Edelman vs. Sabrina = Feminist Coup? Plus More Post-Superbowl

Ah, the Superbowl.  The lights, the commericals, the hubris…

Screen-shot-2015-02-04-at-12.07.41-PM1Richard Sherman, Doug Baldwin, the worst play call in the history of the Superbowl notwithstanding, the best story line is “Sabrina’s” priceless sleeping Julian Edelman photo: I think it’s crass and inappropriate and immature and disrespectful and indicative of much that’s wrong in our culture today but also totally fantastic because this is the kind of shit guys pull all the time and everybody chuckles and wags their fingers and grins about what a bad boy (nudge nudge, wink wink) he is.

I know that’s a run-on.  It’s supposed to be.

I’m not sure if post-coital internet posts (and I’m so damned old I don’t even know what the hell Tinder is*) following a drunken celebrity-bagging safari is a feminist gesture, but it sure seems like this young lady was taking control of and owning her sexuality. From that perspective, she’s almost heroic.


I mean, if they’d had digital cameras a back when dodo birds roamed the world and I was sleeping with all sorts of famous women…

Ah, the twisted. delusional ramblings of a dirty old man.

Other Post-Bowl Comments:

In the wake of Superbowl 49, let’s ditch the Roman numerals–no one learns latin anymore: they’d be better off putting Superbowl titles in Cyrillic: Cуперкубок 49

Or Chinese: 超級碗49

Or even arabic:  الفناء تسعة وأربعين

All equally effective to Superbowl XLIX.  Sounds like the name of a rapping porn star.  X-licks?  Phooey!

This never gets old.
This never gets old.

And how about Seattle’s bonehead play to serve up the Superbowl to the crux of evil Patriots? Any good Steelers fan who was alive in 1994 will tell you NEVER PASS DOWN THE MIDDLE ON SHORT AND GOAL AT THE END OF THE FOURTH QUARTER WITH THE GAME ON THE LINE.  It’s ironic, because so many Seahawk faithful still whine about the Steelers beating them back in Superbowl XL (now that’s a Roman Numeral…Xtra Freaking LARGE, mofo.

So many good Asshats to right about right now:   let’s not fail to mention (it’s what he wants, anyway) Seattle’s “Baldwin Squat” touchdown celebration.  From this point forward he’ll be known as Shithead–not the only guy in the NFL with that nickname, but the most deserving.  I’m pretty certain he’s the first guy in NFL history to be disciplined for simulated defecation.

He used to be just a run of the mill douchebag–but now he’s a infamously juvenile “deucebag.”

This is turning out to be a fun post, and I’m realizing one thing that didn’t occur to me while the two teams I despise most were butting heads.  You see, I’d been thinking that it was lamentable that one of these teams would win, but what I should have been thinking about was that one of them was just as certain to lose.

Is that my own sour grapes talking?  Absolutely, but it’s okay as long as I’m self-aware enough to realize it.  The truth of the matter is that it was a very interesting, exciting game, unlike last year’s debacle (thanks, Peyton) so, ultimately, it could have been worse.

*Oh, I have an idea what Tinder is, and I know that I could look it up and find out in about twenty seconds, but I’d like the idea of living in a world where I’m totally ignorant of such things.  A happier, less complicated world….


Commercials: Maybe Part One

I found the post attached down yonger at the end of my blather and it inspired me to hate on some commercials that bug me. Fair warning: there’s some content down there that is a little indelicate. Just saying.

kitty litterThe throwing cat litter around the neighborhood like folks are stacking up sandbags against rising floodwater gets me–one of these days I’m going to load up the Chuckwagon and head up to Pennsylvania Station in New York City to track down some ad people and lie in wait with a pallet of 80# bags of bargain priced SuperClay Crap-Away Cat Gravel and just hurl ’em at the sumbitches as they step off the train from Jersey. Catch that,  Motherfletcher!

ad5What really gets me is the one with the bears wiping their hairy bear asses with Pillowy Soft Toilet Velvet Paper–er, I mean “bathroom tissue”–first of all, those velvet TP rolls have like 200 sheets, what the frak is that about? Don’t people on TV eat TexMex food? A roll of Scott Extra-Scratchy gives you a thousand little squares–a measurement that has about as much relevance as the FDA serving sizes on the side of potato chips bags (1 serving = approximately 13 chips. HA!. Normal people have already polished off a fistful of the latest Lay’s Hybrid Abomination Flavor charmintoiletpaperimage1(did you see fried chicken and waffles with maple syrup flavor? I absolutely shit you not–they make that). But I digress. Who counts out TP one measly gauzy square at a time? Nuns and Priests, maybe–the ones who wear hair shirts and flog themselves in movies, maybe?) But I digress–we were talking about Charmin Toilet Paper, the selling point is not its cushiony wonderfulness, but the fact that it holds together and doesn’t leave dingleberries on the bears’ hairy asses. Who comes up with that marketing strategy? “Buy our toilet paper, it won’t leave little dried poop-paper balls on your crack hair?” Rush Limbaugh is right–all of us but him are on the Hell Express (like Eddie Murphy said, back when I was a kid and he was funny “…I’m going to hell, I’m not waiting in line with nobody. I’m taking the hell express.”).

I have to admit this: using a “bear” to pimp anti-dingleberry paper is almost clever.  (They’re homonyms, get it?)  It took me a while, but I got it.

(While looking for an image to steal I found this kindred spirit.  The miracle whip stuff is hilarious.)

What’s next?  Marketing TP to college students to put on their nightstands for all that late night (or early morning, or mid-afternoon, or late morning while skipping your Psych 101 lecture) drunken onanism–our “bathroom tissue is so soft, it it won’t end up tangled in your belly button piercing or stuck to your junk.”

And don’t get me started on TV parents who feed their kids “frozen entrees.”   Come on, people–drop the pretense and just drive your kids through the Long John Silvers drive-up window and feed ’em two fat-encrusted fish logs, a heap of lard-sodden fries, and a bucket of “crumbs” plus two hushpuppies.


Sassy and I were watchin television last night, when a commercial came along to entertain us more than the show. I can’t even remember what show we were watchin, but I’ll never forget the commercial.
In the commercial, a school-aged child is blowing through his straw, making bubbles in his chocolate milk, while the baby sits next to him, sayin, “Again! Again!” The big brother blows more bubbles into his chocolate milk, and the chocolate milk bubbles right over the edges of the cup and onto the table, and down the side of the table, and the mother, she just smiles and unrolls some paper towels.


I immediately broke into laughter, and I looked at Sassy, whose eyes had grown big, and her mouth had formed a small circle of disbelief.

“Oh, right! Cause moms do that!” she said.

I love…

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Funny and/or Strange

Bad Books #5

Because I’m a devilish sod, I’ve collected A LOT of naughty books cover illustrations which I’ll start sharing daily a minute before midnight, “wordpress time.” (which isn’t the time where I live or, I suspect, anywhere but on the wordpress servers, but who cares.