Final Word
0
Posted
February 4, 2010 in
News
Happy Super Bowl Sunday everybody, my favorite holiday of the year!
Sure Hallmark would argue that this Sunday is not technically an official holiday. But then again Hallmark thinks $4.50 is a reasonable price for a folded piece of colored paper and that every occasion should be celebrated with a talking piece of plastic crap.
Super Bowl Sunday is a time when the entire world turns its eyes to watch an American Idol winner butcher our national anthem while a trio of Stealth bombers streaks across the top of a cheering football stadium. Why? Because it reminds other countries that, sure, the United States likes playing a sport that looks completely ridiculous to everyone else. But we also invented a fleet of nuclear-weaponized supersonic jets completely undetectable by radar, so keep your soccer-lovin‘ opinions to yourself, mmkay?
This year marks Super Bowl XLIV. No one has any idea what the Roman numerals actually stand for, but they were prophesied in the Mayan calendar by an ancient astrologer named Brent Musburger.
More than 100 million people will watch the Super Bowl on television this year, which apparently is also the best time to talk about erections. Feel free to talk about your erections during the Super Bowl, though most of the erection discussion will probably occur during 30-second commercials for Cialis, Levitra and Viagra.
Now typically when I’m watching sweaty 300-pound men in tight pants put their hands between each other’s legs on TV, surrounded by friends, family and the neighbor girl who swears she’s only 15, I don’t like to talk about my ability or inability to sustain an erection—or worst-case scenario, an erection lasting more than 3 hours known as priapism* (*in which case you really should consult a physician immediately). But advertisers seem to think this is the best time to talk about erections, which means it’s a great time for you to go outside and check out the barbecue!
Most Super Bowl parties have a grill master who is in charge of all the outdoor cooking. The grill master isn’t necessarily the person most qualified to be handling the party’s food preparation. In most cases, he’s either the most antisocial or the person who cares the least about football. In both scenarios, he’s usually the drunkest so just make sure he remembers which hand is holding the lighter fluid.
In reality it doesn’t matter who’s in charge of cooking because there really isn’t much to barbecuing. It’s the secret us men have been trying to withhold ever since fire was invented. Most of us don’t know what the hell were doing out there, other than pushing meat around a grill and hoping none of the wieners falls through the slits. And speaking of wieners, the last Viagra commercial just ended which means it’s halftime!
This year’s Super Bowl Halftime Show features The Who, which was a really great rock ‘n’ roll band back when, coincidentally, football was invented. The Super Bowl Halftime Show could also be called the Hey I Thought They Were Dead Show or Guess Which Shriveled Fruit the 65-Year-Old Lead Singer’s Butt Looks Like in Stretch Pants Show. The only way The Who could be considered more of sellouts would be if they wore jumpsuits and actually projected commercials for Viagra on the suits while they performed. I just hope The Who plays some of their biggest hits, such as the theme song to CSI. Or who could forget the timeless classic, CSI: Miami? Or CSI: NY? I just shudder to think what Taylor Swift is going to look like at 65 in a bedazzled unitard singing the theme song to CSI: 2054.
Believe it or not, the Super Bowl also features an actual game. But since it’s preceded by seven hours of pregame shows and interrupted during every other play by The Who or an erection commercial, it doesn’t usually end until after 7 p.m. And by that time you’re on your fourth kielbasa and fifth beer, drooling facedown into a sofa cushion with a dog licking nacho cheese sauce off of your kneecap (which would be less disturbing if it was your dog or you had actually eaten nachos).
Contact Jeff Girod at finalword@ieweekly.com
Happy Super Bowl Sunday everybody, my favorite holiday of the year!
Sure Hallmark would argue that this Sunday is not technically an official holiday. But then again Hallmark thinks $4.50 is a reasonable price for a folded piece of colored paper and that every occasion should be celebrated with a talking piece of plastic crap.
Super Bowl Sunday is a time when the entire world turns its eyes to watch an American Idol winner butcher our national anthem while a trio of Stealth bombers streaks across the top of a cheering football stadium. Why? Because it reminds other countries that, sure, the United States likes playing a sport that looks completely ridiculous to everyone else. But we also invented a fleet of nuclear-weaponized supersonic jets completely undetectable by radar, so keep your soccer-lovin‘ opinions to yourself, mmkay?
This year marks Super Bowl XLIV. No one has any idea what the Roman numerals actually stand for, but they were prophesied in the Mayan calendar by an ancient astrologer named Brent Musburger.
More than 100 million people will watch the Super Bowl on television this year, which apparently is also the best time to talk about erections. Feel free to talk about your erections during the Super Bowl, though most of the erection discussion will probably occur during 30-second commercials for Cialis, Levitra and Viagra.
Now typically when I’m watching sweaty 300-pound men in tight pants put their hands between each other’s legs on TV, surrounded by friends, family and the neighbor girl who swears she’s only 15, I don’t like to talk about my ability or inability to sustain an erection—or worst-case scenario, an erection lasting more than 3 hours known as priapism* (*in which case you really should consult a physician immediately). But advertisers seem to think this is the best time to talk about erections, which means it’s a great time for you to go outside and check out the barbecue!
Most Super Bowl parties have a grill master who is in charge of all the outdoor cooking. The grill master isn’t necessarily the person most qualified to be handling the party’s food preparation. In most cases, he’s either the most antisocial or the person who cares the least about football. In both scenarios, he’s usually the drunkest so just make sure he remembers which hand is holding the lighter fluid.
In reality it doesn’t matter who’s in charge of cooking because there really isn’t much to barbecuing. It’s the secret us men have been trying to withhold ever since fire was invented. Most of us don’t know what the hell were doing out there, other than pushing meat around a grill and hoping none of the wieners falls through the slits. And speaking of wieners, the last Viagra commercial just ended which means it’s halftime!
This year’s Super Bowl Halftime Show features The Who, which was a really great rock ‘n’ roll band back when, coincidentally, football was invented. The Super Bowl Halftime Show could also be called the Hey I Thought They Were Dead Show or Guess Which Shriveled Fruit the 65-Year-Old Lead Singer’s Butt Looks Like in Stretch Pants Show. The only way The Who could be considered more of sellouts would be if they wore jumpsuits and actually projected commercials for Viagra on the suits while they performed. I just hope The Who plays some of their biggest hits, such as the theme song to CSI. Or who could forget the timeless classic, CSI: Miami? Or CSI: NY? I just shudder to think what Taylor Swift is going to look like at 65 in a bedazzled unitard singing the theme song to CSI: 2054.
Believe it or not, the Super Bowl also features an actual game. But since it’s preceded by seven hours of pregame shows and interrupted during every other play by The Who or an erection commercial, it doesn’t usually end until after 7 p.m. And by that time you’re on your fourth kielbasa and fifth beer, drooling facedown into a sofa cushion with a dog licking nacho cheese sauce off of your kneecap (which would be less disturbing if it was your dog or you had actually eaten nachos).
Contact Jeff Girod at finalword@ieweekly.com
