Degenerate Diary Presents:

“STUPOR BOWL ‘09″

The following is a drunken, sleazy, running diary of Super Bowl 43, (edited for coherency)…compiled live from my unemployed buddy’s basement apartment in Washington, D.C. ….

4:02 PM -      Just cracked open my first beer.  Well, if you can classify Bud Light as “beer”.  What does my first of many taste like?    Watered-down detest of the Cardinals.

- Seriously, I don’t want to live in a world where the ARIZONA CARDINALS are Super Bowl Champs.  I just don’t.  I would rather die by auto-erotic asphyxiation while watching ”The  Sisterhood  of the Traveling Pants” than see the Cardinals win the Super Bowl.

4:19 PM -    BEER #2.

-  Fuck pre-game.   We’re playing Star Wars Battlefront 2 for X-Box.  The awkwardness of watching eleventy-billion studio analysts try to cohabitate a pirate ship stage simply cannot compare to the vicarious thrill of slaying Jedi as a cloned stormtrooper.  Suck on that, NBC.

-  That was fun, but I continue to suck at any video game task not involving Tecmo Bowl, or slaying defenseless hookers in Grand Theft Auto.

4:57 PM -     And we’re back, to NBC’s depressing Super Bowl foreplay shitstravaganza.

-  Why is Jay Leno wearing a jean jacket?  Is this segment of the woefully unnecessary pre-game show presented by Jordache?  Not Cool.

5:01 PM -   Brenda Warner grew her hair out?  WOW.  Just… wow.   Upgrade of the century.

I TOTALLY WANT TO FUCK BRENDA WARNER.

I cannot believe I just wrote that sentence.

This was a woman, who, for the longest time, had a short, spiky, “My hair is a strong indication that I prefer the Vag” haircut, that looked like the back of a Stegasuarus.  And now she’s HOT?  Really?  What a difference a haircut makes.  I am suddenly convinced, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that if Hellen Keller had opted for a sexy haircut, her vision and hearing would have instantly been restored.

5:03 PM -  Camera flashes to Brenda Warner again.  Thank you, Jesus.

And she’s wearing red.    Nice.

I STILL WANT TO FUCK BRENDA WARNER.

The world is completely upside down.  Cardinals in the Super Bowl?  Brenda Warner?  What’s next?  Me actually caring about AIDS?

I can’t deal with this.  I need food.

5:57 PM  -  Back.  On the way to Subway, my buddy Rob Mexico, AKA “Sex Mex”, and I gave a homeless man ”the rock”.  No, not a crack rock, although surely he would have greatly appreciated such a random act of kindness.   It was a hyped, drunk-off-two-beers, fist pound to a man who sleeps on grates and eats garbage.  If you’re keeping score America, the homeless derelict conjugation is backing the Steelers.   They’d be waving terrible towels if they didnt need it for underwear.  GO STEELERS!

-  Five dollar foot longs + football + pounding Bud Lights = greatest idea ever.

-  While I was eating, we missed the following:

• Jeff Reed’s hair.  What the FUCK?   He looks like an even more obnoxious version of that chubby douche chef with the blonde spiky hair from the TGI Fridays commercials.  This is definitely the Reverse Brenda of haircuts.    Probably dyed his happy trail like that, also.  And yet he is inexplicably one of the co-captains for one of the league’s classic blue collar fotball franchises?  GAY.

• Matt Millen picked the Cardinals.  I immediately went online and bet an additional $30 on the Steelers.  Thank you, Matt Millen.  Thank you.

• John Elway is in mid-Botox mode, and basically look like Tom Petty.  Interesting.

• Kurt Warner… Man of the Year.   This is me not caring.

• Brenda Warner…. still fuckable.

• Alex Flanigan:  BORING.  The kind of girl that would just lay there.  Weak.  Quite frankly, I expect better of my female sideline reporters.  I mean, nobody cares what you have to say anyway.  And unless your name is Erin Andrews, we aren’t even attempting to listen.  So can you at least display some enthusiasm?  A passion for your easy job?  A shred of personality?  Maybe even a little “fuck Katie Couric, I should have been anchor”, smug disdain for the entire sideline reporting cottage industry?  No.  Nothing.  Oh well.  Least she’s not fat (Paging Holly Rowe!).  So shes’ got that going for her… which is nice.

