Reid About It

To say my mom and dad are my biggest fans is to make a ridiculous understatement, somewhere along the lines of calling the Beatles a rock band, or referring to Vin Diesel as just another thespian. Everything I am in my life, I owe to them. Happy Mother’s Day to my mom, and all the mothers out there.

My mom always wants to read my writings, although she warns me not to send her anything too dark, and I respect that.

My mom, my Pup (mid-snart), and my dad.

My mom hangs out on my Facebook and supports me, and waits until later on to ask questions about how Facebook works.

My mom doesn’t really like fantasy football, but she’ll always offer to play if we need one more to make an even number of teams. Her first draft pick will always be Peyton Manning, because she thinks he’s a good person, and she hates people who make a lot of add/drops because she doesn’t think that’s the right way to coach a team.

My mom has always let me feel my own pain and make my own mistakes, and then when the moment came that I realized it and needed help, was there for me.

My mom worked harder to try and explain algebra to me than my algebra teacher ever did.

My mom found out I actually graduated college twelve years after she thought I did, and didn’t kill me. Barely.

My mom has never forgiven the Baltimore Colts for cutting Johnny Unitas.

My mom never missed me in one of my high school sports events, even though every one of them was awful.

My mom broke her ankle at the age of 75, playing on the monkey bars with her granddaughter.

My mom still let me drive, even after I plowed through the side of the garage in her car.

My mom once drove six hours round trip on a weeknight just to see me do stand-up comedy for fifteen minutes.

My mom always let me talk her out of an extra nickel for the tax when I bought comic books with my one dollar allowance, especially if I was buying one with the Thing in it. She liked him because even though he was a famous super-hero, he was still his “Aunt Petuniah’s bashful blue-eyed baby-boy.”

My mom eventually gave me a raise on my allowance, and made me keep a ledger with it so I could learn to handle my own money. It sort of worked. She also tried about a dozen times to try and help me to organize my comics, but we both eventually gave up.

My mom let me move out at seventeen to finish high school with my friends three hours away, even though it hurt.

My mom found out my favorite food in the world is the Seafood Bisque from Gaido’s in Galveston, so she bought their cookbook and learned to make it. And every single time she does, I eat so much I make myself sick on it. And I’ll continue that tradition.

My mom wants me to be able to handle failure too, so she always asks about that when she asks how things are going with the writing.

My mom would straighten my hair for me growing up when I was in high school, and wanted long hair because I was playing in a band. It made my hair as dead as hay, but it was still what I wanted, and she could sympathize because she knew what it was like to have curly hair and want it straight. That’s the curse of curly hair, especially in the humid Gulf Coast conditions of Beaumont.

My mom took years and years of piano lessons growing up, but when I told her I didn’t want to take lessons because I didn’t want “anyone telling me what to do,” she didn’t make me. I was seven, by the way, and already raging against the machine of authority. I play piano now, but not nearly as well as she does. Last time I was in town we worked our way through some old songbooks with me playing the chords and her playing the melody, and it was the most fun I’ve ever had playing music.

My mom is sometimes amazed at the things I can do, and I don’t think she realizes I can only do them because of her and my dad.

Happy Mother’s Day, mom. All that I am is because of you. I love you, and I hope I’m not through making you proud yet.

– Reid Kerr wants to be sure Dad knows he gets credit for most of those things too, but Father’s Day isn’t here yet.

A little while back I took a little trip to Mexico, by way of San Diego. As with all of my trips, it became an accidental whirlwind of unintentional comedy and goofy stuff. Here are some of my dispatches from the road, written on the trip.

PART ONE: AIRPORTVILLE
PART TWO: SAN DIEGO A-GO-GO
PART THREE: TIJUANA TAXI
PART FOUR: OBSERVATIONS ON A MEXICAN ADVENTURE

PART FIVE: LEAVING TIJUANA IN THE BROAD DAYLIGHT

This is not a time for jokes, kids.

Leaving Mexico is the hardest part of the trip. Not for any sentimental reasons, although I’ll certainly miss the insane traffic flow and purchasing power of the US dollar.

