Friday Morning Latin Lesson, Volume III

I'm liking where this is going. So far, we've delved into the seedy underworld of bananas stuck in auricular orifices and the arrogant world of literary criticism. This week, we're going more practical. We're going to analyze a phrase that can be used while out on the town in the bar scene. Or, hell, this might even be utile the next time you're at the forum and especially if you're rocking out at Delta House, smashing guitars, doing it a little bit softer now with Otis Day and the Knights, fooling around with the Dean's wife, or banging thirteen year olds.

And look! This feature has become so popular, I've got a celebrity guest to provide the translation for this week's phrase. Everybody, please welcome the fabulously gorgeous Amy Adams! Ladies, this one is for you:

"Estne volumen in toga, an solum tibi libet me videre?"

Pronounced "Est-nay woe-loo-men in toe-gah, an sow-loom tee-bee lee-bet may vee-dare-ay?"

*Once again, translation in the hovertext...try to focus on the words, pervy*

Happy Thanksgiving

Like most of the blogging world, I'm shoving pie in my gob today. Like most of the blogging world, I'm too fucking lazy to post. Like most of the blogging world, I'm relying on a scene from WKRP in Cincinnati, one of the shows I fondly remember from my youth, and their brilliant Thanksgiving special, which will go down in TV lore probably forever. Especially thanks to the internet.

Turkeys are hitting the ground like bags of wet cement. As God as my witness...I thought turkeys could fly.



From my family to yours...or just to you, you lonely, unlovable loser...Happy Thanksgiving. Now, go have some pie.

The Apple Hasn't Fallen Far

Okay, enough with insulting arrogant fat men for a while. In case anyone needs further explanation of the previous two posts, I'm a little pissed at Fat Charlie, the head coach at Notre Dame, who continues to not coach his team and live up to the standards he set for himself. Losing the Syracuse, which has been and still is one of the worst teams in all Division 1A college football (and has been in a close race with Duke for worst in the BCS schools), was inexcusable. I began to fall off the Charlie Bandwagon after he failed to make any adjustments at halftime during the UNC game and then backed that up by doing the exact same fucking thing during the Pitt game. I didn't get to see the Navy game, otherwise these posts might have popped up earlier. So, what you have read the past two days has been me striking out with as much fanatic vitriol as possible, but at the same time, I tried to make it funny. In Monday's post, the "interview" with Weis was me asking questions and him responding entirely in quotations by Patrick Star from Spongebob Squarepants. Yesterday's post was a recreation of the scenes where Luke Skywalker goes to rescue Han, Leia and the droids from Jabba the Hutt in Return of the Jedi, but Charlie played the part of Jabba and Jack Swarbrick--the new Athletic Director at Notre Dame--played the roll of Luke. Again, I thought it was amusing and I knew only a small subset of you loyal readers would probably enjoy it and/or even get what I was talking about. My aim was for a little jockularity.

So, there. That's what I was aiming for. I was trying to bitch and moan about the lack of results on the field (again) in a way that people who don't follow college football would still find amusing. I'm just pleased that I didn't get the half-dozen requisite "I don't like sports blogs" whines. It probably helped that this is Thanksgiving week.

Anyway, let's go with something less fat...er...sporty...shall we?

If you've read this blog for long, or you've seen my comments on your blogs, you might know that I'm a big fan of the pun. It's a beautiful thing that we in the English-speaking world have to add to our comedy repertoire. No other languages utilize the pun quite like we do, whether for clever advertisements or jokes that make you groan and roll your eyes when you finally get them. I mean, in French, you'd have to sit there and stew for a few minutes wondering which word ending in "ay" did he just say and how is it to be construed and what the hell was he even talking about. But not English. Which is probably why more and more places are moving to speak it, not so much for its simplicity, but just for the ability to make puns in your speeches.

Where the fuck was I? Oh, right. I was talking about how much I love the pun. In all the twists and turns of prose writing, I believe the pun (for me at least) to be the busty red-head sitting at the end of the bar wearing her fishnets and fuck-me boots--I love it just that much. Whenever my wife tells a story, I always try to work in a pun as a response. She does the same to me. We both have the same response in that we try to refuse to acknowledge the other's comment.

So, the other night at the dinner table, my wife was telling about how the new manager at the Ampersand (it's British Guy, you know, the one who writes in the log mimicking classic pieces of literature and who, inexplicably, loves Notre Dame football and college basketball) sent around a little memo asking for people's staff recommendations for the holidays. The hing was, he added a bunch of questions to it to get people to think about their picks so that they could pick books that would really suck the reader in and avoid Twilight, which would just suck for the reader.

