Gregg Williams is fixin to stick it right in our........

They've played National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation about 29082895 times this week on AMC.

But seriously, I think this is like the 5th time I've seen it this week. I've never been closer to the Griswolds.

Don't get too attached to the RV in the driveway, we'll be taking it with us when we leave next month. :)

The article about Williams' return to DC, particularly the player quotes, is worth discussing IMO. It plainly says he was respected by players, both offense and defense, and several of them wanted him as our HC. Portis is one guy I remember saying so, which I find extremely curious because Williams is nearly famous for his workout/conditioning programs alone and certainly CP would have known that regimen would include him too w/ Williams as HC.

Conversely it kind of begs the question: how many players like or respect Zorn best we can tell? I've read quotes that sound something like empathy or even pity...not much beyond that though. And what does Zorn demand of his roster? Not much from what I can tell. Drop a TD...ho hum. Take a snap off and incur a penalty or blow up the play...gee whiz.

Snyder is such a complete failure at evaluating every conceivable facet of the game, outside the profits. If he doesn't put his ego away after this season and bring in legitimate professionals I just can't imagine following his organization week in, week out next season. It's just too effing painful.

I remember I was hammering on a fence in the backyard when my dad approached me. He was carrying a letter or something in his hand, and he looked worried. I continued to hammer as he came toward me. “Son,” he said, “why are you hammering on that fence? It already has plenty of nails in it.” “Oh, I’m not using nails,” I replied. “I’m just hammering.” With that, I returned to my hammering. Dad asked me to stop hammering, as he had some news. I did stop hammering, but first I got a couple more hammers in, and this seemed to make Dad mad. “I said, stop hammering!” he yelled. I think he felt bad for yelling at me, especially since it looked like he had bad news. “Look,” he said, “you can hammer later, but first–” Well, I didn’t even wait to hear the rest. As soon as I heard “You can hammer,” that’s what I started doing. Hammering away, happy as an old hammer hog. Dad tried to physically stop me from hammering by inserting a small log of some sort between my hammer and the fence. But I just kept on hammering, ’cause that’s the way I am when I get that hammer going. Then, he just grabbed my arm and and made me stop. “I’m afraid I have some news for you,” he said. I swear, what I did next was not hammering. I was just letting the hammer swing lazily at arm’s length, and maybe it tapped the fence once or twice, but that’s all. That apparently didn’t make any difference whatsoever to Dad, because he just grabbed my hammer out of my hand and flung it across the field. And when I saw my hammer flying helplessly through the air like that I just couldn’t take it. I burst out crying, I admit it. And I ran to the house, as fast as my legs could take me. “Son, come back!” yelled Dad. “What about your hammer?!” But I could not have cared less about hammering at that point. I ran into the house and flung myself onto my bed, pounding the bed with my fists. I pounded and pounded, until finally, behind me, I heard a voice. “As long as you’re pounding, why not use this?” I turned, and it was Dad, holding a brand-new solid-gold hammer. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and ran to Dad’s outstretched arms. But suddenly, he jumped out of the way, and I went sailing through the second-story window behind him. Whenever I hear about a kid getting in trouble with drugs, I like to tell them this story.

I remember I was hammering on a fence in the backyard when my dad approached me. He was carrying a letter or something in his hand, and he looked worried. I continued to hammer as he came toward me. “Son,” he said, “why are you hammering on that fence? It already has plenty of nails in it.” “Oh, I’m not using nails,” I replied. “I’m just hammering.” With that, I returned to my hammering. Dad asked me to stop hammering, as he had some news. I did stop hammering, but first I got a couple more hammers in, and this seemed to make Dad mad. “I said, stop hammering!” he yelled. I think he felt bad for yelling at me, especially since it looked like he had bad news. “Look,” he said, “you can hammer later, but first–” Well, I didn’t even wait to hear the rest. As soon as I heard “You can hammer,” that’s what I started doing. Hammering away, happy as an old hammer hog. Dad tried to physically stop me from hammering by inserting a small log of some sort between my hammer and the fence. But I just kept on hammering, ’cause that’s the way I am when I get that hammer going. Then, he just grabbed my arm and and made me stop. “I’m afraid I have some news for you,” he said. I swear, what I did next was not hammering. I was just letting the hammer swing lazily at arm’s length, and maybe it tapped the fence once or twice, but that’s all. That apparently didn’t make any difference whatsoever to Dad, because he just grabbed my hammer out of my hand and flung it across the field. And when I saw my hammer flying helplessly through the air like that I just couldn’t take it. I burst out crying, I admit it. And I ran to the house, as fast as my legs could take me. “Son, come back!” yelled Dad. “What about your hammer?!” But I could not have cared less about hammering at that point. I ran into the house and flung myself onto my bed, pounding the bed with my fists. I pounded and pounded, until finally, behind me, I heard a voice. “As long as you’re pounding, why not use this?” I turned, and it was Dad, holding a brand-new solid-gold hammer. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and ran to Dad’s outstretched arms. But suddenly, he jumped out of the way, and I went sailing through the second-story window behind him. Whenever I hear about a kid getting in trouble with drugs, I like to tell them this story.

