Friday Night Photo Gallery

Ooops! Look who we found.


Santa Claus Dawg makes the server happy!


Johnny makes the server a little nervous.


The Wing


Pre-game meal spot.


Johnny Gator at Singleton's


Johnny meets some new friends at the Sundog.

Atlantic Beach Photo Gallery

Georgia friendly wait staff. With ink . . .




A ghost on the deck.



Fred Flinstone pays us a visit.


Johnny Gator arrives.


Johnny gets a hug from Dana.




Johnny representing with Deputy Doo-Doo.




Laid Back Dawg on the job site.

Who takes Saturday classes during football season?

I do....apparently. I think it is a bad situation that registration for fall semester happens before spring practice, one forgets that come September, the last place in the world they want to be is reading Philosophy or configuring routers on a Saturday afternoon. Hopefully it won't be a problem again, unless I decide to start grad school next fall, which will be my redemption for screwing off my Freshman year in Athens, many moons ago. So while the rest of the crew are down in JAX counting strippers teeth and killing off weak braincells, I will be reading Plato's Republic and running up the minutes on my cellphone staying on top of the score. That is till halftime at least, when I hope to be up to my elbows in wings and beer at the Taco Mac.


till then I guess I can be 'Left behind Dawg'

Wednesday Night: A tailgate on the patio

Deputy Dawg made it from La Guardia on a Beechcraft. Taterchip Dawg and Laid Back Dawg made in safely from D’ville. We had a mini-tailgate on the patio tonight as it looks like we are not going to have a spot at RV City this year.

We heard the stories of the Deputy and Deputy Doo-Doo and their trips to the Islands, getting thrown out of various restaurants, and court rooms. We laughed so hard, we'll all be sore tomorrow.

It lights out for now – the Deputy will be firing up the nail guns at first light. Make sure and pack your short with corn starch, it'll be a scorcher.

Wednesday: Getting Ready for Practice

We arrived safely yesterday. Had a great time catching up with Tom and Dana (pronounced Dan-uh) and Ronnie. As promised, we broke the seal on the Sun Dog and played a little trivia. I saw a lady that reminded me of my first girlfriend. I'm glad it wasn't her as it was an ugly breakup. As often happens, it was over differences in religion - I was a Baptist and she was a Bitch.

We got in a little lite-drinking last night, but nothing to heavy. Plans are go with a full-contact session tonight in preparation for Friday and Saturday. The seniors are a little banged up, so we will be watching Deputy Doo-Doo Dawg and Santa Claus Dawg pretty close to make sure they are ready to go come game time.

This morning we performed a little routine maintenance, cleaning the grill, the deck, and converting the leech pit to a hot tub once again.

Deputy Dawg flies in tonight. Sonny's has leveraged his diplomacy skills and sent him on a covert mission deep into Yankee territory. Tater Chip Dawg, and Laid Back Dawg are leaving this afternoon after Tater get's his colon cleansed.

The Chief Deputy gonna put us to work on Thursday, putting siding up his Retreat. Ought to be like a bunch of drunken sailors trying to herd cats.

Santa Claus Dawg preparing for Wednesday night festivities that celebrate the arrival of Deputy Dawg.

Before - Leech Pit

After - Fashionable Hot Tub!

Is God a Bulldog?

Douglasville, GA. – I, Blogging Dawg, one of the tri-county’s biggest Bulldog fans, will be leaving Tuesday morning, bound for Jacksonville, where Georgia's young football team next appears. Santa Claus Dawg will ride shot-gun.

"I don't think you can get from Douglasville to Jacksonville," the parish Priest explained to me yesterday.

"You can change buses in Macon and St. Simon’s," I answered.

"You aren't going a little early?"

"Early?" I screamed back. "I haven't worked since we dodged that bullet in Nashville, and I haven't slept since Tennessee. You expect me wait around here when we play those stinking swamp lizards in only six more days? The only reason I haven’t left yet is I’m scheduled to cut the grass at the rectory tomorrow night!"

Has my priest as bumped his head? This is a very complex and delicate matter. As a matter of fact, some call it a question of religion.

Georgia comes into the game with two East division losses, and barely ranked in the BCS poll. Let’s face it folks, we ain’t gonna play under the Dome come December. But this ain’t about just playing for the conference Championship. It’s our way of life against theirs. It’s about loving your team and not being a closet Dawg. It’s about exercising the demon of the ol’ ball coach. It’s getting the monkey off your back. It’s about being Bulldawg Born and Bulldawg Bred. It’s about getting back on track to our history of smacking down those Camero driving, jort wearing, corn-dog smelling, sons of female dogs.

