themightymjd.com is happy to bring you a series of previews for some of the bullshit college football bowl games coming up. You may find yourself in the position of not knowing a lot of some of the teams involved, and that’s okay. I don’t either. But that won’t stop me from making up things that, if you can manage to convince yourself are true, would certainly pique your interest in these games. And again, I should probably point out that none of this is factual. 100% made up. Probably.

East Carolina running back Chris Johnson has been South Florida wide receiver Ean Randolph’s best friend since grade school. The two grew up playing together in the midget leagues of Dade County, Florida, and went to the same high school. Johnson was even seat to be the best man at Ean’s wedding before Ean got cold feet at the last second, lied and told the preacher he was gay, laughed nervously, and ran as fast as he could from the chapel. Now Ean thinks that there’s a decent chance that he actually is gay, but he isn’t sure. The two shared a phone call recently in advance of the East Carolina vs. South Florida showdown in the PAPAJOHNS.com bowl.

Ean Randolph: What’s up, boy? You ready for this on Saturday?
Chris Johnson: Shit, I’m ready. I been ready to whoop yo’ ass since you stole my girlfriend in the 7th grade.
Ean Randolph: Hahaha! Man, you don’t forget nothin’. Believe me, though, dog, I didn’t really like her.
Chris Johnson: I’m just playin’, man. It’s cool.
Ean Randolph: No no no. I’m tryin’ to make it clear to you that I really didn’t like her. Like… not at all, man. Not even a little bit.
Chris Johnson: It was 7th grade, man. I ain’t sweatin’ that. Relax.
Ean Randolph: Okay. I’m cool. (Ean takes a deep breath.)
Chris Johnson: So, did you get this gift package from the Papa John’s people?
Ean Randolph: Yeah, I got mine.
Chris Johnson: Me too… and this is some BULLSHIT, man.
Ean Randolph: For real, dog. Best thing in there’s a digital camera … and that thing only got three megapixels. I can’t print no 5-by-7s on no three megapixel bullshit.
Chris Johnson: This thing’s beat. How the hell we gonna be in the Papa John’s bowl, and we ain’t get no pizza?
Ean Randolph: I’m hungry, too. They got some Superman shit goin’ on there, too.
Chris Johnson: Oh yeah?
Ean Randolph: Man, I heard them suckas in the Insight Bowl get an Xbox 360. Texas Tech ain’t even that good, man.
Ean Randolph: We gettin’ screwed on this deal.
Chris Johnson: Man, my brother plays for Oregon. He got some Pioneer navigation system.
Ean Randolph: Really?
Chris Johnson: Yeah, they hooked him up good. He had to wear that ugly greenish snot helmet, though.
Ean Randolph: Where’s your brother now?
Chris Johnson: He’s here, man. He came to see me before the game.
Ean Randolph: He got that navigation joint on him?
Chris Johnson: I think so. Why?
Ean Randolph: I want it.
Chris Johnson: He might sell it to you. I don’t know.
Ean Randolph: That ain’t what I’m sayin’.
Chris Johnson: What? You gonna steal it?
Ean Randolph: Oh, I’mma steal it. And you gonna help me.
Chris Johnson: I ain’t helpin’ you steal shit from my brother, man. You lost your damn mind.
Ean Randolph: Listen, man. You help me steal that Pioneer navigation joint, and I’ll drop three passes in the bowl game. Guaranteed. Three passes dropped. And if I score a touchdown, I’ll jack you off. Guaranteed.
Chris Johnson: You serious? Wait, what?
Ean Randolph: Three dropped passes, man.
Chris Johnson: You didn’t say nothin’ else?
Ean Randolph: Nope.
Chris Johnson: (laughs) Alright, man. You got a deal.

Randolph drives across town in a 1992 Buick Skylark which he has just stolen from his hotel parking lot. Within then minutes, he meets Chris in the lobby of Chris’s hotel, and they take the elevator back up to Chris’s 14th-floor suite. His brother Jeremiah is asleep on the couch. They begin whispering to each other.

Chris Johnson: There it is, man. All the free bowl game shit’s in that basket over there.
Ean Randolph: Oh, snap! He got a subscription to ESPN The Magazine, too? I’mma get that, too.
Chris Johnson: Dog, we got one of those in our baskets. You don’t need to take that one.
Ean Randolph: I need two, man. I love Jim Caple. You don’t even know how much I love Jim Caple.
Chris Johnson: Just hurry up, man. He gonna wake up, soon.
Ean Randolph: If he wakes up, I’mma kill him. (Ean pulls a Glock 23 from his waistband.)
Chris Johnson: What the hell… man, quit playin’. You ain’t gonna kill nobody. (Ean’s eyes are fixed on Jeremiah on the couch, his mouth slightly open, he steps closer to him.)
Ean Randolph: Man, he cute, too.
Chris Johnson: WHAT?
Ean Randolph: Nothin’, nothin’. Listen, I’mma gank that whole gift basket, and I’mma get out of here. I’ll catch you later, boy. You wanna go get some waffles?
Chris Johnson: What? No, I’m not gettin’ no waffles with you. Just get outta here, man, this whole deal is off. You crazy, man. Just get out.

Jeremiah rubs his eyes and begins to stir on the couch.

Chris Johnson: (whispering in Ean’s ear) Put that god damn gun away.
Jeremiah Johnson: Chris, what’s goin’ on? Ean? What are you doin’ here?
Ean Randolph: What up, boy? Yeah, it’s good to see you, man. Come on, man, let’s go get some waffles.
Jeremiah Johnson: Why are you holdin’ a gun?
Ean Randolph: Oh, I was gonna steal all yo’ shit. Yeah. But you awake now, it’s cool, we can talk about that later. Let’s get some waffles.
Jeremiah Johnson: (blank stare)
Chris Johnson: (sighs heavily)
Ean Randolph: What? Y’all don’t like waffles? Listen, Chris, man… maybe them three dropped passes wasn’t enough. I feel you on that. So what if I just go tonight and kill our quarterback? I’ll shoot Matt Grothe in the face tonight, no joke.
Chris Johnson: I don’t… I don’t understand what’s happening here.
Ean Randolph: No? Alright, I’ll tell you what. I’ll kill Grothe, get you a copy of our playbook, suck your brother off, and I’ll kill that live bull we have runnin’ out the tunnel before games, and then barbecue him for you later. And that’s just for the ESPN The Magazine subscription. Sound good?
Chris Johnson: (as he’s involuntarily urinating on the floor) Uh… you know what… let’s, um… let’s go get those waffles, man. Come on, let’s go.
Ean Randolph: YEAH. Waffles, baby. Here I COME. I love waffles like I love Jim Caple.

Ean Randolph put his weapon away and left the hotel room, at which point Chris Johnson locked the door behind him and called 911.

Ean Randolph: (yelling from the other side of the door) Yo, you comin’, man? Listen, I’ll see you there, I’m gettin’ kinda hungry. I promise you Grothe’s dead, though. I’mma take off. (singing as he walks away, to the tune of “O Christmas Tree) Oh, Waffles bitch, Oh, Waffles bitch… Oh Waffles bitch, oh waffles, bitch…