Some smart people are typing a lot of words about this hypothetical conference realignment. Some idiots have chimed in too while stopping by here for their daily HenryJames fix. But Google Analytics counts every eyeball as equal so they won't be singled out. Carnies from Bastrop to Burma, we love you all the same.

You're going to hear a lot of arcane terms thrown out there as to what will ultimately get this conference realignment train out of the station: R&D! Senate seats! TV markets! Prestige! Superconferences! HARD CASH MONEY, BITCHES. CIC! Illuminati type shit that would give Alex Jones morning wood. As PB@BON smartly opined, the online conjecture is like SIMS for sports addicts with real.time.consequences!

"Uh, Brickhorn, did you just siphon the womens volleyball team's annual budget so you could offer Bode Miller $5 million to come coach our basketball team?"

"What, he grew up on a farm and didn't wear clothes until he was six. He has the complete disdain for discipline while still achieving the unexpectedly good results that this team needs. I'm a lawyer ... truuust me."

Well, Dennis Dodd says you losers can all get back to World of Warcraft because Texas isn't going anywhere. He also probably follows Dan Beebe on Twitter. And if you actually clicked and read all of those links and still made it back here, please defect and start following some team in the Ivy League.

FORGET EVERYTHING YOU'VE READ TO DATE.

We are going to show you the simple answer to this dilemma in easy to understand pictures. Just like in Scipio's favorite book, The Secret, the answer has been laying in front of you all this time awaiting the realization and acceptance of certain special paired atomic charges that only you can see. Except we haven't pillaged a few hundred million off this banal concept like that hack from England. (No, not Huckleberry. He's basically TechnoViking with better math skills.)

I'm talking about William Walker Atkinson. The guy wrote a 100 books in his life, probably died broke and alone with syphilis, and remained largely unknown until an Australian bitch named Rhonda co-opted his New Thought movement with some slick marketing and a red wax seal dripping down the cover befitting of a Trips Right PPT. (Preferred Porn Title, i.e., The Rise and Fall of the Italian Empress, 1986.)

BUT WHAT'S INSIDE?! WHAT'S THE SECRET, VASHERIZED?!

4 million idiots are still wondering. See how easy it is to get off topic when it comes to conference realignment?

Before we start the Big 10 vs Pac 10 partially-safe-for-work-depending-on-the-job slide show there is one fact Huckleberry wants you to consider when debating the merits of a potential move to the Pac 10 vs the Big 10:

The Big 10 actually has 11 teams. /realignment facepalm #1.

Either those idiots can't count or they're lying to us. Or both, because they have Senate aspirations.

Studies somewhere would probably show that visual comparisons are more effective in distilling the merits of two competing options to the average sports fan than a 10,000 word white paper riddled with bullet points and legistlative text. Pictures tell a story in ways that words can't and this is especially useful for Barkers like myself who once had a vocabulary of more than 30,000 words only to see it whittled down to around 300 consonant-heavy phonemes from subsisting on Ripley's Eat It or Not! preferred diet of Adderrall, tacodeli, medical marijuana, TMZ, and beer.

Why Texas should go to the Pac 10 over the shitty, cold, & grey Big 10

Social Studies / Ms. Stroud / University of Phoenix / 9 - 11 p.m CST

Big 10

Just another October game in Minny.

Tailgating at Michigan State.

Indiana's Cheerleaders. Strong.

Mascot fail: A Badger cloned with maniacal twin Skunks.

Meet Scylla & Charybdis of the Big 10. THESE IMAGES ARE NOT WHAT THEY APPEAR TO BE. Jenna and Holly are photoshopped Las Vegas strippers that can walk on water and will END YOUR MARRIAGE.

Pac 10

If you drink enough it looks burnt orange.

Awesome white shoes.

/Up 45-0 at halftime against Washington, heads to Rock & Roll Museum.

Tiger isn't the only one getting paid by Nike.

Leslie has relatives in Oregon!

This is the third string.

I dare you to disagree with this visual thesis. Burn some couches, start a riot, insult my family, slap a chick in the face, or get slapped in the face by a chick from Columbus like HenryJames. The only people I'm scared of right now are Oregon skill position players, Rick Barnes, and people with backtaxes and a misguided death wish that also know how to fly planes.

Or just let a Big 10 fan tell you himself how a simple trip from Harrisburg to Happy Valley can leave one longing for a more enjoyable gameday experience, to put it kindly.

8:30 a.m. -- Progressed quite well along 322 West. 40 degrees and drizzly. Light traffic. Floating along without a care in the world, as seen below:

9:00 a.m. -- The long, horrifying climb into the mountains of central Pennsylvania produces a few giant snowflakes, then a few more. Still, nothing terrible that required any sort of overly cautious driving.

9:02 a.m. -- Holy crap we're going to die, or be forced into cannibalism like that movie Alive. Roads turn awful as we get within 25 miles of State College. Cars struggling to remain on the road. Actual picture:

Does not go well with burnt orange.

10:45 a.m. -- We roll into the Red lot next to the stadium and nobody is there. And okay, by "nobody", I mean that the lot is approximately 10% full. The whole scene was rather surreal, and I compared it to when a blizzard hits a city and there's just nothing but quiet in the place of usual chaos. Only there was no blizzard. A few occasional raindrops or snowflakes, but that's it. And the parking lots remained empty throughout the morning. One of our Jersey friends snapped this picture around noon, about three parking rows from the stadium:

"Come late, be quiet, wear anything, leave whenever ... if you can even get here!"

"Really, Joe? REALLY?! There's nobody fucking here to even see you guys kick our ass! I AM THE MAN THAT DELIVERED VINCE YOUNG!"

Sad Valley, imo.

Tickets were available for $10 outside the stadium. Penn State listed the attendance at 107,981. I know that's based on how many tickets are sold, but if there were more than 65,000 inside that stadium at any point of the afternoon, I would be shocked. Even if you bought a ticket for Row 94 in section NEU, you could've made your way down to Joe Paterno's lap by the end of the first quarter.

This weather you see in central Texas right now is considered a spring day in Sheboygan. Meanwhile, in San Francisco, Scipio is sunbathing nude again on his bachelor pad rooftop, scaring away the women and inciting a riot in the pants of every Bay Area male with binoculars, which is like all of them.

So let's tally the results:

Big 10
Top heavy (football)
Bottom heavy (women)
Cold
Snowy
Barren
Remote
Rust belt views
Connecting flights
Old schools (philosophically, literally, physically)
Sweater vests
Be in bed by 8:30
Recruit a Jordan Hicks once every 10 years. Maybe.

Pac 10
Sunny
Temperate
Babes
Ocean
Mountains
Real cities
NCAA baseball
Non-stop flights
The chance to beat USC every year
All around bacchanalia
Fertile recruiting grounds
Looting fertile mounds

Cast your votes. I've cast mine. Head west, sons and daughters of the south.