pulled the paper off the back, and had stuck it to her forehead. Appalled, I asked, “Baby, what are you doing?”, and she cheerfully replied, “Mommy, I got a boo-boo on my head!”. Children do keep you humble.
(I hope this admission can get us at least a decent punt.)

Caveat: These are things that I did in college which expose what an absolute dick I was. I have refrained from any admissions this year, but, because of the magnitude of the game, I think it is fair to lay out my character flaws. And, yes, in retrospect, I hate myself for them. And, yes, I am going to hell

1. So, when I was a senior in college, I lived in a sketchy cottage behind Tutwiler. During bid week, me and my friend (a law student at UA, and now an atty in B’ham) would set up lawn chairs and host running keggers. Being glib of speech, we convinced the newly-dejected rushes to come party with us, knowing that a great many were rebounding and vulnerable.

2. I have, without any sense of irony, used the phrase “I am a gifted visionary”

3. I have, without any sense of irony, used the phrase “I bear the terrible albatross of being interesting”.

4. I double majored, but later added a creative writing minor (poetry, no less), to pick up the flaky English major girls. It worked.

5. There was an exceptionally hot Swedish bartender I worked with at a restaurant in town. She was dating an amateur Indy driver. One night, after months of cajoling and buying much liquor, I convinced her to sleep with me. As we later found out, while we were having sex in the bathroom of said restaurant, her boyfriend was in the process of being involved in a horrific car crash. He died about the same time we were finishing.

6. I picked up a classmate in Gallette’s one night (isn’t that how it always starts), and being annihilated, got her on the subject of deviant loving. We went back to her apartment, and I convinced her to let her roommate pee on her. Gallette’s gal was in a psych seminar with me, and I didn’t want to face the music later. So, I dropped the class rather than do so.

7. I once wooed a girl into sleeping with me by quoting lines RE: Helen of Troy to her from Faust.

8. I invited all of my exes to my wedding. Four of them showed up. Helen of Troy above made my ex-wife’s wedding dress. I never told said ex-wife about that.

I think you get the picture. I was an ass. I am reasonably reformed now. Just know, that I sacrifice these sins upon an altar of shame for one measly win in a football game, oh Pigskin Gods.

But I had a funny story from last Christmas: I have a Buddy the Elf (Will Ferrell) costume that I regularly wear on an annual Christmas pub crawl here. (That alone may be enough to count as an admission to some of you, I don’t know.) Well last year I had been dating this girl for a few months and had every intention of breaking up with her a few weeks beforehand but just never got around to it. It happens. A week before the pub crawl I had decided that the time had come, but then she started saying how excited she was for the party. I didn’t have the heart to take that away from her.

So she dressed as a Mrs. Claus and I was Buddy and we got dutifully wasted and made out in the corner of a bar while my friends watched. Then later on that night I took her home and, while still dressed in full Buddy the Elf North Pole attire, I told her I hoped she had fun but that we were through.

Here’s the funny part (to me at least): She wrote a whole blog (and a pretty funny one at that) entitled “I was dumped by an elf.” Oh, and there was an accompanying photo album on Facebook entitled “Go Elf Yourself”. She was funny, I’ll give her that.

Confession #1…
During the Third Saturday in October, if any of you observed a well tanned, slim man in his mid-30s with sideburns ending in SHARP points near the jaw line, ai! Twas me you saw. I love having a tan and yes, I lay out in the sun during the summer because the summers up here are so damn brief! I love having a tan! There, I said it! Oh, and the sideburns? Originally, I wasn’t too much into the burners/chops until my work said “no” to them. So, being a “man about town,” I obtained a doctor’s excuse and sport those motherfornicators proudly, loudly and… I’ve gotten really attached to them. People now identify me by my chops, and Daddy likeee.

