Dear A-Hole – When in Rome

Q – While I have diligently searched the internet in search of an answer, I didn’t want to trouble you with such a trivial subject, I must now beg of you that you explain to me why the guys that are over the Super Bowl must use those darn roman numbers…I just don’t get it…

Thanks, C.G.U.

A – You know, that’s a good fucking question. There’s lots of fucking things I don’t know and some of them have to do with that shit. I never know what the fuck L means and isn’t there a fucking D or some shit?

My fucking hunch, and it’s just a fucking hunch, is that they wanted to add some fucking class to what is essentially an orgy of consumerism.  It’s a fucking affectation, an attempt by some lame-ass marketing cock holes to tie this fucking sport (which I unabashedly fucking love) to the spirit of Gladiatorial contests.

It doesn’t work for fucking me.  I take foot ball at face-fucking-value: it’s a bunch of huge fucking guys chasing each other around a field in commercial-friendly increments.  Adding a bunch of fucking Ms and Ls and Xs and Vs isn’t going fucking change that and it doesn’t add anything to the game.

The only thing it does do is confuse dumb humps like me who don’t know what the fuck number it is – and who frankly doesn’t even fucking care.  I mean shit, two of my other favorite sports: baseball and soccer don’t do anything but say what fucking year it is for their championships.

Football should drop the fucking pretension, wake up to the fucking fact that the Roman empire is no more and join the 21st fucking century.

The douche bag who came up with this stupid idea is an asshole.

Dear A-Hole – Do anything good this weekend?

Q – Hi A-hole, Courtney here, thanks for your note.  It’s late on Sunday and I was thinking about you.  Did you do anything good this weekend?

A – Now normally I wouldn’t treat this like a regular fucking question that people send me; but since I did have a pretty fucking fun weekend I figured I’d use it as an excuse to write about it.  On fucking Friday I went out on a date.  This chick I know (and like) – we went out for dinner at a bar.  That was fine and shit.  On Saturday I can’t remember what I fucking did – mostly nothing I guess which if fucking OK with me.  On fucking Sunday though I had an awesome fucking day.  I got tickets to the Patriot’s game and so went down to Foxboro.

I guess you could fucking say that I’m a sports fan but usually the Pat’s are too rich for my blood.  That’s why when someone GIVES me fucking tickets I cancel any pre-existing plans and start planning for football.  That’s what fucking happened this time.  This guy I know got some tickets from his work and he called me on Sunday morning to see if I wanted to go.  It was kind of short fucking notice if you ask me but I’m not one to look a gift horse in the fucking mouth.

He swung by my place with some buddies and we got to the stadium before kickoff.  No one had fucking thought to get food or shit together so our tailgate (after sitting in traffic for a fucking hour or something) was standing by the trunk drinking beers and getting stoned.  It wasn’t fucking bad but it wasn’t fucking good either.  Of course by the time we got to the stadium we were all totally fucking hungry, had to take leaks, find more beer, etc.

Doing all that shit took a while so we didn’t actually sit down till like the end of the first quarter.  When we got there the Pats were fucking losing 7-3 (they were playing the Bills).  None of us were fucking expecting that shit so it kind of sucked.  I think they know that though because the quickly turned that shit around and by the half it was fucking 17-7 Pats.  By this point, we all fucking needed more beer and food and shit so we went out of our seats.

I’ll tell you what – there are  a shit load or people at Pats games.  It was like a fucking sea of fucking people down by the shitters and stuff so we decided to stand around and smoke some butts.  That was a good fucking choice since there were so many hot fucking chicks wandering around and we all enjoyed checking them out.  I got some good fucking pictures.  The only thing that was a fuck up was that they stop selling beer in the third quarter so we couldn’t get any more.

The greatest moment of football awesomeness came in the fourth fucking quarter with a Randy Moss reception and TD.  Good fucking thing he’s tall and has long fucking arms.  That made the score 38-7.  We stumbled the fuck out of the park and headed back to the car.  Of course everyone got separated so it took a fucking while.  We stood around drinking more beer and then headed over to the guy whose car it was (Andy) to get some food.

We got some steaks at this fucking Brazilian store near his house (and an eyeful of Brazilian hotties) and went and grilled them up.  It was fucking good (even though I’m still fucking burping it up this morning).  We also kept up the drinking and the fucking smoking well into the fucking night (which I kind of wish we hadn’t done with so much fucking gusto now that I’m awake again).

There’s no way to have anything bad to say about Sunday.  The weather was fucking perfect, I got to go to a Pats game for nothing, there were hot chicks in abundance – along with food, beer and weed – AND the Pats fucking won.  So did I do anything fucking good this weekend?  You fucking tell me.  Only an asshole would have a shitty time yesterday.