You’re excited for your dad to die because you’re tired of sharing a towel with him. But before he passes, you’d like to help him achieve two of his lifelong dreams: going to the Super Bowl and losing his virginity. You’d rather not commit more than a couple of hours to this, so you’re hoping to kill two birds with one stone and have him go to the Super Bowl and lose his virginity at the same time.

Your dad is just staring at you like an idiot. Tell him about the nice thing you’re going to do for him.

“Now that’s what The Sizzler likes to hear!” your dad hollers.

He calls himself The Sizzler, but his real name is Oliver.

“Professor Warm-Lips is ready to watch the football game and lose his virginity!” he adds.

Your dad also calls himself Professor Warm-Lips, along with a lot of other nicknames. He doesn’t know that it makes him sound like an idiot.

“The Stanky Guvner will go put his shoes on one at a time and then wait in the car for his wonderful son, who is going to teach him how to have sex with his penis at the Super Bowl!” he exclaims, unaware that you won’t be leaving to go to the game for another seven hours.

He puts his shoes on and wanders out to the garage. Now that he’s out of the way, you can begin planning the big football-and-sex outing. First things first: Are you willing to spend your own money to buy Super Bowl tickets?

Unfortunately, there’s only $6 and some Ruffles in your wallet, which isn’t enough money to buy Super Bowl tickets. You will need to steal some money from your dad.

Wise choice. You can use your money to buy some rolls instead. Nice!

If you’re not willing to pay for Super Bowl tickets, how do you want to go about getting them?

Your first instinct is to go ask the devil for tickets in exchange for your dad’s soul, but it turns out the person who you thought was the devil is actually a clown of some kind.

What do you want to try now?

You call a radio station on the phone and a guy picks up.

“Hello, caller, you are LIVE on 101.3 The Zoom’s Morning Power Hour with Z-Bone and Broth God!”

“Brothhhhh,” moans Broth God in the background.

“Today’s your lucky day because you are our 100th caller, which means you can win a million dollars RIGHT NOW if you can guess this week’s Million-Dollar Motto! We’ve written four arbitrary words onto a slip of paper, and all you’ve got to do is name all four words in the correct order and you’ll become a millionaire! And to help you out, here’s your Million-Dollar Clue: To win more cash than you can fit in a drawer, name some things you can get at a store.”

“No, but we do have a MILLION DOLLARS for the caller who can correctly guess this week’s Million-Dollar Motto!”

Ah, bummer. Sounds like they don’t have any Super Bowl tickets.

“Aluminum foil or soup!” you shout as a prank.

There is an uncomfortable silence on the air, and you realize that the words you said weren’t outrageous cuss words at all. They were just some normal words that you know. Oof. This is the most humiliating thing that has ever happened to you, and you decide to hang up the phone and go kill yourself with a gun. But before you can do that, Z-Bone comes back on the line.

“Congratulations, caller! This week’s Million-Dollar Motto was indeed ‘Aluminum foil or soup,’ which means we are giving you ONE MILLION DOLLARS!”

“Brothhhhhhhhh,” says Broth God in a congratulatory tone.

Oh, neat. You won a million dollars.

Not long after you hang up, people from the radio station come to your house and leave a million dollars on your floor. Sadly, you only get to savor the money pile for a minute or two before you accidentally run it over with a lawnmower, destroying all but $14,000.

Better spend the rest of the money quickly before you ruin it somehow.

You go to Walmart to buy Super Bowl tickets, but all the cheap seats are already taken, so you’re forced to fork over the entire $14,000 for two seats in a luxury box. No one should ever have to spend this much money on their dad.

You arrive at the Super Bowl, and all the fans are sweating and crying in anticipation of football.

The two teams playing this year are the Sacramento Sewer Apes and the Orlando Orbs. The Sewer Apes are the underdogs, having only made it to the championship on account of all their playoff opponents forfeiting due to the Vietnam War. The team’s rabidly loyal fanbase is known for traveling to games in huge herds through sewers, rowdily smearing one another in raw sewage and shouting the famous Sewer Ape fight song:

“When you hear loud shrieking through your toilet pipes / You know it is the Sewer Apes surfacing to fight // Deaf and huge, bald and nude / The jumbo chimps who eat your dog whenever they need food // Hail the Sewer Apes, the horny football beasts! / Hail the Sewer Apes, eyes crusted o’er with yeast! // They cannot sleep and they are brave / Let us cheer these suicidal football apes! // Sewer Apes! Sewer Apes! Awoooo!”

The Orlando Orbs are the defending Super Bowl champs, feared throughout the league for their lightning-quick pass rushing and their hulking, greasy asses, which aid players to handily slip through coverage like oily seabirds through a pitching machine. The Orbs are named in the memory of team owner Sheldon Adelson’s late wife—she being a powerful, luminescent orb of inflated membrane who sadly got popped to death while her casino-magnate husband was grooming her with his long, gnarled fingernails. Before each game, the team’s players honor her by sipping from a large cauldron of her thick neon lifeblood, gallons of which gushed forth from her rapidly deflating exoskeleton upon puncture. This nigh-holy juice is rumored to be the secret behind the Orbs’ gridiron dominance.

You go to your $14,000 luxury box to formulate a plan to lose your dad’s virginity. You can tell your dad is really excited because he just sent you five texts telling you so.

“Poppa Bobo has brushed his teeth and put on extra socks and is ready to lose his virginity at the Super Bowl!” he yells. “Someone’s gonna sit on my legs, and I’m gonna sit on their legs, and I will be ringing a bell, and our nipples will spray perfume, and then we will rub our tubes together very fast!”

