The Super Bowl was terrific last night. But first, let's say hello to Bruce.
Hi Bruce! Thanks!
The halftime show was terrific, and the episode of The Office that followed was brilliant. ("The fire is shooting at us!") I really wish Jack Black and Jessica Alba (Did she even get one line?) had been on the actual show as opposed to some really odd granny-loving movie. Can you imagine if they were part of the Utica branch of Dunder Mifflin? I'd put in for a transfer there in a second.
The commercials were pretty terrible, for the most part. They were saved by the casual violence of the Doritos ad where the man takes a snow globe to the crotch. As a wise critic once said, "The ball! His groin! It works on so many levels!" And the best line of the night was the flowers telling that poor woman, "No one wants to see you naked!" The rest were merely meh, although I did feel like I was going insane during the "3D" Sobe lizards dancing abortion of a commercial.
I'm not much for football analysis, so I'll let that word go to the fine folks over at the worldwide leader. I'm happy to say I was wrong and the game was frickin' terrific and it sucks that we now enter the two month netherworld of the worst sports period of the year. And I'll refrain from reviewing the (amazing) halftime show because this here weblog has honestly been nothing but a blogasm concerning Springsteen for quite some time now. Parts 1 and 2 are here for your viewing pleasure.
Oh. And phuck you Punxsutawney Phil. Phuck you very much.
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