I bought an eagle and a tiger from an undisclosed location in Oklahoma three years ago. Since then I've kept them in my shed, hot-boxing them in goat-weed incense and blaring Barry White on loop at -10Hz. Last spring, the miracle of sweaty, feathery, furry copulation yielded a single batch of 3 tiger-eagle hybrid griffin eggs... T&P to their mother, who was ripped in twain during coitus.
One egg, named Horse-Collar, was consumed before hatching, balut style, to represent our season hopes that were crushed before fully developing in 2013. The second egg, named Bo, was used to replicate the Wrecking Crew goal-line stand of the '86 Cotton Bowl and thrown at a brick wall.
But the third crime against nature... he would have the greatest honor of all. I shoved the egg down the tiger's throat to incubate and let him hatch via patri****y, growing big and strong on the intestines of his own father. Finally he spring fourth from the tiger's belly, born in blood, screeching with the voice of its mother and clawing gristle from its path with the claws of his father... Malzahn the Tiger-Griffin had arrived.
I raised him as my own, feeding him an offering of every team we played... chicken for the USCe, the neighbors dog for Miss St, seamen for Vandy (not mine), bacon for Arky etc. until he reached full size. I poured my soul, sweat, and blood into his upbringing to ensure he was the perfect offering.
Then this morning I got into a 3-point stance our o-line would be proud of and body-checked him into a kiln, roasting him alive before tearing his warm, wet heart from his rib cage and eating it with a side of griffin steak 'n wings cause it's MOTHER F***ING GAMEDAY
