n a Super Bowl showdown Sunday that few will soon forget, the New England Patriots forcibly sodomized the sickly Philadelphia Eagles, unless the underdog Philly squad pulled off a stunning upset against the clearly overrated Patriots. Results were not readily available as of press time.

“Patriots rule!� screamed a naked-yet-painted youth after the game, likely a Patriots fan.

“Definitely!� agreed a compatriot, more clothed but no less enthusiastic. “Unstoppable! Unless they cocked it up. In that case, they’re a gang of spineless suck monsters.�

“The Eagles are a bunch of dickless homos who aren’t fit to sniff my balls,� explained cocky New England quarterback Tom Brady after the game. “Unless they won. In that case, they were a heck of a tough squad and we played our best, but just didn’t come out on top today. We’ll get ‘em next year. Unless we don’t.�

The stunning Super Bowl victory was New England’s third in four years, a thrilling period of dominance for Patriots fans, unless it was a crushing disappointment and inspiring Cinderella story for the unlikely Eagles, who won their first Super Bowl since 1960 and brought a parade of dreams home to Philadelphia. Philly fans, known for their bitterly cynical dedication to disappointment, booed their team either way. Commentators remarked on not having seen this level of vitriol from sports fans since the last time the Special Olympics came to Philadelphia.

“The Eagles were clearly overmatched in this David and Goliath tale,� explained sports blowhard and former Oakland Raiders towel rack Marcus Parkum. “Unless, you know. Another way of looking at it is that Philly was clearly underrated, a ragtag bunch of plucky gamers that snatched the spoils of victory from the clutches of a Patriots squad grown fat and apathetic with the glory of their past successes. Either way, it was a Super Bowl. Unless it got cancelled.�

“Fuck! Fuck!� elaborated commune neighborhood bookie Fat Anthony. “Or, alternately: Allllll riiiiight! Ant’ny made some moolah tonight! Shit yeah!�

Sports fans nationwide were stunned by the Super Bowl’s outcome, unless the game went exactly as expected. Few could have anticipated, however, the stunning halftime show, which featured an unprecedented level of wit and subtlety, unless it was just a bunch of idiots dancing around in hot pants. Whatever happened, the career of Gloria Estefan will never be the same, unless it continues on exactly as it has for years.

Fans of either team have to agree that the game turned on a crucial play in the fourth quarter when Eagles receiver Terrell Owens either caught a miraculous 94-yard “Hail Mary� pass to score the game-winning touchdown, or else forgot to turn around at the last minute and got hit square in the ass with the ball, at which point he reportedly farted. Owens will likely never live down the fame or infamy stemming from this career-defining play.

In related news, TV jockeys were thrilled to witness a fresh slate of instant-classic Super Bowl commercials, making the game experience worthwhile for wives and gay men trapped in sports bars everywhere. Unless, of course, it was just more of the same retarded bullshit from Budweiser and Coca-Cola that we’ve been seeing for years.

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I've checked through my entire wardrobe twice, but as far as I can tell I don't own any clothing that has anything to do with The Lord of the Rings. I do own an ornate little waistcoat I wouldn't be embarrassed to wear to a Hobbit wedding, but that's about as close as it gets. Which is confusing because my brother Dave acts like I'm wearing a "Please Ruin The Lord of the Rings For Me" tee shirt.

The other day we're hanging out and talking about the trailer for the third Rings movie, The Return of the King, coming out in December. And out of nowhere Dave blurts out "Man, there's going to be a lot for them to cover in that third movie! I don't know how they're going to do it; it's going to have to be like eight hours long! Frodo hasn't even been captured yet..."

Thanks a lot, dickcheese. Anything else you'd like to ruin for me before you punch out for the day? Any bands I like breaking up or anything? See any of my ex-boyfriends hooking up with supermodels? Moron.

Dave, being Dave, claimed that he'd assumed I was familiar with the story from reading the books or watching the 1970's animated film. As if I he wouldn't know either way. We've spent our entire lives living in the same house! I know how many times he's eaten tacos. Does he think I snuck off and read 1,800 pages of Tolkien while he was out taking a shit?

But that's just Dave. You've got to let Dave be Dave, or else he gets sulky and locks himself in the bathroom all day.

I can never take Dave too seriously since he thought the Ring Wraiths were way scarier when they were riding those black horses in Fellowship than when they had the flying dragons in The Two Towers. Not that the horses weren't scary, mind you, but Dave should realize he's fucking insane. He can go ahead and have the dudes on the dragons chase him, I'll take my chances with the ones on horseback and I'll make sure they put something on Dave's tombstone about how he thought the horses were scarier.

