You know I had to get to this eventually, didn't you? I just had...some other stuff to get done first. Namely, biology homework. But I'm done that now--thank God, because if I had to see the word "ribosome" or "mRNA" one more time, my head was going to freaking explode--, so I've gotta sink my fangs--ha ha, vampire joke!--into the mind-numbing train wreck that was Super Bowl Forty-Five.
Usually I only watch it for the funny commercials--except for last year, where I was emotionally attached to the Saints (and I still am, haters--yeah, I'm looking at you, jerk. Quit drinking the Haterade and read this). I think that's what I'm going to have to do from now on, because this one sucked. Utter football crap. And it wasn't just the teams' faults.
First came Christina Aguilera, who I hated anyway and just hate even more now. How do you mess up your own country's national anthem? Can someone tell me? God. I'd rather hug Ilsa Pucci than go through that again. And you all know how I feel about her. I'm sorry, but I drink the Haterade to her. But I digress. Don't you, like, look over the words before you sing the song? Even just once? And didn't you have to sing it every freaking day in grade school like I did? My Canadian friends know it better than she did! What the f, Christina? You not yourself that night?
Ha ha. Christina Aguilera song title joke. Or is that a pun? Truth be told, I don't care. Just know I hate her.
Second, the Steelers sucked the first half. They couldn't get going. And that was what killed them. They were shaky, and butterfingers, and it hurt to watch (love you guys anyway! In my opinion, you weren't half bad--and yes, I just quoted Sublime. I'm listening to it right now. Random? Maybe). They could have come back, too, and they didn't, which just brought me back from the dead and killed me again.
And then the halftime show.
Looking like something from Tron: Legacy, hundreds of light-up alien-looking bodysuit-wearing people writhed on the field--and I found them more entertaining than the BEPs. I mean, at least they were flashing and shiny and glowing, and to someone like me who has shiny-thing ADD, it was heaven. But the act themselves? My only consolation was that it wasn't the Jonas Brothers or--God forbid--Justin freaking Beiber, although I'm sure that's coming soon. Their mikes weren't even on half the time, and when they were they kind of made you wish they weren't. I mean, I like the Black-Eyed Peas usually, just not with my dinner, and I think their music is fun and upbeat, just not when it's being played too much on the radio, the same song over and over again, know what I'm sayin', but I just don't think they're that good live. Without the studio, and functional AutoTune, who are they? The best part was when Fergie sang "Sweet Child O' Mine" with Slash...and sounded exactly like Axl Rose. I was confused, and I still don't know if it was in a good or bad way yet.
Plus, my team lost. So I plain hated it anyway.
No comments:
Post a Comment