It occurs to you that your dad might not know how to have sex.

“What the hell is having sex?” he asks.

“Dad, having sex is what you do when you lose your virginity. You need to know how to do it.”

“Oh, yeah, that. Dr. Ping-Pong knows how to do that. They said it on the news.”

You’re still not entirely convinced your dad knows how to have sex.

Outside the luxury box, you can hear the gelatinous collision of linemen bellies and the melodic vweep-vweep of lubricated Orb asses gliding past defenders, indicating that the game has begun.

The Orbs get off to an early lead, securing four touchdowns within the first two minutes of play thanks to the unshakable poise of MVP quarterback Arnold Bathtime and the Sewer Apes’ inability to ignore a one-legged pigeon hopping around their own 40-yard line that will eat whatever they feed him, including mouth guards, coins, and a syrette of cortisone.

Here we see Sewer Apes receiver Binocular Ficus mistaking Orbs cornerback Kleenex Carter III’s knee for the football while Carter accurately identifies the football as a football, thus forcing the third interception of the game.

While the Sewer Apes are off to a rough start, don’t count them out yet. As soon as all-star running back Gorth Chimney realizes his cleat is stuck in a 400-pound tuna and yanks it free, he should be able to generate much more speed and then pose a serious threat on offense.

You notice a small hole in one of the cushions on the couch in your suite. You tell your dad to go have sex with the couch hole to prove he is capable of losing his virginity.

“No problemo, my child,” he says, removing the contents of his wallet in preparation. “The Very Big Rooster will show you how it’s done.”

Your dad gets down on his hands and knees and crawls over to the couch. He places his forehead on the middle cushion and holds very still. After several moments of silence, a trickle of urine leaks out of his pants.

“Almost done with having sex!” he yells.

Before you can even process what’s happening, he rips his right eye out and falls asleep on the floor. Then, dozens of crows smash into the glass partition that walls in your suite, and most of them die.

And that’s it.

Seems like your dad is really bad at sex. He needs some work before he can lose his virginity.

After you pop your dad’s eye back in, you start having sex with the couch to show him how it’s done.

“Yes!” he cries, giving you an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “You are doing it! My son is harming a couch with his balls, and I am watching it with great joy while learning how to lose my virginity! I am so proud of my boy’s small penis! Praise God!”

Before you can finish, your dad runs over, lifts you off the couch and gives you a giant bear hug, thanking you profusely for your lesson.

“His Airness is now ready to inaugurate his penis with the wetness of a friend or stranger! Thank you, my precious son, for the example of your groin.”

Looks like your dad is ready.

You walk out into the concourse and spot two ladies who look like they might be kind enough to let your dad bum them out with his inexperienced wang.

“No, we both have metal spider legs from the waist down,” says the eldest of the pair. “Thank you for asking, though.”

You look down and see that she is telling the truth about their fucked-up spider legs.

You happen upon a freak. He is sad enough to wear a dumb hat, so maybe he is sad enough to defile the man who raised you.

These people look like they might be open to taking your dad’s virginity, but you’re not sure if they’re your dad’s type, so you decide to move on.

“It depends. Is he a Sewer Apes fan or an Orbs fan? And if I agree to your proposition, would I be permitted to continue wearing my dumb hat? The cans supply me with medicine to help me read.”

“Oh, well, I’m a Shreveport Shreves fan, and I only defile myself with fellow Shrevers. Orbs fans don’t have as good of holes.”

Wow. If you’ve ever seen people who are horny for having sex, it is these people. They are just oozing with raw sexuality. Surely, one of them will do your dad the honor.

“Hmm, maybe,” they say in unison, as if telekinetically linked by their carnal fuck energy. “We’d have to see more of your dad to make an informed decision. Please strip him naked and have him strut back and forth in front of us so that we might gauge his potential as a lover.”

You’re not sure if this is a good idea. It seems innocent enough, but you think there might be a Bible verse warning against this exact kind of situation.

You take all of your dad’s clothes off so that he is naked and disgusting to look at. It is upsetting to look at his body because it is not smooth and normal like yours.

Despite how bad he looks, you have your dad walk back and forth for the strangers, and they politely follow his naked body with their eyes. At one point he trips and smashes a young Orbs fan’s nachos with his bare ass, but other than that he does a good job.

The strangers begin clapping and cheering, seemingly pleased by the sight of your dad’s upsetting nakedness.

“Does this mean that one of you will take my father’s virginity?” you ask them.

“No,” they all reply. “We were cheering because of something that happened in the football game. Regarding your father, we do not feel that he is a compatible sexual partner for us at this time. But thank you for your inquiry.”

The strangers turn away and begin kissing each other with their tongues.

Wow, now this is something you’ll see on highlight reels for years to come!

Sewer Ape linemen Marvelous Pinecone and Gospel Clamdick have kidnapped Orbs quarterback Arnold Bathtime at the 20-yard line and are carrying him off the field. They take him out of the stadium and across the street to Blimpie, where they proceed to force-feed the five-time Pro Bowler provolone cheese until he is too fat and sleepy to play football anymore.

While the Sewer Apes are assessed a five-yard delay-of-game penalty for the ploy, it’s a small price to pay to ensure that the opposing team’s star player is sidelined for the remainder of regulation. This puts the Orbs at the mercy of first-year backup quarterback Gentleman Targus, who many speculate was only signed to a professional contract under pressure from the American Disabilities Association, which demanded that NFL teams draft at least one player with glaucoma or Lupus—Targus being afflicted with both.

