I cannot sit right here and watch the Patriots win week after week, year after 12 months


Typically as of now, I give my yearly Super Bowling Viewing Guide (for Super Bowl Parties of Six or More).

Ain’t going to occur.

I can’t do this any longer.

I can’t stay here and watch the New England Patriots — the Mongol Empire of the 21st century — win consistently, after a seemingly endless amount of time.

I am moving somewhere so remote — the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah, perhaps? — somewhere where nobody has ever known about Rex Burkhead, somewhere where I can be free of Robert Kraft and his French sleeves, Bill Belichick and his hoodie and Tom Brady and his ideal poor me on the grounds that nobody supposes we’re-great life.

No more Tuckgate, Spygate and Deflategate.

I have given my whole grown-up brandishing time on Earth over to the National Football League, and I have been unfortunately compensated with the apparition of that haughty very rich person proprietor high-fiving each triumphant minute with his assistant scion, Jonathan “Donald Jr.” Kraft.

Wow, I have organized the NFL more than a few of my matrimonial connections, and for what? To see the underhanded Patriots get each call, each replay survey, each ball bob their direction?

I am sickened stunning, and I am giving you these words simply because I am legally committed.

In the event that I had a decision between living whatever is left of my days in an unheated, un-cooled 1973 VW Beetle with six out of control weasels in a Marie Callender’s parking garage alongside a harmful waste dump at the foot of a functioning fountain of liquid magma OR viewing the Patriots again beat the Jets, 38-3, I’d state, “Fahrvergnugen.”

The Patriots and their fans are so detestable, I wish we could brexit New England.

In the event that the Patriots played ISIS for philanthropy, my doubt is no cash would be raised.

Abruptly, individuals in Los Angeles are Rams fans, not on the grounds that they pursue the Rams, but rather in light of the fact that the Rams are playing the Patriots in Super Bowl 53.

(Section Intermission: Do I figure the Rams can win? Obviously I figure they can win, yet every bone in my body doesn’t concur with me. Their most obvious opportunity would be in the event that it were altogether scripted, similar to a motion picture. Even better, simply give us a redo of “Paradise Can Wait.”)

Give me a chance to coordinate my last wheezes of breath and fierceness on Tom Brady.

Is Brady the best quarterback ever? Five years back he was in the discussion, presently he is the discussion. So I will surrender his place in NFL history in the event that he will get the hell out of Dodge, creep back to his supermodel life partner and quit tormenting us upon the arrival of rest each harvest time and winter.

Brady is so great, when he had skin break out as a young person, he sued Clearasil — and won.

Note: Okay, that didn’t occur, yet I am utilizing artistic freedom here to intersperse the unarguable, unquestionable and indisputable point about his enchanted, fantasy presence.

Brady is actually distant; he goes whole diversions without a protector putting a hand on him. What’s more, in the event that you are sufficiently blessed to break past the New England hostile line and really contact him, you likely will be punished for contacting him.

On the off chance that Brady spits on the field and you venture on his spit, you are hailed for an individual foul.

I chanced upon Brady at the general store a day or two ago, and security quickly expelled me.

How honored is this person? Remove the tuck principle and Pete Carroll’s don’t-run-Marshawn-Lynch cerebrum flatulate and the Falcons’ unspeakable crumple driving by 25 points in the second from last quarter, and Brady would have just two Super Bowl titles, not five. In addition he’s just in this Super Bowl in light of the fact that the Kansas City Chiefs’ Dee Ford arranged in the impartial zone.

The NFL, incidentally, is exploring the likelihood that a laser was flashed at Brady amid the final quarter of the AFC title amusement. A laser? A laser won’t stop Brady. You realize what may stop him? Browned nourishment.

Give him a couple of mozzarella sticks and possibly he’ll DROP DEAD at midfield, immaculate.

(Send me a wire care of Western Union in Bonneville Salt Flats if that occurs.)

Ask The Slouch

Q. Is your undeniable hate for the Patriots a reaction to the numerous long periods of disappointment of the games groups while you registered as a Terrapin at Maryland? (Mort Faller; Potomac, Md.)

A. I never registered in College Park as a Terrapin — I was a Runnin’ Rebel; well, even more a Walkin’ (Often Slouchin’) Rebel.

Q. On the off chance that the Rams win the Super Bowl, will they vote the NFC title amusement authorities a full offer or an incomplete offer? (Stephen Pappas; White Plains, N.Y.)

A. When in doubt — to Robert Kraft’s credit — the Patriots dependably give AFC title amusement authorities a full offer.

Q. In the event that Toni, a.k.a. She Is The One (And Then Some), pull for the Patriots, would that be a dealbreaker for you? (Teri Bloom; Austin)

A. Uh, maybe you don’t completely comprehend the dynamic of our conjugal association: If I revealed to Toni something was a dealbreaker, she’d be out the entryway among “arrangement” and “breaker.”

Q. In the event that the Patriots lose the extra time coin hurl, is the play consequently investigated and toppled to give them the ball? (Rich Tucker; Washington, D.C.)

A. Pay the man, Shirley.

You, as well, can enter the $1.25 Ask The Slouch Cash Giveaway. Simply email asktheslouch@aol.com and, if your inquiry is utilized, you win $1.25 in real money!

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