Superbowls Would Make Much More Sense If Scorpion Bowls Were Required

You knew I was going to talk about this. Partially because the super bowl was yesterday, but more so because of my love for a huge bowl of alcohol. Am I even really passionate about the super bowl? No. Not at all. I don’t like watching sports on TV. There’s a ton of commercials and I don’t see why watching a sport on TV means so much to people. Win or lose, I’m stuck working tomorrow. I would be much more involved in televised sports if a win for Boston/New England got me a day off. However, I am passionate about day drinking and even more so, day drinking on days I shouldn’t. I can’t feel like an asshole at 2 PM when everyone else is as hammered as I am. I like it. Going back to the game itself, I think that the super bowl above all other sporting events really contrasts how dudes and bids watch sports and I’m going to analyze the fuck out of that all for you at home.

Putting drinking on the back burner for a second, the eating aspect of the super bowl is fucking phenom. Dude, I ate a Doritos Locos Taco wrapped in a slice of pepperoni pizza last night. That shit is so on point. All of my favorites. Oh! And then I dunked a choco chip cookie in beer. Another favorite! Way better than Thanksgiving in my opinion. I don’t even like roasted turkey. But of course, bids will be bids and instagram the fuck out of all the food. When did I log onto Rachel Ray’s facebook?  Is this the Food Network? Oh wait! Jaykay, that’s just instagram. Everyone is just motherfucking Paula Dean on Super Bowl Sunday. Half the shit I saw posted online were just biddies cooking for themselves. It’s almost like they’re compensating for spending the super bowl alone. Six course feasts and they’re not even EyeTalyon. Just alone. That’s a devious plan. Make everyone jealous with your delicious food until they come over and bang you. Ingenious is the first word that comes to mind, well, behind devious anyway. I tried that shit this past Saturday when I made a feast and all I got was thirsty ass dudes blowing up my facebook. I don’t think biddies realized that yesterday was the one day when all the thirsty ass dudes were hydrated as fuck with beer and Kaepernick dick but A for effort.

During the game, its usually impossible to really watch because bids are either talking to each other or guys are yelling at the TV. Girls honestly do not care about the game. Up and down the field, a fumble, and field goal, whatever. In the grand scheme of things, they’re around their friends, shitfaced, and want to talk about anything else but football. Girls however do give a fuck about the halftime show, and in my opinion, which is the only one that matters in this blog, Beyonce fierced the fuck outta that half time show. I have not heard so many screaming girls in one room since I walked passed the 10:10 showing of Magic Mike on my way to see Ted. It was as if Channing Tatum himself was the Grand Wizard of the National Vibrator Convention. They have to make the playing field even I guess to keep the party going and make sure both sexes are content. I’ve also realized that guys don’t really give a fuck about the game either. They enjoy watching football on TV to argue with the call the ref made. And I don’t mean like “Fuck you, that’s not the team I want you to favor”. I mean like if a ref calls off-sides, yelling that the call should’ve been holding until Zatarain’s Rice Man can hear you from beyond the grave and a Popeye’s Chicken has its windows shattered. I’m convinced that guys never wanted to grow up and be a pro-QB. They actually just wanted to look like the Fruit Stripe Gum Zebra everyday and create an uproar from an angry crowd in the stands for a living. I wonder if those guys get death threats. They must, right? The only thing that bros and bids can shut up for are the commercials, because they’re usually pretty humorous  Then again, if I spent $4 million for anything it better taste better than anything I’ve ever eaten, make me look better than anything I’ve ever worn, fuck me better than anything ever has, or make me laugh even though I’m pissed its interrupting my stories. The room went dead silent when ads were on, especially that tear-jerker of a Budweiser commercial with the neighs. That being said ladies and gents, don’t use commercials as a way to rope in a potential fuck at the bar. Girls do not care that you thought that Benz commercial was funny because you don’t even have a car, and guys do not care about that M&M’s commercial because they are looking at your rack.

Of course the night ended off with everyone drinking far too much and being up past everyone’s bed times. The guys decided that Jackass would be the best way to end the night, being as that movie is funny as fuck, but even better when you’re shmamerred. It was basically a sausage party around the TV of grown men laughing hysterically, which is like a typical night at my house except my roommate and I are girls and don’t have sausages for parts. Awesome nonetheless. Girls…not so much. You know how girls get when they drink too much. Fuck, it’s like turning the amp up to 11. That extra notch you didn’t think was there, oh, it is. Fucking drama explosion galore. “She fucked in my room, she fucked my boyfriend, never mind it was just on the floor, never mind he’s saying it didn’t happen, let’s call this bitch 48 times, let’s go to this bitch’s house, this bitch is skeavy, fuck you get out of my room because you fucked in it, kidding I love you”. You get the picture. It’s really hard not to laugh. Actually kidding, I was laughing my metaphoric dick off. (Speaking of metaphoric dick, I’ve written that a couple times, because I usually reference a penis I don’t have in day to day speech and this guy I used to fuck would call me out on it, which I think is ironic because he could never get his dick up because apparently fucking me is nerve-racking and the combination of beers, molly, coke, and weed had NOTHING to do with it, so I might stop. My metaphoric, conversational junk is bigger and gets harder than his real dick. Problem solved.) Anyway, I just think its funny how a room of drunk girls gets so riled up over a girl that fucked their friend’s boyfriend. I’m almost positive, though I have been told this before, that your boyfriend didn’t accidentally fuck her. He didn’t confuse you with someone else (which I have also been told). No, your precious owned-dick was off eating some other biddie’s box while you were being a generally good person. So you choose to drive over there shitfaced and yell at her from your Corolla with four of your friends, when the kitchen, knife set, and your boyfriend are a stones-throw away. I’m not sure which is worse – the fact that you were cheated on or the fact that you’re dumb enough to waste your energy on the other broad. Sure, ok. Don’t kill a man on the super bowl. You’re being nice. I get it. Kidding, I don’t. Find out your boyfriend cheated on you on his “Man Day”? Take his manhood. That’s fair. Eye for an eye motherfucker.

Now that the super bowl is over, I can finally feel comfortable back on facebook again. No more scores, no more trading card stats, no more fantasy points, just you shutting the fuck up. I like it. I personally cannot wait until the next team gets lucky and goes to a championship which will then turn my addiction into ESPN again, but for now I can breathe. Maybe someone will post a good song, or post about a rager that they’re having. You know, the things I care about.

*8/10 people are amazed that I don’t really get into sports. Yes I know, I’m one boob job and a bangin’ face ahead of being a man, but you don’t have to play into the stereotypes guys. C’mon now.