St Regis Town Car

Yo, Roger Goodell. Go-Dell. Dell. Deli.  Deli, what do you mean we’re not taking the car service to the Super Bowl?

While the mindless peons prattle on about not being able to tailgate at the Super Bowl — as if the brat-and-beer set can even afford Super Bowl tickets without dipping into their anemic 401k or maxing out their credit cards (classic Green Amex, natch), the rest of us actually working and making our money the hard way crushing six AM pre-market trades to pay for your little party have a real problem here. That’s right, I said it. My and my friends are paying for your little game. Do you think MetLife would be able to afford naming rights if it wasn’t for us grinding away each day? Do you think Jaguar would be able afford your Super Bowl ad buys — sold out already, you’re welcome Deli —  if it wasn’t for us restarting the economy? In case you forgot Deli, the Dow is above 16,000 these days, bet back in 2008 when everyone said it would never reach 14,000 again you were shitting your Van Heusens worried about all the future suites you were building around the league. Thanks to us, you, the owners, the sponsors and the rest of you dicks are inside more luxury boxes than you ever were before.

Did I say luxury boxes? Pardonne moi. I meant to say pussy. You dicks are all in more PUSSY because of us.

How do you repay us? You want us to take shared fucking buses to the stadium, Deli? I haven’t been in a taxi cab in at least ten years, much less the subway, and you’re telling me I need to take the train to New Jersey and then get on a bus like some call center cow. Is this some sort of a joke? I don’t even let my girlfriend Lisa Whitney take the jitney to the Hamptons in case someone sees her slumming and thinks I’m not crushing my bonus this year, and you expect me to walk from a bus stop to the stadium? And then back again to the bus again like this is some sort of fucking Phish concert? Get real, Deli.

You know how seriously me and my boys take football and partying, Deli. Did we let Katrina get us down when we held our annual fantasy football draft in New Orleans? Did we give up when we couldn’t get a flight out the city with the hurricane coming? No Deli, we didn’t. We loaded up the strippers we hired to run the draft board into a party limo and drove that bitch all the way to Houston so we wouldn’t miss our draft or a single day of work. Ruled the league that year too, Deli. After joking for years we’d get a second shot at the infamous “poles and rails” freedom ride when the Super Bowl came to New York, the gods who make sure you have enough high-worth consumers for your league are being told to buy a bus pass. Ever try to do blow and Addy with a bus pass, Deli? May as well be doing crack like some low-rent Canadian mayor on a bender in Buffalo.

So straighten this shit out, Deli. Me and my boys are not going to be riding with the herd in February, and I’m certainly not begging my boss for a ride in his car. At least not until after I’ve picked up his lunch.