Nearing the end of the half, the Orbs hold a commanding 56-3 lead. But with a legally blind quarterback with withered lungs now leading the offense, the team will be far more vulnerable heading into the third quarter.

It is taking way too long to find someone to have sex with your dad, so you decide to just ask all 34,582 fans in the stadium at the same time if they’d like to have a go at him.

You pick your still-naked dad up over your head and show him to the huge throng of spectators.

“Would anybody here like to take my dad’s virginity? He is not attractive to look at, but he is old and near death.”

“BOOOOO!!!!!!” the masses shout, hurling down beer bottles out of anger from seeing your dad’s depressing carcass.

Doesn’t seem like there are any takers in the crowd. But maybe there’s somebody on the field who might be interested…

Just as you have this thought, the ref blows his whistle to signal the end of the half. Dozens of workers begin flooding onto the field to prepare for the halftime show, and it occurs to you that maybe you and your dad could sneak out onto the field with them.

You go down to sneak onto the field, but there is a burly security guard vigilantly patrolling the sideline. If you make a run for it, he will surely kill you.

You make a run for it, and because you are young and fleet of foot, the burly security guard does not catch you. Nice! You made it onto the field.

However, since your dad is elderly and easily captured, the security guard has no problem stopping him in his tracks. He pushes your dad to the ground and blasts him in the spine with a stun gun, leaving him convulsing and squealing on the concrete. He looks pitiful, and it’s hard to imagine anyone wanting to have sex with him.

You tell the security guard that you are eight-time Grammy-winning pop superstar Mumblin’ Grisham Lunt and that you need to get on the field, but the security guard seems skeptical.

“If you really are who you say you are, then sing me the chorus of your 2013 smash hit, ‘I Would Like To Share My Toilet With A Beautiful Woman.’”

Ah, shit. You vaguely remember the song—it pretty much dominated the radio a few summers back—but Mumblin’ Grisham Lunt’s trademark high-pitched mumbling made it tough for you to pick up on the lyrics. You’ll just have to give it your best shot and hope the security guard buys it.

“Yep, that’s the song, all right,” the security guard says. “Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Lunt. You may proceed onto the field.”

You say thank you and walk out onto the field. Your dad tries to follow you, but the security guard stops him.

“Wait, who’s this guy?” the security guard asks.

“Ah, yes, I knew he looked familiar. However, even though he is a celebrity of great renown, I was specifically instructed not to let anyone on the field with bombs. I’m afraid he’ll have to take his explosives back to his seat.”

Ah, damn. Doesn’t look like your dad’s going to get through.

“My son, you are confused,” your dad interjects. “I am not who you say I am. I am your dad, and you are trying to sneak me onto the field at the Super Bowl so that I may have sexual intercourse with my dry penis for the very first time in my life. How can you not remember this?”

Ah, shit. You forgot that your dad is fundamentally incapable of telling a lie. He may very well be the most honest man who has ever lived.

“Well, if that’s the case, then I’m afraid I can’t let you onto the field,” the security guard tells your dad. “Lying to a security guard is a very serious offense, and I would be justified in killing you. But since you are the father of a cherished American musical icon, I will let you off easy with a punitive zap to the spine.”

The security guard blasts your dad in the spine with a stun gun, leaving him convulsing and squealing on the concrete. He looks pitiful, and it’s hard to imagine anyone wanting to have sex with him.

You and your dad start walking away to find a new way to get onto the field, but you’re stopped in your tracks by a little boy.

“Hello, are you trying to go onto the football yard, even though it is a crime?”

“You are lying to me, but I forgive you,” the boy says. “I am Ormul. Ormul knows the secret for getting onto the football yard because my Uncle Arun showed me. His job was to keep mountain lions from getting into the stadium and eating all of the Lemon Chill at the concession stand. Sadly, one day some mountain lions did get into the stadium and eat all the Lemon Chill because he was distracted watching pornographies in the toilet, and the shame of his failure caused him to do a suicide with his sword and go to hell. Now it is Ormul’s job to scare off the mountain lions. Would you like Ormul to teach you the trick for getting onto the football yard?”

“Yes, sorry, Ormul will shut up,” he says. “No one is ever kind to Ormul, but that is okay because deep down Ormul knows that people are just jealous of Ormul’s many successes. When a bully at school does a mean attack on Ormul, such as taping Ormul to roof of school bus or scaring Ormul with picture of snake, Ormul knows that they are just jealous because Ormul has the cleanest locker and knows how to do exclusive calculator tricks. So, you see, even though you have behaved rude to Ormul, Ormul is still happy and Ormul still considers you a friend. Goodbye, and may you have great success in sneaking onto the football yard.”

Aw, jeez, now you feel bad. Maybe you should say sorry. After all, it’s not like you have any other ideas for how to get on the field. This nerd might be your only hope.

“I am Ormul,” the boy tells you. “Ormul knows the secret for getting onto the football yard because my Uncle Arun showed me. His job was to keep mountain lions from getting into the stadium and eating all of the Lemon Chill at the concession stand. Sadly, one day some mountain lions did get into the stadium and eat all the Lemon Chill because he was distracted watching pornographies in the toilet, and the shame of his failure caused him to do a suicide with his sword and go to hell. Now it is Ormul’s job to scare off the mountain lions. Would you like Ormul to teach you the trick for getting onto the football yard?”

