KSK Gamebook: Super Bowl XLI

-The Monday after the Super Bowl needs to be made real holiday. Everything right now is way too fucking bright. Flourescent light is the enemy of happiness.

-This assuredly lackluster edition of the Gamebook came to you from the lovely Georgetown apartment of Unsilent Majority. I walked in, and there were two two-foot bongs sitting on the coffee table. Oh, to be 23 again. I brought chili, chips, sour cream, and a small bag of chopped scallion garnish, all prepared by me. Call me gay. I don’t fucking care. The scallions make the dish, dammit.

-Also joining us was Christmas Ape, whose right arm was covered in cat scratch marks. And I mean covered. It looked like he had gotten into a fight with a rosebush. Apparently, Jean Grey morphs into Phoenix all too often. Ape says it happened while “playing”. Ape, you may be thinking it’s playtime, but I assure you that fucking cat has nothing but homicide on its mind. Kill that fucking evil creature before it overtakes you.

-UM also provided forty jumbo wings. For three of us. Plus chili. My asshole is charred. I need to douse my toilet paper in witch hazel to accelerate the healing process.

-The pregame show might have been the worst thing I’ve ever seen. The Cirque de Soleil show managed to trump an Olympic opening ceremony in both gayness and inexplicable spectacle (“I cannot find my bag of rainbows!”). And Katie Couric looked like she had just been kicked out of Rex Grossman’s bed. Horrible.

-Phil Simms is slowly morphing into Terry Bradshaw.

-Also, in the pregame Peyton Manning had giant red triangle imprinted on his forehead. It looked like he had been wearing a helmet three sizes too small for hours prior to the game. And I can see that happening. I wonder if Manning ever just walks around in his uniform with his helmet on during odd hours. As if he has no other mode of function. I bet he slept in his uniform Saturday night.

-Lesley Visser in HD looks like something out of “The Dark Crystal”. I really didn’t need to see that.

-This was not the world’s greatest game, so the conversation flowed freely during the course of the evening. Conversation topics ranged from 80’s Australian pop band Icehouse (“I just freeze every time that you’re near me and it’s all over you, ELECTRIC BLUE!”), to Ape’s very dated NetFlix queue (Next up: “Head Office” and “The Heavenly Kid”) to local DC strip clubs. One of the better-known DC strip joints is a place called “Good Guys”. I can’t think of a more poorly named heterosexual strip club. Would you walk into a strip club named Good Guys? You’d expect seeing Adam Vinatieri on the pole more than Nikki Tyler.

-What the fuck is going on with Jimmy Irsay’s mustache? It’s got a mini-Hitler embedded right in the center. Or is his top lip crevice so deep that it casts its own shadow? Either way, Malcolm Glazer has a new rival for weirdest facial hair among NFL owners.

-This may be the end of Rex Grossman as a starting QB for the Bears. He’ll probably be back next year, but almost certainly with competition for the job. And the world will be a little sadder for that. Grossman is many things: inconsistent, turnover-prone, sexually deviant. But one thing he is not is boring. And in a league that all too often rewards bland robotic discipline (see the MVP), that’s getting a little harder to come by. Let this not be your last hurrah, Sex Cannon. The world needs your arm to do pussies harm.

-That “King of the Negroes” joke was hilarious when I was drunk.

-Congrats to the Colts. But, more importantly, congratulations to me for winning $10 on the Colts, my only sports bet of the year. Pay up, UM, you fat fuck.

-I had two options for driving home last night with a few beers in me: take the Canal Road to the Beltway, or shoot right down on Wisconsin Ave. One way involved high speeds and no stoplights, the other had stoplights every 500 yards or so. Here’s my question: when you’re drinking and driving, which route is better? Should you take the route that forces you to go slower and stop occasionally, or hit the gas? I took the latter. Fuck that slow shit.

-And now we enter into the horrid offseason. Lest you think we at KSK will rest on our laurels, you are wrong. Football season may be over, but Dick Joke season is all year round. We’ll also get to cover awesome offseason events like the Cowboys coaching search (Chan Gailey’s free!), the combine (or as I like to call it, “Hardbodies III”), free agency, the draft, and the inevitable player arrests. Frankly, I’m excited. My team blows, so the offseason provides me with weekend upon weekend of the Vikings NOT shitting all over the field. And for that, we should all be grateful. Now leave me the fuck alone. I need a nap.