Confucius say I want to live forever in a land where CFB lasts a thousand years. I want a castle in the clouds where I can look down over the far beauty of Gorst. I want to be six-and-twenty again. When I was six-and-twenty I could doog all day and fuck sororitutes all night. What men want does not matter[/i]. The Dark Winter is almost upon us, boy. And the Dark Winter is death. I would sooner my dawg's season die after fighting one game for little Beaver muff glory than alone and hungry in the dorms, weeping doogish tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of dawgs who die like that. As for me? Confucius is old. This will be my finial winter. Let me bathe in Beaver blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when our blitz bites deep into the Beaver QB skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue.