Monday, February 07, 2005
Sooper Bowl Sunday Discourse
Well, the Iggles have lost, and another Super Bowl Sunday comes to pass. I was kinda hoping the Eagles would win because I feel a kinship with Philadelphia what with the Corrente building being located in Philly and all. Plus, I'm sick of watching the New England Patriots in the Super Bowl. And, I don't like "dynasties." And, the logo on the NE Patriots helmets is cheesy. The Eagles have a better logo on their helmets. Those wings are pretty cool. I have no idea what that thing on the Patriot players helmets is but it looks like clip art to me and I'm against it. At least for now. The Eagles have a better color scheme too. Other than that, I didn't really care all that much who won as long as it was a good game and the Eagles won. Sure. You know how it goes.
I watched the game with Pete and Kitty Deer. Pete is a Bucks fan so he really didn't care who won either and and Kitty Deer likes the Rams which makes Pete angry and jealous. Pete is convinced that Kitty wants to fuck a Ram on some windswept rocky crest in the Grand Teton National Forest or somewhere elevated and photogenic like that and so he sulks whenever the subject of the Rams comes up. Kitty thinks its funny until Pete threatens to run off with a Denver Bronco cheerleader at which point Kitty tells Pete he can go hump on a wet Dolphin's blowhole for all she cares because she'll be flirting with Cowboys next year anyway. Ay yi yi. This goes on all the time with these two.
So I asked Pete and Kitty if either of them had ever been to Philadelphia or even in Pennsylvania for that matter. They said no they hadn't but Kitty Deer said that one of her sister's best friends had been run over by a tractor trailer on I-81 just south of Wilkes Barre near the Sugar Notch exit sometime back in the early 90's. I told Kitty I was sorry to hear that. Pete said Kitty's sister was a Lyme diseased slut who chased after 49'ers and Kitty told Pete he should consider jumping in front of a Ford Bronco full of cheerleaders at the earliest possible opportunity. I decided to go to the kitchen and refill the snack bowl with Crunchy 16.
By the time I got back Pete was desperatly yammering on about the Indianapolis Colt's cheerleaders and the Eagles had scored and things were looking up. I told Kitty and Pete that there was a city in Pennsylvania named Intercourse and that since I myself had actually experienced intercourse, on numerous occasions in fact, I felt a kind of solidarity with Pennsylvania in general. I told them that if Intercourse had a professional football team I would surely root for it every chance I had.
Kitty told me that the thught of two sweating naked human beings having intercourse with each other revolted her and that both Pete and I should be traded to the Packers for lunchmeat. Kitty's a regular laugh a minute.
Pete asked me what I thought would be a good name for a football team from Intercourse Pennsylvania and to be honest I wasn't sure. How 'bout the Gamecocks, I said. Which was pretty lame. Pete said, how 'bout The Missionaries! Which was even more lame. Kitty said, how about the Rams! Which made Pete mad again. I said, the Trojans, the Intercourse Trojans! And we all got a good yuck out of that one.
By this time the New England Patriots had scored once more and things weren't looking too good for the Eagles.
Some other lame team name ideas for the Intercourse franchise that we tossed around included: the Pistons (nah, taken). The Intercourse Pirates! (my favorite but again, already swooped up by another PA team). The Organs. The Slam. The Solicitor Generals. The Fuckeyes (heh, that would piss off those hicks in Columbus, Ohio). The Pussies. The Snatch. The Nittany Loins! At which point Kitty asked, what the fuck is a Nittany anyway? And, at which point, Pete and I just basically looked at each other and said, well fuck, what the fuck is a Nittany anyway? Pennsylvania was becoming a serious fucking mystery. And the Eagles looked doomed.
Before I knew what had happened the game was over and the Simpson's were on the TV and we'd nearly finished off the case of Buckhorn and the forty pound bag of Crunchy 16 that I'd purchased for the party. I suddently felt depressed. Here I was sitting on a couch, beside what amounted to two giant rodents, drinking cheap crappy canned beer, watching a cartoon, and trying to think up obscene names for a make believe football team from the Amish country of Pennsylvania. I felt doomed. There were'nt even any rogue boobies or shaved beaver close-ups or live anal sex action during this years half-time show. What the fuck is the professional sports world coming to? I wanted some LSD.
Pete and Kitty were both three pelts to the wind by this time and snorting at each other like a couple of rutting teenagers, and so, as teenagers will often do, bounded out the back door and off the back porch and into the far pasture where they screwed each other stupid under a crescent moon.
Like I said, I felt doomed. So I clicked over to MSNBC for some so called news and was greeted with eight hours of psycho narrative and old video clips about serial killers and rapists and child molesters and crazy doctors that poison their patients and disgruntled employees who shoot everyone at work because they are apparently disguntled about being poisoned by crazy doctors or something or other like that. And so on. Thats MSNBC's idea of "news" on the weekend. Jeezis Kee Ryst.