No, Mexico is hard to leave because they don’t want you to. While you can skate across the border going south with no passport or any declared motive, going back into America is a completely different matter.

My driver continues his habit of insane driving like he’s got a trunk full of heroin, which I don’t think is correct but I wouldn’t corroborate under oath. We go swerving down back roads, barreling towards the border while seeing the nearby lines back up every time we surface. At one point, I’m fairly sure he drove through someone’s back yard, made a right at a pinata, and swerved past a taco trailer to get back to the main road.

By the way, me using the word “pinata” in that last paragraph made it feel an eentsy bit racist, Just saying.

As we made his multiple shortcuts, I felt certain he was using his long-honed skills to get us past the lines. I was about half right, because he got us about halfway past the lines. There were still a few thousand people waiting to get out of Mexico waiting in front of us.

At the border, every car is stopped going into America. The Mexican marketplace doesn’t stop until the actual border, by the way. Anywhere the traffic slowed down, an impromptu market sprung up. People were pushing carts full of drinks and snacks around, there was a booth selling cell phone accessories in the middle of one of the traffic rows, and if you felt comfortable buying burritos out of an unmarked cooler, then you were all set for lunch.

At one point I looked up and a guy was jogging through the bumper-to-bumper traffic, holding a 4′x6′ framed painting of the Last Supper overhead and trying to sell it. I wanted it for the comedic value alone, but there was no way I was going to fit it on an airplane.

There’s a lot of time to look around, honestly, because the Border Patrol is in absolutely no hurry. Long lines are a part of the job. Every day is Black Friday to them, I doubt they even look up because the line never ends for them.

You need a passport to reenter America, which I didn’t have. I did bring my birth certificate, though, and the Border Agent asked me my name, and where I was born. I didn’t want to get into a big criminal justice discussion, but even if I was going to give him a fake everything, I probably would have taken the time to memorize those things. I guess we don’t want people in America who don’t know where they were born. I’m sure there’s an Obama joke in there somewhere, but I don’t want to have to dig for it.

A little while back I took a little trip to Mexico, by way of San Diego. As with all of my trips, it became an accidental whirlwind of unintentional comedy and goofy stuff. Here are some of my dispatches from the road, written on the trip.

PART ONE: AIRPORTVILLE
PART TWO: SAN DIEGO A-GO-GO
PART THREE: TIJUANA TAXI

PART FOUR: OBSERVATIONS ON A MEXICAN ADVENTURE

I knew just enough Spanish to get a sandwich here.

• On my last night in Mexico, we went to a little Mexican restaurant. Or as they would refer to it, a restaurant. Lots of things about Mexico are quaint. Tables with bugs crawling on them, and dirty glasses filled with brownish water are not two of them. Rather than risk the water I had a Tecate, since I never drink those at home. The last time I was offered a Tecate, I was standing in an overcrowded living room waiting on a pay-per-view Manny Pacquiao fight to start.

• Mexico is a country in need of a good eyebrow waxing.

• Mexican Coca-Cola is special, something far beyond the sparkly ass-sap we get in the States. Mexican Coke is sweeter, like the nectar of life, except infused with caffeine and suckled from an angel’s teat.

• If you’re an obvious out-of-towner, taxis will always honk at you. It doesn’t matter if you’re on the other side of the road going the other way and there’s a traffic median between you, and the taxi van already has eleven people and two pregnant women in it. He’s going to try to get one more for the ride.

• In Tijuana, it’s cool to see a guy who looks like Danny Trejo. It’s not cool to see a bunch of them all at once, though.

• Some stereotypes are true. Everywhere I went at night, people were watching telenovelas. I mean, straight up focused on them too.

That’s actually not much money.

• By the way, Walmart in Mexico? You can’t get anything that says Tijuana on it, or even anything from the San Diego area. What’s for sale? Dallas Cowboys and Pittsburgh Steelers gear. Oh, and Angry Birds. Lots of Angry Birds.

