Looking for the SEC WARS: The Courtesy Flush? Right here.     "Mommy! I changed my mind about Halloween! I don't want to be a princess anymore!"     Kids, grab your green crayon to see the sucktrap left by the Autobots!   Take heart, Tiger fans. It could be worse...we could be Tulane. Wait, what? This week? Really? As in, they're coming here? Oh sweet rebound, this is like when you're playing some game at one of those Charles Cheese places, and you don't score enough points, so you don't have enough tickets. But you go into the bathroom and there's some guy in the stall whose mewling suggests he's must be birthing a tapir, and he drops his tickets. So you grab the tickets and run, and they give you tokens, and you put them into the machine, and the next thing you know you are vaporizing the mothership of the Kodan Armada with your salamander co-pilot. In literature, this is called an "allegory." We learned that in a correspondence course we took through Tulane's website. They also had a story that had the word "arse" in it and we totally lost it. Those Spainians talk funny. Welcome to town, Green Waive! Thanks for letting us use your place the past couple of years to deliver some thunderfunk...heck, we won as many games last year in your stadium as you did. It's good to revive this storied rivalry; it's not as if The Rag has been locked in some closet - heck, we have to have something to polish the crystal. This rivalry is as lopsided as a Chris Owens' lapdance, but there's still fire on the field when the Green hit the...er...green. Of course, when the Green collides with the Purple and Gold, it's like Mardi Gras, only with more public urination and backalley funfiddlin'. It's really kinda shocking that Tulane hasn't been flagged more for it, but everyone appreciates the plastic cups they throw. They're great for just drinking a Nehi or something. To help us figure out how a group of people so very smart could suck so bad on the field, we decided to sit down with a Representative of Tulane: TROUGH: Hi, neighbor! Come on in; have a seat. Wow, your head is huge, and it's pulsating. ROT: It's pupating. Soon it will burst in a flood of chartreause ichor and launch leech-like spores, which will latch onto anything living and feed until they are all grown up, ready to populate Quiz Bowl tables everywhere. TROUGH: I can't seem to fit this cap on this flask. ROT: That's not a cap; it's a crew sock. And that "flask" is a dead sparrow. TROUGH: Oh. We were trying to figure out why the flask didn't hold any of our hooch. Sorry - we're a little anxious talking to someone so special and bright and pretty and pretty bright. We were trying to steady our nerves. ROT: It's quite alright. What topics of conversation would you like broach? TROUGH: Uh, gosh, there are so many things. Let's keep it to the game. Ok, yeah, the game. So, you guys are really smart, but you've sucked for a long time. Why? ROT: CH3CH2CH2CHO TROUGH: Tru dat. ROT: I believe that in the true spirit of a university, we've decided to allocate our resources to more... TROUGH: Check this navel lint out. It's like a Rice Krispie mating with a pistachio. ROT: I...I don't know how to respond. You just pulled that from your navel? How...never mind. TROUGH: Oh, sorry. You were talking about being smarter and better than me. Go on. ROT: You were asking why our football program was not as storied, and on a basic level, it's because we recruit a different caliber of... TROUGH: WHOASHON MORENO, IT MOVED. ROT: What? TROUGH: The lint. It moved. ROT: What are you talking about? TROUGH: Look! It's shuffling away! It got mad! I'm sorry, navel pal, I meant to get the honey mustard snack wrap. I'm so sorry. ROT: [gagging] TROUGH: BEEP BEEP GREEN WAVE ROT: I am terribly nauseated. Perhaps its best if I leave. TROUGH: Yeah, I get that way talking about your team, too. But no don't leave!! We still got football to talk inbout. Let's do talking inbout the football. See? I can talk fancy too, velvetmouth. They call that the King's English. Get me a pint, laddie! Hey, dude, did you know they have a dessert called Spotted Dick? That's awesome, huh. AWESOME. Sounds like a Tuscaloosa clinic. ROT: Let's talk about the football. TROUGH: Oh yeah. Ok, so y'all are smart. They are always referring to coordinators...uh, some coordinators...as geniuses. So you guys should have a crazy genius offense. Hey, what formation do you think you would run against us? ROT: TROUGH: So that's like a spread option or something? ROT: Моё судно на воздушной подушке полно угрей TROUGH: Sorry, I don't speak any Tulanian. Is that a monocle? ROT: Yes. Are we done? Your treacle is tiring. TROUGH: I'm sorry, my liege. I just wanted to talk about how you can't really be all that smart, since you willingly came along for the beatdown. I think our team is going to defend their thesis, entitled "WHOO WHOO ALL ABOARD THE PAINTRAIN. The Threshold of Agony in a Beatdown Construct." I did some charts for it and the one that showed your team approaching "not suck" was asymptotic. ROT: This was a mistake. TROUGH: What, my outfit? You don't like it? I thought you smartles liked patches on your jacket. ROT: First, you're not wearing a jacket. Second, those "patches" are just slices of Genoa salami, and they aren't on your elbows. They're on your nipples. TROUGH: That's not salami. Those are my nipples. ROT: I should really be going. I'm going to be late for the tea. TROUGH: Will there be scones? ROT: Likely, yes. I hope Ms. Madeline D'Iberville Charlamagne Marie St. Sacre Coeur brought those delightful Green Wave petit-fours again. TROUGH: Pettywhat? Is that like a meat pudding? You think my lint critter would like some? ROT: No, it's a small cake. TROUGH: Like a little bite of Spotted Dick? ROT: Goodbye. TROUGH: That's what the conductor say when he board the train. The name of the train is Harlequin Romance. ROT: [adjusting coat, collecting valise] TROUGH: You want something to eat? I was just about to put on this provolone bra and some olive salad deodorant. ROT: You are repulsive. Your school is a ragtag bunch of barely-literate miscreants, and your football team follows. You are an embarrassment to higher education. TROUGH: Calm down, Paper Chase. Need a nip for the road? It's special made for you; I call it "Smartles & Jaymes." ROT: Again, that's a dead sparrow, and it reeks of bourbon. Why don't you have it all to yourself...sounds like you could use it. TROUGH: I gave it up for lint. ROT: Good day, sir. TROUGH: [cachunk] ROT: OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! YOU TRIED TO STAPLE MY SCROTUM! What are you doing? TROUGH: I was trying to punch your ticket. Nobody ride the train without a ticket. WHOO WHOO Sipping on Win & Juice: 44 Not a wave, but Ripple: 14 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.