the super bowl of blog posts

The Ghost of Super Bowl Defeat Future.

Congratulations to the Pittsburgh Steelers and the . . . *sigh* . . . the Arizona Cardinals on making it to the Super Bowl. On the face of it, Evil doesn’t see how Arizona can beat the Steelers, but he felt that way about the Cardinals in the first three rounds of the playoffs and look what happened.

In related news . . .

1. Whilst watching the NFC championship game, Evil realized Kurt Warner looks like an actor . . . not one particular actor, but the guy who always plays an A-lister’s foil. You know the type: for whatever reason—luck, lack of charisma, sleeping with the wrong people in Hollywood—these guys never get lead roles themselves until ten, fifteen years in, when they land top billing in some ensemble detective drama on ABC. In another life, Warner would be facing off as the ambitious DA against Tom Hanks’ noble public defender, or Russell Crowe’s ultimately-vanquished rival for Renee Zellweger’s affections.

yahoo’s “25 best ‘best of’ albums”: zeitgeist-defining curio or sign of the apocalypse?

Remember how great they were? *Sigh* . . .

. . . So Yahoo (will not, will NOT append the “!” A little dignity, please, is all the Evil asks. Unless you’re going to shoot the moon and go balls-out with “!!!” . . . yes. That’s infinitely better: Yahoo!!!) apparently runs a feature called the “List Of The Day”—four words that, in order, send a shudder of revulsion from the stump of Evil’s vestigial tail up his spine.

Sure, you’ve read a number of what you might call “lists” here at the National Evil. Um, like yesterday’s. (Click here!) And maybe that makes the following statement hypocritical, but: the Evil hates lists. Other people’s lists, that is. Hearing or reading someone’s list of who even cares? is akin to, but even worse than, listening to someone describe a boring, pointless dream (“So I was in line at the grocery store—or maybe it was a Wal-Mart–anyway, you were there, and you were there, and my 9th grade English teacher was at the register, and we were all reciting that Shakespeare monologue, you know, the one from Hamlet, ‘To be or not to be’, only we were singing—”) . . . at least in the case of the dream, you can blame your subconscious. But list-making is a conscious act acted on with malice aforethought.