World Cup Soccer: Opiate of the Masses

I am super excited about this year’s World Cup Soccer tournament!


Because it is a reminder every four years as to why I could not give any less of a fuck about professional soccer, a sport that features more flopping than Donald Sterling’s dick every time he tries to fuck another biracial fashion model.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to suggest that watching World Cup soccer is the entertainment equivalent of being anally violated with a splintered mop handle coated in Tobasco, but it is pretty damn close. Any sport where it is difficult to tell from a distance whether those are professionals or a pickup game of handicapped third graders absolutely sucks.

Lastly, please stop pretending like World Cup soccer is so much more special and important simply because it only comes around once every four years. You know what else comes around only once every four years? My herpes simplex 2 outbreaks, but you don’t see me dissecting its intricacies on TV or trying to impress its importance upon everyone else at the office.

Which brings me to my final point: rather than advertise your love for a sport populated by spoon-fed circus gimps, you should treat your World Cup fandom just as you would your herpes outbreaks—i.e., a little more discretely.

Because the rest of us who know what real sports look like do not care.

And that is all.

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