• Retardinals win the toss.  Defer.

6:26  -  GAME TIME -   I will no longer be time-stamping this.   And possibly not writing anything resembling coherent thought, as:   A.   I am heading for shit-show levels of drunkenness.    B.   Have $$$ on the game, and must at times concentrate as if I remotely affect the outcome of the game.

SUPER BOWWLLLLLL!!!!!

-  Cardinals kick off.  No kickoff return TD.  But on the bright side, perhaps this way I’ll avoid the unbearable blue balls that resulted from Devin Hester’s opening kickoff TD against the Colts 2 years ago.

-  First down Ward!

-  Here comes BEER #4.  Bud Light Lime… surprisingly doesn’t taste like stomach bile.

-  TOUCHDOWN STEELERS!!!!  Big Ben with a 1-yard scramble.  Subsequent 80’s Tecmo Bowl-style high-five with Rob Mexico… BOTCHED.

-  Cardinals challenge the TD…

-  Bud Light Commerical.  Guy gets thrown out a window for questioning the necessity of having Bud Lights in every business meeting.  GENIUS.  Every straight guy in America now has an undying love for two things today:  1.  Hot-as-Balls Bizzaro Brenda.    2.   People being thrown out windows without consequence.  Hilarious.

-  Cardinals win the challenge.  NO TD.

-  Steelers inexplicably puss out and settle for a 19-yard FG from Asshole Haircut Reed.

-  John Madden absolutely lives for sexual innuendo.  His work so far:

• “Penetration”
• “Slide it in”

-  Not only is Madden’s brain composed entirely of applesauce, but he is also a Dirty Old Man.  Dear John,  NEVER DIE.  Ever.

-  Cardinals punt.

-  Rodgers-Cromartie just saved a TD for the Cards D.   Manly play.  Respect.

-  Incredible escape by Big Ben on 3rd and 10.  Throws to Miller for the 1st down.  I just popped a boner.

-  TOUCHDOWN STEELERS!!!!  For real this time.  10-0.  This is going well.  Again, I’d like to thank Matt Millen.  Never change, Matt.  Don’t you ever change.

-  Downside of Cardinals’ struggles:  No gratuitous shots of shocking “It” Girl Brenda Warner.

-  BEER #5.

-  Cardinals answer with a TD.  10-7.  But no Brenda Warner?   Disaster.  Come on, NBC.  Turn on your heartlight!

-  BTW, I just figured out this whole Brenda Warner metamorphasis.   You know the semi-cute, slightly chubby friend you have, that you just know would look hot if she lost like 20 pounds?  Well, what if she lost 30?  BAM!  Brenda Warner.  Except… with hair, rather than cellulite.

-  Madden or Michaels (getting too drunk to hear properly at this point) showers a Cardinals defender with praise.   This leads to our first Degenrate Associate quote of the night, from Ryan:

“The dominant force of the Arizona defense?  Is that like being the hottest girl at fat camp?” - Ryan Rahman

-  Steelers fail on offense.  Breast-On returns the punt across midfield.  Wolverine punk.

-  Mush-mouth, appleasuace brained Madden botches another highlight.  His glorious senility knows no bounds.

-  Cardinals blowing their opportunity, in old-school Cardinals fashion.

-  What’s with these hyped-up 3D commercials?  I don’t get it.  Where do you even get the 3D glasses to watch this garbage?  The Newspapers, maybe?  Nobody reads newspapers anymore.

-  Seriously?  “Chuck” in 3D?  Why bother?

-  Roethlesburger picked off by Dansby on a tipped pass.

-  Madden:   “You gotta plug that middle.”

-  At this point, I’m convinced that JOHN MADDEN HAS NOT HAD SEX SINCE 1978.

