Stupor 'Bout the Bowl

I'm not whipped up over the Sunday Game. Which isn't fair.

It's been so many different things over so long. As a non-religious event, it was One of those Few Holidays To Celebrate growing up. Black Friday became one as a grown-up; this was one we could observe as kids. Better yet, as families or big ol' groups of friends. Hell, might as well say it: Super Bowl Sunday was 'Dub Thanksgiving. Yeah. Like THAT.

During my last few years in the D, my brother and my Two Best Friends (they were twins, so no picking a particular bestie) started throwing increasingly ridiculous parties at their house, featuring Seussian confabulations of food intended to top the previous year. Coupled with rare/obscure/offensive assortments of bathroom deodorizers and sprays. By halftime, we'd lay on the floor, convene a meeting of H.A.S. (Hopin' and Scopin') and discuss all those young 'sisters' we'd never actually get to touch until we married them after many a constantly-chaperoned date. Oh shaddap youse! We didn't know any better.

Then I moved away and got Tragically Married and separated and reunited and Super Bowl Things were reborn once Baby LP started chasing her mom 'round the house to scream GO NINERS and fake-belch and laugh.

Which morphed over time to Da Babies' "Piggy Parties" once I moved out on my own. The foods was scarcely anything special, but the time was beyond merely precious. 'Specially the things they'd do. Making admission wristbands, poring over their own competing menus...oh, wait. Then came the year they didn't wanna clean up during halftime, so I started yelling. At least until I went ME on 'em, reached for a camera and posterized their attitudes for the poor, unsuspecting world to see.

Does this constitute abuse? Of who, tho...? All of YouToob?

I've got a bit more 'Bowl-related bellyaching to do. That comes later.