Looking for the SEC WARS: The Courtesy Flush? Right here.     "Thank you for joining me here today as VicktoryDyne unveils our new Ozark plant! We're proud to produce more suck than anyone else. Questions? Yes, you in front." "In this economy and with your suck, building this massive new opulent facility, complete with fountain of gold water up top...isn't that a stupid decision; that is, a decision that seems to carry weight and gives you a feeling of security?" "Are you suggesting we're comfortably dumb?"   "“I threw my cup away when I saw a child drinking from his hands at the trough.” - Diogenes Deep below the domed hieron of Gridironica, the great gears - gilded wheels, suspended on unending oiled pillars - casually breath into a new notch, splaying a playful light across the arches of the chamber. The great machine seems to hum a bit more than it did some time ago, notching a small victory against inertia with each turn. The gears slip a bit more easily together, locked forever in the comforting clicks of their constant motion, and yet they never go anywhere but onward. Onward leads many places, but just as gears fade and fall beneath a blanket of quiet, so too do journeys. We find ourselves at the end of the end, and the only sights ahead are a few hills; we only need the steps we need to get over them. With a few pages with which to still chronicle, we adjust our...er...boot and head towards home. Oh, lookie, a trip to the hog farm! Hogs feed at The Trough, and we're thrilled, because it gives them more crackliny goodness, and that's worth farming. It's only fitting of course; the Roman god of agriculture is Saturn. Like LSU, Saturn has rings. The projecting ends of Saturn's rings have a name: Ansa. Multiple ends means Ansas. We all know that an "ark" is a shelter of sorts. In other words, where would you seek refuge from a couple of rings? Why, Arkansas. In the husbandofterri-go-round nature of the SEC, Arkansas' latest head dog is another fool who tired to coach the bigs and came flying back. You'd think the...er...cardinal rule of coaching would be to live up to your responsibilities, just as you ask your players to do, but we all know it's a dog-kill-dog-for-money world out there. This isn't Petrino's first fancydance, of course. The Tigeplainsgles tried to SECretly grab him some years ago; in other words, it's just another strange day in the SEC soap opera, Ass The Whirled Runs. What the heck is going on? Say, there's a Representative Emissary from the Delegation of the Arkansas Student Section.... RED ASS: Where are they? TROUGH: What? RED ASS: The lil' Smokies! You said you had some. That's why I came. TROUGH: Your athletic director commandeered him. Turns out he was hosting a cocktail party for parents of your players. They were drawing up the playbook. RED ASS: [sobbing] TROUGH: They're just sausages, clodmute. RED ASS: No, we suck. I wish we had a guy who could do all sorts of stuff like we used to have. TROUGH: Well, I hear Michael Vick will be available soon. I wonder if anyone knows that guy? RED ASS: You're in our land now! TROUGH: I could tell. You folks leave quite a slime trail. I saw one guy running from a Wildcat and he slipped in the ooze. He went end-over-end, one of his overall buttons popped with a twang, it got caught in a fat crease, and when his weight came down on the lardpocket, the button blasted out of his gutfold like a penny on a railroad track. It sliced through the gupocket of some Ozark woman and her scorpion children were born in a spray of green gas and thick yellow ichor. People clapped. RED ASS: I knew there were hill people about! Yes, we all heard The Gilded Horn O' Breeding last week in the Ozarks, so we all rushed to the city to cheer on the Razorbacks. TROUGH: Are these mountain denizens hoofed and conjoined? RED ASS: Not all, some are "standalones." They are desired for their gill slits. TROUGH: Why's that? RED ASS: It helps them breath through the suck. TROUGH: So, uh, the new guy? What do you think about him? RED ASS: I only seen his name. TROUGH: Pet Rhino? RED ASS: Is that how it's pronounced? But his ends in "rino" - what happened to the "h"? TROUGH: It's your football program. RED ASS: Huh? TROUGH: Oh, sorry - I meant "silent." Anyway, yeah, pet rhino. RED ASS: Wow, that's awesome. How sweet would it be to have a pet rhino? TROUGH: Rhinos' horns are prized...maybe you could make a new Horn O' Breeding? RED ASS: Where do you think he keeps it? His pet rhino? My chubble is sweating now just thinking about it. I'd love to see it. I'd love to see his rhino. TROUGH: We're not often creeped out, but I have to say, this is coming close. RED ASS: Sorry; I just get urges. Surges of urges. TROUGH: Pockets full of rockets? RED ASS: Yeah, I need to put them in some pouches of ouches. TROUGH: Hmm...want me to crack your skull and let some of that bad out? RED ASS: Yes please. Aim for my bubbin - that pulsing thing up top. What are you going to use? TROUGH: Harmless wooden stick. You know, like a dog might fetch, if it wasn't killed by another dog. RED ASS: Where'd you get the stick? TROUGH: Louisville. Wheels to gears, smiles to ears, fears, jeers, and in the end, friends and tears. Troughily yours. Purple and gold: 27 Are You There, God? It's Me, Razorback: 21 Welcome to The Trough, a place that really gets to the meat of LSU's opponents. Ok, not so much the meat, but the sinewy gristle and thick connective tissue. We then feed these funbits through a grinder to get a coarse meaty bounty, and that's what is on display here. It should be a given that while The Trough is loosely related to LSUChicageaux.com, it's more like a Baton Rouge uncle than a Tuscaloosa cousin. In other words, what's in The Trough is obviously not endorsed by any official LSU entity. They've got better sense than that.