Ormul pulls bends down and pulls back a floormat, revealing a manhole cover.

“Take your horny father and climb down through this hole in the floor,” Ormul tells you. “Keep following the tunnel until you arrive at two doors. The door on the left is the door that the mountain lions come through to steal Lemon Chill, so Ormul must insist that you do not open this door. Go through the right door, and it will lead you to the football yard. Good luck. You are my best friend.”

“Ormul accepts your apology, and Ormul trusts that you have learned many lessons from this experience.”

Ormul bends down and pulls back a floor mat, revealing a manhole cover.

“Take your horny father and climb down through this hole in the floor,” Ormul tells you. “Keep following the tunnel until you arrive at two doors. The door on the left is the door that the mountain lions come through to steal Lemon Chill, so Ormul must insist that you do not open this door. Go through the right door, and it will lead you to the football yard. Good luck. You are my best friend.”

Your dad falls down the hole into the tunnel, and you take the ladder down after him.

“The Butter Baby has broken several ribs!” your dad informs you, picking himself up off the hard ground.

“Innnnntercourse! The Velvet Skunk is gonna have innnnntercourse!” your dad loudly sings, making absolutely zero effort at stealth. “What a time it will be! I hope it doesn’t sting! But in my heart I know it will!”

You arrive at the two doors Ormul told you about only to discover that they’re both wide open.

“The King of Sting can’t help but notice that the left door is open,” your dad observes. “Didn’t the tiny man tell us that that’s where the lions come from?”

Just as your dad says this, you hear deep growls coming from the shadows of the industrial corridor.

“Innnnntercourse! The Thirsty Owl’s gonna have innnnntercourse!”

“What’s that, a goddam monkey?” your dad yells.

Nope. It’s a mountain lion. And it looks ready to pounce.

You try to whistle the mountain lion to sleep, but obviously it doesn’t work because it’s a terrible idea. The mountain lion emerges from the shadows and slowly stalks towards you until it’s so close you can feel the heat of its breath.

“Scram, monkey!” your dad shouts, whacking it on the snout with the back of his hand. “I will not hesitate to eat you if you do not leave us alone!”

You push your dad toward the mountain lion and safely flee through the right door, the sounds of screaming and roaring and teeth gnashing echoing in your wake. The right door leads you up a ladder and out another manhole, and you emerge at an unguarded entrance leading to the field.

While you want to feel bad for sacrificing your dad to the mountain lion to save yourself, you’re honestly not sweating it because your dad was going to die soon anyway.

Then, just as you’re about to forget about your dad forever and go enjoy the halftime show, you hear a familiar voice hollering nearby.

“The Funky Washcloth has killed the monkey and eaten its neck!”

Huh. Apparently he’s alive.

“Greasy Ol’ Laura Dern took that monkey and suplexed it to death and ate its succulent neck meat! The delicious monkey meat has filled me with energy to go and lose my virginity while my son watches!”

Welp, guess you’ve got to keep hanging out with your dad.

As you walk out onto the field, a series of loud pyrotechnics go off, scaring your dad and signaling the start of the halftime show.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” the announcer booms. “PLEASE PUT YOUR HOTDOGS ON THE FLOOR SO YOU’RE NOT DISTRACTED BY THEM, AND TURN YOUR ATTENTION TO THE FIELD FOR A VERY QUIET PERFORMANCE BY EIGHT-TIME GRAMMY WINNER AND INTERNATIONAL SUPERSTAR MUMBLIN’ GRISHAM LUNT!”

Wow, you can’t believe you’re about to see THE Mumblin’ Grisham Lunt in person—he’s the biggest star on the planet!

“Hello, I’m Mumblin’ Grisham Lunt, and I am very nervous to be here,” he mumbles. “It is incredibly stressful to have so many people looking at me. I didn’t ask for this level of fame. Please bear with me while I muster the nerve to play you some of my songs.”

Mumblin’ Grisham Lunt stands there silently for 11 minutes working up the courage to sing. At moments, he sobs into the sleeve of his jacket.

“Okay, I am ready,” he mumbles. “I will now play for you a song from my latest CD. The song is called, ‘I Am Panicking Because I Just Imagined A Train Passing Dangerously Close To My Vehicle.’ I apologize for interrupting your day of football with my music.”

The crowd goes absolutely batshit.

“I’m sitting quietly in my empty bathtub, / As it is calming to my brain / When suddenly I start panicking / because I’ve thought about a train // It is a loud train / and it’s a fast train / And imagining it near my vehicle makes me vomit in my lap…”

Wow, he’s killing it! The crowd is mumbling along to every single word, electrified by his somber whimpering.

“Please, God / Put me in a coma / So I never accidentally think about a loud train ever again…”

Halfway through the song’s powerful chorus, Mumblin’ Grisham Lunt wanders away to the corner of the stage and hides underneath a blanket, leaving his rhythm guitarist and on-and-off lover, Strummin’ Sandra Hoof-Meal, to gently strum a B-minor chord over and over again, her hands trembling with age. The loud blare of the speakers make her wince painfully after every chord she plays, and she’s hitting a lot of sour notes, but the crowd doesn’t care—they’re loving every second of it!

It’s getting dark out now, and you don’t have much time left to find someone to take your dad’s virginity. So far, just asking people to have sex with your dad has been wildly ineffective, and you’re thinking maybe it’s time to try a new approach.

