[This piece was written to salute the tireless efforts of the Coca-Cola corporation and their winning, nationalistically-zested advertising campaign for the fictionalized "FOOTBALL TOWN, USA" and its gung-ho, one-for-the-team citizens.]
I'm scoring one for the home team!…in FOOTBALL TOWN.
I’m living life on the fifty yard line…in FOOTBALL TOWN.
I’ll try harder next time, dad. I promise…in FOOTBALL TOWN.
When I cut myself just a little bit, we win a lot…in FOOTBALL TOWN.
In FOOTBALL TOWN, it’s all about you, and you, and you, and you, and you, but
not really you so much. Sorry. Homo Town is two exits back on the interstate.
FOOTBALL TOWN will notice me if I can just land this split right.
In FOOTBALL TOWN, my mother learned her place.
Remember the earthquake? FOOTBALL TOWN does, grimly.
Dear Dr. Drew, I'm ready to put some more pizzazz in my sex life and some extra spice in the bedroom after 18 years of marriage but I'm stuck with a stubborn hubby. What should I do? I've tried everything – fad diets, glamour studio portraits, scented candles, a home perm, prayer, softer sheets, mint drops, international coffees, French feathers, even stuffing ether-soaked rags into the ventilation ducts – but nothing seems to work! Each night it's the same old thing. He lumbers into the bedroom after four hours of television, and I follow. He crawls into bed. I lift my nightgown over my head, he sees the tattoo on my belly that says "I FUCK BLACK DUDES" and he cries and cries and cries and insists on sleeping in the bathtub. What a fussbucket!!! Well, I'm nearly out of ideas. Signed, FOREVER FLUMMOXED IN FOOTBALL TOWN.
You can be President if you jump up and down for fifteen more minutes…WHISPERS FOOTBALL TOWN.
When the fatcats from Washington roll into FOOTBALL TOWN, the government can pry this oversized foam rubber "WE'RE #1" finger from my dead cold hands.
And all the world is football shaped it's just for me to kick in space – I just made that up myself! Thanks to FOOTBALL TOWN.
Our mayor is a football cleat…filled with great ideas!
Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! FOOTBALL TOWN.
I know I can make a difference, as soon as I clear these charges…with a little leniency from FOOTBALL TOWN.
Too bad there are no do-overs for hitting the paperboy with a bottle. Huh, FOOTBALL TOWN?
The town slogan is "kill the carrier" and the state bird is the buffalo wing and the national anthem has a double-neck guitar solo and we greet each other with a sporting slap to the ass and eat dinner off our tailgates and do the Icky shuffle to make it stop raining, and we all agree that only a wrathful God would have taken the guy from Blind Melon so soon and we're still not over that botched two-point conversion from 1997, and we are 100% positive that if we pray hard enough and look the other way when the Satanists sacrifice a head of cattle once a season for good luck that we'll each have our very own Superbowl ring waiting for us in heaven…engraved, "With Love…To FOOTBALL TOWN."