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 have locked the door and bolted it from the outside. I have turned off all stove implementations and heat-producing devices, and when I couldn't turn them off, I moved them next to the cold- and water-producing devices so as to prevent a fire before it starts. I have left instructions for my papers and mail to be picked up by that greasy-headed drug-dealing neighbor of mine; in short, I'm off.

This is no mere vacation I engage in, a trip to some faraway state that's really more of the same, just to sit down for holiday dinner with people I can barely tolerate. This is a mission of life-and-death importance, and the dinner with people I can barely tolerate will have to be squeezed in, is possible, for this is serious shit I am getting into.

Readers will remember the conspiracy of such great import I have told you nothing about it, and that at the last column it came to a head deserving of popping. This is where I go now, loyal readers, and I take with me beloved anachronism Sampson L. Hartwig as a human shield; that is to say, loyal companion.

Hartwig was the only one who met my qualifications, the first one I asked who agreed to go. True, I didn't really ask anyone after Hartwig, meaning most of the staff, but when you have the right man you need why waste countless hours looking for younger, more qualified human shields? Which is to say, loyal companions?

I'm glad he's coming along, since he can carry much more than I can. Also, Sampson knows several good stories, and he's told them all in his columns so it will be interesting to see what kind of babbling banter he produces around a campfire. Perhaps his silver tongue can keep us from getting thrown out of Motel 6s when we continually light campfires, I can't say. All I know is good company is better than bad company, especially their Fame and Fortune LP.

Why the mystery, you ask? Why the secrecy? I can't tell you, damn you for even asking. You should know by now Papa Bagel dishes out the details when he's good and ready, and when it won't result in your deaths by the thousands—the thanks I get is repeated questions and inane whining buggering me like a prison bunkmate. Keep your patience, for I will return in time, and when I do, all will be revealed. Check out the Playgirl spread in March.

Until then, I leave your favorite news source in good hands. And for those of you who said "The New York Times," fuck you, that joke's old enough to travel by telegraph. For those who sincerely said "the commune," thanks for your loyalty and I promise that acting Editor Ramrod Hurley will be running a tight ship in my absence. For those of you who said "Yeah, the Titanic"… I got to give you that one. Good one at Ramrod's expense. I'm going to tell that to the office crew during lunch.

Mr. Hurley will be not only replacing me in charge of the editorial business, but will be substituting for myself in this column for the duration of my motley absence. Try to be kind to him, his evil twin brother has been showing up lately and leaving torched cars in his wake.

Why must I go, you ask? I just told you, you blithering morons. But in short, America stands for many things to many people, but underneath the political spin, the propaganda, the flag-waving, and everything else, America should stand for complete and unrelenting truth. It's what great authors have devoted themselves to, it's what the heroes of revolutions have died for, and it's what our Constitution stands to support when all else fails.

As for what complete and unrelenting truths I'm fighting for, well, again, I can't tell you that just yet. But at least I'm not going to lie about it. See you when I see you.

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Hello, reading persons. Yes yes, is Boris. How are you? Oh well, that is not so good. Boris hopes you are soon to find some happiness under miserable rock of life.

Is there secret to such thing? Boris does not know. But Boris does know thing that is Boris is ready for some football.

Reader of Boris may not know that there is magic person in hat who comes on TV to ask Boris questions. Yes, is true, Boris is not talking of shit. Man is like fat cowboy to guide Boris through life. Is strange yes, fat cowboy is like conscience thing for Boris, like Jimmy cricket in cartoon movie. Or like alien friend for Flintstone in other movie, except Boris does not get alien or bug thing. No persons can know how come they get conscience that is strange thing like talking noodle or cowboy with guitar. Is magic of life.

Boris conscience does not say helping things, is not that kind of conscience. No saying "Boris, is good to unplug egg beater before licking frosting off those things" or "Boris, do not pour soda on duck." Nope. Him only to ask Boris questions, or maybe one question. Thinking conscience may ask other questions when Boris is not watching TV, but so far only see him ask "Are you ready for some football?"

Boris thinks about this for some days and decided. Yes, Boris is ready for some football.

Reader can remember time when Boris watches Superbowl and is so fun. This is football thing. Louis explain is not like soccer football, which is sport where persons puts on shorts and get kicked in the jimmy. That is stupid hurting game. Football is where persons fight until they fall down dead and then man runs to grass party place and dances. This is game Boris understand.

Baseball is sport does not make sense to Boris. Boris think should be called "Asshole." Yes, is true. Two mens is trying to play catch but big asshole with stick wants to mess up game. And him will not go home, just waits and waits until person throws ball to friend. Then big asshole hits ball with stick and runs away. Boris knows this game from homeland, except there it is called "Time to get new ball."

But baseball is more crazy because persons playing catch have friends who come and get ball for them, whole gang of persons. But then asshole has gang of friends who sneak around and pretend to be like other friends, but they do not get ball, asshole gang runs away when ball comes. Is very confusing. Boris does not like this game, except when person does hit bully in head with ball. So funny for him to fall down like Godzilla. Boris does clap for this brave part.

Hockey is other strange game. When is cold out, Boris understand persons does go inside building to be warm. This is smart. But when is warm, why person does go inside to be cold and watch mens fight on little pond? What is this? Is like wrestling without fun costumes and yelling. And hockey men does put down sticks to fight. No way. Persons should fight with sticks and kill others fast so Boris can get out of cold room.

So for answer of question, yes Boris is ready for some football, but not other things. And now Boris must watch TV to see if little fat cowboy has other questions or if him can teach Boris to magic fly like Peter Pants. Boris hoping answer is yes.

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