How To Make A Dorito Salad
Skip ahead to the 1:50 mark on this video if you want to learn how to make a Dorito salad, but be warned: You will miss the brief discussion of such SEC-style haircuts as "'Bama bangs" and "the rape mullet." [Via]
Skip ahead to the 1:50 mark on this video if you want to learn how to make a Dorito salad, but be warned: You will miss the brief discussion of such SEC-style haircuts as "'Bama bangs" and "the rape mullet." [Via]
People in Athens can read really fast.
(But wouldn't it be awesome though if Obama did have bangs?)
Jan. 1, 1982. A couple of friends and I have gone to New Orleans, because we are going to "score tickets" to the Sugar Bowl National Championship Game between Penn State and Georgia. Herschel Walker, if I recall.
The only thing we end up scoring is pneumonia and an unheated room at the Gretna Travelodge with a toilet that won't flush. One of the friends calls threateningly to the front desk, that if the toilet isn't repaired, there will be "an adjustment to the bill."
It never stops raining. We wait four and a half hours for breakfast at Brennans, which is soggy eggs followed by soggy flaming bananas.
180,000 people have the same idea as us: show up, buy tickets off the street. 160,000 of these people are Georgia fans. If this country ever needed a kamikaze army to defeat an impossible foe, we should hire Georgia fans. They are obsessed past the point of any reason.
The only benefit of this slog is the people-watching in the Quarter. One morning, around six, I am standing at the corner of Dauphine and St. Ann. Suddenly, out of the rainfog, a tiny figure appears. It is a woman, no more than 4'6". She is at least 85 years old, half that in pounds. She is wearing black hot pants, fishnet stockings, thigh-high black boots, and a flaming red tube top. Atop her head is a 25 gallon crimson hat with a "G" on its front that's bigger than her. She spies me, hoists a snuggy toward the obliterated heavens, and croaks,
"Let the big dog eat."
We end up watching the game in the bar at the Travelodge. Several hookers eye us uncertainly, but never approach. I eat mushrooms and pass out in the third quarter.
"If this country ever needed a kamikaze army to defeat an impossible foe, we should hire Georgia fans. They are obsessed past the point of any reason."
I live in Atlanta now. This could not be more true. It is perfectly legitimate to skip a dear friend's wedding because it is on a Saturday the dawgs are playing. I have even heard people use it when their plus one is the Georgia fan (Sorry! Clayton needs to watch the game!). It's madness!
BTW Wendy's has been making me Dorito salads for years, in disguise, as Taco ones. http://www.foodfacts.info/blog/2006/03/wendys-new-salads.html
Also, I bet that "I run this city" tee was for a running club, Mr. I-need-to-be-much-more-entertaining-to-get-away-with-making-fun-of-other-dudes!
as a uga grad, let me just say: FOR SHAME, not include JB the sausage man and his comeback sauce on this list. you have not had too much to drink until you've eaten one of his sausages, meaning: it's only a good idea if you're blacked out, and yes, you'll probably throw it up across the street on that fraternity lawn by the 40 watt, but for about 2 minutes, you will be so happy. so happy.
This is true–I've said too much!
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Now I just want a Cheerwine. Unfortunately right now I'm in the majority of the country that doesn't have Cheerwine, that red ambrosia.