Welcome. I've created this blog to alleviate some of the intense boredom I have at my summer job. It's hard to describe what the actual Summer of Dev is, all I can say is that it's a 3 month long celebration similar to the festivities of Devember. As far as the blog goes though, I'll just be writing political rants, movie reviews, BURRITO recipes, sports topics, DevTheories(TM), and maybe an adventure or two from the summer. Thanks for reading.
Even though it's only been a few months since Clemson unveiled their completed West End Zone project, Dr. Terry Don Phillips, current athletic director for Clemson University, has recently approved renovating the South and North end zones as well. Here's a preliminary sketch of the future upgrades:
posted by Dev @ 8:52 AM
10 comments
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10 Comments:
this may be my favorite image of the year.
and you give me hell about posting email forwards
Now Dev
I definitely do, along with giving hell about any post that says "AP News" at the top, so I'll take some ribbing for this once-in-a-blue-moon type of post.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a mustache and midlife crisis to which I should attend.
you're only gonna live to be fifty? A bit optimistic don't you think. I had my midlife crisis back in high school.
...and then Sumter ran out of Propecia..
nice post of a e-mail forward....boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
This is something the short guy would do....
Ritch is of average height. :)
We don't make the news we just report it, just like all good bloggers. I saw a MasterCard forward a few days ago, I will send it over dev so you can post it on your blog.
Pretty Creative forward
'Twas the month before Christmas and all through the town,
Not a Tiger fan was stirring, not one couldbe found.
Christmas was coming, but no one could care,
The stench of defeat still hung in the air.
Coach Bowden was tossing, sleepless in bed,
While visions of Gamecocks still danced in his head.
He was wearing his cap, which read, "Go Crimson Tide!"
And trying to forget how his season had died.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
He sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
He stood at the window, his lower lip quivered,
The lesson was hard the Ol' Ball Coach delivered.
The moon on the breast of the Death Valley grass,
Showed Gamecock footprints from the game that had passed.
When, what did he see while adjusting his hat,
But a great Cock-a-boose, pulled by ragged, orange cats.
With a cool-handed driver, not a sweat did he break,
Bowden knew in a moment, it must be St. Blake.
The cats were so tired, they pulled with a strain,
So Blake beat them and shouted, and called them by name.
Now, Proctor! Now, CJ! Now, Reggie and James!
On, Stuckey! On, Adams! On, Gaddis and Duane!
We'll ride through the Valley again 'fore I'm done,
And rub that old rock one more time, just for fun.
As the footballs within the wild "Cock and Fire" fly,
Dumbfounding the DB's, as they watch them go by,
Around and around, the poor Tigers flew,
With a Cock-a-boose full of Gamecocks,
and Blake Mitchell too!
Then the Gamecocks stood guard o'er the Tigers out back,
As they painted poor Tommy's house garnet and black.
As Bowden drew in his hand, and was turning around,
The Ghost of Steve Spurrier was seen floating down.
He was dressed all in fur from his toes to his chin,
He had made a new coat from some old Tiger skins.
Several more Tigers, he had flung on his back,
Jacoby, Jad Dean and Davis, in fact.
His eyes - how they twinkled! His countenance - how merry!
He was thinking of the team his young Gamecocks had buried.
Then suddenly above the Great Spectre appeared,
The names of all the coaches he had whipped through the years.
The victory torches still smoldered beneath,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
But Tommy stood blank-faced, his stomach still queasy,
He knew that next year was not going to be easy.
He was sad and disgruntled, a mere shell of a man,
And Steve laughed when he saw him, and thought of HIS FANS.
They stood face to face, Bowden wanted to run.
He could hear the theme song from 2001.
The Ghost spoke not a word, but went straight to his plan,
Leaving Tanneyhill bobbleheads for all those at hand.
And raising his visor in salute as on cue,
He said, "See ya next year!", and he faded from view.
Blake sprang to the Cock-a-boose, to the cats said, "Let's go!",
The Tigers all cried saying, "No, Blake, please no!"
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove through the gate,
"Happy Christmas to all, 31 - 28!"
How the Left Stole Christmas
Twas the month before Christmas
when all through our land
Not a Christian was praying
nor taking a stand.
See the PC Police had taken away
The reason for Christmas - no one could say.
The children were told by their schools not to sing
about Shepherds and Wise Men and angels and things.
It might hurt people's feelings the teachers would say,
December 25th is just a holiday.
Yet the shoppers were ready with cash, checks, and credit
pushing folks down to the floor to get at it.
CDs from Madonna, an X Box, an I POD,
Something was Changing, something quite odd!
Retailers promoted Ramadan and Kwanza
In hopes to sell books by Franken and Fonda.
As Targets were hanging their trees upside down
At Lowe's the word Christmas was not to be found.
At Kmart and Staples and Pennys and Sears
You won't hear the word Christmas, it won't touch your ears.
Inclusive, sensitive, di-ver-si-ty
Are words that were used to intimidate me.
Now Daschle, now Darden, now Sharpton, Wolf Blitzen
On Boxer, on Rather, on Kerry, on Clinton!
At the top of the Senate there arose such a clatter
To eliminate Jesus in all public matter.
And we spoke not a word as they took away our faith
Forbidden to speak of salvation and grace.
The true gift of Christmas was exchanged and discarded.
The reason for the season stopped before it got started.
So as you celebrate Winter Break under your Holiday Tree
Sipping your Starbucks listen to me.
Choose your words carefully.
Choose what you say.
SHOUT MERRY CHRISTMAS
Not Happy Holiday!!
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