Travelin' Man

Hey there, Tresselheads. It's me Tressel, Coach Jimmy Tressel. Missed me? I bet you did. I've had a whole big bunch of soul searching to do this year and decided to just hit the road and see what this great country of ours is all about. I roughed it in a Winnebago with the kids and Mrs. T. Some legal problems I ran into also made it a good time to disappear.

I left my laptop at home but got some great shots on my digital camera:

















That's one mother of a trophy they'll never take away from me. Anyway that's all for today. Feel free to ask some non-football related questions and i'll try and answer the worthy ones. Have a safe memorial day fuckers.

Half-Time Quckie

Muther fuck this fucking fuck shit cock sucker muther fucker!

Season's Beatings

Merry Christlombus, Tresselnation. It's me Tressel, Coach Jimmy Tressel. Hey jerks - I know it's been a while since I've posted, but your beloved, well hung, favorite coach has been busy as a bee lately, so suck it. I just finished wrapping presents and making Christmas cookies with Mrs. T. Well actually I made her get buck naked, wrap the presents with her tits and then I slathered frosting all over her ass - bent her over the kitchen counter and went to town - rodeo style. This time of year really brings out the best in people. Just the other day I was getting high with that picklewipe Krenzel and I packed him a bowl full of potpourri and I decided to tell him mid inhale. Now don't go saying that the coach is getting soft, he puked for a good twenty minutes straight it was comic gold.

What did the blind, dumb and deaf kid get for Christmas?



Cancer.

Oh! Big news kids. I've kept this on the low low for months. I just got off the horn with the kids over at Rockstar Games and Grand (Fuckin') Theft Columbus is a GO! This is going to be the most skull smashing, brain splattering, violent video game ever. It stars your sweetassed coach and a whole cast of your favorite Buckeyes. Basically the storyline is that me and Maurice fight and blast our way through a post apocalyptic Columbus, Ohio. The ohio state locker room saves me and the team from a deadly, nuclear blast. We smash zombies heads in, party with hot chicks, stab hookers and eventually go on a killing spree straight through Michigan, like Sherman's march to the sea, but with hot chicks wanting to blow us the whole time. We gain mutant powers, get sweet weapons, and bang hot chicks. Well I don't want to say too much and wreck it. They sent me some rough screen shots so I'll give you a little taste.




That's all for now kids. I've got work to do. I've got to go and jingle my bells against Mrs. T's sleigh. Have a great holiday and remember to keep it wet. Also remember to burn the bridges behind you to light the path ahead.


Why do Squirrels swim on their backs?


To keep their nuts dry.

Bo Knows

My prediction:
Ohio State 87, Michigan 0.

See you fools at the party after our big win.

Rasbery Scones!!!!

Blah Blah. Fuck shit damint. Razamtaz gobbledy gook. Titties. Big ole titties. Hovercrafts. Random arcane Ohio State Buckeyes Reference. I just did so much blow. Ha ha ha. Sweater vest. Fuckin' some hos!!!! Maurice Clarette. Make fun of retarded people. I just smoked weed!!!! Rap-ity dap dap. Wooo. Now I'm a gangstah Rapper. Blah Blah. Krenzel's a homo.



Varias decenas de civiles han muerto durante una operación de la OTAN contra los talibanes al sur de Afganistán, en la provincia de Kandahar, han informado hoy medios locales y testigos que elevan a 63 la cifra de fallecidos. La Alianza, por su parte, ha reconocido que en los bombardeos murieron civiles, aunque no ha precisado el número.

More hovercrafts. Troy smith is black!!!! Fuck you Charlie Weiss. Robots. Blah Blah Blah.

Durb a durb, durb durb durb durb.@!@!@!@!@!@#!#3838382041u0hjafdil;fnd ao;894urqo0tj3qpovhohjvo;anc voahvo cna. Justin Zwick.

Michigan. Hey why do some clouds look like people and some clouds look like nothing.

I'm gonna go blow my fucking brains out....

Beach Body Blast

Hey there you tubby tubs of tub tub goo, it's me Tressel. Coach Jim Tressel. With the holiday season fast approaching, many of you have only one thing on your mind: "How can I look good on the beach?" Well I got news for you: there's only one way a sagging flesh mutant is gonna stop throwing up every time you she looks in the mirror. Put down that bag of Doritos® and picking up a medicine ball. It's time to get ready for Coach's Beach Body Blast!

What's the matter, fellahs? Are you're tits bigger than the Mrs.? Well get a load of this! I'm gonna give you pecs harder than Chinese algebra, and soon you'll land a wife with bigger jugs. What's wrong honey? Saggy pooper? Droopy hoots? Let me guess, ever since you had those little rat bastard fuck-spawn pop out your muff, your husband won't bring home the D? It's probably cause the only thing looser than your snatch is that brick of cottage cheese you call an ass! Lock your kids in a cage and hit the the track for chrissakes. I'm gonna make your thighs supple, your abs rock hard, and your buttocks taut and firm. Soon he'll be pumpin so much spooge up your beave, you're gonna need to wear a diaper! HOT FUCKING DAMN!!!

