Super Bowl

Super Like a Virgin Vogue Bowl – Sponsored by Bridgestone

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Remember Madonna? Yeah, she was that blonde super popstar singer who wore all kinds of crazy outfits and sang about sex and religion and emerged from an egg at the Grammy Awards? No wait, she was the one who made super erotic music videos pushing the boundaries of feminism while wearing crazy makeup and pranced around 3/4 naked in badass shoes. Wait! The one with kind of messed up teeth. SHIT! Oh wait, no, she’s the old buffed one. Remember her?

The old white rich men who run the Super Bowl have decided to let Madonna perform at the half-time show. The

Bringeth me the Budeth Lighteth
spectacle where we’ve seen Janet’s boob, Janet’s famous brother, McJagger’s skeleton and that one old Beatle who’s still alive. Half Time Show Fun Fact: Up until 1984, the halftime show was primarily college marching bands and drill teams. What the hell happened?

Instead of inspiring college musicians with pride for their school and their aspirations to be seen by a large crowd, we get super-stardom shoved down our throats with a chaser of Pepsi and Bud Light. We are consecrated with 30 seconds of $2.7 million dollar brilliance beamed to our eyeballs, whilst reveling with our 7 layer dips, cheeses, meats and sudsy lagers, laughing like royalty with a turkey leg in hand in the merriment of all our festivities watching millionaires run around a field chasing a ball with pretty colored costumes. And we wonder why all the other countries hate America.

I’m still going to watch though in hopes that one of Madonna’s cut pecs falls out.

Anarchgay in the USA

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Every time a gay thinks about marrying, God gets punched in the taint by the Devil and a kitten sucks a dick.

Footballman Tyree, famous for holding ball to his head doesn't want two men to legally do same under God.
Footballman Tyree, famous for holding ball to his head doesn't want two men to legally do same under God.

A same-sex marriage bill is currently working its way through the New York state legislature which can only mean one thing, Jesus is warming up his wave machine while solemnly shaking his head in disappointment with us all. How do I know this? Because the Wide Receiver of the Apocalypse has deliver unto us our one and only warning.

You see, in a video released Wednesday by the National Organization for Marriage, former super bowling footballist David Tyree pleads for our continued discrimination against a people solely because we think the way they touch parts is icky, not just because God says so, but because God says so and, you know, for the children.

“You can’t teach something that you don’t have,” Tyree said in the video. “So two men will never be able to teach a woman how to be a woman.”

To say the statement by this ball hugging man in tight, tight knee pants is ignorant on the surface of it would be a disservice to the additional ignorance below the surface. The obvious implication here not only slights the ability of same-sex couples to raise a child, which as I’ve chronicled recently is nigh biologically impossible, but it also automatically implies that single parents raising a child of the opposite sex of them are doing it wrong. UNLESS of course, this statement is only meant to say that two parents of the same gender automatically negate any teaching they are attempting to pass on to their child, simply by the power of their reproductive organs not interlocking like Voltron limbs in the manner in which this ex-group man showerer deems Biblically correct. Because unless that’s the case he’s making, all children of divorce or any other single parentage should automatically be taken from their homes the second it is not populated by two alternately gendered parental figures, you know, for their own well being.

But the other bit of ignorance about the statement that probably bothers me more is a more stereotype based bit of observation. Two gay men would likely raise a better woman than a hundred straight women and two lesbian women would undoubtedly raise a better man than a dozen dozen hetro blokes. Or maybe that’s my ignorance clouding his ignorance in a hot, steamy ignorance sauna, so foggy from the drippy steam, just groping for answers, hands, grasping things that they might not normally if they could see clearly, it may be wrong elsewhere, but right here, right now, there’s nothing more right in this entire world!

What was I saying?

Ah, right, former professional sweaty man who was paid millions of dollars to run from the grasp of larger, heaving sweaty men and his hatred of amateur sweaty men’s want to be sweaty together…

“Marriage is the only relationship that actually mirrors the relationship with God,” he said.
Our Father, who art a total Top...
Our Father, who art a total Top...

Which, if you really wanted to be a dick, you could say SOUNDS a lot like him saying that as a believer, he is married to God, as generally depicted as a large, burly, bearded man in all artistic representations, which makes his statement sound kind of hypocritical. Feetball catchman Tyree can be married to what the community would call a “bear” but other mortal men can’t marry similarly mortal men. That’s kinda unfair really.

