Long time no type. Yes, I´m sure all two readers who unfortunately found (Get out while you can!) this depressing web site are deeply devastated that there is not more worthless information on this site for them to waste their valuable time on. Well, live with it.

Anyways, I really don´t have time to write at this moment in time. I really should be studying, working out, writing a paper, cooking dinner, getting sleep, or carrying out some sadistic plot against those ¨refs¨ who willingly sold their souls in order for those volunteers to win against my beloved, tragic Gators (I´m discovering that being a Gator´s fan at this present time is reminiscent of being a Ohio State fan before Jim Tressel. Every year the Buckeyes would be undefeated, and every freaking pathetic year they would lose the last game of the year. to the hated Michigan Wolverines. The Ohio State coach John Cooper made my living existence throughout childhood one of mockery and shame. Ok, not quite that bad.) Only difference is Ron Zook´s team find ways to lose just about every close game with big teams.

Anyways, where was I. Oh, I hate refs. good stuff.

The report on living conditions in Knoxville

Well, it appears that the people of Tennessee have slowly progressed in their living conditions. Half of these mountain people do now have a full set of teeth, and there are a reported two dentists in these unknown parts.



I reckon it's the dang thing all those restless youth in Tennessee are doing these days

The common rituals for these simple folk is to come down weekly for their ¨football team¨. Yep, Billy Bob and Jackie Jean leave their trailers every Saturday to ¨watch them vols¨.



Watch out G-Unit. The Inbred Posse, (Appalachia side!) is armed and ready in Knoxville (that's Phil Fulmer "Vols Coach" in the middle. Little risque',huh, fat fulmer?)

Ahh, this team they refer to as the volunteers. Apparently at the time the Adult Literacy Center of Tennessee needed to create a mascot for their alternative learning school. So they then decided, after a game of pebbles, to have a contest for their fans. The biggest word sent in by the participants would be chosen as their mascot's name. These great minds put their heads together and shocked the rest of the world (A.K.A. civilized world) with their surprising knowledge. Intelligent words such as it, kat, ur, traylor kept coming in on the best Charmin rolls around. Granted, these words weren't spelled right but hey, it was a Tennessee contest. It seemed all but certain that the team name would be the Tennessee Chews, when a late entry came in. Apparently after a late night of drinking Jack Daniels, a mountain man had mistakenly written the word Volunteers. The contest committee franticly kidnapped the next bookmobile at the Georgia border to get that mysterious thing they
call a "dictionary".



The kidnapped bookmobile

Amazingly Tennessee's President (who could read!) discovered that yes, the word Volunteers is indeed a word, and it was even spelled correctly!!! Thusly, the Tennessee Volunteers were created.

Sorry, thought it was necessary that I go into the storied history of these Vols. Anyways, Saturday night came and I found myself in the middle of Neeland Stadium. Throughout the night, the Tennessee band (a banjo, mandolin, violin, and harmonica) managed to only play the cursed song "Good Ol' Rocky Top" 21 times. We counted. Seriously. They played this only 21 times during the game because they were losing most of the game,where on the contrary a Volunteer game, in which they are winning, the count can then reach the mid-hundreds. This is due to the fact that they know no other song. It's either they play "Good 'Ol Rocky Top" or a flamboyant version of the Seminole war chant. Well, after the refs decided to make the Gators lose as well as Charley Strong/Ron Zook thought that the whole idea of "pressuring the quarterback" was overrated, the inbred man at the helm threw the ball down the field to his cousins (now I am assuming they are cousins, they could very well be brother, sister, or in the rare case 2nd cousins).



Head referee of the game... Hmmm, I wonder who he was rooting for.


This inbred they call Ainge brought his team in range of the field goal, and the kicker redeemed his life and saved it from certain death, due to a shotgun, by kicking the winning field goal. As I walked out of the stadium in utter shame and dismay, I noticed all these fans in Tennessee orange staring at me. At first, I thought it was due to my clean shaven face or that I didn't have suspenders. But no, it was due to the fact I was walking by myself in a blue Gator shirt through the middle of the Adult Learning Center. I quickly picked up my pace towards my "car" in the cornfield. I didn't trust Billy Bob or Bob Billy and all their shotguns. Besides those basset hounds were peeing on me.



An Vol's best friend... until cousin suzy turns 15.

So I left that place they call Knoxville.

well, sorry for the long entry.
I hope you survived this tumultuous journey through the minds of those less fortunate.
Hoss
P.S. Can those who are familiar with posting pictures on blogger let me know how? I'm having some difficulty. Thanx!