The Mane Event

I'll be the first to admit it: I'm not a big fan of the Super Bowl. Well, at least not the actual game part. I do look forward to ingesting copious amounts of guacamole and chicken wings. I still go to Super Bowl parties because I feel like a traitor to my country if I don't. If I didn't watch the Super Bowl, it would be like saying I don't like apple pie or baseball or the Fourth of July. It would be like giving the finger to the American flag. I watch the Super Bowl year after year because that's what George Washington would have wanted, dammit.

But this year, I was actually captivated, entranced, seduced by something so awe-inspiring, so glorious, I was afraid to look at it too long for fear I might go blind. This thing had little to do with the game itself, though it made its presence felt throughout the proceedings. This thing, my friends, was Troy Polamalu's Mane of Life.

Who is Troy Polamalu? some of you might be wondering. Don't ask me. I hadn't heard of the guy until Sunday night. Apparently, he is good at football, because he helped the Pittsburgh Steeler's win the game. I guess he is a safety. I don't really know what a safety does, nor do I care.

The point is this: I have found a suitable backup. For those of you who don't know, it has been a dream of mine for years to convince Slash, he of the awesome mane and rockin' Guns N' Roses guitar solos, to procreate with me, thereby creating the Curliest-Haired Baby in the World. I believe it would be quite a thing to be the mother of a child who possesses a fro both feared and revered. But thus far, Slash has not been very cooperative. I have higher hopes for Mr. Polamalu. I don't know why; he is married, Roman Catholic and a professional football player. All signs point to no. But I have a feeling he'll be into it. If all else fails, there's always the Joy of Painting guy. Oh, crap. He's dead, isn't he? Perhaps I can find a mere mortal with some hot curlage.