So, one of the questions, as she was relating to me, was "If you were stuck on a remote island with cannibals, what piece of literature would you want with you that's not the Bible or Shakespeare?" I mulled this over some wine for a moment. Whilst thinking, my daughter, Cookie, pipes up, "You'd want a book about tv controllers."

My wife and I ignore her and I make some suggestion about a cook book or something, you know, so that you could teach the cannibals to cook food other than you. Unfazed, Cookie again pipes up with "What about a book about tv controllers?"

Again, we ignore her, and my wife offers up some suggestion, and I think it over and nod. Cookie once more says, this time a little more emphatically, "A book about tv controllers!"

Finally, my wife takes the bait. "What are you talking about," the fabulously sexalicious Boudicca asks Cookie.

"It's a remote island."

That's my girl.

Revenge of the AD

The main doors to the Notre Dame football offices open, bathing the darkened internal hallway with bright, white light from outside. A cowled figure is silhouetted against the light streaming in from outside as he walks boldly, confidently down the hallway. Two assistants approach, barring the way. With a wave of his hand, the cowled figure pushes the assistants to the side and continues on his path.

Out of the gloom appears three time Heisman winner and current quarterbacks coach Ron Powlus. Powlus utters something that the cowled figure ignores. Pushing past Powlus, the figure continues on, causing Powlus to scurry behind him. Guttural noises continue to issue forth from the Quarterbacks Coach, until finally the figure stops and looks toward Powlus.

"I must speak with Charlie," the figure says.

Powlus stops, utters something, and shakes his head. The cowled figure raises his hand.

"You will take me to Charlie now," the figure says.

"I will take you to Charlie now," Powlus says, turning and leading the way down the hallway.

"You serve your master well."

"I serve my master well," Powlus responds.

"And you will be rewarded."

Powlus leads the figure into the head coach's office. Charlie is asleep at his desk before a flickering television revealing an endless loop of Tom Brady highlight films. Jimmy Clausen is on the ground before him, chained to Charlie's desk, wearing a slave's outfit. Former Notre Dame head coach and current homer Lou Holtz is standing behind Charlie.

"At last, Master Swarbrick is here to rescue us!" Holtz sputters loudly.

Powlus slinks up beside the dozing head coach and touches him lightly on the cheek.

"Master," he says, causing the head coach to jump. Powlus motions toward the cowled figure now standing before Charlie. "Jack Swarbrick, Athletic Director," Powlus says, introducing the cowled figure swathed in black.

"I told you not to allow him!" Charlie bellows, swiping at Powlus. Powlus ducks and motions to throw the ball four rows deep into the stands.

"I must be allowed to speak," Swarbrick says, stepping forward. Powlus, with a dazed look in his eye, turns to Charlie.

"He must be allowed to speak."

Charlie roars again, smacking Powlus, sending him sprawling on the ground. Powlus whines about a late hit, but slinks off into the shadows.

"You weak minded fool! He's using an old athletic director mind trick on you!" Charlie roars.

Swarbrick stares intently at Charlie. "You will return control of the program to me."

"Your mind tricks will not work on me, boy!"

"Nevertheless, I am going to take the program and its friends: Touchdown Jesus, Notre Dame Stadium, the pride and tradition of the nation's second most winningest program! You can either profit by this...or be destroyed. It's your choice, but I warn you, do not underestimate my powers."

Charlie laughs, loud and mean. Holtz pops up, waving his arms meagerly behind Charlie.

"There will be no bargain!" Charlie bellows.

"Master Swarbrick, watch out, you're standing on..." Holtz begins, but is cut off as the floor falls away below Master Swarbrick. He reaches out to try and steady himself, but his hands grab John Latina, the Offensive Line Coach for Notre Dame.

Swarbrick is dumped into a chamber inhabited by the hulking ghost of Knute Rockne. A small scuffle ensues in which Latina is swallowed whole by Rockne's ghost. Swarbrick appeases the ghost with a cigar and a shot of whiskey and promises to set right what once went wrong. Rockne fades into the background. Rob Ianello, draped in banners commemorating Notre Dame's 11 National Championships over his shoulder, comes in and whimpers at the missing ghost. Corwin Brown and Jon Tenuta--Notre Dame's co-defensive co-ordinators--issue into the room, grabbing Swarbrick and pulling him from the dungeon.

"Bring me the honor and tradition of this once fine program!" Charlie bellows. "Bring me Tyrone Willingham, so that I can use him as a scapegoat once more."