• I really stand out in Mexico. Like, even more so than in America, which I wasn’t certain was possible. Most males here are dark, short-haired, and the taste in fashion runs to darker clothes. Whereas I look like I’m walking around looking for the audition to play Animal in a live-action Muppets movie.

– Come back for the finale of Reid’s adventure tomorrow, where he finds that crossing the border the other way is a lot harder.

A little while back I took a little trip to Mexico, by way of San Diego. As with all of my trips, it became an accidental whirlwind of unintentional comedy and goofy stuff. Here are some of my dispatches from the road, written on the trip.

PART ONE: AIRPORTVILLE
PART TWO: SAN DIEGO A -GO-GO

PART THREE: TIJUANA TAXI

We cross the border and head into Tijuana.

Tijuana traffic doesn’t even all go the same way sometimes.

Imagine the bad part of your town, the part you hate to drive through and can’t wait to get out of. That’s Tijuana, except it’s that part over and over again, except with more people and fewer traffic rules.

Did I say fewer? Ha-HA! I meant absolutely none.

Tijuana traffic is an automotive Black Friday, it’s like everyone at the Super Bowl all leaving at the same time and racing through the parking lot of an outlet mall for the one exit that leads directly to the freeway.

It didn’t phase my driver, though. He cut through traffic with reckless abandon, like he was in a movie. The lines on the road aren’t even suggestions to him, at one point swerving over through two lanes to come to a dead stop in a moving lane of traffic to buy breakfast burritos from a road side vendor, selling homemade foods out of a cooler.

The only rule of traffic in Tijuana seems to be “Never Stop Moving.”

Tijuana is everything, everywhere, all the time. It’s a crowded, manic border town that never ends, existing while simultaneously moving in every direction at once. It’s maddening and fascinating all at the same time. It reminds me of post-Katrina New Orleans in some ways, in that there’s no order or reason to what happens where.

In the part of town where I’m staying, the layout is very odd. There’s a private hospital, with a burned out slum next to it. At the end of the street, there’s a floor tile warehouse store, and then there’s an empty patch of land that’s a good enough size for an office building, or maybe a small park. However, it seems to be in use as a place where people drop their garbage.

Welcome home.

Next to the private hospital is an open area with a chain link fence, and a wooden door to enter it. I quickly realized the door wasn’t attached to anything, and the fenced-in open area was where someone lived.

It’s a different world from what I’m used to, obviously.

In Tijuana, nothing costs anything. Which is good, because I have no idea what anything costs anyway, and I just have to hope I’m pleasantly surprised when the bill comes. I bought a hamburger in the hotel restaurant for $130, Mexican.

Which turned out to be about nine bucks.

I bought a bottle of Coke, jumbo bag of chips, liter of water, and a hot dog at a gas station for what was actually about three dollars. I have learned that when I’m hungry, it’s very hard for me to do math.

And by the way, buying a hot dog from a Mexican gas station? That was an emergency, and I’ll postulate that it isn’t that much worse than buying one from an American gas station.

From my hotel window I can see a beautiful church tower, semi-reconstructed but still obviously a historic landmark. Then just over the next building, shining down upon the steeple is a bright Carl’s Jr. sign. It’s like some kind of fast-food-endorsed Nativity, with the Carl’s Jr. star shining down upon the three wise men, Ronald McDonald, Colonel Sanders, and the Burger King,

It’s a total culture shock for me. It’s very humbling to be somewhere where your language isn’t the one in use, and to realize just how ethnocentric you really are. Hey, these people don’t speak ANY English, but they seem to have cobbled together a society and everything. Wow!

Tijuana in a single picture.

On the second day, I realized I didn’t have any idea what time it was, or where I was. That’s terrifying, yet freeing.

Nothing is actually in a hurry in Mexico, however, despite what the traffic would make you think. I didn’t have a single appointment with anyone that went off on time, including a meeting with a professional businessman that wound up four hours late. No shame, no explanation, no calling ahead. Things always run late around here. It took twenty minutes to get my check from a waiter once. It’s just laid-back, to the point of madness, then past that point to acceptance.

If you need something done in a hurry, you should probably go to another country.