You take out your phone and pull up your digital copy of The Peter Horny Guide To Talking To Strangers And Getting Them To Agree To Fornication Activities With Your Hardened Penis, the highly acclaimed handbook of groundbreaking seduction techniques.

You read your dad some of the book’s various tips for getting strangers to have sex with you, such as constantly blasting an air horn so people will wonder who the mysterious air-horn guy is and become aroused, or painting your penis to resemble an abnormally oblong grape so people will think it’s a rare culinary treasure and be eager to put their hands and mouths on it. But unfortunately, your dad is too impatient and horny to listen, and while your eyes are glued to the sex lessons in your phone, he quietly sneaks away.

You only realize he has wandered off when you hear a series of violent smashing sounds followed by a loud, euphoric squeal. You turn around and see your dad with his pants downs, ferociously humping the concrete support wall that holds up the stadium bleachers. He is humping with such extraordinary force and vigor that the concrete is crumbling off in massive chunks, posing a serious threat to the structural integrity of the stadium.

“Look, I’m losing my virginity!” he screams, his eyes insane with lust.

Your dad snaps out of his humping fit and turns around, smiling. The dusty pile of broken concrete behind him corroborates a fact you’ve long known: that your dad is a frighteningly strong man. You first learned this as an 8-year-old at your grandfather’s funeral, when your dad refused the assistance of pallbearers and opted to carry his deceased father’s casket all by himself. He carried the casket for the entire service, then he carried it all the way to the cemetery, sprinting at full speed while the cars in the funeral procession queued behind him. At one point on the journey to the cemetery, he became so overcome with grief that he hurled the casket like a javelin into oncoming traffic and destroyed a school bus. You’ve since learned that your dad’s Herculean strength is provoked not only by extreme sadness, like at his father’s funeral, but also by extreme happiness, like when he saw one of the Budweiser Clydesdales at a parade and accidentally ripped its head off with glee. And, of course, now you also have learned that he becomes strong when he is extremely horny.

Unfortunately, his batshit humping spree caused a huge commotion, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he gets kicked out of the stadium before he can relieve any of his preternatural sexual energy on an actual person.

“Uh-oh!” your dad cries. “The Curious Crab has broken the stadium with his dynamite weiner, and now he’s gonna get in big-time trouble.”

“You won’t get in trouble,” you hear a random voice say. “But you could get a Super Bowl ring.”

Wow! It’s Sewer Apes head coach Gristle O’Callaghan!

“Young man,” Coach O’Callaghan says to you, “is this moron with the jackhammer dick your father?”

“If I suit him up right now in a Sewer Apes uniform, do you think he could do the same thing to the Orbs defense as he did to that godforsaken wall? Because we’re down 56-3 with two quarters to go, and the only way I can see us winning this thing is if your old man suits up that unstoppable mutant dick of his and barrels up and down that field to get us some touchdowns.”

“Great, that’s what I like to hear,” says Coach O’Callaghan. “Let’s get your dad and his disaster of a dick suited up in pads, and let’s go win the Sewer Apes a Super Bowl!”

You and Coach O’Callaghan strip your dad naked and start dressing him up in football clothes. Your dad looks uneasy, though. He’s being presented an incredible opportunity to become a national football hero, and yet he’s acting like a mopey loser for some reason.

“Well, son, Professor Batman came here to the Super Bowl today because he thought he was gonna get to lose his virginity,” your dad says. “But now I ain’t gonna get to do that. Now I gotta go out there and play football with big ol’ football men who wanna tackle your 93-year-old dad and slam him hard on the ground. That’s not how I want to spend my last day of life. I want to spend my last day of life getting sex slime all over my penis—and I want to have my nice son right there next to me when it happens.”

Hmm, sounds like the old coot really wants to experience sexual intimacy. And it doesn’t seem like he’s all that interested in being a Super Bowl hero. Even though you know he’s only saying these things because he’s old and his brain is an impossible puzzle that no longer generates sensible thoughts, you feel like you should probably respect his final wishes on his last day of life.

“Ah, this old scam,” Coach O’Callaghan laughs. “If I had a dollar for every time a new recruit’s son asked me to take his father’s virginity in exchange for services rendered on the football field, I could’ve retired from this bullshit 30 years ago. Normally I politely decline such offers, but since your dad’s our only hope to win the Super Bowl, I’m willing to make a deal. I’ll agree to take your dad’s virginity, but ONLY if he wins us the game. On the other hand, if your dad loses us the game, then YOU have to take MY virginity.”

Sheesh. That’s not what you were expecting him to say. While you’re happy to agree to just about anything if the consequences only affect your dad, you’d really prefer to not be personally inconvenienced in any way, shape, or form. You’re not Gandhi. And having to take Coach O’Callaghan’s virginity would be a huge goddam hassle.

As you’re chewing things over, you begin contemplating the significance of today in the grand scheme of your life. As you’re doing so, you suddenly have a flashback to the day you were born.

In the flashback, you’re resting peacefully inside an unzipped duffel bag, and your dad is lamenting about how tiny your hands are and how he wishes you’d been born with bigger hands because the tiny hands will make it hard for you to find gainful employment when you are older. However, he soon calms down and reassures you that no matter what hardships your tiny hands might cause you in life, he will always be there by your side to protect you and help you along.

“Daddy Big-Hands thinks you are perfect just the way you are,” he yells, gently folding your tiny hand into his palm. “The world will see your tiny hands and say that you are a hideous alien who must be locked up in a zoo with meerkats and other tiny-handed beasts, but your dad will not let that happen. I will make any and every sacrifice I can to make sure that you’re happy and that the zookeepers don’t catch you and that all your dreams come true. From this day forward, everything I do is for you.”