The scene shifts to the Grotto at Notre Dame. Charlie is sitting on his golf cart. Powlus stands at his left hand side, Holtz to his right. Clausen is still chained to Charlie. Swarbrick stands before them, along with Touchdown Jesus, Fair Catch Corby and We're Number 1 Moses. Holtz steps forward.

"Oh dear," he sputters, "His High Exaltedness, Charlie the Robot Genius, has decreed that you are to be terminated immediately. You will therefore be cast into the Grotto, where you will slowly burn over a thousand years with the hundreds of candles that people light on football saturdays."

"You should have bargained, Charlie," Swarbrick says, a bit cocky. "That's the last mistake you'll ever make."

Charlie laughs and points toward the Grotto. "Put him in!"

Swarbrick jumps, but suddenly grabs onto the ledge over the Grotto and hurls himself into the air, spinning, and catching a golden helmet from midair. A host of Charlie Apologists issue forth from behind the head coach, but are quickly knocked into the grotto by Swarbrick's mastery with the golden helmet. Bill Belichick steps forward, raises his hand to shoot Swarbrick, hesitates, and then turns and fades back into the chaos, returning to the NFL.

In the chaos, Jimmy Clausen suddenly heaves on the chain, looping it around Charlie's massive throat and pulling it tight. Charlie grabs at the chain and tries to pull it away from his throat, but Clausen is too strong. Finally, Charlie's eyes goggle and he slumps forward, causing the golf cart to lurch. Swarbrick smashes the chain with his helmet, and Clausen is freed. The golf cart continues to move forward until it topples into the Grotto, flipping end over end and landing with a meaty thud at the bottom. Clausen, Holtz and Swarbrick stand on the edge of the Grotto, triumphantly looking down into the Grotto.

"Come on, let's go," Swarbrick says, "And don't forget the history and winning tradition." Swarbrick begins to walk away.

"Where are we going?" Clausen asks.

"To find a new coach. I don't care if we have to resurrect Knute Rockne himself, we're finally going to find the man to fix this broken program." He hesitates, looking at Holtz, who is beaming. "And who isn't ancient."

Looking hurt, Holtz's face falls. "When 800 years old you reach, look as good, you will not, hmmm?"

Laughing, Swarbrick and Clausen begin the long march back across the campus. The scene ends with the lowering sun gleaming off the Golden Dome standing proudly over Notre Dame's campus.

My Interview With Charlie

This weekend, in case you were lying under a rock, sleeping or watching a guy get coconuts dropped on his head, Notre Dame suffered an ignoble defeat at the hands of the mighty Orangemen of Syracuse. Presumably, if you were under that rock, fabricating a lifestyle in preparation for your parents' imminent arrival, you might not know that Syracuse is pretty much the worst team in Division IA football.

Amazingly, though I have very little in the way of press credentials, I was able to secure an interview with the larger-than-life head coach of the Notre Dame Fighting Irish. Stunningly, the coach was very candid in his interview, though I was a bit no-holds-barred in my questions. Thanks for the Sports Information Department at Notre Dame for getting me in with the coach, and allowing me to reprint the interview.

MJenks: Coach, a lot of fans are angry after this loss.

Weis: I'm angry, too.

MJenks: What's caused you to be so angry?

Weis: I can't see my forehead. What's your problem?

MJenks: Well, most of the fans are upset over the lack of running game, development of the offensive line, regression of the quarterback, repeated failures by the defense to stop one of the most anemic offenses in the country...all of this in spite of the number of high-level recruits that you seem to be bringing into the program. Any thoughts?

Weis: What's wrong with you people? Afraid to look ugliness in the face? Well here, look at it! It's ugly, isn't it? Here! You look at it! Look at it! Look at it! Look at it! I want all of you to look at it! I bet there's no line at the snack bar!

MJenks: Do you have any plans for how to address these issues?

Weis: Hmmmm...I'd get an ice cream.

MJenks: One other criticism is that your team seems to make very few halftime adjustments, as was evident during the UNC game through today's game against Syracuse. Are you getting out-thought by the other coaches, are your adjustments just not making a difference, or are the other coaches able to adjust fast enough to counter your adjustments?

Weis: So you mean to say they’ve taken what we thought we think and make us think we thought our thoughts we've been thinking our thoughts we think we thought? I think...

MJenks: Uh...

Weis: You know what the problem is. You've got it set to M for Mini, when it should be set to W for wumbo! I Wumbo, you wumbo, he, she, we, wumbo, wumbo, wumboing, I'll have three wumbo, wumbora, wumbology, the study of wumbo? Its first grade, SpongeBob!

