A TWISTED TREATISES SPECIAL: The Superb Owl
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| For Fuck's Subholy Sake. |
I’m laughing at football itself. The sport always has been rife with hype, but these days anyone can see that there is an abundant awareness of the horseshit of which the NFL reeks—the stench is on the wind—ironically, a lot of this is due to a woman who is named after something you can be on the wind and indeed, the stink is swift and foul. The Kansas City Chiefs have dome more over the years to make football look dumb as fuck than any other team that comes to mind—Tony Romo being the announcer for the team and having once made them look like plastic shit during his Jessica Simpson romp, and Travis Kelce repeating a like debacle for Gen Z with Taylor-the-fuck-Swift just makes it worse and all the more obvious. I wanted to lead with this because I know a lot, not all, but a lot, of my friends will see this post and be like, “Rob, really? You like football?”
Kinda. My bad.
I’m not all happy about it. I don’t paint my face and
holler at the TV, I gave up booze a long time ago so there’s not any of that
shit either. I wanted to look at football this year for a number of reasons, and I’m glad I
did. This year, there were strange correlates in the stats to be seen* and of course the
addition of a player named Amon-Ra St. Brown—it means nothing, right? Well…no,
but it piqued my interest. How could it not? Maybe St. Brown would read a
scroll during halftime. You never know. And that would be cool, especially if
some Evil Dead shit followed…
(Speaking of which, when I see a quarterback named Dr.
Satan one day—and after St. Brown I fully expect to see this—I will cheer. Is
there a Jesus in there anywhere? I don’t mean George Kittle, although he has
the best look for a Christ in the NFL. But that will be fucking hilarious and will
make football even more worth watching. And if this demigod name trend
infiltrates basketball, it, through by a few degrees of separation, make the late-great Oderus a prophet (see video
for GWAR’s “Meat Sandwich”.)
And people
get stupid. They throw snowballs. They chant drunken dumb shit. Goddamn you,
Jack White for Seven Nation Army. But they’ve always done this, the good fans.
The players get knocked around like rag dolls. The fuckers genuinely look like
they’re trying to kill each other over that brown oval. The coaches all look
ready to have a coronary over the slightest misstep, and never mind when the
other team gets a forty-yard gain. These men are at war, and all the hype and
horseshit around the sport is the selling of a type of war bond, is my theory.
War Bonds for the Status Quo. "By golly, we'll mae 'em love being an Uh-Marican with this thing." Why
wouldn’t those who invented the game know that from the start? The British did it
with their football.* Isn't that why we call it football? I'd have to look that up. People bitch because
football promotes trends that "mind control" people by promoting a sort of jock's cult image and engages in pandering to vested interests you've never heard of. So did war bonds in their way. I think all
patriotism winds up looking a mite frivolous, disingenuous, grab your thesaurus, all
of those tricky words, to a certain type of person. It does. I'm on of them. I won’t go into that stuff this Sunday though.
To the point—the goddamn game still has to come on—fuck
the pandering commercials—fuck the bloody halftime show—I can say everything
I want to say about the game before it comes on. My stake, I like the 9ers—other team I can't help but like is the Bears—fucking
Fields turned into Seabiscuit during the second half of the season which is to
be expected when you are obviously a fixed team—I think they’ll get sick of
that shit after this year, and that's the other thing I’ll look for next year, a Bears rebound. For us, it is more painful than waiting on the Lamb to come is to a devout Christian.
But this year I’m watching Purdy and the 9ers…I hope someone takes Kelce and
Mahomes’ shameless heads off and trades them in for the ball, and they finish the game like the Aztecs. This won’t happen,
but a man can dream.
[John Cena wannabe motherfucker. Kermit the Frog
choking on a Nuggie. Fucking commercials, dude. I didn’t see many 9ers commercials
until they made it to the bowl. Those clean-cut All Uh-Marican boys each looked nervous as fuck. Mahomes, on the other hand, and
Kelce look like actors. I’ve gone off on a tangent here…kind of...but fuck those two dripping goats' penii.]
About the title, the Superb Owl. How can I work this
into a nut? All over your face, or…people think that the NFL is run by the Illuminati
(or the Lou Malnati, what with the whole pizza conspiracy thing, if you prefer),
and they named football after Moloch because they use football to control the world
populus—give ‘em something to strive for, plebes they are—and named the
championship game at the end of the season the Super Bowl in honor of the
Moloch Owl. They say the divisions are set up the way they are to honor the
four corners called in occult ritual--as if each division were an arch-devil. They say kidnappings and child sales go on
at the game while everyone is distracted by the fanfare. They say all the games
are choreographed and the coaches and players are actors.
The St. Brown shit threw me off a little. That’s weird, but I don’t think it means shit. I heard about that guy before I
saw him, but he played college ball before for someone—had some punk tell me
the Lions were going to win the Super Bowl because of St. Brown being the first
ever clone for the great red triangle—of course I blocked him post haste. When
I saw St, Brown I said, “Bullshit,” and I must have looked crazy, laughing at
what crossed my mind. I thought now I gotta see this, man. Of course,
the whole idea is trash. What other dumb shit did I see? I think I have a meme
of an Islamic channel advertising that the Feb. 11th Bowl would
feature Usher and be between the Lions and the 9ers. I’ll have to look. At any
rate it was bullshit. All the conjecture was bullshit.
