Super Bowl Sunday is America’s annual showcase of brain-damaged gladiators.

It’s the wee hours of Saturday morning, I feel surprisingly okay and not like a zombie, and I’m here to do some Howdygrammin’. It’s your lucky day!

I forgot to mention that Dr. M prescribed a last-chance medication for my joint pain a few days ago — Hydrocodone Bitartrate with Acetaminophen, also known as Norco, Percocet or Vicodin — but I haven’t started taking it yet due to I’ve never had any success with prescription painkillers BECAUSE THEY MAKE ME SO FUCKING SICK. For me, Hydrocodone’s side effects always included vertigo, vomiting into a 12-quart potato salad bowl and eventually blacking out.

The only reason I’m revisiting Hydrocodone is because I can no longer take the NSAID family of pain medications (i.e., Naproxen, Aleve, Motrin) that do such a fabulous job with inflammatory joint pain. NSAIDs wreck a person’s kidneys, and I already have chronic kidney disease and diabetes. So with NSAIDs out of the picture I’m left with only three options: 1) whining; 2) ordinary Tylenol; or 3) goddamn NARCOTICS. Under the circumstances, therefore, I’m willing to give goddamn narcotics one last try because it’s a very low dose and I’ve always wanted to know what it feels like to be seriously drugged without the vertigo, vomiting and passing out. (Hold a good thought.) If all goes well I might take my first dose of Hydrocodone tonight with dinner and then “live blog” how I feel afterwards. Holy shit, is this hard-hitting news, or what? JUST LIKE CNN!

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Adorable Sam is making an excursion to Costco today because there’s no such thing as too many teeny tacos. On his list are all of the following: 1) a box of breakfast burritos; 2) several packages of those tasty teeny tacos; 3) chipotle chicken flautas; 4) two packages of Columbus sliced roast beef; 5) Columbus sliced herbed turkey breast; and 6) a nice big pan of heat & serve meatloaf and mashed potatoes because the last time we bought this it was REALLY EXCELLENT and I’d love some meatloaf tonight for dinner. (Or pizza.)

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Tomorrow is Super Bowl XLIX. For the record, I don’t give a crap about the New England Patriots or the Seattle Seahawks, I don’t give a crap about the stupid commercials, I don’t give a crap about the halftime show and I don’t give a crap who wins the game. In short, I just don’t give a crap. But if you and yours plan to eat snacks and watch the ridiculous festivities on TV, here’s hoping you have a pretty good time. Below is a rendering of the Super Bowl’s weirdly phallic logo for your possible interest.

Incidentally, whoever decided it was a good idea to use Roman numerals for this annual showcase of brain-damaged gladiators should be BEATEN TO DEATH WITH SHOULDER PADS. Seriously ... what the fuck is XLIX?

Thank you.