Let’s also just gloss over the ignorant hypocrisy of another statement of his objection in the article that:

it is not justifiable to alter a long-standing institution “because a minority — an influential minority — has … an agenda,”

Says the millionaire man of non-caucasian ancestry whom without the agenda of an influential minority not sixty years ago couldn’t buy a sandwich in many establishments owned by proprietors who hated his ancestors simply because of how they were born and the lifestyle they lived.

But the main thrust of his argument is that allowing dude one to buy a piece of paper that says he and dude two are going to be able to put each other on their health insurance and allow them to visit one another while in the hospital, that it could only signal for this great, man on woman bonded nation:

“the beginning of our country sliding toward … anarchy,” he said

Now, “anarchy” as defined by Susan Merriam and Alouicious Webster is:

1
a : absence of government
b : a state of lawlessness or political disorder due to the absence of governmental authority
c : a utopian society of individuals who enjoy complete freedom without government
2
a: absence or denial of any authority or established order
b: absence of order
Anarchy is so gay...
Anarchy is so gay...

It’s probably safe to say that Mr. Tyree didn’t mean it in the “utopian society” sense of the word, so I can only assume “catchy runny yay” believes that allowing two ladies to scissor the night away as legally recognized wife and wife will somehow bring about the total collapse of the United States government. I’m not sure if he thinks this will come about by gays sucking up the steps of the capital building and ousting our elected leaders by force, or if he thinks that knowing fellahs would be out there sword fighting with their two married dongs would drive all of our countries legislators to mass suicide, leaving no one left to not pass laws out of petty childish gamesmanship or blind incompetence and or intolerance.

Why what two people do in the comfort of their own home bothers so many people is beyond me. If you think two hunky slabs of beef getting married on court house steps somehow delegitimizes your own legal bonding, it seems like you’ve got insecurity issues that have nothing to do with who sticks what in which where. Nobody is screaming at you about the failed experiment that is heterosexual marriage where more than half of these holy unions end up in do overs. So how about we just give marriage to the gays for a while, see if they have any better luck with it?
 
“We’re doing God an injustice by not making his heart known to our country. “
The bible’s a big book, how about we focus on more than just your favorite sentence or two and try living more in line with the teachings on the whole, you know, peace, love and forgiveness. I’m no theologizisit, but I’m pretty sure it’s what Jesus would do.

Science: Making the Impossible still more Impossibler

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"Our chins are leaking science! Run away from us!"
"Our chins are leaking science! Run away from us!"

I’m a scientist. And you know what? So are you.

You see, the heavy lifting of being a scientist isn’t in proving something as fact, most science isn’t fact. Or in discovering something new, you know how hard that shit is? Most of the stuff around you’s probably been discovered by somebody already. No, what apparently makes a scientist scientisty, is the ability to come up with things that could never exist, using elements that they have not yet discovered, to say how neat it would be if everything they were making up could actually happen. SCIENCE!

Last week, scientists working on the Large Hadron Collider (not to be confused with all of those other Hadron Colliders out there, being worked on by what those of us in the scientific community like to call “fucking retards”), apparently bored with smashing sub atomic particles together in an attempt to tear the very fabric of reality apart (in theory) got to thinking. In sciencing, you get a lot of time to think. Mostly because the majority of the time you spend doing science is just in proving the stupid ass thing you thought of last time was stupid and pointless. Science is failure, subsidized.

So the people trying to make black holes in Switzerland theorized that they could potentially use the Hadron Collider to send a particle, a Higgs singlet, back in time. It is believed that the Higgs singlet may have the ability to “jump” out of our mundane, limited, four dimensional existence and into a “hidden” dimension that some advanced physics models believes to “exist” and that by traveling through this “hidden” “dimension” they could then “jump” back into our own at a point “forward” or “backward” in what we “perceive” as “time”. ” ”

Isn’t that fantasmical? Isn’t that astoundishing? Isn’t that completely made up and entirely dependent upon a particle that doesn’t even exist? Yes… SCIENCE!

There is no Higgs boson, and as such, no Higgs singlet. Discovering this Higgs boson was apparently one of the main reasons they built the Hadron Collider in the first place. So scientaints are already moving on to the next cool thing that they’ll be able to do with the thing that their big crazy machine was built to discover before their big crazy machine has even discovered it. Which basically equates to me saying that I am going to use all of those ghost vaginas that my ghost vagina factory discovers to travel to the year eight billion where the ghost vagina will probably be the most valuable commodity in all of what’s left of Earth III, the planet of the cyber undead… as soon as my ghost vagina factory discovers that ghost vaginas do in fact exist like I’ve been saying all along.