– Come back tomorrow for more random observations on a Mexican week.

A little while back I took a little trip to Mexico, by way of San Diego. As with all of my trips, it became an accidental whirlwind of unintentional comedy and goofy stuff. Here are some of my dispatches from the road, written on the trip.

PART ONE: AIRPORTVILLE

PART TWO: SAN DIEGO A-GO-GO

Our tiny, overcrowded plane had two rows of first-class seating, filled with comfy people who wouldn’t make eye contact with the rest of us poor, cattle-seated bastards.

Moo! Mooooo!

Ever sat in first class? I did once, on one leg of a long, multiple-stop journey. It was the best flight of my life. They served me champagne and gave me a hand-woven blanket. When I asked for peanuts, a nubile twenty-three year-old stewardess leaned over and placed them on my tongue, one by one.

I wasn’t sitting in first class on the flight, and I doubt I’ll ever get that again. I shuffled to the back of the plane, where the seats are as wide as a goal line, the overhead bins always sound like the door of a haunted house, and while your seat won’t move, the person in front of you can somehow recline to the point where you can check their molars for plaque.

By the way, do we still need the “No Smoking” sign? Why are we still pointing that out? You can’t smoke anywhere these days. I doubt anyone’s got the balls to light up inside a pressurized tube anymore.

As I’ve said before, I tend to wind up on smaller planes. This time, though, I wound up riding an airline billing itself as the “Big Lots of the Air.” It was more crowded than a Japanese subway car. For snacks, one of the stewardesses passed around a canteen and a sleeve of Ritz crackers. Instead of a movie, the attendant just stood up and told us about her vacation to Branson.

Tiny planes are always a little more terrifying than the bigger ones, especially when they ask everyone to lean to the left during the takeoff.

We landed in San Diego without incident. For the first time in my life, I get to see palm trees that aren’t just transplants in the parking lot of a Barnes and Noble.

Not me, but a West Coast doppelganger.

By the way, in San Diego, there’s a small change to my schedule. My hair is no longer Sammy Hagar. I’m now told I look like the guitarist from Incubus.

Fair enough.

Because of the trip, I have a driver to get me out of there. We have a little while before we can leave. He stops in a parking lot for a break, and whips out his laptop so he can chat on Facebook. That’s not exactly the image of the old tour guide, scampering from hill to hill for just a Yankee Coca-Cola.

San Diego is absolutely beautiful. The hills remind me of pretty much every song about California I’ve ever heard. I’m barely in San Diego, though, as we load up and drive. We take the 5 South until we see the colors change, and cross the border.

The border is an odd place. They don’t stop you going into Mexico, only coming out. Why? Because Mexico wants your money. You could be driving South with a cannon on your roof, and they’d never even slow you down. They’d figure if you’ve got the money for cannonballs, you’ll spend some of that money in town.

– Come back tomorrow for part three, in which Reid learns about how Mexico traffic never stops, and Mexican time never starts.

A little while back I took a little trip to Mexico, by way of San Diego. As with all of my trips, it became an accidental whirlwind of unintentional comedy and goofy stuff. Here are some of my dispatches from the road, written on the trip.

PART ONE: AIRPORTVILLE

Just in case you need to pick up an emerald tiara for your trip.

An airport is really just a small, enclosed town. It has a little bit of everything there in tiny, expensive increments, just enough for you to experience and get back to your travels. You can buy food, clothing, gifts, all sorts of things.

For example, you can get a good deal on luggage at the airport. I guess that appeals to the traveler who walks into the airport carrying all of their belongings in separate Walmart grocery bags.

My favorite item in the airport for purchase is the pornography. In the book/magazine stores, there’s always a selection of porn. I have no idea why they’re selling porn, but if there’s a section in every airport I’ve ever been through, that must mean someone is buying it. They wouldn’t just have it there as a loss leader to draw in the high-rolling crowd. Who needs a nudie magazine to get on a plane for several hours? I guess it’s for people who want to join the Mile High Club, but don’t mind joining as a solo act.

