Hey 3.5 readers.
Video Game Rack Fighter here. Just curious, who are you all rooting for in the Super Bowl?
Honestly, I was with BQB on this one. Really, who cares? This guy throws a ball, that guy throws a ball…who needs it?
Oh well, who cares what BQB thinks now that I have won his blog in the divorce and he is left to spoon with Leo McCoy in the Random Motel.
#worstboyfriendever
Hey 3.5 readers.
Good news. I was hired to provide the play by play for the Super Bowl. Yes, the NFL wanted to save some money so they hired a nerd who knows nothing about sports.
Here goes nothing.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen welcome to Super Bowl 50. That’s right. The only sports contest thats too old to hang out in the club, but not old enough for an AARP card.
I’m Bookshelf Q. Battler and I don’t know a damn thing about sports, but I was happy to take this job in exchange for $50 and an autographed picture of some football guy whoever the hell he is I don’t know they all look the same to me. The signature looks real though so I’ll probably sell it on ebay.
And the sporting contest has begun! Yes! Two teams of large men, each from different geographic locations have met on the gridiron and you, the viewer at home, will be called upon to cheer for the team closest to your geographic location or else be considered a smelly communist. Yes, that’s right, if you watch anything else but this sporting contest tonight you’re an automatic a-hole.
And the ball has been kicked! Yes the ball has been kicked! And now men are fighting for control of the ball!
Yes and…oh my God! Oh my God! One of the men has the ball and he’s running toward the opposing team’s side of the field. That’s right folks! If he gets the ball all the way across the opposing team’s side of the field then it’s a goal for the team of the man running with the ball.
Mother of God the man with the ball has been tackled to the ground! He’s not running with the ball anymore. Yes, this is quite a sporting contest and all kinds of sporty shit is happening.
By the way, I’d like to take a moment to thank our sponsor, Cheesy Munch Chips. That’s right. While all of you fat, middle aged people sit on the couch and live out your NFL fantasies, flagellating yourselves over what you could have done better when you played for your high school team a million years ago, be sure to numb the pain by tossing a sack full of Cheesey Munch Chips down your gullet.
And back to the action. There seems to be quite a scramble for the ball. Possession of the ball, by the way, is very important because whichever team controls the ball has the ability to score a point and as you’re all aware, the team with the highest number of points at the end of the game wins and the team with the least amount of points will be treated like pathetic losers and will have to go home to their mansions and cry on their piles of money to comfort themselves.
Who has the ball now? Yes it is…that guy! That guy that everyone likes! He’s in that funny commercial. Whoa! But he just passed it to that guy that was caught on tape punching his girlfriend’s lights out. Yes, he was suspended for an entire fortnight. That’ll teach ’em.
Sweet Jesus, and now that guy has passed it to that guy who was arrested after the gun fell out of his sweat pants in the night club. Holy Shit, why can’t all of these athletic one percenters handle their shit?
And the ball’s getting closer and closer and….huzzah! That team scored a point!
Ladies and gentlemen, such a rousing game. I’m so excited. I hope all you fat bastards at home are having a good time shoving chicken wings into your face holes and trying to feel better about not making the varsity cut when the first George Bush was president.
Now it’s time for the halftime show.
Wow! It’s that Hot Pop Star Chick with Enormous Boobs! She’s singing a catchy song that you’re all going to download immediately, hum in the back of your head for three months, and then forget all about it when the Next Hot Pop Star Chick with Enormous Boobs comes along.
Wait a minute. What?! It’s not enough to have a Hot Pop Star Chick with Enormous Boobs! That’s right, they’ve rigged the Hot Pop Star Chick with Enormous Boobs up to a crane and an elaborate system of ropes and pullies to make it seem as though she’s flying through the air like Peter Pan.
Yes, nothing says “America loves its musical talent” like forcing them to put their lives in danger just to provide us with a few minutes of entertainment. God Bless you, Hot Pop Star Chick with Enormous Boobs.
Holy Smokes! And now Controversial Rapper is here to provide a rap version of Hot Pop Star Chick’s song. OH MY GOD! And now Country Band is here to countrify the shit out of this routine.
Yes, this is America and everyone has to be happy with everything! Good God now there’s some glorious fireworks! Whoa! Watch out Hot Pop Star Chick, one of those whizzed right past you while you’re being held by wires at a ridiculously high altitude for America’s viewing pleasure.
What’s really amazing to me is that all of these stars are performing this number on an elaborate stage that totally moves around and shit. It’s not like that’s a death trap waiting to happen or anything.
Hey, the commercials are on! Howsabout these commercials, ladies and gentlemen?
Folks, I’m like you in that I’m on a budget and when I’m forced to make a decision, I always come down on the side of the brand with a hilarious talking cartoon animal, or a dumb guy that does dumb things to get a product, or stops doing dumb things once he gets the product, or a product that looks good when its held by Celebrity Hot Chick with Enormous Boobs.
Back to the big game. Close up on some celebrities in attendance. Yes, they’re just like you and me. They love sports and they get to attend in person because they can afford the astronomical price for tickets while the rest of us sit on the couch and wished we lived like them.
And…points have been scored! Repeat points have been scored!
This is so tense. It really is. Let’s get a close up of the coach barking orders at the players.
You know a lot of people ask me, “What’s the difference between the coach and the players?” and I always tell them, “The players try to score points while the coach tells them the best way to score the aforementioned points.”
Very subtle. A lot of nuance I know. But right now we can see the coach telling a player how to score points. We don’t have a microphone on the coach so we can’t listen in but I can read lips so here’s what I believe is being said:
COACH: I thought I told you to score some points!