MJenks: Moving on...you took over offensive play calling from Mike Haywood recently and you said you would do it until the end of the year, yet the offense has continued to sputter. Are you going to try and mix things up, perhaps get a little more fancy in your playcalling, put some more air under the ball?

Weis: Do you mean she puts on airs? That's just fancy talk. If you want to be fancy, just put your pinky up in the air like this. The higher you hold it, the fancier you are. Higher! Now that's fancy!

MJenks: Are there going to be any changes to your starters going into the last game of the season and a possible bowl game, or are you going to stick with the same guys who got you here?

Weis: It's for me to know and for you to never find out. You may be an open book, but I'm a bit more complicated than that. The inner machinations of my mind are an enigma.

MJenks: Have you seen the stat line for today's game? I have it right here, in case you don't have a copy.

Weis: Hand over the goods, BoxBandit, and prepare for your most unpleasant pillow fight of your life!

MJenks: I'm sorry, Coach. It shows that you guys only gained 41 yards on the ground, but they [Syracuse] have allowed an average of over 200 yards per game. Is there something wrong with the offensive line?

Weis: Pretty good, SpongeBob, but its lacking basic construction, and your perspective leaves a lot to be desired.

MJenks: It seemed that Syracuse and even Navy, Boston College and Pitt all wanted the games more than you did. Is there any way to try and get the team fired up? Like, maybe a pep talk or a good chewing out?

Weis: Classy sophisticates like us should not stain our lips with cursing.

MJenks: What about a team meeting where you sit down and try to talk about the direction the team is going? Motivate them, maybe?

Weis: I know what that word means! That's one of those sentence enhancers. You just sprinkle it on anything you say, and Wham-O! You've got yourself a spicy sentence sandwich!

MJenks: Switching gears a little bit, what are your plans for this week? Will you be having a Thanksgiving dinner with the players or are you focusing only on the upcoming USC game?

Weis: It’s just all fun and games with you. Nothing really matters. Oh, let’s go jelly fishing! We don’t have any work to do. Life’s just a big bowl of assorted cashews and nobody has anything to dust or to clean or to wipe… or fabricate!

MJenks: So then, you'll be scheming all through the week to try and find a better game plan. Will you be tapping into some of that renowned Robot Genius?

Weis: But don’t genius live in a lamp?

MJenks: Does that mean you'll be changing things up, and, if so, can you give us a glimpse of what to expect?

Weis: Hmm...Yeah...I've got it! Let's get naked!!

MJenks: Perhaps I'll leave the genius scheming up to you. What about the team's pre-game meal?

Weis: Some chicken, some roast beef, some pizza...

MJenks: And for you?

Weis: Some chicken, some roast beef, some pizza...

MJenks: Doesn't that seem excessive?

Weis: I'm a big man, Sponge. A big, big man!

MJenks: Given the schedule this year and the expectations not being met, are you feeling any heat from the hot seat?

Weis: No...I'm warm.

MJenks: With the results on the field and the fanbase souring toward you and the coaching staff, do you feel any danger of losing your team?

Weis: Hmmm. I sense no danger here. How can they be dangerous? They're covered with free cheese!

MJenks: Have you heard any of the names of other coaches that have been put out there as your possible replacement, guys like Brian Kelly or David Cutcliffe?

Weis: Nobody likes those guys. All they do is blow, blow, blow on their stupid whistles, rub, rub, rub that white stuff on their noses, and show off their grossly misshapen bodies. I'm going to the snack bar.

MJenks: Some have said you're not qualified for the job as you never had head coaching experience before.

Weis: I thought this was Spanish class.

MJenks: Some have speculated that losing to Syracuse like you did could sound the death knell for you and this program. Losing to Syracuse was also the "final straw" for your predecessor. Any thoughts?

Weis: What’s so great about being a big pink loser? Exactly. I was never closer to an award than the minute I started copying you.

MJenks: So, do you think you've improved this program since the day you inherited it?

Weis: You know what's funny? My pickle started out in a jar, and now it's in one again! It's like a pun or something.

MJenks: What would you like most right now in order to help fix this team and set them in the right direction?

Weis: I know, you want olives. Oh, I’m sorry. I was just talking to my old community college buddy, Flats. I bumped into him at the soda store, isn’t that funny? It must have been years since we’ve seen each other. Well, let me get going. He’s got to go back to school soon. He says he’s going to kick somebody’s butt. Hello? Is this Pizza Castle?