Super Bowl

Lingerie Bowl?

What’s this? This’ll be the fifth year of this Lingerie Bowl? Who’s been keeping me from this? I demand satisfaction. I have never heard of this Lingerie Bowl and now this year is Lingerie Bowl V? FIVE?!?

What the hell? Screw the regular Super Bowl, I’m watching this. Are you kidding me? Chicks whaling on each other? What better viewing spectacle is possible? Okay, well naked chicks whaling on each other, at my house, and I’m the ref. But still. On TV, I’ll take this action.

Don’t let Rob see this. He’ll explode. Are these girls even playing football, or is it some fucked up version of “smear the queer”? You know what, I don’t care! Can I buy DVDs of this? Do these “football” games start out anywhere near a copy machine, or with a pizza delivery boy? I can’t believe people have been keeping this from me. This fully explains people walking in front of me or pulling me aside or twisting me around to face a different direction at seemingly odd times over the last 4 years. Don’t let Rob see this. He’ll explode. He’ll go crazy and we’ll have to send him to the loony bin. The booby basket. That hat store.

Well, my friends, this is my year. I will be square in front of a big screen come Lingerie Bowl V and nothing is going to stop me. Red 27, Blue 15 fly right, set, hut, hut… do these broads even know what any of that shit means? Hike! Run Tina run! Here comes Mandy and Tess. Run! OMG! Look out. Wait. Stop. Don’t let her get you. Throw it to me, to me. Throw it over here. Look out! Kick it. Kick it. Kick it over here. Hey, you stay away from her. Don’t you be mean. I’ll slap you and then you’ll be sorry. Run. Run! Don’t fall. Hold on tight. Don’t let her get it. You’re going to make a touchdown or a point or something. Hurry. Tell the referee to help you. Yell for help. I’m almost there. I’m almost there!