-  There is a strong correlation between an individual who makes rampant sexual innuendos, and a correponding overwhelming lack of sexual intercourse in his sad, soul-crushing, eternally blue-balled existence.   Trust me.

-  Cardinals get down to the 2 with 18 seconds left in the half.  but Harrison picks off Warner’s pass in the end zone and runs 100 YARDS for a TD as time expires.  Amazing!  Incredible!  Steelers now feeling like a lock to make me money.  Time to get drunk…er!

-  Steelers domination momentum immediately usurped by craptacular 3D lizard commercial, featuring NFL players.   I have never felt so thankful to NOT have 3D glasses.   Or, as Ryan put it:

“I don’t need Ray Lewis’s crotch coming at me in 3D” -    Ryan Rahman

-  Matt Millen comments during halftime report.  Nobody cares.

-  Like a cobra in the grass, Detroit native and fashionably late Johnny Kozar joins the Millen bashing:

“Matt Millen… 0-16 architect” -  Johnny Kozar

-  Here comes the Boss.  Over/Under on how many balls this halftime show is going to suck:  4,763.5.   I’ll take the over.

-  Jesus.  It’s begun.

-  Bruce Springsteen apparently inhaled an 8-Ball backstage.

“PUT THE CHICKEN FINGERS DOWN!!!!!!!” -  actual quote from Bruce’s “performance”

“….. and stare at my metal erection!” -  Ryan Rahman, after witnessing Bruce utilize the innocent metalic microphone stand as a penile extension with which to visually rape an unsuspecting worldwide Super Bowl audeince.

-  The Boss is wearing friendship bracelets and HAS A HAPPY TRAIL FOR A SOUL PATCH.  I suddenly long for the days of Michael Jackson’s flashy, masturbatory dancing as children pranced around him in one of those godawful Buffalo Bills Super Bowls.  At least that cat could sing.  Give me MJ creaming his pants mid-jam over Springsteen’s more subtle perversion any day.

-  HOLY TITS! Red Tank Top Girl in front row just totally saved Springsteen’s PUNT of a halftime show.  Our degenerate gathering erupts with a sudden, mutual longing for 3D.

“Give me the glasses!  Give me the glasses!” - Johnny Kozar

-  Crazed Boss fans desperately attempt to touch him.  Perhaps they are attempting to channel their innermost Courtney-Cox-in-the-”Dancing in the Dark”-video fantasies.  Or maybe they’re paid to fake it, like one of Larry King’s wives.  Who knows.  Either way, these Boss-backers are a complete waste of oxygen.

“I gotta grab Bruce’s socks!  This is my Graceland!” - Johnny Kozar

-  Completely unnecessary pyrotechnics display.  Because nothing screams “E Street Band”, like FIREWORKS.  What’s on tap for next year’s incongruent Super Bowl halftime show?  Jack Johnson and a psyhcadelic laser light show with imbedded holographic images of the freshly-restored NBC peacock mascot, PISSING ON THE AMERICAN FLAG? Just start the fucking game already.

“These fireworks aren’t part of the show.  They’re stage hands trying to kill themselves.  But all they had were flare guns.” - Johnny Kozar

-  Now an all-black choir has appeared out of nowhere (because I’m drunk, they literally just materialized on the screen) to join Bruce on some pretentious new song that he debuted during the Inauguration.  I believe it’s called “Hope, Change, and Other Vague Promises”.

-  Oh, and the ebony choir is holding candles.  How sweet.  CHUG.  CHUG. CHUG.  Time for another beer.  Christ.

“Are those Jewish star glowsticks?” -  Lauren Masterson

-  I’m officially drunk.  Whatever song E Street is closing with, nobody here is feeling it.  Cousin Jenny, bringing it strong:

“This sounds like bad karaoke.” - Cousin Jenny

-  A pathetic attempt at a humourous skit, mid-song.  What is this shit, dinner theatre?  I want to barf out my five-dollar foot-long.