A pelican then flies through the window and creates a big commotion, requiring your dad to leap up and shoo it away with an air horn.

“Well, do we have a deal or what?” Coach O’Callaghan barks.

Hmm, this is a tough decision. That flashback reminded you of all the different ways your dad sacrificed for you growing up, even after he learned that your hands would one day grow to a normal size. He’s been there for you since the day you were born, and you could have raunchy football sex with Coach O’Callaghan a thousand times and still never fully repay him for all he’s done for you.

But then again, your dad’s going to die tomorrow, so none of this will even matter 24 hours from now.

“Young man, you made the right choice,” says Coach O’Callaghan, placing his hand reassuringly on your crotch. “Now let’s go win us a Super Bowl!”

Suited up in a black Sewer Apes jersey, your dad takes to the field for the second half of the Super Bowl. He has never played football before and does not know the rules.

The Sewer Apes special teams unit lines up for the kickoff, but your dad doesn’t know to join them. Instead, he crouches down at the 10-yard line and starts yelling to himself.

The kickoff comes and goes, but your dad does not move or participate. He remains perfectly still at the 10-yard line, and he continues just standing there through the first and second downs of play. The Sewer Ape fans have no clue who your dad is and why he’s not doing anything, and they start booing him out of frustration.

“No one told me what I am supposed to do or why I am wearing these clothes!” your dad shouts back.

“The tight pants are suffocating my penis! It is making horniness a great challenge!”

Your dad isn’t horny enough to win the Super Bowl right now. You need to say something sexy to get him hot and bothered.

“Hey, Dad, remember that picture of Ms. Pac-Man you like?” you shout. “The one where she’s got the lip stick and the eye makeup? And she’s got those long legs like a cabaret singer…jutting directly out of her throat…”

“The Duke of Donk likes what he’s hearing!” your dad screams.

It’s working!

“And remember the way she’s batting her eyelashes at you.…and she’s got that giant bald head…and plump lips…and she’s giving you this desirous look…so much desire…her skin is yellow…”

Your dad is definitely feeling it now. He is yanking on his waistband so that his penis has room to lurch. His muscles are twitching and popping in a disturbing fashion, and he is looking very strong and very unhinged.

“THE SIZZLER IS READY TO FUCKKKKKKKKKKK!” he cries.

He runs up and joins his Sewer Apes teammates at the line of scrimmage.

Sewer Apes quarterback Blake Bortles hikes the ball, and your dad starts barreling down the field. Bortles lobs the ball in your dad’s direction, but your dad doesn’t doesn’t see it coming because he’s wildly whipping his head around in a fit of hysterical lust, and Orbs cornerback Kleenex Carter III easily rakes in his ninth interception of the game.

However, once your dad realizes the ball is near him, he seizes Kleenex Carter III by the hips and dry-humps him with such stupefying force that it instantly knocks him unconscious, forcing a fumble. Your dad retrieves the ball and bangs it repeatedly against his groin.

“I AM YOUR SEX GOD AND YOU WILL WORSHIP ME!” he declares.

You urge your dad to run for the end zone, but he’s too horny to listen. With madness in his eyes and fire in his loins, he frantically darts around the field and powerfully dry-humps each of the Orbs defenders one by one, thrusting them with such superhuman strength that the field becomes littered with man-shaped craters in the locations where the musclebound athletes were helplessly pounded into the turf. Each strike from his pelvis cracks like thunder, echoing audibly for miles beyond the stadium. Startled birds fly shrieking out of trees, spectators gasp. Your dad, meanwhile, is having the time of his life.

“I’m doing it!” he laughs. “I’m winning the Super Bowl!”

Unfortunately, the officiating crew does not share your dad’s enthusiasm. The head referee assesses your dad a litany of penalties, ranging from numerous types of illegal contact to unsportsmanlike conduct—the grand sum of which earn him a disqualification from the game. Further, in accordance with the “Palpably Unfair Act” section in Rule 12 of the NFL Rulebook, the premeditated illegal use of a non-roster player in a harmful manner results in an automatic team forfeiture, meaning the game comes to an abrupt conclusion. The Orlando Orbs defeat the Sacramento Sewer Apes 56-3 to become the Super Bowl LI champions.

And it’s all your dad’s fault.

“Aluminum foil or soup!” you scream.

Across the field, you see your dad strip completely naked out of his football gear and get dressed again in his street clothes. Then he comes over and greets you, grinning and oblivious to the angry chorus of boos directed his way from the crowd.

“My son, I have done it!” he exclaims. “Ol’ Two Eyes has used his horniness for good and vanquished his enemies in the Super Bowl! Now I will not die as a virgin!”

Jesus Christ, the guy has no idea what he’s done.

As you explain to your dad the many ways in which he blew it, his smile slowly droops into a frown and tears begin to well in his eyes. You’ve only seen your dad cry once before, and that was when he learned that the pen pal he’d been corresponding with for years was actually just the power company sending monthly electric bills.

“Does this mean…I will not lose my virginity today, on my last day of life?” he asks, his voice trembling.

“Nope,” you hear a voice saying behind you. “The only person who’ll be losing their virginity today is me…to your son!”

Ah, fuck. It’s Coach O’Callaghan, and he wants you to have sex with him.