Confession #2…
My brother and I are quite a rambunctious pairing when we are out and about. Despite our love for intellectual pursuits, we are complete cads in public. SO! One fine day we ventured to Chicago for a day of carousing with wenches, visiting museums, consuming copious amounts of wine and generally acting like Richard Burton and Peter O’Toole. My brother insisted on getting “faced on vino” before visiting Chicago’s Field Museum. The trouble started immediately in the ticket line, much to my marriment. While swaying to and fro, my brother complimented a woman on the firmness of her butt cheeks and then argued with the poor lady at the ticket window about being “a member of this shit-heap in good standing, young lady,” until he surveyed the ceiling and thoughtfully stated, “I think I’m in the wrong museum. I’ll take two adult tickets for all of the finest attractions here. Do you have a shitter nearby?” It took us all of 20 minutes to be escorted from the premises by security. Yes, we fashion ourselves intellectuals.

Confession #2a…
Later that evening in Chi-town… At dinner, my brother insisted on me teaching him some Man United chants. At this point, I am DIZZY because of the amount of wine I have drunk and he insists on this shit. So, I obliged and he admirably took to the chants like a hooligan to a riot. Next thing you know, other younger patrons start joining in and mid-salad, we are asked to leave the fucking restaurant. Hungry, shit-faced and staggering, my brother then feels confident enough to not only ask a cop for an autograph, but also inquires as to where the “red light district is?” It was MY diplomatic skills that got his ass out of that and into an establishment that we DIDN’T get booted from.

Though I post infrequently, I have lurked on RBR since the 2007 season. While always enjoying these threads, I’ve never felt I had much to contribute… until last season. And I’ve been saving that admission for this game.

I joined the military in March 2005, and the military has been attempting to sabotage my viewing of Alabama football games ever since. The past six years have been filled with the typical ups and downs and overseas training exercises and middle east deployments of a military career.

2005 season, initial entry training in Arizona, no cable television or internet, I spent most of my Saturdays off-post at whatever establishment that had football games on.

2006 season, overseas in Korea, free to catch any Alabama game that was shown on AFN.

2007 season, deployed to Iraq for the entire time, befriended the S6 early on and come football season, they rigged things up for me so that I could always watch Bama play (as long as they were shown on AFN).

2008 season, required to attend WLC (formerly PLDC for our other vets here) during October and November, watching Bama games over those two months generally consisted of sneaking into the day room and watching games with the sound muted while pretending to sweep underneath the couches.

2009 season, deployed to Qatar, worked in a combined-air-operations-center (consider it a high-tech warehouse) where there were a series of projectors that depicted numerous video feeds onto a massive wall screen. The feeds included… just about everything you can imagine. Maps, radars, UAV feeds, news channels, etc. I befriended the person in charge of establishing what feeds were depicted on the screen and was able to ensure that the Alabama game was shown up there every week next to all the other stuff (unless, of course, some sort of operation or ongoing emergency took precedence). I had a good enough internet connection, that, in the event I couldn’t catch it in the ops center, I was able to watch via live feeds over the internet (through links often provided by the good folk here at RBR).

For the first time in five years, I was able to watch every single Alabama football game. I’m not superstitious… but we won every single game.

2010 season, should have been the easiest year to watch Alabama football. It was my first “normal” year, where I did not have a single overseas trip or deployment during the regular football season. And yet, I missed significant parts of three Alabama games last season. Again, I’m not superstitious or anything… but we lost all three of those games.

Two of those games were beyond my control… my Army unit had reservists, the South Carolina and LSU games were both on reserve drill weekends, I was called in at the last second to conduct counseling and training for our reservists. I missed the first half of the South Carolina game and the third quarter of the LSU game.

This, finally, brings me to my embarrassing admission. My wife and I have been married for a year and a half now. However, while we were dating (mostly due to my experiences with the military) my wife had never been around me during college football season. She knew how much I loved Alabama football, but I don’t think she ever truly grasped my fanaticism. After spending the summer together after our wedding, we were apart for a few months as she was in her last semester of college in Texas while I was stationed in Colorado. So, for yet another year, she wasn’t around me during football season.

She flew up here to stay with me during her school’s fall break, which happened to include Thanksgiving and the Iron Bowl. She had wanted to go see a movie together, so we planned to go the morning of the Iron Bowl, as we had just enough time to make it back before the game started. The morning of the game, I realized I had made a huge mistake. Somehow, some way, I had inconceivably gotten timezones mixed up, and the Iron Bowl was starting an hour before I thought it was. What to do? I already had movie tickets, I had promised her we would go, and for her first experience watching an Alabama game with me, I didn’t want her to get the idea that I valued watching the Iron Bowl more than spending time with her.