“Our theory is a long shot, but it doesn’t violate any laws of physics…” one of the scientinals said, which I suppose is technically true. Making up things that don’t exist to fit into a theory that depends entirely on something that doesn’t exist does not violate any laws of physics that I know of. It does however violate most known laws of logic and sense.

“One of the attractive things about this approach to time travel is that it avoids all the big paradoxes,” he continued, oblivious to the fact that he was still talking about his Star Trek fan fiction to people that weren’t inside his head. “Because time travel is limited to these special particles, it is not possible for a man to travel back in time and murder one of his parents before he himself is born, for example. However, if scientists could control the production of Higgs singlets, they might be able to send messages to the past or future.”

Of course this narrow minded fool never takes into account the very real (hypothetical) possibility that one of these particles, driven mad by its travel across very real (entirely made up) extradimensional planes could then arrive at its past destination, its important future missive long forgotten in that blink of an eye that seemed like seven eternities, and replaced instead by a single command, “Murder Lance Armstrong”. Impossible? Nothing is impossible with the power of imagination, and untethered insanity!

Unfortunately, the one miniscule sticking point that the entire plan hangs up on is that they haven’t yet discovered the thing that they think they might possibly be able to send back in time. A minor thing I know. But these brave men and other men are not deterred by the fact that their big metal circle has yet to discover even one tiny time travel capable ghost vagina. I’m sure, in fact, that they believe because they haven’t found it yet, that means beyond a doubt that it exists. That’s how these people think.

I myself am currently hard at work on a paper that suggests that a pride of miniature dinosaurs made of velcro, spinning at the center of the universe since before time had a name, are the entire reason that the AFL succeeded where the USFL failed, despite the USFL not having debuted until thirteen years after the AFL/NFL merger. You see, my theory, which I will heretofore refer to simply as “Fact Prime”, is that the USFL’s failure reverberated back through time, bouncing off of the soft side of the galactic center Stegasaurus’ back plates and into the head of New York Jets Quarterback and pantyhose model Joe Willie Namath, thus propelling his football club to victories in Super Bowls III, IV and VII. Pieces of this errant history were later corrected by Terry Bradshaw and his Time Stealers. Terry and trusted lieutenants Bo Jackson, Richard Dent and Ray Nitschke restored as much of the original balance of the timeline as they could before Chrono Emperor John Elway could detect their meddlings…

And until someone can prove that all of that DIDN’T happen exactly as I have described, I am right.

Murder Lance Armstrong!
Murder Lance Armstrong!

TV Review: "Mr. Sunshine" / Groupon

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I had intended on reviewing Matthew Perry’s latest cancelled television program this morning and took a surprising left turn. Come with me on a journey through the career wasteland of an actor who got really lucky one time, and freshly shorn vaginas that hate the environment.
The smirk of a son of a bitch who knows exactly how lucky he is.
The smirk of a son of a bitch who knows exactly how lucky he is.

Let us begin with the debut of “Mr. Sunshine”, a show that you’d better hate now while you’ve still got the chance. From the writers who heard about “Becker” and saw almost half an episode of “Parks and Recreations”, we get “Mr. Sunshine”, featuring Matthew Perry playing Matthew Perry as a vaguely defined San Diego sports arena muckity muck. Finally answering the age-old question “Why don’t I care about who orders all of the peanuts in a place like that?”

The main problem with “Mr. Sunshine”, aside from it being shown to anyone not responsible for making sure that those involved never got another job in the entertainment industry ever again, is it’s half-hearted attempt at “edge”. It feels like all of the interns working on “Community” rose up and decided that they could make their own, edgier show if they could just raise enough money to rent a “Friends” star for an afternoon.

There is absolutely nothing special about “Mr. Sunshine”, except for how precisely it has all of the pieces of a successfully failed show: the uppity lead who will spend a half a season learning a lesson and then never changing again, the functionally retarded buffoon man-child who can say all of the writers most pointless non-sequitors, and the Allison Janney as Jane Lynch playing Alec Baldwin.

Halfway through this waste of everyone’s time, I was actually worried about how I would formulate a review of a show as bland and predictable as a beige whoopee cushion, but then I was treated to a pleasant surprise in the form of one of Groupon’s new commercials.

I’m not going to bore you with all the details, but the punchline was “I got a super great deal on a pussy waxing!”

Perhaps I SHOULD elaborate.

It's like a raped tropical rain forrest, in her pants.
It's like a raped tropical rain forrest, in her pants.