I will arrive early Tuesday afternoon, which some hardcore Dawgs will consider fashionably late. Others, however, will question my ancestry and loyalty at not arriving this past Sunday or before - since we had a bye last week. I will have to dodge some of the Bulldawg Nation from cities like Marble Hill, Toccoa, Bill Arp, and Sugar Hill who will be drunker than a four-eyed owl before they cross the Florida line.

As my good friend Calhoun Dawg put’s it, “The Georgia-Florida game is the annual celebration of the repeal of prohibition."

We will wait until Thursday to get into our serious pre-game drinking, however. We’ll probably go to Singleton’s on Wednesday and fill up on collards and I think we all know how hard it is to drink on a belly full of collards.

I think I can say without fear of charges of blasphemy that the whole thing is a religious experience. "Deacon Dan" Magill, the "Baptist Bulldog," will read a prayer to the Georgia faithful in which he will beseech the Almighty to help the Bulldogs "smite the Florida Philistines."

Then there is the game itself. I remember Lewis’s column back in 1980 when Georgia got a miracle in the form of a 93 yard strike from Belue to Scott for the game winning touchdown with only seconds remaining. To cap it off, there was the astounding news from Atlanta. Georgia Tech had tied No.1 Notre Dame.

"That tie was a gift from Heaven," said Barker Dawg. "Notre Dame gets knocked out of number one but Tech did not get a win. God is a Bulldog."

Verily.

After all, he did make the sunset Red, and the night Black.

Who Let the Corn Dogs Out?

Florida fans smell just like corn dogs. Yes, it is often said, but so, so true. Gator fans do smell like corn dogs. I would never tell them that to their face though. This is something better said at internet distances. Even now, I am afraid they are Googling me from their AOL accounts.

I am afraid that they'll know I said it. I'll walk past a Florida fan someday, and he'll see that look in my eye that gives it away. That look that says, "gee, what is that smell? Is it corn dogs?" The next thing you know, I'll have flat tires on my car.

If you only learn one thing from me today, remember not to tell Florida fans how they smell - you know, like corn dogs. They seem, somehow, sensitive to that whole corn dog issue.

I think this may be why a lot of fights involve Camero driving, jean short wearing Gator fans. If you're in Gainesville, I would avoid telling them that they smell like corn dogs. Say something else instead. Like, "Wow, you boys sure haven’t lost a step this year.”

It's hard. I know. It's like when you're having sex and you try to think about how Munson is feeling. That corn dog smell is just so overwhelming. It makes it hard for you to think about Herschel, Rex, Vince, or whatever else.

Instead, your brain wanders into corn dog topics like: "Gee, I wonder if I took a bite of your finger, if you would taste just like a corn dog?"; or "Is this a real person or is it a giant corn dog trying to make me think it is a real person?" or "What did that giant corn dog just say?" or "Excuse me, Mister, why is it that you smell just exactly like corn dogs smell?" or, of course, after a SBD: “My good woman, did you just let the corn dogs out?"

The best policy is to avoid getting near them, and thus, not to smell them at all. Okay, not all of them. Some of them are nice. Smell the nice ones – the ones from Ponte Verdra and St. Augustine. Usually, they’re okay.

You know what else is a bad thing to do? Holding your nose around them. They are real sensitive to that, too. Try holding your breath. But don't be obvious about it. Somehow they know you're trying not to breathe in the corn dog smell. And that offends them. They'll likely punch you and your wife and kids for that if they catch on to what you're doing.

If you do breathe it in long enough, though, it'll permeate your whole body, and then you'll smell like a corn dog just like they do. But don't say, "Dang, now I smell like a corn dog." They take offense to that. And they will throw Natural Lite cans, Boone’s Farm bottles, rubber gators, Motley Crüe cassettes. Hard stuff. Stuff that leaves bruises and makes you bleed. Then you may have to get stitches or something. Just don't say it. If you do start smelling like a corn dog, just shut up about it. Okay?

Little Bulldawgs are acutely aware of corn dog smells too. Counsel them on how to behave around Gator fans. If UF fans are driving around town in their El Cameno’s and Camero’s, and 4 x 4s, do not let your kids stick their heads out of your car and sniff the air. No. Keep your windows rolled up. An odd change in their expression - indicating they smell corn dogs - might get a wrench or pipe or some other object tossed at your windshield. So, that's dangerous. Let your kids stick their heads out of the car windows as you drive - on some other weekend.

I know you are just as puzzled as I am about some of this corn dog stuff. What puzzles me most is that I've never actually seen any of these UF fans with a corn dog in their hand. Okay, maybe there's no mystery there - maybe they already ate the corn dogs. Who knows? Maybe there's a corn dog factory in Titusville or Starke and they all work there.