Our airplane wasn’t even big enough for me to comfortably masturbate on, by the way. I took a measuring tape in there to scout out, just in case.

Part of what makes the airport shopping experience appealing is that you’re trapped there. You can’t bring a bottle of water on from the outside world, because you could be a terrorist who could use that water to hijack a plane. I’m not sure how they do that, by the way. I think if you’ve reached the point where you can take over an airplane with a bottle of Dasani, you’re probably going to win.

A lot of people buy bags and bags of crap at the airport for the ride. I always get a bottle of water and maybe a candy bar, since you have no idea what’s available on the plane. The woman in line in front of me had a big white plastic bag full of food, like she had gone to the airport grocery store and stocked up on cold cuts and potato salad for the flight.

So after arriving and getting my boarding pass, I had some trouble passing through security at first, because you have to show them your picture ID. I have a lot more hair than I used to, and that seemed to throw the TSA guy off. “Sir, you’re clearly Sammy Hagar, but in your drivers license you’re more Poindexter from Revenge of the Nerds. Care to explain?”

And people always try and get something for nothing on these flights, like the guy who tried to bumrush the gate with two giant, unpaid suitcases under his arms while he loudly talked on his cell phone to what I would have to assume was another royal asshole. I think one woman tried to see if her kid could be classified as “carry-on.” None of these people were able to pull it off, by the way.

One thing exciting about the airport is the possibility of seeing celebrities. If famous people are going to get somewhere, they have to fly the same skies as the rest of us. However, I wasn’t flying on a major air carrier, so I figured the best we might see on our flight would be a C-list entertainer who had been on Celebrity Apprentice, or perhaps one of the other Baldwin brothers.

– Come back tomorrow for Day Two, in which Reid rides the airline known as “The Big Lots of the Air.”

I wondered to myself today if anyone would mind if I strangled the asshole in front of me at the deli counter, the one getting tiny amounts of nine different meats and cheeses all ordered individually. He ordered quarter-pound after quarter-pound, all sliced so thin as to be nearly invisible. Then after the counter worker would bring him his tiny bag of booty, he would scratch his stupid fucking head and come up with yet another small errand.

“Ah, yes…can I also get a quarter-pound of smoked peppered ham? Sliced thin. Thinner than thin. And can you wash the pepper off of it for me, I only want it to have the taste of pepper, not any actual pepper flakes on it.”

“Let me get a third pound of Colby cheese. But not the longhorn. Do you have shorthorn Colby cheese? Go check in the back, I’ll wait.”

“Let me get a tenth of a pound of Dr. Pepper Jack cheese. And can you cut that in individual slices using a machete, please?”

Meanwhile, I was standing there so long my coupons expired, dreaming of ordering something long and thin such as sausages, which I would then use to whip around his neck and choke the life from him until he finally ended his order. Eventually his lifeless body would collapse, sprawling upon the dozen small plastic bags of individual slices of meats, his final resting place the unassembled contents of his sandwich of doom.

Obviously I had a lot of time to think about this scenario while I was waiting on line.

– Reid Kerr doesn’t advocate deli counter violence against strangers, unless you can get away with it.

My official unofficial NFL Draft 2013 timeline:

Monday, April 22, 2012 - The New York Jets agree to trade Darrelle Revis to Tampa Bay for draft picks, after an extortion attempt to force the Buccaneers to also take the Jets entire quarterback roster fails.

Thursday, April 25, 2012, 6:00 am - New Denver Broncos wide receiver leaves a flaming bag of dog poop on Bill Belichick’s front porch, just for old time’s sake.

7:00pm – ESPN opens their coverage of the 2013 NFL Draft. Jon Gruden says there’s a lot of talent in this draft, which seems like a direct challenge to Cowboys GM Jerry Jones to try and find it.

7:04pm – Roger Goodell welcomes everyone to the draft, and introduces Joe Namath and Phil Simms as representatives of the upcoming New York Super Bowl. It goes a lot better for Namath than the last time he was on ESPN, as he doesn’t try and kiss Roger Goodell.

