Super Bowl TMXXIXIXIXXVLLIXVXV

X24's grandmother called him and said she'd be watching the "super game" with her neighbor. Even the old folks are excited. Like the day after Thanksgiving, the Super Bowl^TM is one of a few things that captivates the American psyche.

Here in our other festival of consumption we're treated this year to a watered-down version. After Janet's ample busom was unharnessed last year the Puritanical do-gooders are out in force, electing to wheel out geriatric sensation Paul McCartney to deliver a family-friendly wad of ancient shit rock. The "Best Damn Sports Show, Period" was forced to change their name to the "Best Darn Sports Show, Period".

Who are they kidding? You can't can't polish a turd and you can't make football NOT a festival of manly testosterone celebration of self-absorbed obese drunken boob worship!

Sure, we won't see a wardrobe malfunction from 500 feet, but you'll get zooming skycam shots down cheerleaders' generous bubbling cleavage and nobody will complain. There will be ten commericals for boner pills and talk of four-hour erections being a bad thing. They'll try to sell us beer and booze and if they can somehow wrap a flag around your flaccid phallus they'll do it. They'll peddle crappy fast food and shitty fad diets, SUV's and sports cars, and a DVD player for $14.95 at Wal-Mart. Isn't any of this obscene?

Dammit! A booby is not the enemy of all that is moral and good. A booby isn't driving our culture into the crapper. A booby isn't driving our country into bankruptcy! Wake up!

I wish Paul McCartney would have had the balls to whip out his aged wrinkly schwantz, wave it into the camera, then plug it into a hole he drilled in his wife's leg. I wish he had the guts to push the envelope, hell, take a crap in the envelope and tell all that are watching that they are just dupes of the New World Odor. Give the censors something to censor.

Like sheep we buy into the Puritanical message without analyzing who/what/where the real evils are.