The Golden Age Of The Super Bowl. Your SUPERBOWLOROOS

Drew Magary's Thursday Afternoon NFL Dick Joke Jamboroo runs every Thursday during the NFL season. Find more of his stuff at his Twitter feed.

When I was a kid, there were two truisms about the Super Bowl. One: The NFC team always won. Two: The game always sucked. That stereotype of the Super Bowl – an event viewed by everyone and enjoyed by virtually no one outside of the winning team's fans – was justified throughout the course of the 1980's. Starting with the '84 49ers, the NFC won 13 straight Super Bowls. And the decade of the 80's was home to just one Super Bowl that can be considered memorable: the '88 Super Bowl, which featured Joe Montana driving the length of the field to beat the Bengals. Only one other Super Bowl that decade (also Bengals/49ers) ended with a margin of victory smaller than 10 points. The games sucked. Badly. The final straw was the '89 Super Bowl, in which the 49ers destroyed Denver 55-10. Holy shit, that was a bad game.

Anyway, things have changed considerably since that time. You, fair NFL fan, are now living in the Golden Age of the Super Bowl. Every sarcastic jeer about the Super Bowl has been blown up in the past ten years. Saints/Colts represents the final Super Bowl of a decade that lays claim to four of the best Super Bowls ever played (Steelers/Cards, Pats/Giants, Pats/Panthers, Pats/Rams).

In fact, if you go back to 1997, six of the past twelve Super Bowls have been among the finest of all time. No doubt, there have been a couple shitty games thrown in there (Ravens/Giants and Bucs/Raiders, which may be the worst one ever). But even some of the ones that don't lay claim to greatest status were memorable in their own, odd ways. Steelers/Seahawks had the referee controversy. Pats/Eagles had Donovan McNabb barfing all over the field. And I watched Bears/Colts while stoned, which was cool. Since the Broncos upset the Packers at the end of the ‘97 season, it's fair to say that the Super Bowl has lived up to its promise of being the greatest sporting event in America. I don't think anyone living in the 1980's would have foreseen this. But holy shit, it really happened, and it's tremendous.

Now, some of this can be attributed to luck. You never know when two teams will be thrown together and end up producing a masterpiece. But not all of this is sheer coincidence. NFL free agency was founded in 1993, and this glorious run of Super Bowls has come just a few years after that system took root. It produced a system where seemingly helpless teams could, with a few shrewd moves (and with a generous portion of income coming in from the revenue sharing pot), find themselves Super Bowl contenders in a relative snap.

I remember the 1999 Super Bowl vividly because it was so bizarre to see the Rams (who had gone 4-12 the year before) and Titans participating in it from out of nowhere. Back then, turnarounds like the kind engineered by the Rams were virtually unheard of. Now, improving your record by 10 games from one year to the next is a relatively common occurrence (Miami did it last season). It was insane back then. It's not so surprising now, and it's what has helped the NFL grow into the biggest sporting business this country has ever seen. Over 100 million Americans are expected to watch the Saints play the Colts. If the Pacers and Hornets played in the NBA Finals, that audience would be roughly 1% of this Super Bowl's, because the NBA is rigged and shitty. The turnaround performed by the Super Bowl is one of the happiest occurrences in sports history.

And it's all in danger of going to shit. No one out there doubts the NFL salary caps are about to become a thing of the past this coming March. That, in itself, is not such a big deal, given all the restrictions in place on prospective free agents as a result. What IS a big deal is that many believe a lockout in 2011 is all but preordained. There are NFL owners such as Jerry Jones who are sick to death of sharing individual team revenue they earned with teams like Buffalo, whom they perceive as leeches. And, in turn, teams like Buffalo and Cincy believe the current NFL pay system gives too much money to NFL players, thus leaving them short on profit. All of this will conspire, in 2011, TO FUCK US ALL IN THE ASS.