7:11pm - Gruden points out the 2-14 Chiefs had six Pro Bowl players last year, which is like pointing out that “Predators” starred an Oscar winning actor.

7:16pm - With the first pick, Kansas City takes tackle Eric Fisher. ESPN announces for the rest of the hour, they’ll be commercial free thanks to the new “Bud Light Catheter System.”

7:17pm – Jacksonville, who was 29th in offense and 30th in defense goes on the clock. In the Jaguars War Room, the card with the list of their needs simply reads “Everything.”

7:24pm – Jacksonville selects offensive lineman Luke Joeckel. As he puts on the team cap, Jacksonville’s GM asks him how he feels about returning punts.

7:25pm - Jon Gruden says he doesn’t see enough “nasty” in Joeckel. That means he would have graded the pick higher had the Chiefs taken Danny Trejo instead.

7:30pm – ESPN shows Oakland’s draft history over the last decade, which includes first-round picks like JaMarcus Russell and Darrius Heyward-Bey. Due to the sheer horror, ESPN’s television coverage becomes TV-MA.

7:33pm - Oakland realizes they can’t draft a disappointing player in this position, so they trade with Miami to draft multiple disappointments later.

7:34pm - Miami selects linebacker Dion Jordan of Oregon. Chris Berman tosses to Suzy Kolber for an interview, which marks the first time Kolber and Joe Namath have been in the same building since the restraining order hearing.

7:38pm – Dion Jordan says he was surprised at the trade because it’s his “first time,” leaving us to wonder how many times he thinks some of the other guys have been drafted into the NFL.

7:42pm – Under former Oregon coach and offensive genius Chip Kelly, the Eagles draft tackle Lane Johnson, who was a quarterback in junior college. Defensive coordinators in the NFC East start to suspect that Kelly will field a team composed entirely of quarterbacks.

7:50pm – Barry Sanders makes the selection for Detroit, who takes Ezekial Ansah. Mel Kiper, Draft Expert describes Ansah’s career as a “meteoric rise,” which shows you Kiper knows a lot more about the NFL Draft than he does about meteors.

8:01pm – Arizona selects guard Jonathan Cooper, who will help protect Cardinals quarterbacks Whozits Whatsisname and (Name Withheld By Request.)

8:09pm - St. Louis trades up with Buffalo, and takes wide receiver Tavon Austin. ESPN shows a graphic of the Rams current five best receivers, none of whom you’ve ever heard of unless you own the world’s worst fantasy football team. Or the Rams.

8:13pm – Chris Berman describes the Jets as being in a “big rebuild,” which is NFL-speak for “full-on Gary Busey mode.”

8:20pm – ESPN finally pauses for a commercial break, providing a chance for Chris Berman to take a drink, Jon Gruden to look at his notes, and Mel Kiper Draft Expert to get his pit crew on set to lube and rotate his hair.

8:31pm - San Diego takes D.J. Fluker.

8:39pm – Oakland takes D.J. Hayden.

8:46pm - The Jets take D.J. Jazzy Jeff.

8:47pm - Ha-HA! Just kidding. Actually, the Jets select defensive tackle Sheldon Richardson, who appears to have preemptively spent his signing bonus on jewelry. The last time I saw a bracelet that big, Lynda Carter was deflecting bullets with it.

8:52pm – Carolina selects Star Lotulelei, perhaps because his name is an anagram for “ale little sour.”

9:04pm – Buffalo takes quarterback E.J. Manuel from Florida State. Gruden points out that to play in Buffalo he’ll need to read defenses better, and also to buy a coat of some sort.

9:14pm - Dallas trades their first-round pick to San Francisco for a third rounder, an equipment manager to be named later, and a case of Natural Light.

9:25pm - ESPN shows a shot of Oakland’s draft table, which appears to include an eighty year-old man reading a horse racing form.

9:42pm - St. Louis, who traded up to draft Tavon Austin, trades their next pick to Atlanta so they can draft a guy to cover him, defensive back Desmond Trufant.

9:46pm – Minnesota drafts Sharrif Floyd. Sharrif don’t like it. Rock the casbah.