Sure, the horses were definitely scary, but Jesus Christ man, these are flying dragons we're talking about here! Forget the Ring Wraiths, I'm terrified of those dragons solo. They could kill you accidentally. Just think about it for a second. What do horses eat? Hay, grass? Salt? Junk like that, maybe dog biscuits if they're really hungry. Dragons eat knights and possibly other dragons, that's it. No contest there. They could bite your head off and then set you on fire, just because they liked the way it smells. What's a horse going to do, kick you?

Ooh. You've got me shitting bullets there, Dave. Look out, because if you go stand in front of that horse for like a half an hour and make no effort to get out of the way, he might kick you. I know when I can't sleep at night it's because I'm thinking of nature videos I've seen of horses in the wild, stealthily wandering up to their prey and sort of half-assed kicking them in the head. Chilling. I was a fool to think the dragons were scarier.

Thankfully Dave has kept his mouth shut about what's to come in the third film ever since the lamp-throwing incident. If the Ring Wraiths are riding coked-up Tyrannosaurs Rexes or something in Return of the King, I don't want to know about it until they're up there on the big screen, biting the spare tire off the back of Frodo's Jeep. And no, Dave, I haven't read the script off the Internet and I'm not going to. Just shut up.

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We're off to a big, booming new year, and by "we" I mean "me," who knows what you're up to. I have solved one of the great mysteries plaguing me since long ago in 2002: I have unmasked the Masked Dude, my stalker.

The challenge was issued, and last week the cage match was carried out, in an extremely small cage. The opponents were fierce—one, yours truly, the other, a hairless, burly fellow of muscular stock and carrying a one-foot advantage. Some might have foolishly bet on the Masked Dude, but I didn't gold-glitter these wrestling tights of mine with expensive gold shavings because I'm a loser—well, not always a loser. This time, I won.

From the corners we each heard the bell ding!, rung by my cat Makeshift, and we sprung into action. Oh, I was like a titan, in tights. Crash here! Boom there! Wudhustlethump in the middle! Then, I began wrestling.

It was a tough match, true; perhaps the toughest I ever had, even though it wasn't as tough as all the ones I lost. I managed to avoid his deadly, strong-armed pins. I bopped him with "the Ancient Elbow"! I flew through the air and pummeled him with "the Tiny Chesthammer"! And then, when I had him on the ropes, figuratively, I sprang off the ropes, literally, and gave him the ol' Rok Finger "Stamp of Approval"!

The Stamp of Approval is one move from which there is no recovery. Right into his right foot until it was flattened by pure Rok Finger power, and the Dude went down like brick balloons. Little could I have guessed, I had found his Achilles' heel, though it was strangely placed on his big toe rather than the back of the foot. Yes, the Dude suffered from an extremely ingrown toenail that frequently led to his defeat in other matches, especially those matches where he wasn't pinned before the bell's ding faded out.

I put the hurt on him, good people. It was quite a sight, and a beautiful sound as well, though I wouldn't recommend the smell. The crack! of that toe bone breaking, it was the sound of Rok Finger's wrestling dominance in a match for the ages. Ages 60 and up, maybe, but ages nonetheless. For years, both I and the Masked Dude wondered who would win when these titans tussled, and now that it's over I can admit I was more than a little scared. Scared, Rok? You? I'm not even going to dignify that with a response, asshole.

There was only one prize for this lonely match, and I'm not referring to the custom-made belt I purchased at the swap meet, although I guess technically that would make it two prizes; but the prize I refer to is the unmasking of the Masked Dude. And you can imagine my shock to find it was Camembert!

No, not my roommate Camembert, don't be an idiot. He's in a wheelchair. No, it was another Camembert, Camembert Hickson. I didn't know him at all and had never seen his face before that night, but still you can imagine the shock to find out he shared the same unlikely name as my roommate. Weird, isn't it?

It was one of the highlights of my life, beating that fool and putting him off my case forever. And no one was there to share it with me, except my cat, Makeshift. And, yeah, the Masked Dude. Where was Lee? Where was Camembert? The other one?

This has helped put everything in perspective for me. I offered to take Dude Camembert out for a victory beer, on me, but he was desperately in need of medical attention. No hard feelings between us remain—I hope he got that medical attention. But my cat and I went out for a beer.

Rok Finger is a man of motion, a lonely man, with only a cat as his real friend. I've remained in one place too long, as roommate Camembert has long suggested. It's time for me to move on with my life, if not physically, then at least spiritually. So even though I remain at home in the apartment, upstairs I've already left. Rok Finger is a loner, and one day I'll find someone to share that isolation with.

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