Not only could there be no football, or scab football, in 2011, but the system that results from this labor stoppage may end up destroying the perfect balance the NFL has achieved, a balance that I believe has given us the brilliant run of Super Bowls we've all enjoyed over the past 12 years. These have been GREAT games. The kind of games where even the casual fan at the party is telling the hipsters in the corner to shut the fuck up at the end because the game is getting so good. They have been an absolute joy to watch. Games like Steelers/Cards have had multiple HOLY SHIT moments, those moments where you jump out of your chair in complete disbelief at what you just saw. It's nice to see that happen on the biggest stage in sports. And I don't want it to ever go away.

So please, NFL owners. Don't stop this. Don't bring this to an end. It's been too much fun. I swear, if you fuck this up, I will come to your houses and fucking slap you all.

The Game
All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms. And, like every year, I switch to PICKING the games. Because why the fuck not.

The Golden Age Of The Super Bowl. Your SUPERBOWLOROOS

Five Throwgasms

Saints 38, Colts 37: I fully expect Indy to win this game by three touchdowns, but I'll pick New Orleans anyway because A) This pick is inherently meaningless, and B) Everyone else is picking Indy anyway. So FUCK IT! Saints win. Everyone goes batshit. YAY! Now, to the random crap:

-One of the things that amazes me about Peyton Manning is the speed at which he can go through his progression. There are QB's like Big Ben and McNabb and Favre and the like who will spend a lot of time scrambling around and doubling back to try and buy time and find an open man (in Big Ben's case, because his line has issues). But you NEVER see Peyton do that, and the reason why is because he never has to. There's no real way to measure this, but I bet Manning has the fastest read time of a defense of any QB in NFL history, and that he's leaps and bounds faster than the next guy on the list. He sees his options fucking instantly. It's a wonder to behold. The guy is barely ever sacked. He's barely ever touched. Part of that is his o-line, but the other part is that he's made his decision about where to throw before the defense has even taken two steps. That's why blitzing him rarely works, and NOT blitzing him is even worse. He's fucking Speed Reader.

-I wonder how long Manning will play football. He's been relatively healthy this year. As always, he's rarely sacked. He barely even has to move in the pocket. Couldn't he, conceivably, play until he's 45? I'm telling you, if you think Favre has stuck around forever, Manning will outlast us all. He'll play for at least another decade, then become the Colts official head coach immediately afterwards.

-Before the AFC title game two weeks ago, Jim Nantz narrated this big montage of game highlights. Only he dropped his voice in an attempt to sound like John Facenda. He failed badly. I really hope he doesn't do that again.

-By the way, Nantz made a cameo on "How I Met Your Mother" recently, and if you had any doubt as to whether or not that's the whitest show on television, now you know.

-My kid's birthday is the same day as the Super Bowl. I'm gonna have to clean up after her and her friends all afternoon before the game. You'll pay for that, kid. You will pay dearly. No college for you.

-Last Nantz item: There will be shitloads of Masters promos during this Super Bowl. Tiger Woods HAS to play in this. I mean, why keep up the whole "save my marriage" parade at the expense of the Masters? That guy fucking napalmed his marriage. Any reported reconciliation between him and his old lady is strictly PR bullshit. So, if your marriage is already a shambles, may as well go out and break some records. In fact, I don't know why Woods is even going to sex rehab, apart from a PR effort to save his ad contracts. You already ruined your marriage. KEEP FUCKING! YOU MAY AS WELL! Why would you stop fucking crazy ladies NOW? What's the point? You're too late to save yourself, asshole. I say Tiger goes to rehab to salvage a small amount of his rep, and then goes right back to Strange Tang.

-I steal US Weeklys from the gym as a "present" for Mrs. Drew when I get home. And US Weekly is fucking racist. Actually, US Weekly readers fucking racist, because they always have this "Who wore it best?" section, where two retard celebrities wear the same shit and you're asked to vote on who looked better in it, and the black girl NEVER beats the white girl. EXPLAIN THAT, SPORTS GAL.