“Oh God.  Dialogue?!” - Cousin Jenny

-    A fake referee just came onto the stage, possibly to fellate Bruce Springsteen, since The Boss still can’t literally blow himself.  So this insufferable show must suffice in the meantime.

-   Now Bruce and Silvio from The Sopranos are trying to snowball each other at the mike.  Cousin Jenny takes issue with Silvio’s blackened tooth:

“That guy has a POOP TOOTH” -  Cousin Jenny

-  The “concert” mercifiully ends, somewhat anti-climactically, like the vast majority of my dates.

“That couldn’t have been 12 minutes.  I don’t want to kill myself yet.” -  Ryan Rahman

-  The 2nd Half Starts.  Praise Allah, Buddha, that Hindu elephant thing, and basically anyone not named Bruce Springsteen.

-  What beer am I on?   This is going to unravel quickly…

-  Game action.  Warner incomplete pass on 3rd and 6.  Ruled a fumble.  CHALLENGE.  Arizona should win this.

-  HILARIOUS Monster.com commercial.  Youtube it.

-  Cardinals win challenge.  Punt.  Steelers with great opportunity to extend lead now.

-  And they will.   First and Goal.

-  2nd and Goal.  Heath Miller drops a pass.

“Who names their kid Heath?” - Cousin Jenny

“Yeah, it really worked out for Ledger.” - Johnny Kozar

-  BTW, I’m balls deep into BEER #6.  I HEART AMERICA.

-  Steelers settle for the FG.   20-7.   My screenwriting partner, CW, a fellow degenerate, wins $200 if this holds up for the 3rd quarter score.  Awesome.   Gotta love Super Bowl squares.

-  Another Brenda Warner sighting!!!!  And a corrsponding note from an esteemed colleague of mine:

Dear NBC,

Thank you.

Signed,

My Spank Bank.

-  Seriously, Brenda.  Welcome back to my FOZ.  Fleeting Ogle Zone.   And here’s another vocab word for you to learn and practice in your daily, exceedingly Christian life.  D-I-V-O-R-C-E!

-  My buddy Sean just called me to discuss Brenda Warner, extensively.  While his new girlfriend must have surely been in the background, we cackled with perv delight about an (unfortunately) married woman.

-  BEER #7.

-   4TH quarter starting.  CW won his $$$.   Nice.   Too bad he’ll lose $60 to me once the Steelers win.  Easy come, easy go, bitch.

-  Cardinals driving.  In danger of covering the 6.5-point spread.  BOO.

-   Madden just hopped on the Innuendo Express again.  Possibly about a running back.  I’m too drunk to process names.

“His legs are strong.  He can get under your power” - Applesauce Brain

-  1st and Goal Cardinals.

-  Fuck.  Larry Fitzgerald scores on a fade in the corner.  20-14 Steelers.  Cardinals covering now.

-  Steelers 3 and Out.

-  Retardinals ball with 5:26 left to play, on their own 30.

-  Is this a good time to note that I have over $300, in various forms, on the Steelers?

-   I am getting too drunk and nervous for this.  This will totally be edited later so I sound like I went to college.

-   1st and 10 at the Steelers 26.  4:10 left.  Shit shit shit.

-   HOLDING CARDINALS!  Yes!   Suck on that!  1st and 20.

-  Incomplete!  Crazy Braids Polamatu (I don’t care how it’s actually spelled)  with a sweet pass break-up.

-   BONUS:  Shot of Brenda and her HOT daughters.  I am SO googling them later.

-  Cue immediate call from Sean, about the Warner girls.  This coming from one of my lone church-going friends, who, while still a stellar human being, was probably better before he began associating with me.  Yoda voice:   “Occasion of sin I am.  Sorry I am not”

The mouth of Hell awaits me, clearly.

-  Steelers stop them!  Cardinals punt with 3:32 left.  Down it inside the 2, plus a penalty where previously-heroic Harrison basically committed sodomy.  Nice.

-  3rd and 10 from the 1 inch line.  Steelers in the shotgun.  Sweet diving catch for a first down… negated by a holding penatly.  SAFETY.  20-16, Steelers.  Danger, Danger!