I, like most people who own a television, saw the debut of Groupon’s new ad campaign during the Super Foot, Bowl Match Contest last Sunday. Now, the name of the game in Super Bowl advertising is “Zow!”. That is an actual industry term and is in no way me simply belittling the proud men and women whose job it is to try to trick us into purchasing shit we don’t need. The Super Bowl is, for lack of a more exactly fitting term, the Super Bowl of advertising. A thirty-second commercial spot during the game costs anywhere between 14 and 700 quatrillion Dollar Bucks. That’s big time money, and it is so much because for that four-hour block every single person, living or dead, is tuned into the game and just sitting on shit piles of money that they need to be told what to do with. It’s a true science fact. So the way you make your mark on an audience of that size is by doing something either very clever, or very stupid, and since we are in a very real clever drought, stupid usually rules the day.

So it turns out that there was a group of people who told viewers that they should have been offended by Groupon’s new “Suck it, World” ad campaign. And while I thought that openly mocking the plight of a mostly peaceable people, was certainly an interesting choice by the people at a website for coupons to flight simulator classes and restaurants that people don’t go to, I didn’t really think much else about that specific message because I don’t generally put a lot of curry in my mouth. But this ad, oddly enough, did get my attention.

So the basic set up is the same, a sort of mock public service announcement with your standard insincere run down of something that we should all really care about if only we could get 50-90% off of our not caring. Elizabeth Hurley in a bath robe pretends to educate us about the Brazilian rain forest being stripped bare of trees, like so many labia follicles being torn from mother Earth’s tenderest of flesh. But that’s okay, because she got a voucher for a discounted cunt deforestation of her own, so YAY!

Now, it’s really no secret that America doesn’t give a shit about the rest of the world, but is it really necessary to rub the planet’s collective nose in your freshly de-pubed twats of uncaring? And why are so many people pretending to be offended by being reminded that they don’t care. We knew you didn’t care about Tibet or the rain forest before this commercial, so what you’re really upset about is someone pointing out the fact that you don’t care. You see, as long as everyone doesn’t care equally we’re all right, but the second someone reminds you of something horrible and mocks you for not caring about it, it suddenly becomes the only thing in the world that you’ve ever wanted anything done about. For a second, until everyone forgets and we can all go back to comfortably not caring again.

So cut it out commercials. Stop making people feel bad that they don’t feel bad. People don’t watch horrible new Matthew Perry television shows to be told they don’t care enough about once proud, respected institutions that have since become pathetic, pitiable charity cases!

TV Review: “Mr. Sunshine” / Groupon

Posted on

I had intended on reviewing Matthew Perry’s latest cancelled television program this morning and took a surprising left turn. Come with me on a journey through the career wasteland of an actor who got really lucky one time, and freshly shorn vaginas that hate the environment.
The smirk of a son of a bitch who knows exactly how lucky he is.
The smirk of a son of a bitch who knows exactly how lucky he is.

Let us begin with the debut of “Mr. Sunshine”, a show that you’d better hate now while you’ve still got the chance. From the writers who heard about “Becker” and saw almost half an episode of “Parks and Recreations”, we get “Mr. Sunshine”, featuring Matthew Perry playing Matthew Perry as a vaguely defined San Diego sports arena muckity muck. Finally answering the age-old question “Why don’t I care about who orders all of the peanuts in a place like that?”

The main problem with “Mr. Sunshine”, aside from it being shown to anyone not responsible for making sure that those involved never got another job in the entertainment industry ever again, is it’s half-hearted attempt at “edge”. It feels like all of the interns working on “Community” rose up and decided that they could make their own, edgier show if they could just raise enough money to rent a “Friends” star for an afternoon.

There is absolutely nothing special about “Mr. Sunshine”, except for how precisely it has all of the pieces of a successfully failed show: the uppity lead who will spend a half a season learning a lesson and then never changing again, the functionally retarded buffoon man-child who can say all of the writers most pointless non-sequitors, and the Allison Janney as Jane Lynch playing Alec Baldwin.

Halfway through this waste of everyone’s time, I was actually worried about how I would formulate a review of a show as bland and predictable as a beige whoopee cushion, but then I was treated to a pleasant surprise in the form of one of Groupon’s new commercials.

I’m not going to bore you with all the details, but the punchline was “I got a super great deal on a pussy waxing!”

Perhaps I SHOULD elaborate.

It's like a raped tropical rain forrest, in her pants.
It's like a raped tropical rain forrest, in her pants.