It is not acceptable for men or women to have chunky asses. No. Do not settle for mediocrity!

The Ohio State Buckeyes are the number one team in the nation right now, and let me tell you something else, they look great naked! This is all thanks to my patented system of body shaping exercises, and stretching techniques. No free weights, and no diets! That's right, eat all the carbs you want, drink beer 'till you puke, and do so much blow you wake up in a stranger's bed with blood on your ass. It doesn't matter as long as you follow my simple 44 minute a day routine and corresponding vitamin regiment. Are you ready to get sexy?

Ok maybe there are a few diet restrictions. Here's how it goes. Eat whatever you want, as long as you stay away from bacon. The only time you should eat bacon should be in accordance with the following breakfast regiment, which is to be observed prior to your 4 mile run on intermittent Tuesdays and Thursdays during daylight savings time, and Wednesdays and Fridays the rest of the year.

1. A half boiled egg (for the best half boiled egg recipe see my book – Coach Tressel's Secret Meals for Success and a Happy Love Life, Volume 4: EGGS!!!


2. A bowl of granola. It's not just for dirty filthy hippies.


3. Bran. At least two bowls of any bran-based cereal. Basically you should stop and dump every 1.25 miles throughout the course of your run.


4. Chives.


5. And of course 1/4 lb of bacon

Ok, that's the only dietary restriction, and if you observe this rule, the pounds should melt right off. I put Troy Smith on this diet last year, and guess who's the number one prospect for the Heineman? Fuck you, Charlie Weiss, you fat tub of goo!

Other than the 4 mile run, the only other exercise you need to perform is 44 minutes of one of the 3 following routines at least 5 days a week, but no more than 6. This is what the team and I do, but as long as you hit all the major muscle groups with appropriate periods of rest in between it should work fine.

Monday Wednesdays and Fridays - Chest and Legs:

• 12-24 Plumb Bobbers, 3-4 sets
  
  


• 12-16 Squat Pumps, 4-5 sets
  
  


• 14-22 Iroquois Twists 1 Set


• 20 Hay Balers 2 sets
  
  

Tuesdays, Saturdays, and Thursdays or Sundays (Optional) - Back and Triceps/Biceps:

• 10-12 Mexican Pull-ups 3-4 sets
  
  


• 10 minutes of Jumping Jacks 2 sets
  
  


• 10-12 Turkey Rubs 4 sets


• 20 Hammer Jerks 4 sets


• 12 Polish Windmills 2 sets
  
  

In between all of these I do either a set of HongKong Pushups(20-30), or a set of one-armed sit-ups(10-20). Depending on whatever part of me feels fat that day. The only exception to this are the two days a month I do Power-Crunches. Ladies and Homos, I suggest you do these on a more regular basis, especially if you've had a few kids. What's a power-cruch you say. Basically it's regular crunch except you bite down on an unpeeled banana, and in between reps, you tense your anus, and/or vaginal muscles. It helps flatulence control, and I know for fact, it did wonders for Mrs. Tressel when I made her get back in shape after our last baby.

People, I can't stress this enough: you need to stretch properly. You don't want to pull a hammy and wind up with Turkish elbow? What good is it having rock hard abs, or winning a national title if you're too sore to fuck all night like a filthy sea otter? Also, change your underwear!!!! Especially you husky men. I can't remember how many offensive linemen have missed games because of a case of sack rot. And don't strain yourself, otherwise you're likely to bust a tube and wind up with wrestler's knob. Also, have fun. Mix it up a little. Do a little lugeing for cardio here and there. No, "jacking it" does not count as cardio, though it is a good cool-down. Yep, if you follow my advice, within 10-12 weeks you should have the hard body and flexibility you once only thought to be possible through injections secret government growth hormones or yoga.

Oh I almost forgot, vitamins. Lots and lots of vitamins.

Bowl Games

Hey there tresselnation. It's me Tressel, Coach Jimmy Tressel. The coach has been busy lately, real busy - bringing home big wins to all my faithful supporters. I have barely had time to smack the old flesh gavel on Mrs. T's forehead for a relaxing game of "order in the court". This season's been tough on me - and those deadbeat, picklewipes in the front office at the Big Ten won't let me cruise my awesome, new hovercraft on the sidelines, what the fuck do I have to do for these people - die on a cross? It's just a hovercraft, people.

So yeah, swain's been exposed as a fake. The real Swain stepped up and called out his imposter. The real Swain really writes about malls and probably doesn't even know my name (check the end of the last post's comments). The real Swain might be half a mo in real life, but the fake swain is ten times the mo he is - hiding behind him. How could anyone have the balls to impersonate someone else just to entertain themselves? Why would they do that? It's sad and totally blows my mind, really.

Did you you guys check out the prank I played on Grandpa Joe P. last week? We had coffee the morning before the game like always. This time I had to get him back. Last year he had me listed in my community as a sexual predator, true enough but it cost me a ton in legal fees. Christ that guy is old, Paterno has cancerous growths in his colon older than me. I pulled the ol' point and say "Isn't that David Hasselhoff?" He looked and I dumped some Visine® in his java. I knew he wouldn't make it to the end of the game without running to the can. I would be worried about some retribution but that old bastard will be worm food by this time next year.