“A deal’s a deal, kid,” he sneers. “Your disgrace of a dad failed to win us the Super Bowl, and now you gotta strip me naked and make me into a man. Time to fuck, dipshit.”

Welp, this blows. Not only did you spend $14,000 to watch your dad make a spectacular ass of himself at the Super Bowl, now you’ve got to go smash meat with an old guy.

…Or do you?

“I wasn’t born yesterday, kid,” Coach O’Callaghan says. “That’s the same lie we tell the league to explain the high levels of HGH in our players’ blood tests—’Sorry, commissioner, but the only cure for the Shanghai Shits is steroids.’ Works every time.”

“But enough with the stalling,” he continues. “It’s time to erase my virginity.”

You glance over at your dad, and he gives you a look as if to say, You don’t have to do this, Son. Then he gives you a little smirk as if to say, I am thinking about that video from the computer with the chimpanzee that smokes cigarettes.

But you realize that your dad’s right—you don’t have to have sex with Coach O’Callaghan. He’s old and frail, and if he tries to make you live up to your end of the bargain, you can just pick him up and put him in a dumpster. Then again, your dad did ruin his team’s chances of winning the Super Bowl, so for karma’s sake, you might want to go take Coach O’Callaghan’s virginity. It’s a tough call.

You bring Coach O’Callaghan up to the suite level of the stadium so you can take his virginity in the lavish privacy of your $14,000 box. As a safety precaution, you bring your dad, too, as the concourses are bustling with thousands of furious Sewer Apes fans who want to kill him for losing the Super Bowl.

As you are walking down the hallway to your suite, you hear anguished sobs coming from inside one of the other luxury boxes. You decide to go investigate, as whatever horrible thing is happening in there is still probably a lot more fun than having sex with Coach O’Callaghan.

“Hey! This is a private suite—you can’t just barge in here!”

Oh, whoa. It’s billionaire casino magnate and Orlando Orbs owner Sheldon Adelson, sitting alone in the dark and crying. Huh. Why the hell is he crying? His team just won the goddam Super Bowl.

“That’s precisely why I’m crying,” he snaps, scraping away a tear with his long, gnarled fingernail. “I bought this fucking team after my wife died because I thought that maybe winning a couple Super Bowls would make me happy again. But now I’ve won five of the damn things, and I’m still just as miserable as the day Lorraine passed. It’s as if there’s nothing left in this world that can bring me joy!”

“She was more than just an orb! She was the most beautiful, exotic orb God ever created, with an exquisite web of throbbing blue veins adorning her translucent exo-membrane like lacework, and a serpentine, 2-foot-long tongue that’d sensually mop across her facial region to clean off the yeasty perspiration she discharged constantly. Oh, to feel the vestigial teeth in her cloaca just one more time! I’m telling you, Lorraine was an absolute bombshell—like a fleshly manifestation of the foxy Ms. Pac-Man caricature they used to have on all the arcade games.”

“Wowee, if she looked like Ms. Pac-Man, then she was truly the most beautiful woman who ever lived!” your dad interjects, wandering into the room behind you. “The Shriekin’ Sheik is getting a big, hard, special penis just thinking about her!”

Sheldon Adelson looks up at your dad, perturbed, and glares back at you.

“Who the hell is this clown?”

“Ah, well thank you for your kind assistance, good sir,” Sheldon Adelson tells your dad. “I must say, I admired all the raw sexual energy you exhibited out there. It reminded me of the way my Lorraine would get after drinking too many Barq’s root beers. It is rare in these lonely years of mine to find myself feeling so…titillated.”

Sheldon Adelson pauses and briefly closes his eyes to have a wanton fantasy about his dead wife.

“Pardon my candor, but I imagine you must enjoy a rather diverse and thrilling sex life,” he continues. “Men and women of every stripe coming and going from your bedroom at all hours of the day, each of them taut and youthful and pliant of limb—surely a man with such extraordinary carnal talents would have no interest in a romp with, say…an older gentleman?”

“Oh, is that so?” he says, his voice suddenly taking on a flirtatious tone as he gazes over at your old, virgin dad. “Very fascinating. If that’s the case, then perhaps we can be of service to one another. As mentioned before, I am terribly lonely and heartbroken, and I desperately miss the foul, rambunctious sexual proclivities of my departed orb wife. Seeing that you yourself possess some of those proclivities and are also wanting for intimate companionship, perhaps we could…meet each other’s needs.”

Wow, billionaire Orlando Orbs owner Sheldon Adelson wants to take your dad’s virginity! You look over at your dad to see how he feels about the proposal, and his face is glowing with as much joy and excitement as a kid on Christmas morning.

“Señor Smash is ready, my son,” he whispers to you. “This is the moment I’ve been waiting for my whole life.”

“Tremendous,” he says, smiling lustfully at your dad. “Hearing this makes me happier than I’ve been in a long, long time. However, before we indulge in one another, I have a bit of an—shall we say—odd request. As you know, my dearly departed Lorraine was a sentient orb of ballooned membrane, and I named my football team in her honor so as to keep her spirit alive. I yearn for her touch so very badly, and if you wouldn’t find it too disagreeable, I would find it extremely arousing and comforting if you were to wear the costume of Orville Orb, my team’s mascot, while we are bucking loins in order to approximate my beloved sphere-bride’s presence.”

He wants your dad to dress up in a mascot costume and pretend to be his dead wife. Your dad’s a freak, so you know he’d have no qualms with it. But you feel that doing something this fucked-up merits a little compensation.