-I don't own a Playstation because I have kids and they cut into precious gaming time. But I would totally buy one if they rebooted the King's Quest series for it.

These games were fucking awesome, and the last one in development was cancelled in 2001. DAMN YOU, ROBERTA WILLIAMS! These were the games you played back when everyone had some piece of shit IBM and the game itself came in a package of 97 floppy disks. And the installing process took at least seventy years. You'd have to wait until DISK 4 was installed, THEN insert DISK 5. And if you pulled out DISK 4 too early? ANARCHY.

Anyway, I played these games and killed Sir Graham off roughly 7,000 times a day. You could always save your game before you died, so if there was something that you KNEW would kill his ass, you could save the game and make him do it anyway. Is that snake poisonous? FUCK AND YES, IT IS. Then it always played this really sad music. Loved that sad death music.

-It has snowed an inordinate amount here in DC this winter, and I have fallen victim on multiple occasions now to snow dingleberries. I do not like snow dingleberries. You know of what I speak. You wear any kind of cotton or wool garment in the snow, and the snow will instantly adhere to its fine threads and form little clumps that are impossible to take off. Next year, I'm buying a Hazmat suit made entirely of Gore-Tex.

-First an Earthquake hits Haiti, now there's planned remake of "We Are the World" featuring Barbra Streisand, and REM is rerecording "Everybody Hurts" to help support Haiti victims. Holy shit, haven't these poor people been through enough? Those two songs make me want to kill myself. Stupid musicians. Couldn't you help these people with GOOD music?

-One question never addressed to the mailbag: How long is it acceptable to use the same pillow? I have slept with the same pillow for about 11 years now. That can't be good. It's flat as shit because my giant freak head rolls around on it for 8 hours every night, and when I take it out of the pillowcase, I am presented with this GHASTLY sight of stains virtually every shade of yellow. The stains even have rings, as if they age the way a redwood might. It's as if I spent the past decade working out with the pillow tucked in my armpit. BUT IT'S SO COMFY!

-You may be heading out to a Super Bowl party on Sunday. You never know what you get with these things. You may find yourself subjected to a party filled with nothing but casual fans. Happens to the best of us, and it sucks. This is because of the unique phenomenon of SOCIAL CIRCLING. Go to any cocktail party, and circles of discussion will inevitably form. And you must navigate these circles to find people who aren't a complete waste of fucking time. Allow me to diagram. Let's say you're at a party…

The Golden Age Of The Super Bowl. Your SUPERBOWLOROO

Okay, as you can see, this is a real fucking minefield. There are six social circles that have already formed at the party. Half of them are lawyers. You never want to get stuck in the middle of lawyer circles. That's death. You want to find the cool circle to squeeze into. It is a law of cocktail parties that you will find the circle of sports fans DEAD FUCKING LAST as you make your way around the room. You're gonna have to talk to every lawyer, every dick, and every woman who is likely a new mom and talking about her kid. Terrible. Your goal is to spend as little time with the lawyer and dick circles as humanly possible. And the only way to ensure that is to drink. You get your drink, try one circle, find it's a dud group, and then bottom out your glass as quickly as possible so that you can say I NEED A REFILL and get the fuck out of there.

I am not a shy person, but I'll often find myself at parties trying to enter these circles only to fail. You see an intriguing circle of people and you kind of stand outside in the hopes someone will make room for you to physically join (FUCK ANYONE WHO DOES NOT ALLOW AN OPENING), then you have find an ideal time to chip in. I always have trouble with this. It's like merging into traffic. Half the time, I'll just stand there like a fucking idiot, with nothing to say, and then drift away without saying a goddamn word. Again, drinking helps.

So prepare yourself for this. You never know when you'll end up having to navigate parties in this fashion.

The Golden Age Of The Super Bowl. Your SUPERBOWLOROOS

Four Throwgasms

None.

The Golden Age Of The Super Bowl. Your SUPERBOWLOROO

Three Throwgasms

None.

