Random thoughts from the Super Bowl:
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So, she wore a pasty, right? Please tell me that was a pasty.
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I’m at my cousin’s place in Malden, with his wife, his best friend with his wife, and another cousin. We’re consistently wondering why the ability to throw a football through a swinging tire means you can tap yo’ wife’s booty again.
One person asks why no drug commercials say what the product does anymore. Then I explain (after having this explained to me last week after watching those “bathtub in the Italian countryside” commercials) that if you state the drug’s indication, you also have to state the side effects. So Dan chips in: “So, yea, you can get an erection, but you also have anal leakage.” The combination drug “Levistra” is born: a combination of Levitra and olestra. You can have sex, but only if she’s on top and you’re on the toilet.
And yes, I’m going to hell now. Like there was any doubt.
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Look, if you have a half-time show sponsored by the new AOL that is touting its speed, don’t have the show filled with songs that came out two years ago. That does not speak well for downloading capabilities.
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Best commercial: the Jet Blue one where the kid emasculates his dad. I’m not even sure if this was broadcast nationally or not. Or that I imagined it after being hypnotized by Janet Jackson’s nipple. Runner-up: the “Troy” ad, even if it feels exactly like a “Lord of the Rings” spot.
Worst commercial: that creepy one where the quarterback won’t stop feeling up his center. I mean, like, there’s nothing wrong with that sort of thing, except this commercial gave me the jibblies. I took a quick peek around the room, and there were five frowning faces to mirror my own. That's not good advertising, people.
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After the game:
Dan: “MVP’s gotta be Brady.”
Kelly: “What about Vinatieri?”
Me: “I gotta go with the swinging tire, personally.”
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Creepiest post-game occurrence: OK, I’m riding home on the Orange Line last night, and there’s a palpable sense of violence everywhere. It’s like I’ve wandered into a “Grand Theft Auto: The MBTA” video game. As I approach Sullivan Square, there’s a din growing steadily louder. And louder. And louder. And we pass by a large group of people. And my car stops right in front of them. And 20 of the loudest people ever pile into my car.
They are screaming, and yelling, and hootering, with the occasional hollar. They are jumping up and down, banging the signs, the windows, the doors, everything. I mean, they just do not let up. This is all well and fine, though it’s creeping me out a bit, since there was a fine line between celebration and outright anarchy.
And then the dad gives his seemingly 15-year old daughter the bottle of Chivas. She gulps it from the bottle.
I got off the car at the next stop, and went one car down. At each of the next 6 stops, I could hear the ever-present din from one car over. Just slightly terrifying. I wonder what would have happened if the Patriots had lost.
Note I say “the Patriots”, not “we”. Cuz we New Englanders didn’t win jack sh$t. Great for those players and coaches to win, no doubt. But to smash windows while screaming “We won!” is just about the worst type of fandom possible. Just bugs me. I woulda brought this up, but I didn’t want a Chivas bottle thrown at me by the 14-year old mom.
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Someone, somewhere, will explain the link between “watching your team win a big game” and “the need to break and/or topple things”. I’d rather go for a “find a cute girl and swap saliva”. Then again, that’s just me.
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Seriously, a nipple? Say it ain’t so.