Grandpa P. always travels with an old fart, safety toilet wherever he goes. Too bad that's the only "bowl game" he'll see this year. Well kids, I've got some "undercovers" work to do before saturday. I'm working on some sweet rhymes, be patient. You keep it real and I'll keep it realer.

Just beacause your rhyme was tight Maurice I will post it here. I know you've got the time so please bring the rhyme, son. It was brilliant.

Straight outta C-bus, crazy mothafucka named 'rice
Down but not out, 'cuz my problem's wit' police

I wuz blazed in my mercedes
So my recollection's hazy
of when da cops took me down
Like a movie by Scorsese

Tweakin' high and drunk
Wit' an AK in my trunk
If they'd a waited one mo' hour
I'd a shot another punk!

Q & A Once Again

Hey kids. It's me Tressel, Coach Jim Tressel. I've been really busy preparing for another awesome season sure to be full of kicking the weak, sub-par asses of all that stand in my way. So yeah, I guess I haven't had all that much fun lately. All work and no play blah, blah, blah. Between practices, press conferences, shoving footballs up asses and serving up some of my signature ass kick salad today, I thought I might open up the "World" to a little Q & A. Remember no football questions, ask about Ann Coulter's clenis or why Krenzel's afraid of tranny midgets or why Ken Blackwell can only bust a nut when he's with an Asian hooker with an underbite and crooked boobs. Ask anything - just no football, Jimbo gets paid to talk about his mighty Buckeyes, and I doubt any of you could even afford to pick up my bar tab on a Wednesday, so go ahead and ask, find out more about the man behind this this big, red, intergalactic, ass kicking machine. Saturday should be a walk in the park. Remember always bet on red, I do... you should see my house.

Coach Jimbo, Celebrity Insider

Hey there Hollywood gossip nuts! It's me Tressel, Coach Jim Tressel. Gearing up for the new Buck's season is really wearing me thin. So I thought I'd pull my foot out of some scarlet and grey asses and try a new little segment on Tressel's World called Coach Jimbo, Celebrity Insider.

Sure was hot this summer, but if you ask me it got way hotter when Step Up hit the theaters. The Coach has one word for this film, steamy. Take one dreamy street dancer/janitor/soon-to-be meth dealer, add one prissy little ballet dancer fighting for mommy's appoval - stir gently and you've got a jar full of cinematic magic. A plot this original hasn't been done since ummm umm Footloose, Dirty Dancing, Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights, Breakin' 2: Electric Bugaloo, Save the Last Dance, Chorus Line, Fame, Saturday Night Fever and Lambada.

Twins or seperated at birth?You saw it here first kids. Chad Smith, Chili Pepper's drummer and Will Farrell. I've never seen them in the same room together, have you? Speaking of douche bags, if Britney ate a bunch of corn, peanuts and tater tots(to hold it all together), took a mighty dump, dressed it in a wife beater and rapper hats, bought it a car and let it drive around town, could it become any more popular than her hubby Kfed? Yes, the answer is yes.He sure is talented though. Speaking of tits have you checked out the shot of Linsey Lohan's side boob?I would knock the freckles off of those sweet, meaty, sweater kittens. Side boob it totally the new under boob. but not as good as boobs pushed-against-glass-view boobs. Speaking of molestation Don Vito got caught with his fat hands in the wrong 12 year old's pants at one of his nephew's events in Colorado.Viva La Opps. Lazy eye? That fucker packed its bags and left town, Uncle Don. Speaking of ballsacks, reports that (old scrote-chin) Ben Affleck fathered a child before his marraige to Gardner are swamping the interweb. Insiders say that they have uncovered secret medical reports stating that the child, a boy, was born with a face that looks just like a ballsack. The mystery baby's name? Swain.The rare disease is now known as Swain's Disease or in less clinical circles as "sack face". That's all for now Bilbo Douche Baggers, I've got to invent all new ways to shove footballs up these kids asses - success starts with motivation. Motivation sometimes starts with your Coach Jimbo's foot and someone's ass. Until next week. HUT! HUT! RED 52!


Oh and if anyone was worried about Mo, don't. I'll have him out in no time. He's got a friend on the inside. I seriously own this friggin' town.

Cockblocked By My Blog or How I Almost Nailed Ann Coulter

Damn it, hey Buckaroos. It's me Tressel, Coach Jim Tressel. I keep it real here, I'm not pulling any punches with you kids. Except for when Mrs. T found out about the "world", everything was great. Cockblocked by my blog? Yeah it happened.

So last Friday Kenny Blackwell called me up last minute to go to some boring republican fundraiser at the Ritz downtown. I was going to tell him to go blow himself but then he mentioned something about an open bar and hookers and a bag of blow he snagged off of his PR guy. He said he'd drive - I said ok, whatever blah, blah blah....

