The Super Bowl: San Francisco and Kansas City rally to the same result for the 50th time
As Super Bowl games go, the Chief's victory over the 49ers was fun to watch...Kelce when it mattered, and precise defensive play on both sides.
So, when the dust from the artificial turf settled in the depths of our lungs, the result was exactly the same.
We still have Fox promoting a vision of the United States as a glistening beacon. This vision is only possible if you put a deep screen on the lens of all the cameras, and the resulting soft light effect worked its magic for every second other than the 8 minutes of Mr Small Penis. No screens can make Trump appear any different than he is. That must be what the advertisers mean when they talk about American integrity, since we left the remains of our integrity on the roadside miles ago, along with the used condoms.
And, we still have all the women who count out of their clothes offering full crotch shots, while the men are fat, careless, wildly unattractive, and unable to finish sentences. Sports which require 8 minutes of activity within 4 hours tend to lead to obesity problems. And forget #Metoo problems: the lead representative of your gender is happy to run herself up a pole for your delight, dancing in 5 inch heels, more or less exactly like the last 49 Super Bowls. Isn't it amazing that this fifty-year-old has been dancing, right out of her mother's womb, since Super Bowl I? A virgin since the very first time. Stepin' Fetchit in Versace.
What we must preserve, what we look to the Super Bowl above all else to provide, what we crave have more than anything: celebrity. And, thank god (god is one of the coolest celebrities, which is why you can thank they), the advertisers delivered the entirety of Olympus for our satisfaction. As Bill Murray said in his spot shilling for some vehicle or another, "Don't take this personally."
So, the sacred myth of the Super Bowl has been preserved: American self-absorption is safe. We look at our celebrities piled into commercialism like bags of forgotten recycling, and feel safe. Life might be gauzy, but it's beautiful. Fuck y'all.
So, when the dust from the artificial turf settled in the depths of our lungs, the result was exactly the same.
We still have Fox promoting a vision of the United States as a glistening beacon. This vision is only possible if you put a deep screen on the lens of all the cameras, and the resulting soft light effect worked its magic for every second other than the 8 minutes of Mr Small Penis. No screens can make Trump appear any different than he is. That must be what the advertisers mean when they talk about American integrity, since we left the remains of our integrity on the roadside miles ago, along with the used condoms.
And, we still have all the women who count out of their clothes offering full crotch shots, while the men are fat, careless, wildly unattractive, and unable to finish sentences. Sports which require 8 minutes of activity within 4 hours tend to lead to obesity problems. And forget #Metoo problems: the lead representative of your gender is happy to run herself up a pole for your delight, dancing in 5 inch heels, more or less exactly like the last 49 Super Bowls. Isn't it amazing that this fifty-year-old has been dancing, right out of her mother's womb, since Super Bowl I? A virgin since the very first time. Stepin' Fetchit in Versace.
What we must preserve, what we look to the Super Bowl above all else to provide, what we crave have more than anything: celebrity. And, thank god (god is one of the coolest celebrities, which is why you can thank they), the advertisers delivered the entirety of Olympus for our satisfaction. As Bill Murray said in his spot shilling for some vehicle or another, "Don't take this personally."
So, the sacred myth of the Super Bowl has been preserved: American self-absorption is safe. We look at our celebrities piled into commercialism like bags of forgotten recycling, and feel safe. Life might be gauzy, but it's beautiful. Fuck y'all.
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