I have been purified in the waters of Lake Minnetonka
Prince can rock it out. Prior to last night's knock-down drag-out half-time spectacle he was merely the sum total of "Little Red Corvette", "1999", and "Ronnie, Talk to Russia". Needless to say, I've never been terribly impressed with the guy. But virtually everything about his Superbowl performance stoked the spark that feeds the fire for Prince inside me now. In a completely heterosexual way.
He can play the guitar like nobody's business.
He played in a downpour and it didn't phase him. It may have only added to the allure of the performance.
He finished with Purple Rain in the rain.
Dude can sing. There didn't seem to be any backing tracks last night and his ad-libbing was awesome.
The silk screen silhouette shots with his weird guitar made him appear to have a giant pointed cock thus reinforcing the notion that he is a rock and roll juggernaut.
He is a very expressive performer.
He had hip replacement surgery in 2006.
Prince is a consummate professional.
The take home message here is that if you want to ensure your halftime show rocks, even in a downpour, you should hire Prince.
Also, my favorite commercial was the Map Monster.
5 comments:
You doing Gravity Head at Rich O's this March 9th?
Maybe. Why? Are you? Who are you by the way?
I'm just a fatty Hoosier that stumbled across your blog one day while I was probably surfing for local homebrewers.
I brew beer.
I pick a banjo.
I enjoy a nice slab of 98.6 degree pussy.
Swing by snailtrax.net sometime and drop me a line if you want to grab some lazy pints.
Boy, man, God, sheeeeeit.
Dear Daddy,
I like your blog. Honest. Down to earth. Sick. It's sick like big greasy fat-kid puke that you accidentally imbibe one hungover morning instead of that pineapple juice you squeezed fresh the night before. You don't even realize it's greasy fat-kid puke until it hits your stomach because fresh squeezed pineapple juice looks and feels a lot like puke. Of course there's the bigger problem of why there was lazy fat-kid puke in your refrigerator, but life is full of mysteries man. Get over it.
There's a lot of gambling, fat kids, masturbation and so-called "slabs" of vagina on your blog, Daddy (I shudder to think why your "handle" is such and so). You've got talent man, real talent. You should clean up your act. Write about good Christian things. You know, birds and cats and stuff. Your wife's birthday. That is if your wife actually exists. I suspect it's just a cover up scheme. Clever.
Masturbation is a sin. So is gambling, although I'm less sure about this. I'm positive that both are sins for Mormons though.
Either way, clean up your act you sick fuck.
I'm scared to think of what Gravity Head would be like with you there. Probably depraved. More depraved than normal.
Very best, with love and happy fat kid thoughts,
Matthew D. Dunn, Esq.
You should have seen the blog before I cleaned it up. Today's SnailTrax is much more family-oriented.
In fact, my neighbor brings his kids over after church on Sundays to listen attentively as I slur my favorite passages in beer-soaked Shitspeak.
The Book of Daddy is not just a collection of sickening wisdom. It's a code. A way of life.
It's too much for some. Too damn little for not many.
As for Mormons and their sins, I'm not much into it. What, with the long undies, and the fact that some fourteen year-old charlatan completely faced off psilocybin kicked off the whole shabang. Oh, and the Mountain Meadows Massacre. Bad news there too.
However, I am a fan of the name "Brigham." It's got spunk.
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