Repetitive Commercial Syndrome

It is brutal and unavoidable. It is my least favorite thing about the tournament. By now, I know what happened to Julia Louis Dreyfus's underwear.

I hope someone drugs the painted-up screaming guy who got a good deal on his State Farm insurance, and he gets behind the wheel of a Pontiac with faulty brakes and plows into another car carrying the two douchebags who spend all of their waking hours comparing their cell phones, and someone's Cingular phone gets jammed completely into the rectum of one of the fucking student athletes who went pro in something other than sports. And then I hope the painted-up guy's insurance premiums go up, causing him to completely flip out and kill Emeka Okafor.

But, by far, your least favorite, judging from the e-mails I'm getting... revolves around a three-hour tewerrrrr. I don't know why the people at Appleby's thought we'd enjoy seeing those two guys perform that particular song 700 times this weekend, but it does not make me want shrimp. Complete Sports is a little tired of them, as well. They go into a little more detail.

Ok, these commericals are getting a little ridiculous. [Complete Sports]