Saturday, February 2, 2013


Dan P

Dan tries a crack at displaying his poetic and literary skills as he shares his "passion" for the NFL title game tomorrow.

The Super Bowl is like having sex with a random woman after a long drought, standards be damned!  Sure it’s been awhile and sometimes a good “Smurfing” is in order and it doesn't matter if my team is in it.  I'm excited about the Super Bowl (hookup).  And everything up until the kickoff is perfect: the candles (buffalo wings) are roasting away, the wine (whiskey or beer) is on ice; it’s going to be a good night.  

The commercials (foreplay) are fun and we all have been checking our Square Cards for the 1st Quarter (unhooking the bra) hoping to hit the jackpot, but that's when it goes wrong.  It's halftime and the game isn't close and I have to watch some old rockers like the Rolling Stones bellow "Start Me Up" (Why is Mick Jagger prancing around like a kindergartner?—Ed) for the millionth time because somehow Janet Jackson's boobbie popped out one time--one freaking time!--and now we can't get any hot babes on stage (What about Beyonce?—Ed).  

"You look like I need another drink."
(photo courtesy of Felipe M.)
The food and liquor is at critical mass and I realized I've overindulged (guess I’ll be joining Superman in hell) and now I'm in trouble as the couch looks snug enough for a serene slumber as the food coma hits.  

And like any random lay, it’s amazing how fast perspective changes.  Only 90 minutes ago she (the Super Bowl) was this amazing treat and something I had been waiting for, but now I just want her to go away (get this beat down over with).  Shame overtakes me now.  This stupid football game that I had been anticipating for a couple of weeks now, even though my favorite team was not a participant, is just more attention being given to the talking ESPN-heads so they can continue to spread their tall tales and myths about player/coach/team legacies and recycle the rhetoric they had been vomiting all week.  The food, the drinks, the double entendres, and the pandering, “expert” commentary makes me feel dirty all over.  

My prediction for the Super Bowl?  I'm going to feel soiled and blemished. Especially if that deer-antler, muncher (the now morphed half-man, half-deer, Ray Lewis—Ed) wins on Sunday....

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