The Golden Age Of The Super Bowl. Your SUPERBOWLOROO

Two Throwgasms

None.

The Golden Age Of The Super Bowl. Your SUPERBOWLOROO

One Throwgasm

None.

Two Weeks Ago: 1-1 (1-1 vs. the spread)

2010 Playoff Picks Record So Far: 5-5 (4-6 vs. the spread)

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"Battery," by Metallica. No fucking around with this one. It's the Super Bowl. I love any Metallica song from the first few albums that starts off very soft, only to have the guitars rumble in a minute later to FUCKING CRUSH YOUR SHIT.

Embarrassing Song I Once Liked That Will Not Fire You Up

"Climbatize," by Prodigy. I loved the intro to this song when it first came out. I used to go get stoned at my friend's apartment when I lived in New York. He had this CD and I would smoke a joint and then play the first minute of this song a thousand times in a row, to the point where he had to physically restrain me from playing it again. He had one of those Bose wave radios, the kind you see advertised on TV where it's like, "State of the art sound can be yours for just 54 easy installments of $379.99!" Anyway, if you've ever toyed with these things, you know that they can get really, really, really fucking loud. The thing looks like a hideous, oversized alarm clock. But holy crap, you can legitimately turn it up to the point of pain. Do not mess around with Mr. Bose wave radio.

Open Mailbag Tuesdays
Got something you want displayed for show and tell in the Deadspin Tuesday Mailbag? Come across a particularly obnoxious personalized license plate and/or boat name? Email me any question or observation you like.

Drew's Chili Recipe
I've added a new ingredient this year. Everyone, say hello to FENNEL SEED. Fennel seed is the shit in Italian sausage that makes it taste like Italian sausage. Besides the ground-up pig assholes, of course.

I have a friend named Jeremy who cannot cook, save for one thing: this chili. So, if you ever go to his apartment, the only thing you will ever find in his kitchen are the nonperishable ingredients from the list below. It's quite humorous.

FOR THE CHILI:
2 packs ground beef or turkey (I use one pack of ground chicken and one pack ground turkey)
1 onion, chopped
8 cloves garlic, chopped
1 shallot, chopped (optional)
1 jalapeno, chopped
1 large can crushed tomatoes
1 can tall red kidney beans, drained
1 can corn, drained
1 can beer
1 can chicken broth
1 tsp liquid smoke
1 tsp sugar
1 tbsp fennel seed
2 tbsp cumin (add more at end if necessary)
2 tbsp chili powder (add more at end if necessary)
The merciless peppers of Quetzlzacatenango, grown deep in the jungle primeval by the inmates of a Guatemalan insane asylum (optional)
1/4 cup white vinegar
Salt & Pepper to taste
Ashes from a joint (optional)
Lotta Frank's Hot Sauce (Frank's is the fucking best.)
2 glugs olive oil

FOR THE SIDES:
Shredded cheese
Tortilla chips
Sour cream
Frank's hot sauce
1 bunch scallions, chopped (As always, don't skimp on the fucking scallions)
Beer

Put a big pot on the stove on medium. Pour in the oil. When it's hot, toss in the onions, garlic, jalapeno, and shallots and stir them around until soft. Toss in the ground meat. Salt and pepper the ground meat in the pot. Sautee the meat until it's good and brown. Add the tomatoes, beans, corn, beer, broth, liquid smoke, sugar, cumin, chili powder, fennel seed, joint ashes, vinegar, and Frank's. Bring it to a simmer. Half cover the pot and leave it on low medium heat for 2-3 hours, stirring occasionally and always tasting. The liquid in the pot should reduce into a nice, thick stew. Dip in a chip to see if the chili sticks to it. If it does, it's ready to serve. SERVES ONE.

Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death
Every player in the Jets secondary not named Darrelle Revis. You people cost me Rex Ryan in the Super Bowl. SHAME ON YOU. I hope you get locked in a basement and forced to listen to "Everybody Hurts" on a loop for eight years.

