Perm's Portrait: You tired of 'Who Dat' yet?

New Orleans is ground zero...again. Gumbo hasn't been stirred. Jazz music hasn't been played. Levies haven't broken. The only thing functioning right now in New Orleans are livers and keg taps. That is all. Brain cells are dead. Super Bowless teams are dead. Peyton's legacy is dead.

So, since you've had enough Super Bowl bullshit, we decided to give you some more just to piss you the fuck off.

The day is here.

Many of you know of this niche sport called American football. It's quite popular in some regions and creates quite an underground buzz during it's championship weekend. This year, two teams face off, and those two teams are the Colts and the Saints.

According to Vegas, and every analyst on ESPN, CBS, and FOX, the Colts should win. This is all fine and dandy. You can choose your picks on the basis of how good Peyton Manning is on SNL or how disheveled Pierre Garcon is about his homeless ancestors. Go ahead and do that. You just leave the statistical analysis to me.

Is the Super Bowl here yet?

Let’s pretend for a minute that I hated sports. Wholeheartedly despised them with a passion that made Rush Limbaugh seem subdued. If I had to choose between watching an entire football game or sticking my fingers in a pencil sharpener for three hours, call me Knubby McHands.

Let’s also say that last Sunday after a routine trip to the doctor’s office, I learned that my repulsion of sports had consequently given me a brain tumor, curable only by spending every waking minute watching Super Bowl coverage. With every aspect of this game meticulously analyzed by talking heads, what would I actually learn about these two teams, aside from the fact they’ll run around for three hours this Sunday and eventually one of them will go home with a giant phallic trophy? Here are the three overblown and repetitive Super Bowl subplots that  would replace the void in my brain left by the malignant growth.