Your Guide to Super Bowl XLVIII

(via Wikipedia)

Q: What is the Super Bowl?

A: It’s a game of American football played between professional teams.

Q: Is this different from the Superb Owl?

A: No.

Q: So why is it different from any other game?

A: The Super Bowl is a much bigger game, with much higher stakes.

Q: I’m intrigued, explain more about these stakes.

A: In the Super Bowl, each touchdown is worth six points, unless the defense invokes the Vanderbilt Rule and successfully clubs at least three (3) baby seals before the extra point attempt. If the defense is able to Vandy in time, the score is worth only four and everyone has to wear Ralph Lauren, Chubbies, topsiders and speak in a southern drawl for the next five minutes. Additionally, the winning team may choose any eight virgins from the other team’s city.

Q: Anything else happen to the losing team?

A: They’re forced to stare at Roger Goodell’s dick until they go blind.

Q: This seems messed up.

A: You should see the NFL’s collective bargaining agreement.

Q: How many players are on each team?

A: 11 are on the field for each team at a time.

Q: Why 11?

A: To represent Jesus and the 10 Disciples.

Q: I’m not sure that’s right.

A: I’m a Catholic priest.

Q: So who’s playing in the Super Bowl?

A: The Seattle Seahawks (booooo) and the Denver Broncos (yay, I guess).

Q: Why do we like the Broncos better?

A:  While Seattle has some likeable players like Russell Wilson, Richard Sherman and Marshawn Lynch, they are also coached by an absolute douchenozzle. The Broncos, on the other hand, have a coach who overcame a heart surgery and a quarterback who overcame a spinal injury.

Q: Which team has that tight end who killed like eight people?

A: Neither, the Broncos actually defeated that team last week.

Q: Now I understand why we’re all rooting for Denver.

A: That, and it’s funny because Seattle doesn’t even have an NBA team any more.

Q: Low blow. What’s a “12th Man?”

A: A mythical creature native to the northwest United States, the 12th Man wanders wooded areas, scaring campers and complaining about the officiating in Super Bowl XL.

Q: Why do we use Roman numerals in naming the Super Bowl?

A: Because we ~fancy~.

Q: Where is the Super Bowl being played?

A: Just outside of New York City.

Q: Ohhh, so this is all about New York! That’s why we all care!

A: You are Satan.

Q: Teehee.

A: …Any more questions?

Q: Yeah, do we all get free Papa John’s if Peyton Manning wins?

A: No, but I do next time I order because I’m just one point short of a free pizza on Papajohns.com!

Q: How high will everyone in Washington and Colorado be?

A: OMG NO WAY THE TWO TEAMS PLAYING ARE FROM STATES THAT LEGALIZED POT YOU MUST BE THE FIRST PERSON TO NOTICE.

Q: How long ago was Janet’s wardrobe malfunction?

A: 10 years.

Q: That’s when I discovered my sexuality.

A: Now I’m sad.

Q: What if I just wanna watch for the commercials?

A: Totally fine! Just make sure to tell everyone that over and over and over during the game and act all annoyed when people cheer.

Q: Have you seen that Budweiser commercial with the puppy?!

A: IT CHANGED ME.

Q: NOTHING WILL BE THE SAME.

A: Good chat.

4 Nuisances Of Being Home

They say there’s no place like home. While it has been quite fantastic to spend some time relaxing at home with my family now that finals are over, there are certain aspects of being home that I had forgotten how much I don’t like. Indeed, sadly, home doesn’t consist solely of gourmet food and a nice bed. So without further ado, I present – in all my glorious bitching – four things that have bothered me since I’ve come home.

Nothing says "Christmas" like a shouting match with your father over light placement

4. Putting Up Christmas Lights
There’s just nothing like a Christmas tradition. Every December, my parents hand me a string of sorry-ass fucking Christmas lights and a ladder (which, incidentally, is about as stable as the Zambian government) and give me one objective: Make the 25-foot leafless tree in front of our house look slightly more festive and slightly less flaccid. It’s especially fun when, after an hour spent climbing around the tree like a paraplegic chimpanzee, I finish decorating the tree to discover that approximately a quarter of the lights actually function. Ultimately, though, it’s worth the Christmas cheer. Every time I look at that pathetic tree and the lights which appear to have been put up by a blind lemur, I am filled with an overwhelming sense of holiday spirit. And by holiday spirit, I mean uncontrollable rage.

3. Losing To My Parents in Scrabble
I don’t know about you guys, but I love shit-talking (Side note: Being from Denver, Tim “The Jesus” Tebow has regaled me with a whole anthology of shit-talking materials). Therefore, when my parents suggest a casual post-dinner Scrabble game, I immediately acquire the attitude of a theoretical lovechild of Terrell Owens and Pau Gasol. This shit-talking strategy pays off richly, seeing as I often demolish my parents and subsequently run naked victory laps around the dining room table. And this isn’t me bragging about my Scrabble skills; the case is rather that my parents don’t give two shits about whether or not their placement of “twat” (I truly wish I were lying about my dad playing that in Scrabble) opens up availability to the Triple Word space. Tonight, however, my shit-talking strategy failed me, as I fell short by one point against my mom. Ugh. Now I just feel like a douche.

2. Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
I never thought it would be possible to make such a trainwreck out of a movie starring Natalie Portman, Ewan McGregor, and Samuel L. Jackson, but damn it all if it hasn’t been done. I mean, seriously, what a steaming cinematic shitstack. The kid who starred as Anakin Skywalker (out of principle, I’m not looking up the little fucker’s name) is more obnoxious than the Nyan Cat on methamphetamines. And Jar Jar Binks? I don’t know whose idea it was to combine the voice of an illiterate Louisiana swamp-person with the visual representation of a banana peel with birth defects, but that idea single-handedly ruined my childhood. Honestly, the only thing they could have done to make this movie any worse would be casting Nick Cage as Senator Palpatine. Yeah, just imagine it.

"To the nights you wish you could forget."

1. Vodka Commercials
Maybe this is something I’m just noticing now because I spend 8 hours a day watching TV (luhhhh vacation), but vodka commercials are absolutely preposterous. The one that I find most personally absurd is a Grey Goose commercial, featuring the tagline: “To the nights you’ll never forget.” I don’t know what sort of idiots are running the marketing department over at Grey Goose, but they clearly lack a fundamental understanding of alcohol. Granted, the tagline “To the nights you’ll blackout and then discover five weeks later that you vomited gratuitously” isn’t quite as catchy, but it is certainly more accurate. It just seems that somewhere in the attempt to craft a convincing image-based appeal, the morons over at Grey Goose forgot some of the drawbacks of downing vodka. If I were Grey Goose, I’d try something more along the lines of “To the poke wars you drunkenly initiated with the entirety of your high school government class” or “To the texts you receive from your mom the next morning saying ‘You might want to take that video off of Facebook.’”

Who You Shouldn’t Be Buying Christmas Presents For

Christmas is the time of giving, as we’ve been constantly reminded by incomprehensibly cheerful Salvation Army bell-ringers and incomprehensibly bothersome commercials. (We get it, he went to Jared. Whooptee-fucking-doo.) However, there are times when giving is taken too far, and things just become awkward. To remedy this potential issue, we have drawn up a list of people for whom you definitely don’t need to buy gifts.

The greatest gift of them all

Your Last Hookup
Okay, so she was a good kisser. That’s fantastic. And she wasn’t as clingy as the last person with whom you hooked up, who you are pretty certain hired a private investigator to follow you. That’s even better. But this doesn’t mean your hook-up (let’s just refer to her from now on as “Jessica”) deserves a gift. With hook-ups, it’s just a slippery slope; one day you’re buying Jessica a moderately priced necklace, and the next day, she’s pregnant with your child. And not only do you now have to deal with that mess, but the necklace itself will only ever remind you and Jessica about those four and a half minutes of ominous, unemotional penetration. When it comes down to it, it’s just a waste of money.

Your TA
There’s no way to emerge victorious from this situation. I’m sorry, but a relationship built upon a foundation of discussions about GATT (or the Global Agreement on Trade and Tariffs, bitch) leaves no room for a thoughtful holiday gift. Besides, how would one ever know what gift to buy for their TA? The only thing I know my TA likes is asking incredibly vague questions and letting an inconceivably awkward silence simmer for 5 or 6 minutes until someone finally conjures up a bullshit answer. And that’s not something money can buy.

The Keg Bouncer
If you buy a Christmas present for someone, it implies that you have, at some level, a personal relationship with that person. Last time I checked, a “personal relationship” entails more one-on-one contact than seeing someone’s Wildcard on a bi-weekly basis. Otherwise a Keg bouncer would have more personal relationships than Herman Cain at a Victoria’s Secret.

Mitt Romney
The guy flip-flops so much you’d never have a clue what to get him. A pro-choice policy? A pro-life policy? You just don’t know. Besides, do Mormons even celebrate Christmas?

What do you get the man who owns every possible color of purple ties?

Morty Schapiro
This is a tricky one, because on the one hand, there is no one in the world that doesn’t owe Morty a gift. From Libyan rebels who President Schapiro helped when he killed Qaddafi to rural Congolese citizens who he helped when he permanently cured AIDS, Morty’s laudable actions have left no person untouched. On the other hand, however, there is nothing we can give Morty that he doesn’t already have. Unless you can somehow procure for him a restraining order from Sir Edward Twattingworth III.

Sir Edward Twattingworth III
We encourage all readers to avoid sending Christmas gifts to Sir T-worth because it will only perpetuate the unchecked power-trip around which he has modeled his life. Besides, I have it on good authority that he is already getting everything he wants – a Pippa Middleton blow-up doll and a beginner’s pole-dancing kit.

That Guy You Met in the SPAC Showers
This guy clearly does not need gifts from others. Remember that timeless holiday song? Twelve drummers drumming, eleven pipers piping, ten lords a-self-gratifying.