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FORSOOTH! As Peggy Noonan departed the pharmacy Sunday afternoon, she observed a troupe of immigrants discussing the upcoming "Super Bowl," parrying back and forth in their charming patois about "FUCK TOM BRADY" and whatnot. Though Peggy never would have used such rough language, she found herself nodding along with the sentiment behind the idea of "fuck Tom Brady, right in his ear." She at once decided to leave the affairs of politicks for Monday, so she could spend her evening observing the great American pastime of footballing. It's the final match, after all! The big finish! The DENOUEMENT of footballing season, if you will, and oh yes, Peggy Noonan WILL.

Arriving home, Peggy Noonan shouted in no particular direction to her houseboy Manuel. "NACHOS, MANUEL! I REQUIRE NACHOS! I AM PREPARING TO VIEW A SPORTING MATCH!" But Manuel was nowhere to be found. Perhaps Peggy had fired Manuel, perhaps he had quit all on his own. She made a mental note to ask Manuel whether she had fired Manuel next time Manuel came to work.

Into the kitchen Peggy went, whereupon she did fetch two bags of Doritos (but not the lady-like non-crunching Doritos, the regular ones), several bottles of gin and a fresh pouch of Skoal, puh-leeze do not tell anyone, but yes, Peggy was dippin'. Allegedly.

Armed with her supplies, it was time to find a spot on the chaise longue and live-tweet Super Bowl LII, because why on earth wouldn't she live-tweet it? Surely, Peggy Noonan would be uniquely equipped to interpret the zeitgeist of the various cultural moments of THE MATCH.

DYNAMISM! FOCUS! TOWELS A-SNAPPING IN LOCKER ROOMS!

(*crunch crunch Dorito crunch*)

(*pours some more gin*)

Jesus!

No, for real, JEEEEEEEEEZUS:

By "Jeeeeeezus," Peggy Noonan meant that whoa hey, this is some GOOD MUH-FUCKIN' FOOTBALL, and forthwith she composed a new tweet that more elegantly captured her observations:

And THROW the long ball and THROW the long ball and THROW the long ball once again!

Splendid!

Also, the commercials were making Peggy Noonan chortle politely. She especially liked the Dirty Dancing Eli Manning one.

Oh man.

Yer killin' me.

"For heaven's sake, you're tweeting like a common ruffian," Peggy Noonan said to herself as she tore open a fresh bag of Bugles she found in the couch cushions. "Time to summarize the first half as only Peggy Noonan can!"

HUNGER HUNGER HUNGER!

Anyhow, it was time for the Justin Timberlake halftime show, and Peggy Noonan had some 'PINIONS on that too:

Peggy Noonan is aware of all Bringing Sexy Back traditions, and Justin Timberlake is not one of them.

Onward to the second half of the footballing match!

OK, that's pretty much exactly how the second half went. It also featured many moments, Peggy Noonan observed, like for instance this particular moment:

And this particular moment:

"BET YOUR ASS THAT IS A FUCKIN' TOUCHDOWN," Peggy Noonan shouted to Manuel, who was still not present, and if you watched the game, you know which Eagles touchdown Peggy Noonan and we, yr Wonkette, are talking about. "FETCH ME A FLAGON OF CHEESE DIP," Peggy Noonan added with a grotesque belch, to the Manuel who wasn't there.

Anyway, what fun this is!

As the final two minutes commenced, there was much suspense! Would the Bald Eagles of Philadelphia hold fast to their lead, or did antagonistic devil wizard Tom Brady have an ace up his sleeve?

But it was not to be, for the Patrioticks of New Englande! And it all came down to one ... well hell, one fumblefuck of a fucking fumble by Tom Brady, as Peggy Noonan would absolutely never so crassly say.

Peggy Noonan decided to dunk on Tom Brady, on her Tweeting machine:

NOONAN YA BURNT!

The match was now over, and Peggy Noonan was overjoyed. The chances had been taken, the hunger had been just hungry enough, the long ball had indeed been thrown, and the Bald Eagles had vanquished the Patrioticks! It was a climactic end to a thrilling bout of footballing.

Peggy Noonan glided into the kitchen and opened the freezer. Another bottle of gin? No, gin was not appropriate for this moment of celebration! Peggy Noonan grabbed her secret handle of Fireball, scurried back to the parlor and settled in to watch Philly burning itself down for no reason besides pure, unfettered joy.

It was marvelous.

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Evan Hurst

Evan Hurst is the senior editor of Wonkette, which means he is the boss of you, unless you are Rebecca, who is boss of him. His dog Lula is judging you right now.

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