Well. I guess I should just get on with life. The Super Bowl, it's behind me now. The commercials, I don't think they'll ever be as good as the Budweiser Frog days. Yeah, those were the days. The days when Super Bowl parties were one of the main events during the year. Getting to stay up late. And that might even hold the hope of playing hookey from school come morning. Oh yeah, and there's no way I can forget to tell you of the plethora of Dorito-filled bowls, the liters of Cokes, Sprites and all that makes a little kids diet filling the living room like heaven on earth-until 2 am when you were bowing to the toilet, puking your brains out.
So last night, it didn't hold the same aura of childhood memories. Heaven never fell. I sat in a low-ceilinged room, among beer bottles and straight-up friends; no one drunk or buzzed or high, just in low despairs from such an off day. All that hype about an overwhelming Giant defeat and nothing to show. Nothing. But the commercials.
I did laugh. And I laughed with friends. And I laughed when no one else laughed at all. And I oggled when the ladies of the room weren't paying attention to Carmen Electra. And I high-fived the guys of the room when Victoria's secret asked us to "play the real game." And I cried like a man when our last hail Mary hope overshot the moon.
And with that, I got taxied home. I went to bed. And thought nothing of the day.
If you are reading this with the same depression all of New England faces then go out and buy yourself a Taco Fiesta. Go out and buy a clown after raking it in from the stock market. Just don't underestimate the creepiness of said clowns chillin' in your room. I mean, really, a 24/7 live clown entertainment at your disposal, what could be better than that? How about a life-sized mouse spearing you from a hole the size of, well, a mouse hole. Just like the Coolaid man. "OOO, Yeah."
Anyone? Really? Anyone?
And if none of that tickles your fancy, buy a car on a whim. But make sure you have multiple plans. One such idea might be to bring a head-shrinking witch doctor as a buddy of yours. The consequences? There really aren't any. A few shrunken heads. A new car and you're golden.
Okay. A car, that's great. But a Pepsi (even though I'm a Coke drinker) might be the better choice. I mean, you'll twist off that cap, plug in those codes and go through the tedious extremely annoying process of gathering your under-the-cap prize. That's all. Nothing to it. Really. You twist. You sip. And your prize will apparently be dragged closer and closer to you. Justin Timberlake might even end up at your pool party. Unfortunately, I'm not a well-endowed bikini type of girl. I'm not even a girl. Maybe I'll stick with my Coke since I can't win any heart throbbing prize while drinking a drink I don't even enjoy drinking. Oh well.
This year, heaven on earth will have to wait for another Sunday. Life will go on just as it always has. And God will remain a Patriots fan because the first will be last and the last will be first. So it's all good. The world is just as it's meant to be. And all you Patriots fans can walk with your heads held high because in the end, we really won.
1 comment:
dude that line about the toilet is so funny!
anyway, i was expecting a new post, but obviously this one is perfect.
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