Nazi Shark's Vegas Lock Of The Week
Lots of sports sites, to demonstrate the arbitrary nature of gambling, like to have animals like monkeys pick games to see if they can outwit their human counterparts. There's no reason we at Deadspin can't also get in on the fun. So we've asked National Socialist German Workers' Party member Rolf, who also happens to be a shark, to pick one game a week. Take it away, Nazi shark.

The Golden Age Of The Super Bowl. Your SUPERBOWLOROOS

"This week, I like the Colts giving 5 points on the road against the Saints. You know what? I'm under .500 for the year. But that doesn't matter, and you know why? Because reader Matt remembered that I picked the Saints to win the NFC title back in April. I DID! TAKE THAT, JEWS!"

2009 Nazi Shark Record: 9-10. (1-2 playoffs).

Great Moments In Poop History
Reader Adam sends in this story he calls THE UNAPOOPER:

November of 1999, I go out for my 20th birthday in Gainesville, while I was attending UF. I had a really good fake ID, but none of my friends did, so we went to a shitty dive bar within walking distance of our apartments. To cut out all the superfluous details, I get really fucked up, and wake up in my room the next day, about 7 PM to be specific. The room is trashed (I would come to find out that 2 friends had kind of dragged/escorted me home, and when I went to flop on my bed, I missed— several times, knocking over tables, lamps, and other furniture in the process).

But, what is really baffling to me as I wake is not just the fact that it is 7PM, but rather the stench of shit: a strong, gnarly smell that hit me as soon as I woke up. I did the most reasonable thing in that situation and checked my pants and underwear, which were clean. I wandered out into the hall of my apartment and the smell was just as strong, if not worse, so I checked the toilet— nothing; checked the back tank for a sneaky upper-decker— nothing; go to my roommate's bathroom to look in there— nothing.

I ask my roommate, who's just lounging on the couch watching TV, if he smells this awful stench and he says something like, "Yeah, I just figured you shit yourself because you were so wasted or something," and keeps on watching TV, pretty unconcerned about the retched stench infiltrating our apartment.

So, I start just following the trail of stink with my nose down the hall to our laundry room, from where the stench seems to be emanating. I open the door, expecting to see someone' shit filled pants on the floor, or maybe a pile of dump on the floor. But, the laundry room seemed clear, I couldn't see any shit anywhere... until I saw a small brown fleck on the dryer. I looked closer and realized that smell seemed to be coming from maybe underneath the dryer, but that wasn't really possible. So, thinking to myself, "No fucking way," I opened the dryer door and saw that, yes, someone had taken a massive shit in our dryer— a frontloading dryer, too, not a top loader. And, on top of shitting in the dryer, this person had wiped with dryer sheets and some of my t-shirts that were in there.

We never found out who it was— we chalked it up to the Unapooper.

That was no Unapooper. That was YOU, Adam. Don't you see? You got loaded, shat in the dryer, took a shower, and then went back to bed. ALMOST THE PERFECT CRIME. ADMIT WHAT YOU DID.

Shitting in a front loader is impressive, I must say. Ever encounter a front-loading washer? Holy fucking back pain, Batman.

Reader J5 sends in this story I call POOPSTOCK:

Springtime 1996. State University of New York College at Fredonia on the shore of Lake Erie in western New York. A relatively unknown band (at the time) known as the Mighty Mighty Bosstones was set to headline Fredonia Fest, which was basically a weekend long concert of bands playing on campus. Needless to say the week before Fredonia Fest did not include classes. Being the classy (special) gentlemen that we were, the week prior included a ton of Golden Anniversary and bottles of Moby Wine (Moby Wine was produced and bottled in Moby's dorm room, tasted like battery acid but did the job at low cost).

Because of the rain, all in-concert frolicking and moshing was a mud soaked mess - and totally awesome. At some point (after the Bosstones left the stage due to excessive mud-slinging), we noticed a long narrow patch of sopping mud somewhat away from the stage and closer to the dorms that resembled a slip and slide. "Wow" we thought as a group - let's move the party over there.

