Every year, the Super Bowl is full of predictions: how many points will be scored, who will win, which star quarterback will be named the game’s MVP, blah, blah, blah. How boring! Sure, the game is supposed to be the best game of the year, but it inevitably is a bit anticlimactic (note that I’m not including the last Super Bowl the New York Giants played in — in 2008 — which coincidentally was against the same New England Patriots they are playing this year and which was, in fact, very exciting).

Far more interesting predictions, at least for my money, are Super Bowl party predictions. These are mine.

— You clean your house from top to bottom in preparation for dozens of your closest friends you anticipate will be coming over. Ten minutes to kickoff, you come to terms with the fact that only nine people have shown up and that you don’t even like three of them very much. You silently curse public Facebook events.

— One bummer friend has brought a vegan cheese log. You devise a plan in which the log will “accidentally” fall into the garbage and be covered in snotty tissues. You begin gathering Kleenex.

— NBC starts the Super Bowl introduction video. They spend 27 minutes talking about the last Super Bowl between these two teams from 2008. They will show that David Tyree@@[email protected]@ catch approximately 42,895 times. You tear up a little bit from the beauty of the catch and the general grandeur of the day. Then you realize your nose is snotting up a little bit, and you run to grab the tissues, hoping to capitalize on the opportunity to vanquish the cheese log.@@[email protected]@

— You invent a drinking game in which you must take a shot for every minute Kelly Clarkson@@http://www.kellyclarkson.com/us/home@@ sings the national anthem. She stretches it out for seven minutes. You are fully schmammered before kickoff.

— The game kicks off. You immediately run out of chicken wings. You are forced to mop up the leftover bleu cheese dressing on your plate with your wilted celery. You curse the chicken-wing gods.

— The camera cuts to Gisele Bundchen@@http://www.giselebundchen.com/gisele_home.asp@@ in a tiny, pink Brady jersey 14 times before the first commercial break. Her beauty is making you regret those chicken wings a little bit. You compensate by switching to light beer.

— First commercial break! All the guests who had been talking through the actual game immediately shut up and sit on the edge of their seats. You roll your eyes but have to admit the ads are pretty good.

— You check on that stupid log. One minuscule bite has been taken out of a corner. You resolve all over again that it will not be alive by game’s end.

— Halftime show commences. Madonna one-ups Janet Jackson’s infamous nip slip by choosing to perform in a sleeveless top. The sight of her veiny snake arms does more to scar the collective psyche of America’s youth than a million wedgies ever could. Her legs, however, look pretty damn good for a 50-something. You look down at your own 20-something legs and switch from light beer to tonic water.

— Halftime show ends with such a violent gyration from Madge@@waiting for kckenna’s [email protected]@ that you nearly puke up your Doritos.@@[email protected]@ By now, you’ve accumulated enough used tissues to begin your attack on the log. You make your escape into the kitchen.

— To clear the room of any witnesses,@@[email protected]@ you announce that a plate of chicken wings has been discovered next to the couch. The kitchen empties. You dispose of the cheese log so enthusiastically that you accidentally spray vegan crap all over your Manning jersey. The Giants are losing by this point anyway, so you quickly switch to a neutral Packers T-shirt.

— The game ends with the Patriots victorious and your house a wreck. You have now sufficiently sobered up after the national anthem debacle and are on the hunt for more booze. The only thing left in your house after your friends trashed it is an old bottle of wine, which you proceed to down.

— You fall asleep with your teeth stained purple, your garbage can reeking of fake cheese and your fridge emptied. You make a mental note to force another friend to host next year’s party.

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