Sunday, February 09, 2014

Super Bowl Leftovers

I feasted like King Hell his own bad self on Super Bowl Sunday. One week later, and I’m still dreaming of those bacon-wrapped cream cheese-filled poppers:


Hot poppers-on-stoneware pornographic action!



These and the wings went a long way towards easing the sting of Denver’s early surrender to Seattle. (Ya poor dumb bastiches coulda at least made a football game out of it!)



 My wife is vegan, so this was more-or-less all for me. I love my wife. 
A moment of silence for great Super Bowl party spreads past.


By the way, how about that Bruno Mars? It was pretty much the same act I saw him do on Saturday Night Live a year ago, what with the dancing band, etc., but what impressed me was how smooth his show was. From the Stones to Tom Petty to Bruce Springsteen to Madonna to Beyonce, it seems these half-time acts get up there, play their hits as loud and as fast as possible, with much jumping and dancing and fireworks and flashpots exploding, and you’re left feeling like you’ve been beaten about the head for 10 minutes straight.

I’m not a fan and I couldn’t tell you a single song he did. But at least I didn’t feel like I was being assaulted. Thank you, Bruno Mars, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers, for not overdoing it.
Vegan taquitos with my wife’s homemade guacamole. Somehow she makes it work without mayonnaise in the guac, just avocado and fresh-squeezed lime juice.

Strangely, the commercials felt a little more subdued than usual, too. Maybe that was just me. I know at least one person who was upset with Bob Dylan narrating the GM commercial, but Dylan made it clear a long time ago if there’s a check to be cashed, he’s cashing that check, and fuck how you feel about “The Times They Are a-Changin’.”

As someone who has followed Dylan for a long, long time—long enough to wish there was an extended DVD of the Hard Rain concert broadcast on NBC in 1976—aren’t you used to being disappointed by now? After how cruelly he treated Joan Baez and Donovan in Don’t Look Back? The cynical get-me-out-of-this-contract dreck that was Self-Portrait? (It fucking sucked, and I don’t buy the recent “rehabilitation” of it.) His Crazy for Jesus phase? His right-wing Zionist, anti-union propaganda on Infidels? That abomination Together Through Life? That ghastly Christmas album?

So Dylan narrated a pro-corporate car commercial. You’re disappointed. You’re late to the party, sweetie.
We had killer vegan chips, Reese’s Pieces, and fudge brownies. You missed it!


As I miss it now. Thank God I don’t eat like this every Sunday, though. I’d be big as a goddamned house.

I just had soda pop to drink, though. I hate to waste perfectly good beer on a Super Bowl when I need that to write late at night.


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