So I did the natural thing that any newlywed groom who hasn’t seen his bride in three months would do (or did I?)… I swallowed my pride, and my fanatical Alabama football viewing ways, and took my wife to see the movie anyway, knowing I may miss the entire first half of the game.

The movie was awful and my wife and I got into one of the worst arguments (still, to date) we’ve ever had on the way home, but the football gods didn’t truly exact their punishment until I made it home. By the time I turned the Iron Bowl on, the score was 24-0. Nobody here needs a reminder of what happened after that. In spite of the combat that I’ve endured overseas and everything else I’ve been through, I still consider that day to be one of the worst days of my life. All because I thought it would be a good idea to take my wife to the theater instead of watching the first quarter against Auburn.

Now, my marriage is splendid, my wife is on the bandwagon, and all three of us (dog included) are decked out in Bama gear every Saturday. But I still bear the guilt, however unreasonable, that I am personally responsible for each of our losses last year. Sorry guys.

So, to recap. Dating back to 2009 , Alabama is 32-0 in games that I have watched in their entirety. In that same timeframe, Alabama is 0-3 in games that I missed some portion of. Believe me, come hell or high water (or really bad movies that my wife wants to see), my tail will be firmly planted in front of the television tomorrow night.

but after seeing y’all bring the heat, I really don’t have any excuse.
Only two souls knew about this, my most horribly mortifying addiction, before this.
Good lord.
Here goes.

3 words:
Harry.
Potter.
Fanfiction.

/crawls into a hole
//dies

Bonus confessions for good measure:
-I once made a sims family of me and Julio Jones. Why? Oh, no reason. (lewd hand gesture goes here)
-Pictures of my emo phase are available to the people on here I know in real life upon request. Not just the “okay” ones, either. The awful ones.
-I didn’t break the thumb sucking habit until I was 10.
-The closest I came to crying during the tornado and immediate aftermath was when I realized I had forgotten to bring my stuffed Pooh Bear to the shelter with me, and I thought I might lose him.
-I still play neopets, and I’m a millionaire on there.
-I own and proudly wear 2 snuggies. Sometimes in public. Once to the SCar game in 2009.

That feels like enough to appease the football gods.
I hope.

Compared to all you fellers, my life has been one boring drag.

Many years ago, I was in the ATL for a training class. Being that it was Tuesday, we decided to hit the town a get hammered. The hot, new place to hang at the time was Hooters. So we order several pitchers of beer and start getting rowdy. Someone in our group puts 50 cents into a machine and wins a large fuzzy toy unicorn. Of course a unicorn is just a horse with a thingy sticking out of his forehead.
I got this idea to take up a collection. $50 was raised from the patrons of said Hooters. With greenabcks in hand, I commenced to challenge the female servers to a Deep Hoot contest. The girl who can “take” the unicorns horn down her throat the deepest, wins.
As I remember, amid loud chants of “Deep Hoot! Deep Hoot!” we had three brave nubile volunteers.
The winner was able to fully “throat” the entire horn, much to the delight of the entire awestruck viewing audience.
Once the horn was removed from her mouth and the wild applause had died down, the winner exclaimed “that kinda tickled in the back of my throat”.
Indeed it does.

Admission 1:

The year is 1994. I had just changed schools and begun attending the local catholic parochial school. That spring, the 7th and 8th graders were going to go on a trip to Washington DC. I had recently come upon a VHS copy of Basic Instinct which was recorded on a tape labeled 1992 Sugar Bowl Bama vs Miami. I have no idea how it got there or who in my family would have tried to hide Basic Instinct in that manner. Anyway, for a young teenage boy pre-internet porn era, this was like gold.