We get there, I shake the sweaty palms of a bunch of half dead stiffs in suits who can't wait to tell me how great I am. You know, the usual garbage that I have to endure at these damn things. So after about six jack mannhattens this blond broad who kind of looks like a bird walks up to Kenny and the Coach (that's our handle when we karoke) smoozing it up with the regular assault of compliments and bullshit. She called me her hero or some crap so I asked Kenny who the skank was and he was like - Ann Coulter you jackass. Then I gave him a purple nurple and didn't let go until he named five breakfast cereals. Apparently she's some crazyass republican chick who loves the jesus a bit too much and doesn't know how to keep her piehole shut. I only watch sports and cartoons so I was frigin' clueless.



Kenny lined up four shots of 151 and then dared me to try and nail the broad. I figured it would be a challenge and took the bait. Those crazy religious chicks are always way slutty whores anyhow. So I strolled over to her, said some stuff about jesus and told her about Camp Tressel. We had some drinks, she flapped her gums about some war in the middle east that is apparently going on or something and then she dangled her room key in my face and grabbed little Jimmy and made me name five breakfast cereals before she let go.

Bing bang boom, back to the room. She said something about making herself more comfortable and left the room and came back in an outfit identical to the one I wore in New York. It was on. I was trying to get the thing off while she was licking my ear and talking dirty. I got my hand down her pants and was ready to use a technique I invented called the Columbus landslide when she whispered into to my ear "I'm going to rock your world". I replied "Rock Tressel's World baby, rock that world".

That's when things went south. Then she said "That's that awful fake website someone writes about you." I was like oh my people write coachtressel.com for me I know its kind of lame I think they do my myspace page too, they make me look like an asshole. She said, "No Tressel's World on blogger, it's an abomination." I don't even know what abomination means but she was starting to piss the old Coach off. I told her Tressel's World is my world baby you're going to have to leave.

She made a big stink about the room being hers so I called hotel security and had her ass removed, we're in Columbus. I think it might be legal for me to kill people here. Anyway the situation sorta licked nuts, but I got Kenny on the horn and he had some ladies with him, I had a free room and we made the best of it.

Jimbo Takes Manhattan

Hey Kids. It's me Tressel, Coach Jim Tressel. Fah Get about it! This weekend I made a trip to the Big Apple for a little recruiting. Too bad all I recruited was crabs, and some dank schwag. I went and saw Avenue Q. It was OK. I like puppets.

I got a hot tip on a Tailback at Marcus Garvey High School in East Harlem. Now I don't know much about New York, but from what I've heard there are quite a lot of street gangs. Now I've reached out to troubled youths, Maurice Clarette, Troy Smith, Andy Katsemoyer, but I've never had to deal with New York Street Gangs. To prepare I rented The Warriors from Blockbuster. I also listened to Mase's Harlem World. I watched it over and over and over. As you can see by this outfit, within a few days I was fully able to assimilate into New York gang culture, thanks to this movie. At least I would have been, except I got picked up in the park on my way uptown. I made the mistake of getting off the subway on Park Ave. to get a Choco Taco from an ice cream vendor.

Ah well, live and learn.

Et Tu Brutus?

It's Always Sunny In Columbus, Ohio

Hey there sports fans, it's me Tressel, Coach Jimmy Tressel. Hope you all had a great fourth of July. Mine was pretty sweet until the boys in blue showed up and started hassling me about an incident involving my neighbor's dog and some badasssed bottle rockets I stole from some kids down the street. Gee wiz, people are so uptight sometimes.

So the other night, I hit the town with my favorite OSU booster Bob. He's an ok guy but he likes to party. He promised to hook us up with some classy call girls so I said I'd catch the bill at dinner. He picked out a sweet little redhead with big cans for the coach and a little Asian one for himself. About eight bottles of wine into our meal things were going swimmingly until our waitress totally flaked out. I know that decent customer service is a thing of the past now a days, but Bob only grabbed her ass like twice. She was Indian or some kind of Spanish and didn't even recognize who I was. So I dumped some wine on Bob's hooker and asked the waitress to go in the back for some soda water, then we split. Bob grabbed the girls and I grabbed the Make-A-Wish kid and we jumped in my dodge omni that I tricked out to look like a buckeye helmet.

Oh yeah, I got stuck with one of those Make-A-Wish cancer kids for the day and had to bring him along. I thought we'd do something for the kid so we decided to get high and go to Lazer Planet, one of those laser tag joints. My old cat Scarlet had cancer and I had to crack it in the head with an ashtray and toss it in the fireplace with some gasoline for a Viking burial. It still makes me sad sometimes thinking about those fuzzy paws and those curious little green eyes (and all that sizzling, yuck). So I've got a soft spot for those creepy little cancer kids.

We get there - get suited up and were having a great time until the kid kept lighting me up in the back. I told him to get lost, he was totally messing up my score in the rankings. Out of nowhere the little bastard kicks your favorite coach flat in the old sperm wallet. After I recovered I got up took my belt off and strapped him to a post. I must have scored like 800 points on him before I got back to my regular attack. Needless to say "Boba Fett", that's my laser tag handle, ranked numero uno. We split and headed for the Holiday Inn. I pretended to look for the kid for a couple minutes so the girls wouldn't think I was a jerk.

