Hello, my children. With football season at a close, now’s the time of year I have to start forsaking you, and thus plunging you into the seemingly interminable off-season. Suckers. Otherwise you might think me a benevolent creator, and I most certainly am not. Eat it.

Pretty nice Super Bowl I put on for you, huh? And you benighted, ungrateful little shits all carped that it was going to be boring. Believe it or not (YOU BETTER FUCKING BELIEVE), the outcome of this one wasn’t an easy choice for Me. Both teams have a guy really keen on my first son, though Warner getting bonus points for talking about it all the time while Polamalu just signs himself after every play. How ’bout some verbal recognition, you unfrozen cavesafety?

For Me, the deciding factor came down to which of my holy creations I was most proud of. In Larry Fitzgerald, I made a near-flawless physical specimen. In Santonio Holmes, I made a monstrously huge cock. I mean, that thing is impressive. It deserves a Super Bowl ring.

Also, Brenda Warner has had so much work done, I can’t recognize the Child of Light I once crafted. Now she came blame the long hair and nose job for his husband’s failings. Because they are to blame.

Of course, Dan Rooney had to go and fuck up the chain of groveling during the postgame awards ceremony. It was supposed to be ME, THEN Jesus THEN Obama. And you skip right to His Barryness. Wait until I melt your viscera along with Stephen Colbert for joking that I had no hand in this game.

I CONTROL ALL, YOU ELVISH SPEAKING ASSCLOWN! Yuk it up while you’re in chemo, smug boy.

All you secular non-believers lay the credit for the Steelers win on the officials. Silly embittered clueless mortals. Credit where its due, cockwallets. But just to placate you mewling little shits, I had this crocodile tear into a zebra. CHOMP HIS NECK FOR THE GOD-STER, CROC!

Not quite as cute as it is on Pearls Before Swine, is it?

See you losers in seven months. These Me-less fags here on this blog will keep you occupied with an assortment of animal maulings and commenter drafts about favorite ways to blaspheme Me. So there’s that. And have fun with baseball. ‘Cause Me knows, I don’t watch that shit.