The Super Bowl and FootGate

What a wild ride it’s been for Philadelphia fans. And honestly, it couldn’t have happened to a better group of loyal, relentlessly devoted, scumbag-assholes on the planet. Sure, maybe that sounds a bit harsh because I’m bitter that my dog shit team couldn’t muster together 4 wins, but also because Philly fans took a break from metaphorically eating horse shit and began literally eating horse shit (sorry about the blurriness of this picture, I think it was taken on a flip phone): Literally eating horse shit to celebrate your teams victory while being cheered on for it has to be the most Philly thing on the planet. I heard WaWa reached out to him and told him he could get free hoagies for life if they could turn him eating shit into a WaWa Hoagiefest commercial. But he couldn’t do it since there’s a warrant out for his arrest because he hasn’t paid child support since the last time the Eagles were in the Super Bowl. That’s what we call a Philadelphia Catch-22. Or a Vince Papale.

Tom Brady played great despite having gotten blue balls from his kid a few days before the big game. Come on kid, don’t rub the lamp if you don’t want to see the genie, am I right fellas? People are making such a bigger deal about this than it really is. You come home from a long day of work throwing balls at Gronk’s big dumb head and you need to relax a little bit, maybe kiss your kid on the lips in front of a bunch of cameras. Just another day in the Brady home. The video of it was almost too weird, it seemed like a joke. “No, come back, that first kiss wasn’t good enough…” Good enough for what Tom? What was that first kiss not good enough for? An orgasm? I’m not going to go any further with these jokes as my last set of advertisers fired me for doing this. So let’s change the subject.

Like most American males I got super drunk for the Super Bowl. It just makes sense. My day started off by drinking a few beers very early in the day, what some might call “still the morning”. By the time mid afternoon rolled around I was already a few glasses of scotch deep and I had set the stage for what will turn out to be a pretty drunken night by all of those who were involved. I had a bunch of friends over for the game, some Eagles fans, most not.

So by the time the game was over I was pretty drunk and like most drunk people, I had to pee real bad. So I sauntered over to my first floor bathroom (my house has two floors and two bathrooms- no big deal), and someone was in there taking a shit. Fair, better in the bathroom than on the couch. So I go to walk up the stairs and I thought to myself, “It stopped raining, why don’t you piss outside? You love to piss outside.” It’s true, I really do.

So I quickly walked to my back door, slid it open, and walked quickly down my still-wet-from-the-rain steps when it happened. I slipped and fell like a dip shit. And fuck, it hurt too. Even after what most people would consider a dangerous amount of alcohol. I went inside and told everyone I fell and my foot hurt. They told me to shut the fuck up and stop being a baby. I shrugged it off and kept drinking, barely able to walk as the night continued.

So I woke up the next morning not as hung over as I thought I would be. And when I went to walk the pain shot through me like a lightning bolt. Fuck. I think I might actually be hurt. I spent the next five hours wrestling with the idea of going to the emergency room before I decided on actually going. I’m 30, I can’t fight through a break or a sprain like I used too. These old bones aren’t what they used to be.

At the hospital I briefly considered giving a fake name so I wouldn’t have to pay for anything. Then I remembered two of my siblings work at the hospital and I’m super recognizable. So they checked me in and I waited to get x rayed. Now, during the Super Bowl I ate a ton of the people’s cheese (cream cheese) as there were three different dips that featured it heavily. I also drank beer and scotch all day. To say I had very little control of my bowels would be the understatement of the century. I must have farted a dozen or so times while in the hospital. Each one louder and more gross than the last one. I think they’re going to rename one of the bathrooms I wrecked in there after me. No big deal.

So the doctor finally came out and asked me what happened. So I told her. My friend was taking a dump and I didn’t want to have to wait to I ran outside to piss and slipped on the wet stairs. Not what she was expecting. She laughed for a good few minutes at my story and told me that I did not break my foot. It’s just a bad sprain. Probably the worst sprain ever documented in modern medicinal history.


I know right, super gross. So I’m dealing with this injury the only way I know how, laying in my bed sulking about it while I watch weird stuff on YouTube and Netflix.


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