I Got Fitted for my Black Hat today and damn if it isn't a PERFECT fit.

To the low-T haters conducting this Category Five SEC Rant Meltdown I say:

Behold the Corn Dog Death Star.

Lane Kiffin has now entered the chat.

Questionable optics-excellent roster management. We put tabasco on moral ambiguity. South Louisiana has never been afraid of a little sin, particularly when it runs a 4.4 forty.

While you are over there carefully measuring one cup of Neapolitan ice cream, clutching your pearls and asking whether this is good for college football in your best Karen voice, we are stealing your coach, your players, your equipment manager and your girlfriend. Just because we can.

.Your tears nourish us. Your Cope amuses us.

We run on hate, bourbon, humidity and roux.

There is nothing you or your bearded wife Earline can say that doesn't make us stronger. We have turned the dial to eleven, snapped the knob off and thrown it into the Mississippi river.

. You needed someone to hate now that Bama has discovered pickleball and Texas A&M has officially merged with the Village People.

Well, here we are.

Keep booing, it helps the offense.

We regret nothing.

We have dissolved our public relations department and cancelled our apology tour. Our response to the SEC office is currently just a picture of a Tiger wearing sunglasses.

We are bourbon-fortified John Wick with a fiddy billion trillion recruiting budget, and you are the HOA president demanding to speak to the manager..

Zero remorse. Maximum points.

The SEC Office? Muted
The pundits? Muted.
Finebaum? Somewhere yelling into a rotary phone.

The bayou does not care about your feelings.

Tiger Stadium at night isn't a football venue. It's an OSHA violation with concessions and the sweet smell of bourbon.

Our motto? Bless your heart, now punt.

So keep melting down. Keep rage posting.
Keep telling us what terrible people we are.

We have ZERO interest in your approval. We don't want to be liked.

Because this black hat fits us. We look sexy AF.At least that's what your wife says.


Cry harder. The roux needs salt.