I was driven from my office (not that it takes much to make me head for the great outdoors) by two competing conversations about that stupid Super Bowl thing yesterday. Eventually they merged into one cacophony shouted across my cube. I perceived, vaguely, that the Arizona Watchamacallits were not considered stellar talent worthy of the great contest. So why are you still talking about it today? I have learned to let go and move on from my disappoint that Mario Lopez is potentially heterosexual; why can’t you do the same about some idiotic game?
I thought about joining in, just to show I’m a good sport, but whenever I consider big muscley men running around in tight pants and jock straps, I’m reminded of a quote by Jason, over at Night is Half Gone: “all roads lead back to Porn.” I decided to just sneak off to the gym instead.
Of course, if they had actually wanted me to contribute, they could have held a lively discussion of something actually interesting. Like Sunset Boulevard. I would have been glad to share my thoughts that the best scene in the movie is the one where they bury the monkey, but nobody asked me. Typical.