I think what they say is patronizing as fucking all
get out. Let me say why—I never thought about it much until I saw a reel of a
mobster talking about this—that the stupid Illuminati shit didn’t matter. What
it really is—players ghetto, football is their out, they suck
ass with money and like to party, so guess what? They come to him. They can’t
pay the vig. OK. I’mma bet this way on Sunday. You, my mook, throw to the other guy all
day. Do that—your kids go to college. Don’t? Well…everyone knows how disobedient mooks wind up. That claim I believe all day. That is a bridge I’ll buy. The other shit,
pft. C’mon. I know it’s pandering. All sports promote the status quo to you. I
don’t think the NFL or other sports leagues ever didn’t admit that.
Remember the Superbowl Shuffle? The shoe craze—Jordans, what was it, Andersons
(I had these, dammit, and can’t recall the name)? The Johnson shoes? That puffy
coat craze (LOL!)? I do. It came just before grunge.
I’ll cut to why
the conspiracy stuff looks to me like bullshit—these guys start playing
football in the womb. It’s a wonder they don’t kick their way out of their
mothers. Take Purdy’s story—this kid is like a football robot. But you know
what? That wouldn’t have mattered if he didn’t work to beat the fuck out of
everyone else around him, which takes a lot of work and balls and tears. The
same goes for the rest of them—that’s all these guys ever gave a fuck about,
football. There’s a lot of guys like that in the world. All of them vie for a
slot in the NFL. Very few get one. Those who did busted their asses in ways I couldn’t
have. Moreso the coaches, even the ones who suck (that goes for the players too)
often come from the field. They beat everyone else who wanted that slot as well
(unless they got their slot through nepotism—even then you have to show the
elders some moxie—it goes that way). They were famous players. The announcers were
players. There was work involved, real work, and I’m sure many of them played a
little underhanded shadow ball for extra dough, wouldn’t you? But to say the whole
thing is a hoax—that the players are Hollywood actors that didn’t make the cut
et al—stop. I’m watching this shit, and these guys are getting fucking creamed.
They’re flipping many yards through the air and landing on their heads and getting kicked for their
trouble. They skid out of bounds and that shit isn’t padded. And it can’t feel good knocking over camera operators and shit—those poor fuckers get it the worst—they’re
not buff and here comes 250 pounds of lean beef in Kevlar and steel crashing
into you.
Like who’s gonna go, “Knock my fucking hip out for the
rest of my life, man. We got to make this shit look good for the Owl!” No offense, but I find that a HOOT! And maybe
I am stupid. Using the “wouldn’t you” principle, I guess I’d take a
fucked hip forever for multiple millions of dollars. Already got one for free.
So, maybe I am dumb. But it seems so patronizing. Worse than the shit with ads
and divas, which definitely is happening, anyone can see.
If all of the players, coaches, sub-coaches, trainers,
and such are actors…they deserve every award there is. You could start with a
Clio and then give them the others as they achieve throughout the season.
Especially the ones with severe brain damage that we don’t hear about on this
our happy Sunday in the Owl. And those with brain bleeds. All the gristle in
their joints forever fucked if it’s there at all. Strung out on opioids
forevermore so they don’t scream themselves to death from the pain they wake up
to like a Tax Collector in the middle of the night. Like pro-wrestling, we all know football is a little fake.
But neither are completely corrupt. For where there is real blood, there is real
truth, and you see a lot of that in these sports.
By the way…that Owl is Minerva. Moloch is a Bull. The
ritual is a cremation of care. Kind of like what some folks are doing at the
Burning Man festival these days. But both are Wicker Man rites. In both cases, archaically
speaking, human (child) sacrifice was employed. Just in case you needed a chill
to run down your spine. These days you get the ethical version of the old rites—no
one is slaughtering children at the game or at the festival—I can’t speak for
Bohemian Grove, elites now, I don’t know man—but I have doubts about these
events. Too many years have gone by. Someone would have had a shitfit, not some
Alex Jones follower but just some regular schmuck, and those ‘jus folks’ are
the ones who get the hammers of the law brought down on the bastards of the
world.
Why has no one ever investigated the Kentucky Derby
for that shit? Wasn’t that even said to be one of the other most decadent and
depraved American things saving Nixon and Vegas? If memory serves someone
important once made that claim…but then Clinton with his French fries and his
jogging and sax and shady trips to international waters, none of it for
football as far as we know…and now we’ve gone off yonder. Frannies or the
Swifites, who will win? We will see.
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SHIT YOU DON'T HAVE TO READ, BUT MAY:
*Or, if you’re a Brit—Cunt’s Rugby. We Americans should
change Football's name to Throwball. That’s more what it is. It sounds lame though, so football, eh?
FINAL NOTE:
I’m dying. Just as I finished this the pre-game
hype comes on and they’re doing an expose on Taylor Swift. “THE SWIFT-KELCE CHIEFS
TOUR.” Why I had to see this right after I smoked a bowl of Murphy’s Law…it’s a
mystery…it’s too early for raucous laughter…cuckoo’s nest shit. To make things
even better, my cockatiel is whistling Cattle Decapitation. He got that palm
muting grind down—bust into a riff—he has more talent than Swift does in my
most humble O.
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