So, Super Bowl 43 will be played at Raymond James Stadium in Tampa, Florida, and will feature a battle between the Arizona Cardinals and the Pittsburgh Steelers. Yawn.

It sounds like this year, people will be tuning in moreso for the hysterical commercials and the halftime entertainment, rather than the actual football. So far, it has been announced that Jennifer Hudson will sing the National Anthem (meh), Faith Hill will perform a pregame show (over it), and Bruce Springsteen has snagged the highly coveted spot as the halftime performer. I’ve got nothing against the Boss, but if you’re going to get people to tune in to watch the Cardinals, you’re going to have to offer them some excitement at some point during the game.

Where’s Janet? Bring in some gratuitous nipple shots if you really want to please the public.

That said, I would like to petition the National Football League to consider taking me on as their halftime party planner. Here are some sample line-ups that I would suggest to really keep the party that is 2009 going strong. Read More »

The weekend is over. You still feel hungover. You have no idea where all your money went. And where is that other shoe? I mean, how the hell did you get home with only one shoe? Ugh, and now you have to be up and chipper for that damn internship that doesn’t pay you anything anyway. Not that you do anything there. You just sit around waiting for someone to give you something to do while you refresh Facebook/CollegeCandy every 5 minutes.

Yeah, it all really sucks, but let’s be honest….you still look a whole lot better than this.

What the hell happened to Madonna? Her face is sinking in! And look at those scary arms! I wonder if her baseball boyfriend turned her on to the ‘roids?

Poor lady. All that marriage drama and weird religion bullsh*t is really taking its toll on the pop superstar. She used to be a fashion/sex/music icon and now…now, all she is doing is making me feel a whole lot better about my Monday-morning-under-eye-circles.

Thanks, Madge!

[Photo courtesy of TheSuperficial.com. Love it!]

Dear Madonna,

Unlike my other colleagues here at CollegeCandy, when I was just a wee lass (that’s what you probably say now, and in a faux English accent, right?), I used to love you. I did. I was a fan. I loved your bangles, your lacy short socks, your polka-dotted headbands, your frizzy half-bleached blond hair, your apparent smelliness. I always imagined your scent to be a strong B.O., mixed with garlic, in “Borderline,” “Papa Don’t Preach,” and “Lucky Star.”

I adored your trashy “I’m-a-punky-girl-from-NYC” look, and when you spray painted stuff all over those Grecian statues, you were great! Of course, at the tender age of five, I didn’t realize that your look, your “raunchy NYC city-ness” was all totally faux, too. But that’s OK. Even though I know that you’re from Michigan, I’m still all right with that.

I even followed your music through the rougher spots, when it was icky as hell. I didn’t mind the whole India-moment (you were obviously doing a lot of soul searching), or the confusion you seemed to experience when you put out your last album (roller skates? Disco balls? Huh?). Remember all that silliness? You wore way too much disco-stuff and had Farrah Fawcett hair, even though the music didn’t sound a lick like something from the 70s. Read More »