Sunday

Have you been to a bar lately? It's pretty distracting. Distracting enough to make you react melodramatically, depending on on the kind of day you're having. There's so much shit going on in the form of televised sports, it's hard to focus on your company. There they are, talking to you, being your friends, and war music pours out of a hundred speakers at an incredible volume, festival on tap like the shitty beer for which hundreds of advertisements hem in your every glance. Rock and roll and trumpets and sirens screaming the signal of the gridiron, destroying all patience, analysis, and intelligence like an armored steamroller. Whether they wanted to or not, the bar has been forced by the marketplace to send a message to all who enter:

if you don't think football rules, FUCK YOU!

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