PLAYER: I’m sorry, Coach. I really tried to score some points.
COACH: You need to try harder to score some points! That thing you did before, that’s never going to score you any points! But if you do this thing I’m telling you now, then you’ll score a lot of points! Understand?
PLAYER: Yes sir!
COACH: Good! Now get out there and score us some points!
Holy Crap I was moved by that.
Points, points, so many points being scored by each side now. And there’s a tie! Yes, each team has an equal amount of points.
Now, I’m no mathematical genius but I’d say that’s a problem. Really, just on a statistical basis, a team with the most points is most likely to win and the team with the least amount of points is most likely to lose. If I were a professional football player, I’d definitely want to be on the team that scores the most points.
We can see on the clock that there isn’t much time left so it all amounts to this one kick…and…the kicker is going to kick the ball and OH MY GOD! THE KICKER KICKED THE BALL AND SCORED THE WINNING POINT!
What a game. Half of the country is thrilled that the team closest to their geographic region has won. It makes them feel like they did something by sitting on their fat asses for three hours instead of doing something productive like getting on the damn stair master or looking for a job.
Alas, the other half of the country is depressed that the team closest to their geographic team has lost. They’ll blame it all on that one player who should have tried a little harder to score some more points.
What’s wrong with that guy? Doesn’t he know he’s supposed to score points?
This has been BQB, reporting live from the Super Bowl. Now stay tuned for an incredibly shitty show with beautiful people who pretend like their lives are horrible and tell jokes that aren’t funny and no one on the show is relatable to the average bloated ugly American slob.
It’ll be off the air in three months, but someone at the network really believed in it so he/she put it on after the Super Bowl in a desperate effort to ram it down everyone’s throats.
Enjoy!
Vin Diesel driving a car between two buildings?! That’s super awesome and doesn’t defy the laws of physics and gravity whatsoever!!! Sign me up to see that movie!
What are your favorite Super Bowl Ads so far?
I like to Shakespearize things – movies, TV shows, songs. I love Shakespeare. Maybe it’s trite, but I do feel that the English language’s greatest author walked the earth around 500 years or so ago (give or take a few years here or there).
I hope to turn this into a new feature, and if you have something you’d like to see Shakespearized, let me know.
Without further ado…
DEFLATEGATE SHAKESPEARIZED
By: Bookshelf Q. Battler
A Tale Told in the Tradition of the Bard
PRESS MAN #1 – In fair New England where we begin our tale, a legend of great treachery and sanctimonious chicanery, of gladiators of the gridiron and air dispersion most foul.
RANDOM COLTS PLAYER (staring at and holding up a football as if it were a skull) – Is this a ball I see before me? It’s lack of weight disturbeth me with the passion of the Gods who once clapped in thunderous combat above the skies of Ancient Rome. Fi on thee, Knaves of New England, Mercenaries of the Villainous Cheese Baron! Something is rotten in the State of the NFL.
ENTER KING BELICHIK – Friends, Romans, Countrymen! Lend me your ears! Good sirs, rest thine ears upon my voice, and hear me as I say that in my four score years of leading mine knights into carefully manicured grassy fields of battle all across our land, this is the first and only time that anyone hath raised the issue of mine balls! Merry, it surpriseth me greatly to hear men complain of a trivial happenstance, as surely as it would surpriseth me were I to waken on the morrow to find that the sun’s exuberant colors had transferred from yellow to green.
PRESS MAN #2 – Foul! Foul! Scandal most foul! A plague on your house, King Belichik! For thou failest to taketh the fall in this fake story that we hath manufactured out of whole cloth! Thou hast thrown Sir Thomas of Brady under the bus!
TYPICAL COLTS FAN – To inflate or not to inflate? That is the question. Whether tis nobler in the mind to inflate your balls to 12.5 pounds per square inch, or to take air out of your balls until they are 11.5 pounds per square inch, and in doing so, ruin them? To inflate, to deflate, to inflate perchance to dream? Ay, there’s the rub…on our balls!
SIR THOMAS OF BRADY – Tomorrow, tomorrow, and tomorrow…inflated balls are a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, and signifying slow news days…
COLTS FAN #2 – O, I see Queen Mab! Come she does, the Queen of the Fairies! And she telleth me true, she fills my ears with the melodious truth, that had our balls been comprised of more air, we surely would not have had our asses handed to us in a massacre in which we lost by 40 points! Fi! By the beard of God I say had the game ball had one but one more pound of pressure inside of it, we would have fought boldly like the mighty warriors of the coliseum of old!
ENTER FOX AND COMPANIONS – Forsooth and hark, for we are Fox and Companions! Bringeth yon noble viewers news of the death of the Saudi Arabian King? Nay! Bringeth ye news of the resignation of the Yemen Government? Nay! Gather round and hear a tale of balls deflated with vigorous gusto!
PRESS MAN #3 – But soft! What lies through yonder window breaks?! It tis the east, and the underinflated balls are the sun! Arise fair balls, and kill the envious moon, whose maid art sick and pale with grief, that her maid’s balls are far more inflated than yours!
PATRIOTS FAN -(also holding a football like it was a skull) – Alas, poor football, I knew him, Horatio. Twas a football of great jest and most excellent fancy! Once inflated to 12.5 pounds per square inch and then alas, deflated to a paltry 11.5 square pounds per inch by rapscallions of ignominious cunning and unscrupulous alacrity. Our knights, once a great bastion of the game, now reduced to wicked pissah jokes about deflated balls.
Bookshelf Battle 