Of course, it's Super Bowl Sunday and Steven's Steelers are the favorite to take home that honkin' shiny bling bling trophy that always gets all smeary and smudged looking with finger and lip prints within moments of the win. You'd think they could, I don't know, Windex it or something.
Ya. The game has taken over the interwebs, the tv, the newspapers. And, as usual, I'm not watching ANY of it. I'm watching "Corpse Tech" on Modern Marvels..
I'll watch the commercials once the game starts, but all that hysterical pre-game build-up is just so much hot air. The analysts and announcers get themselves so worked up, the veins in their foreheads pulsate and threaten to take over the world. It's more than I care to see of them OR their veins.
I'm not ashamed to say I only like Super Bowl Sunday for the commercials. If it didn't mean so much to Steven to have his team win, the amount that I care about the outcome of the actual game would rank far, far into negative.
The cost of airtime for commercials this year are $100,000 per second. That means, that one time, Janet Jackson's boob was worth, like, $2 million. I mean, only in Super Bowl speak, 'cause, da-yum, I wouldn't give you one single dull penny for a repeat of that action. $100,000 per second. Recession? Whaaaaat recession?
Enjoy the game, folks. Let me know when the commercials start.