Now, I had made a few friends at my new school, but it was a small class and they had all known each other for years. So I still felt a little like an outsider, thus I came up with a plan to impress my new friends by sharing this explicit video with them during the trip. I decided to smuggle my VCR in my suitcase and bring it all the way to DC so that we could watch it at night. Of course, back then VCR’s were huge, and it took up 90% of the room in my suitcase. The first night at our hotel, I break out the VCR and tape only to discover that the television in the hotel room had some kind of plastic device that secured the cable feed onto the television. So my plan was ruined and we were not able to watch Sharon Stone get it on with Michael Douglas.

Admission 2:

During my college years in Memphis I would occasionally go shop at the Target on Poplar Avenue. One particular time, as I pulled up I felt the distinct urge to take a dump. About halfway to the bathroom I developed what is commonly known as a “turtle head” poking out. I quickly made my way to the bathroom, but at some point the turtle head became dislodged. When I got to the bathroom, I checked my pants, but there was no turd to be found. So somewhere rolling around on the floor of that target was my poo.

Admission 3:

Again, poo related. One weekend in high school we were having a house party at my friend’s place. I had a crush on this one girl and was hoping to get my game (pathetic as it was) on. Anyway, I had been drinking a bit and went to the bathroom. It was a little explosive, and some of it got on the back of the bowl above the water line and didn’t quite get washed away by the flush. I guess I didn’t notice it. My asshole best friend went in just after me, sees it, comes out and yells “Oh, fucking nasty! Who shit all over the toilet! Jesus christ! Whoever did it get in here and clean it up”. I was sitting next to that girl, and everyone turns to me. I got up, and went to clean it. I felt about this big right then |.|

Admission 4:

This one just fucking hurts. I’m tempted not to give it up just because it’s so shameful. My mom passed away when I was 6, and my dad remarried after a couple of years. My step-mom and I did not get along at all. In fact, I truly hated her for several years. A lot of that was resentment for her taking attention away from me. She probably regretted some of the ways she handled me and my sisters, but I don’t blame here. Looking back as an adult, I can’t imagine how hard it would be to step in and try to be a mother to young children like that. Eventually we came to have a great relationship and I loved her dearly.

But getting back to the admission, when I was maybe 10 or 11 one night my dad and stepmom were acting strange. We went to this doctor’s office and they both went inside. My sisters and i were waiting in the car. We had no idea what was going on. For some reason, I blurted out “she probably has breast cancer”. Again, I have no idea why I said that. Well a few days later, after school my dad picked me up which was unusual. He told me the news that my stepmom indeed had breast cancer. And I chuckled. Fuck that’s so terrible. I tell myself I was laughing about calling it. I don’t know… I remember telling my dad I was thinking of a joke I had hear or something. The memory is kind of hazy. I don’t know what he though, and after all these years I have never brought it up. Even though I was just a little dipshit, spoiled kid when it happened, I’m still deeply ashamed of it. My stepmom underwent treatment and went into remission. But about six years ago she had a recurrence and passed away last year.

I was an undergrad at a school in Georgia while my husband was deployed to Iraq. Upon getting the call that he would be home within the next 48 hours, I got the sudden urge to do something special for him. I wanted to go to the adult toy store and pick up some fun stuff for when he got home. I was pretty shy about these things several years ago, so I went to a place a couple of towns over.

I spent over an hour in there picking things out, filling an entire shopping basket. As I turned to walk towards the cashier to check out, I bumped in to someone who was looking at DVDs. I looked up and there in front of me was one of my male professors. We made eye contact. My old, overweight professor. And he was carrying DVD’s. Lots of them.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you absolutely cannot utter a word, no matter what? This was one of those moments. Not sure what was more mortifying, him seeing me with all my “supplies” in the shopping basket or me seeing him with his stack of fetish films. He immediately turned the other way, set the DVD’s down, and left. I was just standing there shaking and more red in the face than I have ever been. I honestly felt like throwing up.

But I still bought my stuff.

And luckily, I never had that professor for another class.

Sorry I’m late. We need all the help we can get, friends.

My favorite appendage is called " the SMJ". Which stands for the smurfy maypole of justice.

I used to tease my ex girlfriend in public about giving her an anal fistula and then “progressed” to making crap up in check out lines about her many physical aliments due to her impacted feces problem. Strangely, we aren’t close.

