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Wow. What a game. Philly is burning. The city’s police horses have considered unionizing. Last time I checked the police scanner, the Rocky statue and Benjamin Franklin’s ghost had climbed atop the Liberty Bell and were sharing a massive blunt rolled from the Declaration of Independence itself.
But I’m not here to share highlights from the game or give a detailed account of Philly’s aftermath. Because at the Weekly Dump, we care about one thing and one thing only: shit. And while I hate to be the center of attention for this column, I have taken it upon myself, for this special edition of the WD, to focus completely on my own Super Bowl experience. Using my patented POOPCON rating system (like DEFCON, but better) I’ll give you an insider’s look at what was all brewing in the ol’ bowels from pregame to postgame.
Pregame: POOPCON 1
Right off the bat, your boy had a nuclear-war level shit-uation on his hands. After downing a cup of coffee and a couple coffee tequila drinks several hours before the game, it was time to use the potty and fast.
While the shit itself was satisfying albeit a little rushed (there was more coffee tequila to be drank), I made the costly mistake of using way more toilet paper than was necessary and clogging the toilet. Nothing ruins a pregame quite like a clogged toilet. A slight bump in the road, but it was all (mostly) uphill from there.
First Quarter: POOPCON 5
Everything was just fine and dandy throughout the first quarter. The sun was shining. The Birds were chirping. Everyone at the party I was at was geared up for a great game, and I was feeling fantastic. But, judging from the rate at which I was downing beers and ripping cigs, I knew that the calmness within wasn’t going to last long.
Second Quarter: POOPCON 3
Here’s where the beer farts started firing off like little warning shots. I had also just discovered the queso dip, which only served to stoke the internal flames. A shaky state of affairs yet still manageable.
Third Quarter: POOPCON 2:
With each piss break came more pronounced beer farts, yet I was determined, being at a friend’s house and all, to hold off sounding the emergency sirens for as long as possible.
Despite there being a pretty sweet spread, I hadn’t eaten all that much food, so my stomach was relatively empty and therefore I wasn’t as worried as I should have been about moving to POOPCON 1. Though there were a few times that I had to check and make sure that these farts weren’t turning into sharts. It was a covert operation, to say the least.
Fourth Quarter (before the 2:09 mark): POOPCON 5
In an unexpected turnaround, everything was smooth sailing for most of the fourth quarter. That is until it happened…
Fourth Quarter (after 2:09 mark): POOPCON 2
When Tom Brady got strip sacked, I damn near shit my pants. Somehow, I was able to keep everything inside until after the game ended, but let me tell you, it was not easy.
Postgame: POOPCON ?
Now, this is where it gets a little bit hazy. You’d think after the clenchfest that had occurred only minutes prior, I would be I would rushing for the nearest bathroom. I also remember downing several more beers, smoking another cigarette or two and wolfing down a frozen pizza.
But, to be honest, I just don’t remember what happened from there. Like the season finale of the Sopranos (spoiler alert), everything just faded to black..
Image via Flickr