DEAR SUPERBORE

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Dear SuperBore:

Like you, I don’t give a flying fuck about the Super Bowl. In fact, the only reason I even know about this years matchup is because I think it’s awesome that Marshawn Lynch would rather pay fines than talk to the media. Let’s face it. It is the dream of every person in America to make enough money to be able to pay astronomical fines rather than do annoying things that we are technically supposed to do in order to make that money in the first place.

But I digress.

For over twenty years I have been leaving my house during Super Bowl Sunday to do things in a completely crowd free environment. Usually I like to have a drink by myself. Order whatever I want. Get it in seconds. Listen to my headphones. Nobody bothers me. In that way, this becomes one of my favorite days as well. So I completely understand that you wanted to take this opportunity to load up on the 500 rolls of toilet paper you will need when it turns out that you are a member of the one religious cult who accurately predicts the end of the world AND has a functional bunker. I get it.

Sadly, it seems our common ground ends there. To be clear. The chick who lost the store arm wrestling competition and had to work tonight does NOT want to void your transaction and remove the half eaten candy bar you decided you no longer want from the receipt and then rering your purchase. Our mutual apathy about America’s favorite sporting event does not extend to a tediousness only matched by my newsfeed posts about the amazing new Doritos commercial everyone just saw.

Go home.

SS

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