The Savage Breast
At last, there is definitive proof that the flickering, screeching box in the living room, the box that has held us mesmerized for most of our lives is, in fact, a boob tube.
In case you aren't abreast of the situation, I should tell you that I'm referring to Super Bowl XXXVIII. I don't speak Roman, but I believe that's the correct number.
Like all Americans, I was stunned at the unexpected display of naked bad taste. I don't mean the action on the field — that lived up to every expectation of bone-crunching violence, the kind of mayhem that helps us bond in our annual ritual of beer and chips and f'ball and beer and chips and beer.
By now you know what I'm talking about. You probably sense that I'm too embarrassed to go into any detail about this — you would be correct, but the greater social good demands a full explication. OK, here we go ...
Viewers voted on the best Super Bowl ad, and the winner was — The Dog Biting The Guy In The Crotch. I repeat — The Dog Biting The Guy. How could that possibly be better than the ads for drugs that produce an instant erection in men ("... erections longer than four hours are rare, and require medical treatment.") Or the hilarious Beer Ad featuring a flatulent horse? Not mere flatulence, but world class flatulence, maybe Olympic gold medal flatulence. We may find out at the next Olympic Games, if they're on CBS.
The one bright spot in this voting controversy is the fact that CBS wisely chose not to air the Move On ad showing children working at menial jobs to pay off our bloated federal deficit. They said it was "controversial." Unlike the other ads we saw. I see their point — as far as I could tell, there isn't a single explosion, not even a car chase. It's so quiet you wouldn't even know the TV was on. Talk about a Super Bowl Party killer. Imagine a roomful of stunned viewers trying to make sense of it. "Duuuude, what kind of beer was that?!"
I suppose we could complain to CBS, start a letter writing campaign.
Us: Dear CBS — Why do you think crotch-biting is better than horse-flatulence? Yrs Truly, dedicated viewer.
So you can see that it would do no good to complain. In frustration, I turned to my daily comfort — Right Wing Radio!
No, not ALL of right wing radio, just my 15 or 20 favorite right wing radio hosts. Here's what they had to say:
"Blah blah, horrible display ..."
"Blah blah, terrible breast ..."
I had no idea what they were talking about. I must have blinked at the wrong time.
Eventually, I heard the word "wardrobe," and the word "malfunction," and believe me, two words you never want to hear together are "wardrobe malfunction." The term makes "erectile dysfunction" wither by comparison. I imagine teams of wardrobe engineers were scrambling to contain the malfunction before it became a wardrobe meltdown.
There is probably a lesson for us all in this terrible crotch-biting beer-guzzling erection-maximizing horse-flatulence new world we apparently live in. If you figure it out, somebody, anybody, please tell me.