We got there, ordered some bubbly and cheeseburgers, then tore the room apart and made it into an obstacle coarse. After a couple rounds of naked freeze tag and a game I call Goblin', it was time to turn the lights low and get down to business. All in all, it was a darn good time.

So here I am at Casa de Tressel looking to just wind down and relax. I walked in the door and Mrs. T was steaming. She was barking something about the Make-A-Wish people calling the house all morning. All I wanted to do was stop the cast of Stomp from performing in my skull, I gave her some cash and sent her ass to the mall. The phone's off the hook now and I'm getting ready to catch up on some cartoons I TiVo-ed, drink some orange pop, eat some cheetos, and relax.

What a night. I bet that Make-A-Wish kid is wishing he didn't kick me in the nuts. Gosh, I'd better get that belt back soon, my kids gave it to me last Christmas. The belt buckle says Big Jim.


Peace.

Yeah... whatever.

Hello neighbor, it's me Tressel, Coach Jimmy Tressel, some of you out there in Tressel's World have been complaining about the coach not posting enough. Well let me lift my balls up off your chin long enough to explain to you that I have this team that I coach called the Ohio State Fucking Buckeyes, an interplanetary force of cosmic destructive awesomeness, don't forget that. I figure that if I get another bowl game under my belt Jimmy T"s going to be getting some Hollywood pussy, at least a Desperate Housewife or two. That's why I've been working extra hard this year.

Have you ever had to punch your nextdoor neighbor in the nuts just because you slapped his wife's fat ass and passed out in his yard, woke up next to his teenage daughter and made sweet love to her behind their garage while the sun gently rose to start a new beautiful day and maybe gave her the clap? I have.

Is anyone watching any of this world cup nonsense? It's hard not to. The games are on like four channels. I was stoned out of my gourd last week in some chick's dorm room watching a game on the Spanish channel. I kind of got into it for a second but then I realized that I was just high and the chick and her roommate were both on the soccer team and I was hoping to get some action off the roommate. It was kind of like when you're surfing the porn super highway, you know the interweb, and you see a picture of some skank who has a weird vagina (a really meaty one, maybe a clenis or just one of those big ones that goes from the ass to the belly button) and you think that's hot, just because it's weird. But then your like no - that's just weird. That's how I felt watching soccer.

Sure I'll have my agents go kidnap some Scandinavian kid who plays soccer when I need a new kicker, but that game is way retarded. Think of the guys who played soccer at your high school. They were usually skinny or short, had bad skin - goofyassed haircuts and were most likely foreign. No son of mine legitimate or not will ever play that girl sport. What self respecting sports fan could appreciate a sport responsible for promoting the mullet?

That's all for now kids. The Coach has grown up stuff to do. I'm keepin' it loose so keep it tight, ladies leave the door unlocked I'll be by later tonight.

Stephen Colbert's Ear

Hello earthlings, it's me Jim Tressel, Coach Jim Tressel. Just here to share some wisdom and rhymes with all my little b(f)ucknuts. Did you know that my dick is so big that my dick has it's own dick and it's dick is bigger than yours? My dick is so big it doesn't even return Spielberg's calls. There's a new movie coming out this fall called Godzilla vs. My Dick. One time I fucked a car wash and I gave it stretch marks. I pay my dick rent. Shucks, my urologist keeps a ladder in his office. My dick is so big that when I make it angry, it rips it's shirt off, turns green and it beats me. Sit back & buckle up and while I drop some sugary, rhymic treasures upon your common, simple, suburban lives. Don't hate the players or the game, just hate youself if your strategy's lame. My shit's tight like Mary Kate and Ashley circa. 1987 tonight. Feel the the flow, sniff some blow and let me roll.



i bust big scarlet & grey nuts
on dirty, slutty co-eds butts
i'll break your weak-ass leg
like i'm breakin' an egg
scamble your punk-ass face
while i rock this stinkin' place
yo mamma's got a crocked titty
like stephen colbert's ear
so make me a sammich
and get me a beer
i come correct - right
that's why my shit's tight
you didn't know your girl cries
when i lick her tender thighs
punks scatter to the walls
they know i came to break balls
you're on your broke-ass knees
while i'm countin' my cheese
cuz it's a breeze
i uses to nail condoleez-a
your girls a nasty dog
she's got ticks and fleas-a
let the haters keep their hate
couldn't lick my plate
booster money keeps my boys
from going upstate
coach jimmy t. is up in this hizzy
laddies get undrizzy
laddies get bizzy
then they get outzy
cuz jimmy's got cloutzy
sit on it - spin around
shut your mouth
after i punch the clown
don't let the door hit ya
where jimmy just bit ya
peace.