Remember the commercial for Slip and Slide? "Sli-ip... Slip and Slide!". Well we slipped and slid. And played football. And played soccer. And covered ourselves in this mud. Maybe it was the week of drinking, maybe it was the Moby Wine (probably a little of everything), but our senses (especially smell) were diminished. Finally, after we all were covered in mud, my friend regained his sense of smell realized that it wasn't mud and let us all know by muttering these 3 words that I will never forget:

IT'S A SEWER!

We were frolicking in the overflowed discharge of a septic tank. It was the shit, piss and whatever from thousands of college students. I of course threw up immediately, and threw up the entire slippery sprint back to the dorm. Since the dorms we lived in at the time were "Suites" with shared showers, we all ended up basically showering together.

There was at one time a video of the entire event, but no one knows what happened to it. I am sure it exists somewhere, and I would not be surprised if it ended up on Youtube. Actually, I would be happy - because I was slim, and covered in muscles at the time. Also I was covered in shit.

I'm going to take another shower.

Still sounds like a good time, though!

Fire This Asshole!
So sad. Our final, and very meager chopping block of the year.

Jim Zorn – FIRED!
Jim Mora – FIRED!
Dick Jauron – FIRED!

I like that the Bears hired Mike Martz to be their offensive coordinator. Jay Cutler will throw 30 TD's and 50 picks next year.

Super Bowl Snack Of The Week

The Golden Age Of The Super Bowl. Your SUPERBOWLOROOS

WINGS! Always wings on a Super Sunday.

I watch this Food Network show called "Chopped" on occasion. It blows, but it's something to watch while "Top Chef" is on break. Anyway, the premise of the show is this: Four chefs compete to win the episode. They must prepare three courses using mystery ingredients placed in a basket. They have 20-30 minutes to conceive and cook the dish for the judges. At the end of each course, one chef is eliminated. And the producers of the show go to great lengths to make the ingredients in the basket be as random as possible. Your dessert basket might have tomatoes, garlic, and oatmeal in it. They're just like, "Here, take this horrible shit and make something awesome out of it."

Now, this is why the show blows: NO chef, in thirty minutes, can make anything good out of this shit. At all. It takes, what, ten minutes to preheat an oven? How can you cook anything useful in that time? At the end of every round, all the contestants are just like FUCK IT, and they'll just throw all the shit on the plate and hope it doesn't taste like ass. Half the time, the meats aren't even cooked through.

So the contestants bring the food over to the judges (and the judges are all PRICKS, and not likable pricks like Tommy Colicchio, but truly unlikable assholes), and the judges taste their shit, then act fucking OFFENDED that their shit wasn't cooked through. They'll just stare at the contestant angrily for minutes at a time. Dude, you gave the guy half an hour to make fucking ribs. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU EXPECT? You have no right to complain about the shit you just ate. You weren't even a good enough restaurateur to be on "Top Chef".

They need to either give these contestants more time, or give them ingredients that don't amount to a giant pile of suck. I don't want my food porn to involve inedible, uncooked dogshit. Give them time to make dishes I would like to actually fucking eat. And find judges I don't want to run over with my car.

Super Bowl Cheap Malt Liquor Beer Of The Week

The Golden Age Of The Super Bowl. Your SUPERBOWLOROO

Johnny Three Legs! Reader Dave writes in:

Found this in college at a CVS of all places. Wondering why there was a chicken on a malt liquor bottle I read the back label that has "The story of Johnny 3 Legs." Read it for yourself and you'll come to the same conclusion that we did, mainly "how can you not buy this?" Like every idiot white guy in college we tried all the 40's on the market and 3 Legs, as it came to be known, turned out to be pretty good (as far as malt liquor goes).

