Belinda, worst girlfriend ever
Okay, ladies? Back me up on this. Didn’t football end in February or March or whatever? Why the hell do we have to keep hearing about that shit all year round? When the curtain went down on the Super Bowl, I was so happy. Never been happier in my life. I put the dip away, put a blanket over my boyfriend passed out in the recliner so that he could sleep it off, drank a few beers out of the keg and was happy to call it a day.
But no! Even in the off-season, or whatever you call it, teams are always doing something. Always trading people, always farting and tromping around and looking mean.
A few weekends ago, both days, starting at 9 a.m., he got up (earlier than he would ever get up if we wanted to go to a nice breakfast or something, mind you) and watched the draft like a hawk.
Who gives a crap? A dude talks on a cell phone, gets a hat and walks onto a stage. It’s like the freakin’ Grammys or whatever. You don’t have to watch the thing. Just look at the list online after they’re over, you know?
Sometimes I wonder. If I was a 300 pound, 6′7 defensive linebacker or whatever, maybe I’d be getting more love from a man who’s addicted to a six-month sport all year long.
Rantasaurus Says: Bitches, man. Bitches. Why don’t you try dating a football player? I bet you won’t be complaining when you’ve got a chunk of their cheddar.