Soul Patrol

Word up ho, it's me Jim Tressel, Coach Jim Tressel. I've been so busy with stupid work stuff lately. It seems like every time I try to sit down and relax, some moron screws shit up and I've got to go and serve up some of my signature ass kick salad. Gee wiz, it just got to be too much so I decided to slow it down a little. I locked the door to my office, cleared all the spank mags off of my desk, got out my pencil and lit up a joint. So before this pile of awesome hits wax, here's my newest slice of lyrical street wisdom.



makin' queens of the galaxy scream
look at my pants they're starting to steam
sometimes I like em' chubby when I'm drinkin' jim beam
got more sweat on my hog than Barbarino or Epstein
so welcome back, put you face on my sack
here's a razor-shave the hair off my back
dropped my pants-now its time to attack
I'm droppin bombs on your face like a kid in irac
the big red vest is better than the rest
my hands are tired from signin' big ol' breasts
please give it a rest if that bush is a mess
The coach's got no time to mess with a crow's nest
believe what you hear-the rumors aren't fake
my dick's like a snake thet swallowed a rake
all the pretty ladies can't wait to partake
if I don't slow down my dick is gonna break
peace.

DaVinci Code Fever

Hey there fellow cinematequees, it's me Tressel, Coach Jim Tressel, and like most of you out there in Tressel's World, I've been suffering from a severe case of Davinci code fever. Now, I'm not officially a literary critic, but I do happen to mold young minds in one of the finest academic institutions in this great country of ours, and as such, I feel that I have a certain penchant for the art of the written word. After all, I write a blog. It is for this reason that I can make the following assertion...Dan Brown is a genius!

I mean it. This guy is a hell of writer, and might I add, it's about time people woke up and realized the treachery of the Catholic Church, and it's shadow organizations like Opus Dei. Kudos to you Dan Brown, for having the courage to expose their treachery.

But I digress.

Enough politics, I loved the book, but as for the movie....I really loved it! This is the must see movie of the year. Tom Hanks delivers yet another stellar performance in a movie chock full of edge of your seat excitement. Seeking to escape the oppresive summer heat? Well, this isn't the movie for you, because the chemistry/sexual tension between Hanks and (Audrey) Tatou sets the screen a' sizzle! This is far and away his finest performance since Forest Gump, which If you remember, I also gave two Bucks up,(because after all, life really is like a box of chocolates).

This has to be director, Ron Howard's finest film since Grinch. When is the academy going to give this man his due? Yeah, I know he already has an Oscar or two, but seriously, they should deify this guy. I mean it, he's the Frank Capra of this generation. Just give him an Oscar everytime he makes a movie. That's what I say.

Well, that's all for now. Until next time, pass the popcorn!

Looking Back, Looking Forward

Hey there, Buckaroos! Last weekend, I was over at Ken Blackwell's House looking through his medicine cabinet hoping to score some pain killers when I found a bottle of penicillin. It sure did bring back some memories. It also made me think about One Tit Mary and how our relationship has grown over the years. She's the hooker that found me face down in the gutter and taught me how to open up my heart and express the things that were trapped there for so many years. She also taught me how to cook up a mean batch of crack cocaine. This poem's for you, you nasty old ho.

An Ode to One Tit Mary

For a prostitute
I am absolute
though your teeth are few
that your heart is true

Having only one tit
never slowed you a bit
you've always come through
when my balls were blue

You walk with a limp
cuz, now I'm your pimp
keepin' it so sleazy
you make pimpin' easy

So get my 300 by nine tonight bitch
or they'll find your old nasty rotten whore ass in a ditch

Now Pinch Hitting for Mrs. T...

Tressel here. Coach Jim Tressel. How are all my little Buck Nuts? Good? Yeah, well I've been sleeping at a goddamn Motel 6 for the last few days thanks to this stupid blog, so you can all rot in hell. I hope you guys enjoy this. I hope it was worth it. Because apparently Mrs. Tressel doesn't enjoy the World.

I guess she found a link to this blog on some message board for baking, or laundry, or cooking dinner, or whatever the hell it is she does for fun when I'm at work paying the mutha fuckin' bills. Needless to say, she didn't take to kindly to the photos from Spring Break.

But I guess that's the risk you take with this new and exciting medium that is the blog-O-sphere. No-Holds-Barred Truth, that's what this blog is about. I'm not pulling punches. I'm not holding back. There's a truth inside me, and it needs a place to breath. This blog is that place.

That being said, what a crazy weekend. So with the Mrs. not talking to me, I needed someone to take to Ken Blackwell's Key Parrty/Fund Raiser this weekend. I've said it once and I'll say it again, thank god for prostitutes. Sure enough no one attending, not Bob Taft, not Wally O'Dell, and certainly not Ken Blackwell or any of Ohio's other prominent Republicans noticed. Let's just say Shanta earned her twenty bucks. Unfortunately she gave everyone crabs. Still, it's not like its AIDS, and it's certainly nothing a little topical ointment can't take care of.

Honey, if you're reading this. Let's stop the fussin' and get back to mussin'. I miss you.

I also need you to pick up my drycleaning.

Penny Pinchin' Pointers

Hey there truebelievers, it's me, Tressel, Coach Jim Tressel. This week, I'm going to start a new segment I'll be calling Coach's Penny Pinchin' Pointers for Particular Pals. I'll be sharing all kinds of new and exciting ways for you to stretch that dollar the extra mile. Lord knows we could all save a few bucks what with the price of gas going through the fucking roof and all.

So just last week my wife put filters on our AOL to keep me from being able to download pornography. I know, I know, what a cunt. Well, rather than spend tens of thousands of dollars on Pornographic videos and magazines like I did in the old days before the internet, I came up with a little scheme to get a nce spank without breaking the bank.