Sorry the picture isn't very good but I guess this didn't catch on and is no longer on the market. What a shame. You gotta love any product that puts a fifty year old joke on the bottle just to pretend the product isn't the nickname of a guy with a big dick

I MUST HAVE IT. Here is the full story from the back of the label:

"The story goes, that while driving on a country road, a man observed a chicken running alongside his car at great speed. The faster he drove, the faster the chicken ran to keep up with the car. Curious, the driver slowed down, and lo and behold, saw that it was a three legged chicken. The chicken turned off the road and ran toward a barn. The driver, following its path, spotted an old farmer near the barn. He approached the farmer and asked

'Did you see a three legged chicken run by?'

'Yes.' replied the farmer, 'We raise them here.'

'Why?' asked the driver.

'Well,' replied the farmer, 'I like a drumstick, my wife likes a drumstick, and my child likes a drumstick, so we decided to raise three legged chickens, so we could all have a drumstick.'
'But,' asked the driver, 'do they taste as good as the regular drumsticks?'

'I don't know.' replied the farmer, 'They run so fast that we have not been able to catch one yet.'

We hope you enjoyed our story, and that you like the name of our product, and will think about it the next time you are out shopping for a malt liquor."

That is the worst story EVER.

Robert Evans' Super Bowl MVP Watch!
Time to start thinking about who will win the Super Bowl MVP. Legendary Hollywood producer Robert Evans will join us to give us his assessment. Take it away, Mr. Evans.

The Golden Age Of The Super Bowl. Your SUPERBOWLOROO

"Baby, my favorite for the Super Bowl MVP is Peyton Manning of the Colts! You know, this time of year always reminds me of the great Black Sunday! What a pic! Suspenseful? YOU BET! Controversial? I heard Goodyear sued to keep it out of theaters!

"Well, I'm dear friends with the star of that film: the one and only BRUCE DERN. And let me tell you, Dern is a MANIAC! I've met plenty of lunatics in this town. HOPPER! SUTHERLAND! MANSON! But Dern tops them all. LOVES fire. There's no bigger pyro out there than ol' Dern!

"One time, we were enjoying drinks at the Chateau Marmont, and Dern tells us there's a party in his bungalow. So we go. And what a party! Hookers? YOU KNOW IT! So Dern pulls one of these Russian beauties into his bedroom. Not five minutes later, the girl comes FLYING out of the bedroom, naked as Brando, with her hair on fire! And Dern comes running out behind her, holding his stiff manhood in one hand, a butane torch can in the other, and yelling at her WAIT! WE AREN'T DONE YET! Ol' Dern. He was a character!"

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Rams Fans

Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs. I've seen this movie 400 times in the past month because my kid likes it. I now have issues with it:

-Why not "Dwarves"?

-Why doesn't the Wicked Queen just KILL Snow White? She's got her all alone in the cottage, and what does she do? Makes her eat an apple coated in barbiturates. What an idiot. And she's going through her spell book while she's making the apple, and she's all like, "The only thing that can break the spell is true love's first kiss. WELL, I DON'T THINK THAT'LL BE AN ISSUE!" Fool! Your stepdaughter is a piece of ass! You really think someone isn't gonna come around to steal a kiss from her cadaver?

-Why can't the girl singing Snow White's songs carry a fucking tune?

-Why is Snow White such a pussy? "Oh! Oh, I'm just a delicate little princess! All I can do is clean shit and be pretty, and sit here like a GASH and wait for some Ken doll to come rescue me!" Some example you set for my kid, honey.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Marge, when kids these days say `bad', they mean `good'. And to `shake your booty' means to wiggle one's butt. Permit me to demonstrate."

A quick Simpsons question: Is Bart popular in school? Sometimes bullies pick on him. Sometimes it seems like Milhouse is his only friend. Sometimes everyone wants his yearbook signature at the end of the year. It eats at me.

Halftime Masturbation Kit
-For the guys: Holy Taco does a thorough evaluation of Saints gals vs. Colts gals. Everyone wins!
-For the gals: CSI's George Eads. Very taut nips.

Enjoy the Super Bowl, everyone. I'm back next week to close down the Jamboroo.