I, like most people who own a television, saw the debut of Groupon’s new ad campaign during the Super Foot, Bowl Match Contest last Sunday. Now, the name of the game in Super Bowl advertising is “Zow!”. That is an actual industry term and is in no way me simply belittling the proud men and women whose job it is to try to trick us into purchasing shit we don’t need. The Super Bowl is, for lack of a more exactly fitting term, the Super Bowl of advertising. A thirty-second commercial spot during the game costs anywhere between 14 and 700 quatrillion Dollar Bucks. That’s big time money, and it is so much because for that four-hour block every single person, living or dead, is tuned into the game and just sitting on shit piles of money that they need to be told what to do with. It’s a true science fact. So the way you make your mark on an audience of that size is by doing something either very clever, or very stupid, and since we are in a very real clever drought, stupid usually rules the day.

So it turns out that there was a group of people who told viewers that they should have been offended by Groupon’s new “Suck it, World” ad campaign. And while I thought that openly mocking the plight of a mostly peaceable people, was certainly an interesting choice by the people at a website for coupons to flight simulator classes and restaurants that people don’t go to, I didn’t really think much else about that specific message because I don’t generally put a lot of curry in my mouth. But this ad, oddly enough, did get my attention.

So the basic set up is the same, a sort of mock public service announcement with your standard insincere run down of something that we should all really care about if only we could get 50-90% off of our not caring. Elizabeth Hurley in a bath robe pretends to educate us about the Brazilian rain forest being stripped bare of trees, like so many labia follicles being torn from mother Earth’s tenderest of flesh. But that’s okay, because she got a voucher for a discounted cunt deforestation of her own, so YAY!

Now, it’s really no secret that America doesn’t give a shit about the rest of the world, but is it really necessary to rub the planet’s collective nose in your freshly de-pubed twats of uncaring? And why are so many people pretending to be offended by being reminded that they don’t care. We knew you didn’t care about Tibet or the rain forest before this commercial, so what you’re really upset about is someone pointing out the fact that you don’t care. You see, as long as everyone doesn’t care equally we’re all right, but the second someone reminds you of something horrible and mocks you for not caring about it, it suddenly becomes the only thing in the world that you’ve ever wanted anything done about. For a second, until everyone forgets and we can all go back to comfortably not caring again.

So cut it out commercials. Stop making people feel bad that they don’t feel bad. People don’t watch horrible new Matthew Perry television shows to be told they don’t care enough about once proud, respected institutions that have since become pathetic, pitiable charity cases!

Super Bowl Halftime Show : The Gipper

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Ya'll Thought I Was Dead? Oh Hells No!!

The 45th Super Bowl airing this Sunday between the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Green Bay Packers will be one of the most historic of all time. This Super Bowl will have the 40th President of the United States for their halftime show. What’s this, you ask? How can Ronald Reagan be the entertainment for the halftime show? Well it’s simple. First, FOX TV is the devil, and second he isn’t really dead. Just like 2-Pac, Biggie and Elvis, Ronald Wilson Reagan lives on a secluded five-star island sometimes referred to as Conspiracy Island. Unfortunately for the former President, he doesn’t know exactly where he is at any given time because of his ongoing bout with Alzheimer’s; he seems to believe that he is always inside a Sizzler restaurant and frequently mumbles about their world famous salad bar.

I'm On A Boat

The Alzheimer’s will make for an interesting show come Super Bowl Sunday, because Reagan is going to be in a number of highly choreographed dance numbers with The Black Eyed Peas, Usher, and the former guitarist for Guns & Roses, Slash. The spry 100 year old seems to be in great spirits and is visibly excited about his performances. During the Black Eyed Peas’ song “Boom Boom Pow”, Mr. Reagan and his team of dancers will recreate the assassination attempt on the President by John Hinckley, Jr. with former President George Bush, Sr. playing the part of Hinckley.

Kicking off the game, Christina Aguilera and the former President will perform a duet of the National Anthem. Christina did mention in an interview with E! that “… the only thing I’m a little nervous about is when he starts yelling ‘I love pumpkins’ over

This Was One Nasty Casting Couch

and over throughout the song, but other than that, things should go pretty smoothly.” Ronald is going to have a Guitar Hero battle with Slash and then transition straight into a dance-off with Usher with many costume changes throughout. This should be one of the most exciting halftime shows in Super Bowl history, maybe only taking a backseat to actually getting to see Janet Jackson’s teet.

So sit back, relax and enjoy the rollercoaster ride of Lazarus-of-Bethany proportions that only FOX can provide, and have a drink every time you hear our former President of the United States say “Win one for the Gipper”, or whisper “Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiizzzzler”.