Buffalo Chicken Dip Day

Tomorrow is Buffalo Chicken Dip Day, also known as Superbowl Sunday. It's one of those weird holidays, where the party overshadows the actual event being celebrated, a smidgen like Christmas. So what are we actually celebrating, Buffalo Chicken Dip or boring ol' football?
The Superbowl is the best eating day of the year, and even though I find football to be an utter waste of time, the only kind of TV that can make me fall asleep, I spend a lot of the year dreaming about the holiday because of the marvelous spread of food favorites. The Pièce de résistance on our Superbowl buffet line will be buffalo chicken dip, although some people (I call them fools!) might believe otherwise. Next were making pulled pork, chili, and a vat of guacamole. It's going to be a gut busting afternoon, and I plan on watching zero minutes of TV.

So why not make Buffalo Chicken Dip year round? Well, aside from the lack of consideration it'd be to the exit hole, it would be sacrilegious, like making cranberry sauce in July. No one eats Cranberry sauce unless its Thanksgiving. Similarly, with stuffing or pumpkin pie. The short five week window from Thanksgiving to Christmas is a free for all, and whenever presented with, say pumpkin pie, one must say, "I'll take two pieces, because this might be my last opportunity until next year." Since Superbowl food is extremely glutinous, see bacon-wrapped tater tots or bacon-wrapped Sriracha onion rings or bacon-wrapped bacon, eating it in greater frequency than once a year would likely be lethal, causing arteries to close up from pig fat after just five days.

That fucking guy who made the Super Size Me documentary should try and eat Superbowl buffet for five hours a day for a month. In Super Size me he barfs after his first meal (puss-face, btw.) Imagine him after his first Super Bowl party. He'd be immobile, shit himself, in the corner with a frozen smile, drooling, while looking at the TV, laughing at a commercial where a woman with big tits jumps up and down screaming go-daddy.com, never once thinking, "Why the fuck is that funny?' Just laughing, without any questioning, because he knows it was intended to be a joke, no mater how off-mark it ended up being.

If we ate like Superbowl Sunday everyday, we'd all just be sad people. It'd be hard to tell from the frozen smile, but surely the shit stench would give notice.