A few years ago, while living in North Carolina, I was at work when…well, let me start by saying that for the past week, I had been battling a very bad hemorrhoid(s) issue. Not only did it hurt to sit, but it had also started to bleed. So while at work I had visited the bathroom, only to realize the blood had gone through my carefully placed absorbent tissues and onto the pants of my uniform. It was clear that I had blood coming out of my ass. This was not debatable.
It was the afternoon, but there were about 30 people still left in the office. I had to find a way to get back to my desk and then ride out the storm and be the last one to leave. This didn’t work as I was repeatedly asked to “grab that printout” or “can you take this report to ________?” Each time I stood up, I would find some nearby object to conveniently carry or drag or swing behind me. When I returned to my chair, I would grimace at the the fact that I was releasing more and more blood into and through my trousers. It was the longest 2 hours of my life.
Eventually it was quitting time and I slowly closed up shop, making sure I was the last to depart. I moseyed slowly to my car, holding a newspaper behind my back in an attempt to somehow make that “normal.” No one seemed to notice my odd demeanor or, more importantly, the red bodily fluids flowing down the back of my uniform. Well, at least no one called me out on it, if they did catch a glance.
I got in my car and sped home to recount this ordeal to my then wife. She laughed and laughed, of course. The next day I promptly got my ass checked out by two, big black nurses who have managed to view and fondle my ass more than any one person should.

That’s it. Roll Tide.

Alone in the house at 13. Rooting through my parent’s closet. Find a clamshell case with what appears to be a 3-4" diameter condom in it. My head explodes! I figure my old man must have the world’s biggest johnson.
I keep this all to myself for years, never telling a soul.
8 years later I go with my wife to see her gynecologist and discuss some birth control methods and she whips out one of those giant condoms. I’m ashamed to tell her it would be way too big for me and just stay quiet.
She calls it a “diaphragm” and I instantly burst into uncontrollable laughter.
Wife and doctor look at me like I have 3 heads and I go out to the car to wait on the wife and laugh maniacally at myself until she came out.

…that she returns this week as the “alternative alternative”

…and the original picture again for good measure…

Fuck you and your bullshit Nickelback earflog. WORST. IDEA. EVER.
Now I can’t get Side of a Bullet outta my head.

You should go back to eating nasty shit and spare us this abomination.

1. I forced myself to like Of Montreal because of the indie cred.
2. I skipped the 5 OT Tennessee game when I was in school because of a girl (and I was really really drunk). I am conceited enough to think had I of been there, we would have won with that extra encouragement.
3. I have used poetry to pick up girls before.
4. I really like Vegemite.
5. I made out during The Passion of the Christ, in the theater.
6. I stole a piece of 5 cents candy from a gas station when I was 8 or 9. It was a small Mom & Pop store. The owner was always really nice to me. I still feel guilty about this.
7. When my best friend from high school was in jail, I was with a girl in his room.
8. I talk a big game, but I am really apathetic about voting now.
9. I bought every Bush album.
10. I watched every episode of “Daisy of Love,” and I enjoyed it.
11. On my 21st birthday, I made out with my boss’s girlfriend. He was also a really good friend. I told him about it a couple of days later, though. He was incredibly forgiving and is still a good friend. (He is also a big Bama fan.) This will haunt me forever. Easily, this is the lowest thing I have ever done, and now more than 3 people know about it.

 When I was in 3rd grade, I had a little boyfriend I would go and play with. We played “Return of the Jedi” in the woods around his house. It was totally lost on us that Luke and Leia were siblings, so most of the time I was trapped or hostage, and he was my hero. Kiss on the cheek and all!

During one of our epic love stories, Jabba the Hut captured me and handcuffed my arms around a tree. The BF’s little brother took off with the keys and went hiding so Luke could fight him then save me. Problem was, I REALLY had to pee.

Luke didn’t save me in time.

So I am 9 years old, hooked to a tree, and covered in piss. Luke was disgusted, and dumped me as soon as those handcuffs were off. I had to walk of shame to his house, where his mom helped me clean up and put me in a pair of the ex’s underwear and shorts for the ride home.