Did you know that Pennsylvania's state bird is the ruffed grouse? Yup. It's not the eagle at all. I don't suppose the Philadelphia Grouse would be much of a draw for most football fans in Philadelphia, but, I bet, assuming they didn't fly headlong into a windshield or a picture window at some point along the way, I bet, the Grouse could beat the shit out of the New England Chickadees any day. And, as they used to like to say in Boston, there's always next year. At least I think they used to say that in Boston. I really have no idea.
Hey? How about those Intercourse Twins!
*
I watched the game with Pete and Kitty Deer. Pete is a Bucks fan so he really didn't care who won either and and Kitty Deer likes the Rams which makes Pete angry and jealous. Pete is convinced that Kitty wants to fuck a Ram on some windswept rocky crest in the Grand Teton National Forest or somewhere elevated and photogenic like that and so he sulks whenever the subject of the Rams comes up. Kitty thinks its funny until Pete threatens to run off with a Denver Bronco cheerleader at which point Kitty tells Pete he can go hump on a wet Dolphin's blowhole for all she cares because she'll be flirting with Cowboys next year anyway. Ay yi yi. This goes on all the time with these two.
So I asked Pete and Kitty if either of them had ever been to Philadelphia or even in Pennsylvania for that matter. They said no they hadn't but Kitty Deer said that one of her sister's best friends had been run over by a tractor trailer on I-81 just south of Wilkes Barre near the Sugar Notch exit sometime back in the early 90's. I told Kitty I was sorry to hear that. Pete said Kitty's sister was a Lyme diseased slut who chased after 49'ers and Kitty told Pete he should consider jumping in front of a Ford Bronco full of cheerleaders at the earliest possible opportunity. I decided to go to the kitchen and refill the snack bowl with Crunchy 16.
By the time I got back Pete was desperatly yammering on about the Indianapolis Colt's cheerleaders and the Eagles had scored and things were looking up. I told Kitty and Pete that there was a city in Pennsylvania named Intercourse and that since I myself had actually experienced intercourse, on numerous occasions in fact, I felt a kind of solidarity with Pennsylvania in general. I told them that if Intercourse had a professional football team I would surely root for it every chance I had.
Kitty told me that the thught of two sweating naked human beings having intercourse with each other revolted her and that both Pete and I should be traded to the Packers for lunchmeat. Kitty's a regular laugh a minute.
Pete asked me what I thought would be a good name for a football team from Intercourse Pennsylvania and to be honest I wasn't sure. How 'bout the Gamecocks, I said. Which was pretty lame. Pete said, how 'bout The Missionaries! Which was even more lame. Kitty said, how about the Rams! Which made Pete mad again. I said, the Trojans, the Intercourse Trojans! And we all got a good yuck out of that one.
By this time the New England Patriots had scored once more and things weren't looking too good for the Eagles.
Some other lame team name ideas for the Intercourse franchise that we tossed around included: the Pistons (nah, taken). The Intercourse Pirates! (my favorite but again, already swooped up by another PA team). The Organs. The Slam. The Solicitor Generals. The Fuckeyes (heh, that would piss off those hicks in Columbus, Ohio). The Pussies. The Snatch. The Nittany Loins! At which point Kitty asked, what the fuck is a Nittany anyway? And, at which point, Pete and I just basically looked at each other and said, well fuck, what the fuck is a Nittany anyway? Pennsylvania was becoming a serious fucking mystery. And the Eagles looked doomed.
Before I knew what had happened the game was over and the Simpson's were on the TV and we'd nearly finished off the case of Buckhorn and the forty pound bag of Crunchy 16 that I'd purchased for the party. I suddently felt depressed. Here I was sitting on a couch, beside what amounted to two giant rodents, drinking cheap crappy canned beer, watching a cartoon, and trying to think up obscene names for a make believe football team from the Amish country of Pennsylvania. I felt doomed. There were'nt even any rogue boobies or shaved beaver close-ups or live anal sex action during this years half-time show. What the fuck is the professional sports world coming to? I wanted some LSD.
Pete and Kitty were both three pelts to the wind by this time and snorting at each other like a couple of rutting teenagers, and so, as teenagers will often do, bounded out the back door and off the back porch and into the far pasture where they screwed each other stupid under a crescent moon.
Like I said, I felt doomed. So I clicked over to MSNBC for some so called news and was greeted with eight hours of psycho narrative and old video clips about serial killers and rapists and child molesters and crazy doctors that poison their patients and disgruntled employees who shoot everyone at work because they are apparently disguntled about being poisoned by crazy doctors or something or other like that. And so on. Thats MSNBC's idea of "news" on the weekend. Jeezis Kee Ryst.
Did you know that Pennsylvania's state bird is the ruffed grouse? Yup. It's not the eagle at all. I don't suppose the Philadelphia Grouse would be much of a draw for most football fans in Philadelphia, but, I bet, assuming they didn't fly headlong into a windshield or a picture window at some point along the way, I bet, the Grouse could beat the shit out of the New England Chickadees any day. And, as they used to like to say in Boston, there's always next year. At least I think they used to say that in Boston. I really have no idea.
Hey? How about those Intercourse Twins!
*