I visit fertility clinics pretending to be interested in making a deposit. Not only do I leave with an extra hundred bucks, but I also take the porn with me, by sneaking it out under my jacket. Now, I know what you're thinking, "But coach, I don't want my seed out there floatin around. What if some kid comes knockin' at my door in 18 years wantin some money or a hug or something?"

Don't worry, I already thought of that. Keep in mind I don't want any more illegitimate children, myself. That's how I wound up addicted to porno in the first place. Believe me, I could get a real woman if I wanted to. I just can't afford the paternity suits. Also, I got an image to maintain. What I do is real simple. I sneak a couple mayonaise packets in my pocket. Simple, easy, and effective. It's also kind of funny when you picture the look on Susie Man-haters face when she shoots a load of Helman's up the beave instead of Coach Jimmy's man-juice. Ha! Nine months and out pops a tuna on Rye!!! Better yet, next time marry a real man, instead of some Nancy who shoots blanks.



That'll teach ya, to bypass naturual sex!!! Man, there's nothing more beautiful than a man and a woman fucking. Mmmm Mmmm. Nature.

Well, that's this week's tip. Tune in next week when I'll tell you how to feed a family of six with just a box of Shake 'n Bake and a half cup of Crisco. Mmmm Mmm can't wait. See ya then, and keep on pinchin'!!!!

:)

Scarlett vs. Who Gives a Flying Fuck

Hey kids, it's your old pal, Tressel. Coach Jim Tressel. Yeah, I know it's been a while since I've updated. Sorry I guess I've just been busy coaching the greatest football team that ever emerged from god's vagina. Hey! Who likes ice cream. So, yeah last weekend....about that giant waste of time you assholes call an excuse to get drunk, the Scarlett and Grey Game. whoopity fuckin do. Seriously, who get's off watching a team play themself? It's a fucking scrimmage you jerk-asses. The real deal don't start till August, so simmer down for I bust out my thongs and serve up some ass-kick salad. So who were you cheering for? "Oh, I just like to see our boys out there givin it their all." Hey, fuck you. You just want an excuse to eat bratwurst and drink Beast in the back of your lame ass Winebago, maybe score some underage cooch with the offer of some contra-band skunk brew. Did you even pay attention to the score? Oh, wait, there wasn't one. You people make me sick. I had to be there, It's my job, but you dicklicks could have been out enjoying a beautiful spring day. Riding bikes, or hoovercrafts, rock-climbing, going to Home Depot, whatever it is lame-ass whiteys do on their day off. Still, make sure you buy plenty of our new jerseys. Every jersey we sell goes to my favorite charity, The Buy Jim Tressel a new Hoovercraft Foundation.

So what's with this band OAR. They fucking suck. I guess it stands for Of A Revolution, but my guess is, the only revolution these cheese dicks are interested in pertains to rennovations at their local Gap. I've always said, the only thing that sucks more than Dave Matthews is people who want to be Dave Matthews.

I think they should be called TWG...Turds With Guitars. Seriously. What about these guys says revolution. Oh yeah, like, I'm gonna listen to a bunch of Frat Douche's try and play reggae music, and that's gonna inspire me to overthrow the corrupt oppressive regime that won't legalize pot. Way to rage against the machine there, boyos. Bob Marley's tumor ridden, maggot infested corpse is wailing in his grave. God, bring on the Steeley Dan for Chrissakes. How come all those guys from Skynnard had to die in a plane crash,(at least the one's that didn't suck) but these scrotes are still struttin' around my town bogartin' all my snatch!

That song, Crazy Game of Poker...it fucking sucks. How can you jam for 20 minutes about a game of poker. If these fuck-holes ever attended one of my crazy games of poker, they'd probably get stabbed...or shot. It's re-fucking-tarded. It'd be one thing if this poor excuse for a Steve Miller Band could actually play their instruments, but they suck. At best, I would describe them as a Spin Doctors tribute band.

Speaking of assholes...

I was watching the NBA playoffs this last week, and I just want to say, fuck you, Brent Musburger! Go Cavs.

Down and Out on Spring Break

Tressel, here. Coach Jim Tressel. Man, what a couple weeks I've had. Haven't updated much in the last two weeks. I was headed down to the Winter Music Conference in Miami Florida. Wanted to show off some of my fat beats, switch my plates with my good friend Carl Cox. Some of you might know of me by my stage name, DJ Galactic Star Crunch. Unfortunately I never made it there. That's cause, like a dumbass, I agreed to carpool with Skeete, who was headed down to Panama City for Spring Break. Needless to say, I wound up partying with him for two weeks and doing quite a bit of drugs. Most of the last two weeks is a blur. I remember very little between March 28, and yesterday morning at about 3am, when I woke up face down in a pool of someone elses vomit, wearing nothing but a sweater vest, in a parking lot of a Chick Fil-A in Huntsville, Alabama. There was a syringe in my arm with half a speedball still in it. Needless to say, I pushed the rest through, cleaned the blood off my ass, and then after waiting in the bushes for an hour, beat a trucker unconsious, took his pants, and wallet, and hopped a Gray Hound to Ohio. Needless to say I'm now home safe, back with the misses, in Columbus. Wouldn't you know it, but tucked into the front pocket of my sweater vest was a disposable camera. Here a some of the pictures. I don't know what the fuck I was on, that I decided to wear this shirt, but I do remember that the woman behind me could bounce on a stick o' meat like nobody's business. Man, the things that lady was willing to do for beads, there's nothing like an experienced woman.