Maybe, there's a corn dog lotion that they wear, or a swamp perfume. Maybe the governor puts corn dog juice in the water supply - kind of like fluoride – to make up to Al Gore. The politics there are weird. The big political issue during city elections is whether they should add more ketchup or mustard to the water. Don't comment on it though. It's not politically correct down there. It's like a malnutrition issue or something. It's like the corn dogs are probably added to the water to prevent starvation or something.

I know when you go to Gainesville or Jacksonville, you're thinking: "Ahhhh. Here I am in Florida. I'll bet the people here smell just like boiled shrimp, orange juice, or some fancy tropical fruit. Maybe even Cuban sandwiches or black beans if you make to Miami. But just stop thinking that. That's just a myth. They smell just like corn dogs.

In fact, please listen to my advice. Leave them alone about the corn dog odor. And don't try masking the odor with something stronger. They'll curse at you. They'll say something like: "WTF, how dare you smoke a cigar in my home," or "WTF!! Are you too good for the smell of corn dogs?" and they'll cuss out your kids too: "WTF!!! Little Mister
fancy pants over here acts like he doesn't want to smell like corn dogs."

Gators are not like us. Don't you see that, yet? They are really sensitive about being sniffed and about their corn dog aroma. They know they smell like corn dogs and it is no laughing matter to them at all. I know, I know. We sniff the USC game chickens and the whiskey on the Tennessee fans and we keep a straight face with each of them, but don't press your luck with the Gator fans. Don't refer to the Swamp as corn dog central either. I mean that's just wrong. Even if you've been drinking, they'll beat you up and curse out your kids.

Along these lines, be extra careful when you laugh in their direction - even if you're laughing about something else. Like baseball or football, or sex or whatever. If you can't control yourself and you must laugh though, do not snort. The snorting makes them think that you smell their corn dog body odor from a distance or that you're choking on it or something. They'll likely burn your SUV for that. We lost a campus building over just one snort.

So, just remember. You can love one another without sniffing each other. You can enjoy the clash of a couple of good football teams. You can enjoy the thrill of the rivalry. But after the game, please heed my words. Please just move along. No sniffing the opposing fans this Saturday. Okay? Get your corn dog jollies at home.

Enough with this corn dog talk. Let's play ball...

If Elected, I Will Have The Hottest First Lady In U.S. History

By Sen. Fred Thompson
Presidential Candidate
(Source: From The Onion)

My fellow Americans, in the coming presidential election, the voters of this nation will plot a course for the future. There are many candidates, each of whom brings a different vision of that future. But only one has the conviction and strength to lead this great country. Only one is a popular television and film actor ready to face the challenges of the 21st century head-on. And, most importantly, there is only one candidate with a bombshell trophy wife nearly a quarter-century younger than himself.

I urge each and every one of you to run a Google image search and see the evidence for yourself: photo after photo of a tall but wrinkled and sagging 64-year-old man—that's me—standing at various gala events, his arm wrapped around a stunning woman with glowing orange skin and beautiful platinum- highlighted hair. A bold woman, squeezed into a dress with a plunging neckline so low her enormous breasts seem almost ready to leap out and scream, "Hey world—look at us! We are married to a famous man we saw in Die Hard 2 when we were in college!"

That's her, ladies and gentlemen. That's my wife. Yes, we are actually married.

If elected, I pledge that same woman—who is a full six years younger than my eldest son—will be by my side at all state dinners, dressed to the nines, causing the Chinese delegation's jaws to drop in amazement at her gravity-defying rack.
Read it all at The Onion.

Get yer shorts, get yer hat, and get in the truck

Well it’s that time of year when phones are ringing, e-mails flying, and pre-trip planning meetings are taking place. It’s only Thursday but the crew is already anxious for next week to get here. Like the Clampet’s on their way to Beverly Hills, the Georgia faithful from the Douglasville-Savannah Tailgate Club are packing for the annual road trip to the Cocktail party. A Manly Trip. Boy Dogs only. No Closet Dawgs allowed.

Jon has his fake eye’s, Randy looks like Santa Claus, Stuart has a nail gun, Ronnie’s swears he gonna stay. Norton’s buying tires, Greg’s chasing everyone down, Gable’s looking for tickets, and Frank’s just going to move down there. Dave’s getting a physical before he leaves (just in case) and Carey’s out to prove that just because he’s crossed the ½ century mark, he ain’t lost a step. Alan's getting a new flash card and will be posting gameday photo's, and Eddie is still figuring out how he can be out of town for that long.

We’ll have a new guy with us this year. He’s been sort of lurking on the fringes of our unique fraternity. He’s from Calhoun (and My-Gawd A-Mighty so is Chris Durham.) He's in for a treat.

Somebody remind me not to OD on vitamin B-12 and B-6 this year.


A few pints will be had at the Sun Dog.