I man Fort Dume Isolation on Battered Hill overlooking Walled In Pond in the Gladgrimshine Realm of Midguard. "The Crystal Castle" glimmers forbiddingly in the distance. Idle, idle idler! Solitude sings as a coy doe prances deep into the forest. Death knocks at the door as I stare at an open field of a thousand smiles...and The Walled In Pond Meadow enchants coos haunts.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Super Duper Biggest Mega Giant Boredom Probe Ever Bowl or The Super Bowl Channel Monopoly Squeeze Staleness
Mono-tonatic-chromatic humorless colorless uncreative dead putrid announcers, obviously covert members of The Flat Earth Society fake laughing behind closed doors, greeted borified the television viewer of the Super Bowl ---. Many ex-players-coaches from the league who have no verbal license but a big gigantic mega titanic super massive bloated near gravitational implosion star celebrity face - that lulls petrified minds, unfortunately, to no harder decayed end - assume the announcers helm. There is a single channel monopoly on super bowl broadcasting rights hence the staleness - politics aside. Perhaps the blandness in the audible aspects of viewing is what this country demands. Perhaps this country is the guardian of the Flat Earth Society. There are is a plethora of cloaked esoteric insider silent banshees doting lights shades or sun glasses, because they think they become invisible when they wear them, and we all know they would never tell us they are the guardians of The Flat Earth Society - heaven must bid or forbid one or the other. No, I take that back: mind petrification erasure due to borification and being mind-spirit hammered flattened to beyond death's death, a living breathing blood sack body aside, by cloaked rogue dirty laughing insatiable gold producing grubbin mud sacks hiding esoterically somewhere with money filled wallets secretly worshiping pancakes for total control is the American way.
The commercials reeked and were twisted and skewed in wrong directions. I will not go into extensive full detail but will give a few examples. The baby E-trader full diaper mature stinky emissary from E-trade hybrid had a pet cat named Pepper. The name was responsible for the sneezy weezies obviously-obviously the joke. However, at the end, where the punch line and real laugh ha ha aspect of the commercial shoulda taken place the ding bat babe was entirely lacking aplomb or playing a nasty off note very likely to spite viewers and cause laughter at something not funny which is funny to devious evil commercial writers who were probably lamely watching normal folks for laughs and thus got off on their hideous petty little trick. Are these people really anti-funny joke ha ha? Or is there simply no person in the country who can write a decent joke catered to the general public during months of preparation on a huge budget or even at the very least plagiarize one from an already established joke book? Or, a final option, the minds of the people living under the Flat Earth Societies Guardianship are so petrified-borified and broken that their sense of humor must be catered to in this abortive manner. I am leaning towards the petty fascist backed jokester myself. The game announcers have never heard of humor ha ah ha funny in their lives I am convinced - as an aside. I mean at least have the diapered envoy of E-trade ask his kitty cat if he wants some salt up his nose. Then perhaps he would diligently assiduously attend to serious serious serious humor business by pouring some salt up Pepper's nose causing the cat to run away in a whirlwind fur ball and shocked meow. Then he coulda made any kind of joke, word play, etc.: 1. Bye bye salty. The cat looks back. The e-trade diaper sack then tries to get the salt out of the nose of Pepper because he lost so much money in the stock market and cannot afford to buy more. 2. Pepper was just ah-ah-ah-salted. 3. I now deem thee Pepper my e-tradic ill wiz bear: Salted Bull. Etc etc etc. Most commercials, viewed by one Jafe Verengren, who was consulted for this blog post, suffered from some dis-functionality or another of this kind or another or another or another.
And one more lame commercial: Wendy's: "You Know When It's Real..." or not... One man sitting munch lunching smacks his counterpart wing sir doodle snouwzer man in a Classic Hollywood manner. So "Real." Excessively lame. Cheapens manliness especially during Super Squeezed Bowl Hours. Regrettably reeks of Classical Holly-Petrified-Mind-Wood. The fault. And the corrective: Show out takes of one man with a red black blue purple jaw or whatever and what his reaction was from being smacked aside the face by his co star and vice versa. Have Chuck Palahniuk, the writer of Fight Club, give lessons and sponsor the commercial. Disgusting un-lawful use of the phrase "You know when it's real" under such circumstances. Abortive imaginary land akin to Holly-fake-Wood straying broken minds further and further into the land of no return or pretend realm prison. Enough said. Lame. Or... I was sure whacked a good one in the face by the whole Wendy's Fake-fraudulent-counterfeit abortive-wunderland anti-contra-abortive-spectacle. Some savvy lawyer should get litigious and finish by causing the drafting of a US Supreme Court resolution banning such reality erasing spectacles and Wendy's should be put on probation from the advertising business indefinitely and made an example of.
The beef meat of this article and the tight ends in the game and the "emotions" of the locker room is solid. Thank Thor the players found a way to "bottle them up" (emotions) and bring whatever that means onto the field. And yes the homo-eroticism was intentional. Lesbians your day is over...Go shut the fuck up, literally, on the island of Lesbos for about a generation or two while men slap ass amongst themselves since you do not want yours slapped any more obviously. Not directed at you fem-nails, but, slapassing in male sport is solid and well accepted when a team mate needs a pick me up or a congratulations free of charge, and, not a mean ill humored snarl from some abortive-fem-nazi-poser-vagina-sex-control-freak-power-binger. In order to avoid eliminate stale mono-chrome-tone flat voidical vapid banal announcers-voices of the game-commentators, allow for some competition. Run the super bowl on 5 different stations or even networks and let each channel and team of announcers duel it out for the best ratings. The monopoly flattens kills vibrancy. And the hyper rapid brevity of the game is abrasive. Does the establishment have no time to comment on a single touch down HURA celebration dance prance tread for hours and hours and hours. That is how it should be. The Super Hyper Rapid 30 Second Wunder bowl is it? (No cheerleaders shut the fuck up now - literally and figuratively!!! Men do not care. Go have an abortion or something...like Marla...) Where is the grand style? The Chairman of the League had his 7 year old son write his 30 second gunk ass of a speech at the trophy presentation because he had no time to write it himself nor memorize or practice it beforehand ...or... he is also secretively a consulate member of the flat earth society that only rich people are a part of and thus essence leak abortively excited fans to death by creating an entertainment vacuum: the borification of the mindless zombies. Where is the Super in that? Go figure...go figure...