Thanks to my father, who by the way doesn’t know this blog exists, for emailing me this pic:
Benny sure was a rough looking youngster. I’m almost sure Benny pines away for her every day, don’t you think? Not like he’s got anything better to do with his time … other than you know, like I don’t know … winning me a freaking Super Bowl!?
How bout them Stillers?!?
I have to tell you that my entire torso is in spasms from all the screaming and jumping and general flipping the hell out. My terrible-towelitis is flaring up from the whipping of my wrist. And I’m pretty sure there were a few times early in the game that some otherworldy force took over my body because I vaguely remember screaming, “Defense! Pass defense, you mother#(*$&!” And PittGirl NEVER uses that word. So you know how serious I am about football.
Benny can marry a WWE female wrestler for all I care, so long as he plays next week like he played yesterday.
I’m a demanding little bugger aren’t I?