-  Steelers safety punt. Breast-On tackled at the Cardinals 35.  1st down.

-  Second down and…..

FUCK!!!!

Larry Fitzgerald slices through the defense on a slant for a 65-yard TD.

I… think I’ve just had my first anal experience.  And not the fun kind.

-  23-20 Cardinals with 2 minutes-and-change to go.  Fitzgerald’s dramatic TD propelled Oleg, my ”Russian-Jewish-Israeli!” friend and busines partner, to scream like a maniac and run around Ryan’s apartment, despite not knowing jack shit about football, or anything vaguely resembling sports, for that matter.

“Oleg, I want to fucking punch you right now.” - ME

“I don’t like state of Pennsylvania” - Oleg (Oleg = always hitherto referred to as if he had the stilted speech  of a KGB agent).

“When were you in Pennsylvania?  At a fucking rest stop?  I want to punch you, Oleg”

(This is the part where I was so shocked, pissed, and nervous, and contemplating the gambling corn-holing I might be taking, that I forgot that:  A.  I”m supposed to be writing,  B.  How to operate a pen.    C.  How many five-dollar foot-longs I’d be losing in opportunity cost from this impending debacle.   D.  If Homeless Guy whom Sex Mex and I momentarily befriended might have room in whatever alley he dwells in for a failed Super Bowl wagerer who lives with his parents)

(BACK.  I recovered in time to scribble down the following):

-  First Down, Steelers.  1:35 left.

-  Another 1st down.  1:!0 left.  Midfield.

-  BEER #8.

-  Steelers driving.  Me= Insane.

(The writing ended there, as I paced around the room-slash-climbed on furniture like a coked-out monkey, but the following events transpired from this point on):

-  Santonio Holmes makes a SICK play after the catch, finally tackled at the Cardinals 7 with under 50 seconds to play.

-  I’m going ape shit.  Everyone in the apartment is officially in my “You could be tackled, choked, hugged, dry-humped, high-fived, or open-mouth kissed at any moment” Danger Zone.

-  Incomplete pass on 1st-and-goal.  Barely sails over Santonio Holmes’ head and through his outstretched hands.

-  2nd and Goal.  Roethlesburger scrambles to his right.  Looks to the back of the end zone.  Launches.  Holmes.  Back of the end zone.  Leaps!  Extends the arms.  Grips glory in his capable hands.  Drags his toes of virtue.     TOUCHDOWN STEELERS!!!!  HOLY FUCKING BALLS!!!! I’m not going to lose money!!!!  Wooooooooo!!!!

-  I immediately tackle Johnny Kozar with two hands around his neck.  And slam him to the ground in euphoric, drunken ecstacy.

-  STEEEEELLLLEEEERSSSS!!!!!  GAMBLING GLORY SNATCHED FROM JAWS OF EMPTY-POCKET-MISERY!!!   USA!!!  USA!!!!

-   Steelers hold on to win, 27-23, after Kurt Warner’s non-fumble isn’t even reviewed, with 5 seconds left.  I’ll take it!

-  This was almost as sweet as Kansas’s amazing victory over Memphis last year, in which I won two pools, with a combined net profit of over $600, an additional bet on Kansas, after being too much of a stubborn, arrogant dumb-ass to hedge on Memphis… and celebrating, drunk, in my parent’s living room on a brisk Monday evening, tossing an envelope full of other people’s money into the air, and dancing around it.  Nothing says “Boyfriend Material” like MAKING IT RAIN IN YOUR PARENTS’ LIVING ROOM!

-  Somewhere in the post-game hooplah, I guzzled BEER #9,  mentally tallied my gambling coux (Plus-$92!!!), and possibly fondled myself in a room with close friends.

-  Did any of this actually happen?   I don’t know.   Why?   Because I PASSED OUT ON THE METRO, MISSED THE LAST STOP, AND HAD TO BE PICKED UP BY MY DAD.

Welcome…. to Degenerate Nation.