Still, one of the best things about going down to spring break is reaching out to the young people. Check out these skanks. All I remember about these girls is they really liked to listen to OAR. What a fucking terrible band.

Somehow, I'm not sure how, but somehow I wound up on a boat.

Did I mention I did a lot of coke?

So needless to say, it's a miracle I'm still alive. I think next year, I'm gonna take it a little easier.

Some Space Poetry

Yeah, what's up, fuckers? It's Tressel. Coach Jim Tressel. Last week I was up in Cleveland on a recruiting mission. Caught a free Andrew Bird Show up in Cleveland. It was fun. Fuck you. I had so much inspiration. I wrote some poetry.



space, space. So fuckin big.
I'm a worm, you're a pig.

Space space so fucking deep.
I think about you in my sleep.

Writer's Workshop

Hello world, it's me, Tressel. Coach Jim Tressel. I kinda got a problem, and I was hoping some of you out there in Tressel's World could give me a hand. As many of my avid readers may know, I'm currently working on a screen play. It's kind of a sci-fi musical, but I don't really wanna confine it to genres. Any how, the basic premise is in the year 3,000 AD, the future, there's this football Coach. He's an android. The thing is, he has a microchip that lets him feel emotions, and because of this microchip, he won't go pro, even though he should, you know, for the money. He doesn't though, cause he cares about the kids, cause of his chip.Then one his kids get's busted by the Intergalactic Space Police for taking money from a booster rocket, and he's kind of in the dumps about that. He's really tormented. So I'm kind of stuck in this scene where he confronts his creator, a scientist. He's mad, and he wants to express his anger, but he's torn, because it's his creator.

COACH: Why did you make me love. All I want is to be free. Free of emotions. Free to go pro. I could make so much money. Oh why, oh why did you make me care.

SCIENTIST: It is because I care for you, that I made you love. Look inside. You know that what I did was right. I made you love, because I love you.

COACH: But what is the point of love, if all it brings you is pain.

SCIENTIST: Love has brought you more than pain. What about all the beautiful queens of all the alien races of the galaxy. They all want you to pleasure them. Could this be without your humanity.

COACH: They only want to be with me for my sexual stamina. My robotic cock. They could care less about my heart. My fake, silicon heart. How it burns beneath my vest. My sweater vest.

SCIENTIST: I care about your heart. And your vest. It doesn't look stupid.

So basically I think this could go one of two ways.

Option 1: the Coach punches the scientist in the chest and rips his heart out. Then he kicks him out of an air-lock. Personally, I think it's the most realistic contingency, and it also provides a good plot twist. I forgot to mention this, but the scientist is also the President of Jupiter, so kicking him out of an airlock means coach is in a lot of trouble. I mean from there it would get really exciting, and basically it writes itself.

Unfortunately I wrote this really great musical number that Coach and the Scientist could go into. The Coach would sing about the paradox of his humanity and his imortality, his longing to be free, and the Scientist would sing about how he's always wanted a son, and now he kind of has one, but it's too bad his son is angry at him. It ends with them embracing in mutual love and forgiveness. It's a tear jerker, but it results in some serious writer's block.

I don't know. What do you guys think would make a better story?

Look at my fat fucking cat!

I'm really worried about the Buckster. Ever since his old lady skipped town, he's done nothing but eat Ringdings and watch Maury Povich. Speaking of which, that Maury Povich is a sick fuck. Truly the most evil person on this planet, yesterday's episode was "My Baby's Daddy, just Might be my Daddy." I'll be honest, it made me want to put a gun in my mouth, that's how fucking sad it made me feel for humanity. But that was a breif stint of suicidal tendency. Bucky's been on suicide watch for the last three weeks. Clarette doesn't help much; he's been hanging around alot, as well. The other day I came home from a recruiting trip, and Bucky and Clarette are on my couch, eatin' Ringdings, drikin' Shclitz. The place reeked of skunk-ass dirt weed. Enough was enough. I was like, "Get a job....both of you! Quick mopin' around and feelin sorry for yourselves already." Man, the two of them are just not good for each other at all. Talk about your co-dependencies. I think Maurice and Bucky have both pretty much given up. Maurice said he's just gonna eat Hostess snack cakes until he's fat enough to qualify for workman's comp, an Idea I think he got from an episode of Maury Povich. He's also talking about jumping in front of cars and suing the people that hit him. Another idea from Maury Povich.

Can cat's file for workman's comp? How do they fill out the forms without opposable thumbs. That sound's like another episode of Maury Povich. "My cat is so disgustingly obese, he want's to file workman's comp." Could be good. Those two need to get laid, seriously. Only problem is I don't think the Buckster could find his pecker.

Pray for them.