Well it's officially The Day After. No, I'm not talking about that post-apocalyptic nuclear war movie with Steve Guttenberg and John Lithgow, although in many ways, venturing out into that society is more appealing to me than leaving my house the day after the Super Bowl. I mean at least in a post-apocalyptic nuclear war society you can shoot people in the face with a shotgun just for being stupid, with very little consequence.
The end of the familiar…
Look, I get it, the Super Bowl was last night and this is the first time you've been able to discuss it with anyone outside your immediate circle of friends—or, put another way, anyone with more than half a brain cell. However, just because I have a penis and happen to cross your path today doesn't mean I give two shits how you watched sweaty men chase other sweaty men around all last night while your girlfriend/wife cried tears of bitter regret wondering where she went wrong letting you into her life… let alone other places.
It's amazing; men I have never spoken to in my entire life randomly come up to me and start interrogating me like it's the freakin' Spanish Inquisition…
Did you see the game?!
What did you think?!
I think you should have listened to the answer to your first question.
You didn't see it?!
Caught that, did you?
Oh man, what were you thinking?!
Ironically, it was my thinking ability that made me not give a shit about it.
Wasn't it an amazing game?!
So, you're just going to pretend I watched it now?
You must have caught the highlights though, right?!
Would that make you feel like less of an idiot in this conversation?
Oh come on, didn't you at least see the commercials?!
Yeah sure, when I don't watch things I definitely make sure I catch the commercials.
What about the halftime show?!
I also frequent plays, but only the intermissions.
Did you see that one play?
No, I meant a different kind of…nevermind.
Aren't you hating life for missing it?
Yes… yes, I'm hating life right now.
What's your team?
No, I meant your football team.
Oh sorry, it was your spandex crop pants that confused me.
You like my gear?
You do know it's February and your "shirt" has lots of tiny holes in it, right?
No, Washington State.
Home of the Seahawks!
And serial killers.
High five, bro!
Touch me and I'll gut you like a fucking pig.
No, human, which will be shaved off of your screaming body by the inch until you shut the fuck up about football.
You're a fag!
Says the man in spandex crop pants who spent all day yesterday watching other men in spandex crop pants grab each other for hours on end.
Well what did you do yesterday that was so much better?!
I had sex…all day, because I WASN'T watching the Super Bowl…now piss off.
You would think safeties would make you feel safe, but apparently not.