9:51pm - ESPN returns from a commercial break with Manti Te’o lip dubbing “How You Like Me Now.” Since he hasn’t been drafted yet, the answer is “Not that much, Manti.”

9:52pm - Indianapolis takes Bjoern Werner, which if you type into the Ikea website will take you to a very nice set of bookshelves.

10:30pm - Minnesota trades four draft picks to New England to move up and take wide receiver Cordarrelle Patterson, who reminds many analysts of Randy Moss, mostly because he has enormous talent, went to a couple of colleges and doesn’t seem to play hard all the time.

10:36pm – A dejected undrafted West Virginia quarterback Geno Smith is shown leaving the Green Room and heading home with Manti Te’o’s girlfriend.

10:42pm – Dallas takes center Travis Frederick, who appears to be Opie from “Sons of Anarchy.”

10:44pm – Baltimore rushes their pick to the commissioner so Chris Berman will stop talking, and takes defensive back Matt Elam to end the first round of the draft.

– Reid Kerr thinks Jerry Jones isn’t very good at certain things. 

Once upon a time, I had a dog named Sammie. Since Sammie was an inside dog, I never had her spayed or neutered, so she would still go into heat. When she started, I didn’t want her to bleed all over the carpet, so I bought a ten-pack of little boys’ underwear.

I turned them around, put her tail through the front flap, and safety pinned them to make them tight. Then, as long as I remembered to take them off of her when I walked her, everything was fine.

At the end of the week as I was walking to the dumpster of my apartment complex carrying a garbage bag full of bloody lttle boys’ underwear, I realized…

I didn’t think this through very well.

– Reid Kerr is not exactly a criminal mastermind

My wife is sitting out in the car, loading plastic eggs with candy for her nephews. Very sweet, unlike the guy doing the same sitting in the unmarked windowless van across the street.

My unofficial official Super Bowl XLVII Timeline:

Sunday, January 20, 2013 - San Francisco wins the NFC Championship. Colin Kaepernick receives a congratulatory hug from Jim Harbaugh. Demoted backup quarterback Alex Smith gets a six-pack of beer in the mail from Drew Bledsoe with a note that just says, “Been there.”

Thursday - In a programming note, CBS announces that Dan Marino will be starring in a new sitcom entitled “How I Met Your Father.”

Sunday, February 3, 2013, 5:00pm central time - CBS begins their official start of the Super Bowl XLVII coverage brought to you by the Lone Ranger, zombie movies, and deer antler spray.

5:11pm – The Baltimore Ravens are introduced in a video package narrated by safety Ed Reed, who appears to have been homeless for the last eight years.

5:14pm - In the pregame, Ray Lewis seems to be muttering final prayers before the game. However, God is watching the Puppy Bowl.

5:23pm – Alicia Keys sings the National Anthem. Moments before kickoff, Jack and Jackie Harbaugh each silently decide which of their kids they love more.

5:27pm – Ray Lewis gets a final IV to replace the enormous amounts of fluids he’s lost crying in the pregame.

5:29pm – Baltimore wins the coin toss, and elects to defer their choice until after they see the commercial for “World War Z” again.

5:31pm – San Francisco starts with the ball, and promptly lines up wrong to draw a penalty. Luckily, Kaepernick has the formation for the next play tattooed on his bicep.

5:41pm - Baltimore’s first possession ends in an Anquan Boldin touchdown, a 7-0 lead, and a flood of Ray Lewis’ tears.

5:43pm – A commercial for M&M’s ends with the candy spokesman being eaten alive. We can only hope the next pitchman to be devoured is the Priceline Negotiator.

5:52pm – CBS’s Jim Nantz says the 49ers have brought in wide receiver Ted Ginn Jr. to use as a decoy, which is almost as funny a concept as using an actual decoy as a wide receiver. San Francisco gets a field goal.

5:59pm – CBS reports Ed Reed has been taken into the locker room for an evaluation, and hopefully a shave and haircut.

6:06pm – A commercial airs for the latest “Fast & The Furious” movie starring Vin Diesel and the Rock, thus proving that they are not the same person at different points in time.

