Super Bowl/Puppy Bowl live-blogging, cont'd

8:31 p.m.: Group mockery of fumbling.

8:32 p.m.: Flop: "I remember something called, 'Daddy Loves Leather.'" Additional Tobias Funke impersonating.

8:37 p.m.: Indianapolis challenges a call, giving everyone an excuse to flip to Puppy Bowl. People "awww" and pick which dog is their favorite. I fucking love dogs, but even I consider this to be emasculating behavior.

8:40 p.m.: Discussion of the Puppy Bowl strategy to splash water out of water bowls. Flop impersonates a splashing puppy, discusses brothel pianos.

8:44 p.m.: Puppy Bowl P.I.P. just hindered our view of the play. Puppy Bowl shifts from lower-right to lower-left corner.

8:45 p.m.: Rex Grossman, running in sheer panic and stumbling, loses about 15 yards in the backfield. The apartment laughs and hoots with delight. Nobody likes Grossman.

And then he does it again.

"This is what happens when you let Jews in the Superbowl," says a Jew.

8:48 p.m.: Flop can't find his cell phone and spazzes out. He asks people to call it. He finds the phone in his room. In his coat pocket. "I got my comeuppance," he says.

8:53 p.m.: Indianapolis field goal. Flag thrown. We switch to Puppy Bowl. An argument breaks out about whether all dogs were descended from domesticated wolves and whether any dog breeds naturally evolved in nature.

Colts-Bears sucks. Fantasy contests of similar quality: 2005 Michigan vs. 2006 Iowa; 2006 Stanford v. 2006 Indiana; Chi-Chi's v. Red Lobster; Corky v. Benny.

9:02 p.m.: Ohhhh... Grossman almost throws an interception. We get a field goal instead. Running tally: 16 turnovers, 6 field goals. Camera man gets slammed and goes face down into a huge sideline puddle.

9:07 p.m.: A card trick expo breaks out at the far end of the coffee table. I can't really follow what they're doing. Indianapolis successfully challenged a call, but no one is paying attention. The tiers of interest seem to be 1.) Puppy Bowl, 2.) card tricks, 3.) beer and snacks, 4.) talking about college football, 5.) cold weather, 6.) smoking and 7.) the Superbowl.

9:14 p.m.: Puppy Bowl introduces its featured players. Flop gets schooled in card tricks. Lengthy Arrested Development discussion follows, as well as an argument about the relative difficulties of performing card tricks. "Yahweh loves the card tricks," Flop says.

Flop talks about smoked pickled okra. "Holy shit," he says.

9:21 p.m.: Fucking retard Grossman throws a "hideous" interception into the cushiony mitts of some dude who played on Illinois in college.

Apropos of nothing, Flop just threatened to kill me.

9:31 p.m.: I go out for a cigarette. We walk in and Flop shoots Mr. Met with a foam grenade gun. Within seconds, Grossman throws his fifteenth interception of the game, in one of the most horrible performances in football history. This is unworthy of I-AA.

Mr. Met just got shot in the face again with a foam grenade. This toy gun, it's been floating around since New Year's. It shoots to hurt.

Meanwhile, the Puppy Bowl is still going strong.

9:38 p.m.: Peyton is going to get his precious fucking ring. There should be an asterisk instead of a jewel, and on the other side of that ring, it should say, "Played Grossman."

9:46 p.m.: Dullest football game ever.

As to the Bears, Flop observes, "Instead of having hot-and-cold running hookers in the hotel room, they'll have to go out to the cistern."

9:50 p.m.: Two minutes left.

This live blog has been only marginally more interesting than the game.

I'm signing out to take a short nap on the couch and maybe play some euchre afterward. Congratulation, Peyton, you overexposed dynastic bastard you.