He kept his word of not telling right up to senior year. Our school did a “Last Will and Testament” thing for seniors to leave memories or things to each other or underclassmen. The guy bequeathed me a pair of panties so I would never have to leave his house in his underwear again. Try explaining THAT one away.

(and I’m shuddering because my step-son, the father of my precious grandson reads RBR and after this I may never see the baby again).

So here goes. I’ve stated here before that I’m a drunk. A sober drunk but a drunk nonetheless. Many years ago, during my drinking career, I took scuba lessons. On the day of the last lesson, after our open water dive, our class went out to celebrate.

Somehow (gawd only knows) several of my class and I ended up back at my house for a party after the party drinking spree. We ended up donning gear and diving in the pool. That’s pretty much the last thing I remember. My next conscious awarness comes in the morning. I slowly come to and become aware that it is around 10 a.m. and I have awakened half off and half on my sofa, which is positioned directly in front of the wide open front door, which is also lined up perfectly so that anyone driving down the street has a clear view into my home and to me on the couch.

And I am wearing nothing but my scuba mask and fins.

Sigh.

I was a virgin til 21 and not by choice. No regrets now though; I am married to my first and only.

When we parked to go in the last downtown dive, it was about 3 a.m. and the streets were deserted. Whe we emerged at what we suddenly realized was 7:45 a.m., it was a busy City Friday work morning and we couldn’t find our car, amidst all the people who were parking and showing up for work. Some of whom I knew and one of whom was a judge….

I had to check and make sure I didn’t tell this before the 2010 BCS NCG…I don’t think I did. I’m bringing the worst things I can think of, because we have to win this one if there’s any hope of playing in New Orleans next January 9. These may pale in comparison to most of what’s been posted today, but it’s what I’ve got.

It was the summer of 2002. I was leaving Alabama Football after one year as a grad assistant in coaches’ video to move with my then-fiancee (now wife of 8+ years) to Atlanta so she could go to graduate school. (I guess that’s a confession as well.) Anyway, I drove her car from Birmingham to Atlanta one morning for a couple of job interviews (we weren’t moving until August). I was on my way back that afternoon, and I got into some heavy traffic on 285 West trying to get to I-20. I’m sitting in traffic and I suddenly have to fart. I let it go (just me in the car, so what the hell) and it’s a doozy. A minute later, though, I start to have my doubts whether it was just a fart. So I check under my butt with my finger and sure enough…it wasn’t just gas. To make matters worse, I can’t get to the exit lane and even if I did, I wouldn’t know where to go. I went with the flow of traffic and finally made it to I-20, where I got off the highway somewhere around Douglasville and tried to find an out-of-the-way gas station. Finally found one that didn’t have 30 cars outside. I went in their bathroom, locked the door and cleaned up as best I could. For some reason I took the soiled boxers with me, wrapped in a couple of paper towels, while I went commando with my slacks. Drove back to Birmingham, told the fiancee what happened, and she occasionally laughs at me for it to this day.

One that’s not poop-related…
After my freshman year at ‘Bama, I went home for the summer. I was still dating my high school girlfriend (and I guess that’s an embarrassing admission, too). During the fall of my freshman year (once I’d moved away) we exchanged our virginities, and I took way too many trips home just to get laid. (Bonus confession: I skipped the Ole Miss game—in Tuscaloosa—to go back home for some band thing she was in. I’m sure I got some that weekend, though.) Anyway, I went home for the summer, and of course most of it was spent trying to get into her pants without our parents knowing. We got pretty bold—once we were going at it in her room while her dad was right outside mowing the grass (and I’m sure I wouldn’t be here to tell it if he had caught us). But here’s the embarrassing part…I went to her house after Wednesday night church, knowing her folks wouldn’t be there. We were in her room, doing the deed, when I heard my mother’s voice calling and a knocking at the door. Her brother (who was 13 and autistic, and was home, which I’m sure makes this even worse) let my mom into the house. We got dressed frantically, but of course I buttoned my shirt up wrong and didn’t get it tucked in, and it was obvious what had been going on. After the obligatory lecture from my mom, I went out to my car and of course my younger brother and sister were both in the minivan…I never did ask them if they knew what was going on, but I’m sure at least my sister did (she was 15 at the time).
Of course, the girl and I kept going at it until she dumped me later that fall. That sucked, but I soon realized that I’d missed out on a year’s worth of fun at UA by going home, so I decided to get on the five-year plan to make up for it.