“Yes, that’s fine with me. I was going to offer $100,000 as a courtesy, but $14,000 is also a reasonable sum.”

Fuck!

“Well, now that we’ve ironed out all the arrangements, please go ahead and change into the Orville Orb costume, which you’ll find hanging in the bathroom of my suite,” he tells your dad. “After that, we shall become one flesh.”

“Imagine a smooth, round ass,” you shout to him. “It’s like two balloons of skin mushed together…and there’s a hole…for pooping…and the hole is sort of puckered…which is good because it keeps crickets from getting in…”

This isn’t working. Your dad isn’t getting any hornier.

You wander over to the sideline and find one of the protective suits they put on quarterbacks between drives so that fans don’t see how concussed and drooly they are and get sad. You put it on your dad, and he instantly looks a hundred times better than he did before.

“The Breakfast Howler is wearing a stylish tuxedo and is looking like the world’s sexiest supermodel!” your dad exclaims. “When people see me in my beautiful new clothes, they will think I am the businessman James Bond and want to take my virginity!”

Strummin’ Sandra Hoof-Meal gets tired of playing guitar and falls asleep. But ready to fill in right where she left off is longtime Mumblin’ Grisham Lunt collaborator and band member Sweaty Flipper, who exhilarates the sellout crowd with a trumpet rendition of the Huggies “I’m a big kid now” jingle while—holy shit—wearing an actual Huggies diaper! Wow. There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that this will go down as the greatest Super Bowl halftime show in history.

Just as Sweaty Flipper finishes his legendary trumpet solo, Mumblin’ Grisham Lunt removes the blanket from over his head and nervously shuffles back to center stage. He blows his nose into a handkerchief, then begins playing his chart-topping hit, “I Have A Family But I’m Too Shy To Interact With Them.”

“Each day when I go home / I go in my closet and hide / And hope my family won’t find me / Standing motionlessly inside // My children try to hug me / But I just blush and run away / When it’s time for family dinners / I take my food to go on a tray // Please, Lord, take my family / I’m too shy to share a house / Smite them with your magic / I do not want my kids or spouse.”

Amazing! The song sounds even better live!

Midway through “I Have A Family But I’m Too Shy To Interact With Them,” Mumblin’ Grisham Lunt stops singing and announces that he needs to cut his performance short so he can go home and use the toilet. The crowd goes wild, and the sky fills with fireworks as one of the greatest live performances in music history comes to an end.

Okay, time to get back to the task at hand.

You ask the beer man if stripping your father for strangers at the Super Bowl is permitted under Judeo-Christian doctrine.

“Sure is,” he informs you. “The verse you were probably worried about is the one in Isaiah 6, which reads, ‘And I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, “Lo, whom but for the wicked should ever desecrate a couch before the eyes of their earthly father in a luxury suite at the Super Bowl? He who commits this sin against the God of Abraham shall be consumed by his own iniquity and shown no mercy by the Lord.”’ So as long as you don’t fuck a couch, you should be fine.”

You are briefly relieved to hear this, but then you remember something: You fucked a couch in front of your dad literally just minutes ago in your luxury box, which is exactly what the Bible said not to do!

The sky goes black and a heavenly seraphim descends into the stadium frowning at you. He brings his face very close to your ear—so close that you can feel the electricity from his majestic soul patch charring your skin—and whispers:

“Good thing you said ‘whoops,’ otherwise God was gonna eat you. Stop being a dipshit, okay? Just relax and have fun. It’s the Super Bowl—football’s biggest night. This is for all the marbles.”

The seraphim kisses you on the lips and flies back to heaven, and everything goes back to normal.

“A shreve is a mythical forest man who frightens children by whispering all the latest deals on power washers into their ears while they sleep.”

“Oh, well I’m a Shreveport Shreves fan, and I only defile myself with fellow Shrevers. Apes fans don’t have as good of holes.”

There are no more facts about football.

“Hello? Caller? Are you there? Would you like to make a guess at this week’s Million-Dollar Motto? Hello?”

You stay quiet for a long time, but then you finally work up the courage to say something.

You have a very logical reason for looking in the sewer, which is that one of the teams playing in the Super Bowl this year is the Sacramento Sewer Apes. The team’s rabidly loyal fanbase travels to games in huge herds through the sewers, rowdily smearing one another in raw sewage and shouting the famous Sewer Ape fight song:

“When you hear loud shrieking through your toilet pipes / You know it is the Sewer Apes surfacing to fight // Deaf and huge, bald and nude / The jumbo chimps who eat your dog whenever they need food // Hail the Sewer Apes, the horny football beasts! / Hail the Sewer Apes, eyes crusted o’er with yeast! // They cannot sleep and they are brave / Let us cheer these suicidal football apes! // Sewer Apes! Sewer Apes! Awoooo!”

You figure that maybe one of their fans dropped their tickets on the way to the stadium. Couldn’t hurt to check.

“Suit yourself,” you tell him as he continues to stare at you like an idiot. “Hopefully when you die you’ll be able to fit through the gates of heaven with all the gallons of buildup in your untapped scrotum.”

You turn on your Boss distortion pedal that cost over $60 so that your guitar sounds loud and cool. Vrang! Vrang! Talk about killer tone!

Vrang! Vrang!

Even though you’re no longer going to take your dad to the Super Bowl to lose his virginity, you’re hoping that the incredible guitar riffs you’re playing will bring him comfort in the final moments before his brain and heart and bowels stop working forever.