6:13pm – San Francisco’s LaMichael James fumbles and Baltimore recovers. In a promotional tie-in for CBS, NCIS’s Special Agent Gibbs slaps James in the back of the head.

6:28pm – Colin Kaepernick throws an interception to Ed Reed, which winds up in a multiple-penalty scrum that looks like the Super Bowl and Royal Rumble are happening at the same time.

6:36pm – Baltimore tries a fake field goal which fails, and causes football fans everywhere to question John Harbaugh’s strategy.

6:48pm – After a San Fran punt, Baltimore scores on a 56-yard touchdown pass for a 21-3 lead, and America learns not to second-guess a Harbaugh.

6:56pm – Ray Lewis gets a quarterback sack, which he refuses to discuss with the authorities.

6:58pm – San Francisco gets a field goal as the half expires, Baltimore leads 21-6.

7:09pm – The halftime show begins with Beyonce and a reunion of Destiny’s Child. Or at least the members of Destiny’s Child who Beyonce still gets along with.

7:23pm - After the halftime show, Beyonce gets a congratulatory handshake from Roger Goodell, while the other members of Destiny’s Child get a sympathetic hug from demoted backup quarterback Alex Smith.

7:31pm – Jacoby Jones notices that the 49ers weren’t paying attention to the kickoff because they were all on Facebook complaining about the halftime show, and runs it back for a touchdown.

7:36pm – A power outage kills Phil Simms’ microphone in mid sentence, thus proving sometimes dreams really do come true.

7:47pm – The third quarter of the Super Bowl is now brought to you by New Orleans pickpockets, who are working their way through half of the darkened Superdome crowd.

7:50pm – The power outage is blamed on Ray Lewis’ tears of joy, which apparently shorted out one of the electrical transformers in the Superdome.

7:53pm – In a marketing tie-in, CBS brings in the cast of “CSI” to investigate who killed the power.

7:58pm – While CBS tries to stall during the power outage, Dan Marino suggests they kill some time by showing Facebook pictures of hot CBS interns.

8:01pm – Shannon Sharpe and Bill Cowher talk over the possibility of San Francisco benching Colin Kaepernick for Alex Smith. They also discuss how Cheers was better with Shelley Long, and how Van Halen needs to give Gary Cherone another try.

8:08pm – CBS’s Jim Nantz compliments the Superdome crowd on staying calm during the power outage. Of course, the power goes out when you’re in a crowd in New Orleans? Don’t start making any sudden moves.

8:10pm – Play resumes, as the Superdome installs a generator that runs on cheap plastic beads to prevent any problems in the future.

8:36pm – A Budweiser commercial airs where a man sells his Clydesdale horse to Budweiser, then they reunite years later in an emotional moment. The moral of the story? Drink a lot of beer, and don’t sell your friends.

8:40pm – Ray Rice loses the ball after a short pass. In a promotional tie-in, CBS announces the fumble was caused by the ghost from “Paranormal Activity 4.”

8:46pm – CBS shows graphics on the teams’ production “Since Power Outage,” which I’ll bet is probably something the CBS stats and production teams never thought they’d be putting together for the Super Bowl.

8:52pm – The NFL Network runs a commercial where Deion Sanders dons an afro wig and mustache as “Leon Sandcastle,” and gets drafted again. However, he goes to the Kansas City Chiefs, so that’s pretty much the last we’ll see of him until he becomes a free agent.

9:45pm – The Super Bowl ends with a Baltimore Ravens win, 34-31.

9:50pm - Ravens teammates begin thinking of excuses not to attend Ray Lewis’s Super Bowl party.

– Reid Kerr’s Super Bowl MVP was The Rock, who was in three different commercials.

A White Castle with an ad for Valentine’s Day reservations, for that special guy who doesn’t want to get laid on the 14th.

I’m thinking that just forgetting Valentine’s Day entirely is probably preferable to making reservations for a special evening at White Castle. Nothing says “love” like a plate of tiny burgers composed of 90% slime.