On the lighter side, I shot my sister with a BB gun when I was eight and she was four. It was only supposed to be a warning shot over her head, but it got her in the leg. I got a good whipping for that.

I hope this is enough to keep us from making any stupid turnovers on our half of the field…because I think if we do that, we’ll win by 10.

Roll Tide, my friends.

I was on my way home from Afghanistan, of course on delay due to inclement weather in Kazakhstan.

We were to be ready at a moment’s notice to get on the bird to head for the U.S. of A. My mind, though, was focused on “curry night,” a staple of chow halls overseas and my favorite day of the week. For some reason, the spicy beef creation didn’t sit well with me, and I was feeling quite uncomfortable on the way back to our tent quarters.

A strong gurgling quickened my pace, and I was at a half jog when my body gave in to whatever I had ingested 20 minutes earlier. I was confused, embarrassed, and alone as I sprinted to the latrine, only to discover my worst nightmare had come true. I had sharted. As I was in the stall contemplating what to do, my first line supervisor was spreading the word that our flight would leave in one hour. I had traded away all my extra uniform pants for some British swag, so I had to get these pants clean for our 13-hour journey home.

I washed them in the sink and rushed to put them in the dryer, but I ended up riding home in slightly damp trousers in which I had just shat.

USA #1!

Many of you know that my current assignment has me going down to Mexico a lot in order to train those asshats. The local cuisine although tasty can cause severe gastro intestinal distress at times.
My last trip down we were staying in a very nice hotel with beautiful marble floors in all the rooms. I had just exited the shower and was about to get dressed for dinner, when I felt a stirring in my bowels. I immediately got up to go to the bathroom, but I don’t think I made it three steps before I projectile shat all over those nice marble floors. It was like the “world of warcraft” episode of Southpark with Cartman shitting into a bucket, but unfortunately there wasn’t a bucket.
Needless to say I didn’t go to dinner and I spent the next three hours or so trying to clean shit form nealry every corner of the room.

Senior in HS, made it to 3rd base with my girlfriend many times, but never the round-tripper. While at a movie, she leans in and tells me that tonight is “the night”. Only problem is, she had to be home by 11pm. I was allowed (by custom) to stay til midnight. So I’m not working with much time here…Not wanting to be a 3 pump chump on our first outing, I ease back to the bathroom to “extend my visit with her”. When I come back out into the hallway (on my way to heaven, no doubt), her big ass dad is standing there, pissed as hell. He told me that while he was pissed that I was breaking one off in his bathroom, he guessed that it was better than me deflowering his daughter.

I left without saying goodbye to either of them. I broke it off (not again) with her on Monday at school. I never told her why.

She still hates me.

Football gods, hear my cry…

I wore jorts my freshman year of college (Fall 05), I still own them. They’re currently in the bottom drawer of my wardrobe.
ALSO
I’ve downloaded the majority of Nickleback songs, like them, and listen to them regularly.

Seriously. I didn’t love it, but I definitely liked it.

Had no time yesterday. One of my life long friends got married last night so I spent entire day with him taking care of last minute stuff.

This week I actually sent my daughter to school in a bonafide LSU shirt. Figured go big or go home.

Embarrassing admission: I was once married to a Gator fan. That isn’t so bad. The bad part was I actually liked Tebow, even after 2008.

Same friend that got married last night: one time in high school, attempting to sober him up, we stripped him down and gave him a bath. I sat in a very small bathroom, with a naked man and gave him a bath.

Finally, while helping with wedding stuff yesterday, I noticed the LSU fight song on the playlist. I did NOTHING. I knowingly and willfully walked down the isle of wedding to the LSU fight song.

I am sorry I’m late. I own every Nickelback song ever published. I don’t have time to post a pic. Please forgive me and find favor with the Tide.