Punxsutawney Phil Predicts the Super Bowl Winner
Now that seasonal prognosticator and Gobbler’s Knob resident Punxsutawney Phil has completed his grueling two hours of work for the year, his schedule is clear for the foreseeable future. Lucky for us, we were able to catch up with the rotund rodent to get his take on Super Bowl XLVI. We met at an undisclosed location for a prediction.
(Phil lays on hotel room bed speaking to his agent on a cell phone)
Who do I have to blow to get out of this chickensh*t gig?
An Econo Lodge? That’s the best you can do! I’m Punxsutawney Fuc*ing Phil not some kitten playing with yarn on the internet!
Contract? Are you fuc*ing kidding me?!
You know who my family is? You know my reputation in this town? I OWN FEBRUARY 2ND DOUCHEBAG!!!
Either get me out of this deal or I’ll find someone who will. Phil out, bitch!
(Ends the call and tosses the phone in the corner)
Agents… motherfuc*ers think they run the show. I buy and sell dickheads like that seven days a week.
(Takes a swig from a flask of booze)
Look at this dump! There’s not even a mini bar. Luckily, I always come prepared, like a fuc^ing boy scout.
So you want a Super Bowl prediction, eh? Well, you came to the right woodchuck. Back in the day they called me the Hirsute Handicapper. I made mad bank.
(Cuts a loud gasser)
Ahhh… sorry, dude. I’ve been holding that one in since they pulled me out of the goddamn hole. Oooh, might have sharted a little.
Where was I? Oh yeah, Super Bowl. I see it like this. First of all, the spread is wack. Pats by three? The Giants beat them in the regular season. Vegas is on quaaludes. Should be G-Men by a deuce.
Brady is ice man, but not when he plays Big Blue. Once Osi and the crew get rollin’, Mr. Bündchen turns into a 6’4″ vagina.
Plus, the Pats secondary has more holes than my tax returns. I mean, Joe Flacco threw for 300 yards on ’em. Joe Flacco! Derpface Eli will carve them up like a Christmas ham.
(Lights up a joint, takes a long drag)
Damn, that skank in the parking lot wasn’t joking. This is some good ganja.
Now, I myself steer clear of bookies since I went all in on the 2009 WNBA Finals. Piece of advice. Never listen to a badger on matters of sport. Fuc*ers are not to be trusted.
That being said, I’d lay coin on the Giants. 31-27. You’re welcome.
Now get the fu*k out of my room. I gotta go wreck this here toilet. Cleaning staff gonna want to barbecue my hairy ass when I’m done with this place.
(Slams door in our faces)