LOL

Knock knock.
Who's there.
Orange.
Orange who?
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Orange.
Orange who?
Knock knock.
Who's there??
Orange.
Orange who???
Knock knock.
Who's there?!!
Orange.
ORANGE WHO??
Knock knock.
WHO THE F IS THERE???
Banana.
...
Banana who?
Orange you glad I didn't say orange?

We made Japanese fruit pie for Thanksgiving. It was yummy.

These coaches who are shown the door by Danny and Vinny must love coming back and beating the Skins and in their own way sticking it to Danny and Vinny.

LOL

Knock knock.
Who's there.
Orange.
Orange who?
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Orange.
Orange who?
Knock knock.
Who's there??
Orange.
Orange who???
Knock knock.
Who's there?!!
Orange.
ORANGE WHO??
Knock knock.
WHO THE F IS THERE???
Banana.
...
Banana who?
Orange you glad I didn't say orange?

rofl I've always heard it with banana in place of orange.. then at the end you say orange... they say orange who.. you say orange you glad i didn't say banana

hmmm lol

I remember I was hammering on a fence in the backyard when my dad approached me. He was carrying a letter or something in his hand, and he looked worried. I continued to hammer as he came toward me. “Son,” he said, “why are you hammering on that fence? It already has plenty of nails in it.” “Oh, I’m not using nails,” I replied. “I’m just hammering.” With that, I returned to my hammering. Dad asked me to stop hammering, as he had some news. I did stop hammering, but first I got a couple more hammers in, and this seemed to make Dad mad. “I said, stop hammering!” he yelled. I think he felt bad for yelling at me, especially since it looked like he had bad news. “Look,” he said, “you can hammer later, but first–” Well, I didn’t even wait to hear the rest. As soon as I heard “You can hammer,” that’s what I started doing. Hammering away, happy as an old hammer hog. Dad tried to physically stop me from hammering by inserting a small log of some sort between my hammer and the fence. But I just kept on hammering, ’cause that’s the way I am when I get that hammer going. Then, he just grabbed my arm and and made me stop. “I’m afraid I have some news for you,” he said. I swear, what I did next was not hammering. I was just letting the hammer swing lazily at arm’s length, and maybe it tapped the fence once or twice, but that’s all. That apparently didn’t make any difference whatsoever to Dad, because he just grabbed my hammer out of my hand and flung it across the field. And when I saw my hammer flying helplessly through the air like that I just couldn’t take it. I burst out crying, I admit it. And I ran to the house, as fast as my legs could take me. “Son, come back!” yelled Dad. “What about your hammer?!” But I could not have cared less about hammering at that point. I ran into the house and flung myself onto my bed, pounding the bed with my fists. I pounded and pounded, until finally, behind me, I heard a voice. “As long as you’re pounding, why not use this?” I turned, and it was Dad, holding a brand-new solid-gold hammer. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and ran to Dad’s outstretched arms. But suddenly, he jumped out of the way, and I went sailing through the second-story window behind him. Whenever I hear about a kid getting in trouble with drugs, I like to tell them this story.

so is gregg williams the fence or the hammer?

I was down in NC for Thanksgiving with my family at my sis' house, and we went to a flea market in Raleigh right next to where NC State plays, and there was this shop in there that had fried everything. I'm talking fried pecan pie, fried twinkies, fried pumpkin pie, and other assorted fried pies and whatnot.

Which leads me to my next question. Who would want to eat a heart attack in a pan, otherwise known as a fried pie? My dad bought a fried twinkie and I took one bite and it felt like I could already hear my heart slowing down lol.

I really hope greg Williams beats the hell out of us this Sunday just so he can basically give snyder/vinny a big F U!