What I Learned About Men in the Super Bowl Commercials

It been a gender-bending few years for the Super bowl. A recent Harris poll discovered that whilst 75% of men polled planned to watch the big event the last couple of years, so did upwards of 65% of ladies.

Between this tightening gender gap, the 3rd consecutive year of a punishing recession the likes of which have not been seen since the Amazing D-word, and Troy Polamalu and Clay Matthews’s hair (since the long-haired mother of an aggressive toddler, I must ask, "Doesn’t that hurt, you guys?!") it seemed like a good time to take a biased and extremely unscientific look at the state of masculinity in the USA. Here’s what I learned about men in the 2011 Super Bowl commercials.

You own the power of Thor and Captain America. You are feeling taller. You are sensitive, but by no means castrated: you find your girlfriend’s rack unreal. You taunt your girlfriends pug, and you pay the price. You’re not as scary while you look: after all, you like singing "Hold Me Closer Tiny Dancer" with a Bud in you. Your wife won’t let you eat any of the things you want, and when you look at yet another woman, she’s going to throw a Pepsi Max at your head. The issues you put up with!

You are an aging, irreverent, and irrelevant rocker. You don’t know who Justin Bieber is. For some reason, you are wanted in Brazil. You’re continuously hanging out of helicopters, driving cars quick, and brandishing weapons. Sexy older ladies in a nutshell shorts and tank tops freak you out of trouble.
You also make fun of yourself a lot. You’re an independent-film-type crooner who likes highbrow Stella Artois, a dude who fantasizes in regards to a school teacher who drives a bitchin’ Camaro, along with a lover of Doritos. You’ll be able to bring the dead back again.

You are a doofus in a cubicle but when you hit accidentally hit "reply all," you become a powerful avenger for the average Joe Drone, driving around with your wheels squealing, snatching laptops from your higher-ups using the passion of a man terrified of humiliation and unemployment.

When given the opportunity, you like to cram it in the boot. Your co-workers are a couple of stupid chimps. You’re obsessed with sex and can’t think about anything else on a 1st date. Except maybe Pepsi Max.

You are making me laugh.
Your Motorola tablet enables you to sensitive and unique, a bright spot inside a drab world full of drones. Thanks for those flowers.

You’re so technologies obsessed and insecure that you need a auto that can read facebook posts about your recent date aloud for you. When you’re hungry you whine like Richard Lewis. But give you a Snickers, and you are a manly lumberjack once more.

You feel like a kid in a candy store, a mermaid in a swim meet, a wrestler in a chair factory, and an acrobat inside a mattress warehouse.

You might be the powerless son dressed up as Darth Vader as well as the father who desires him to really feel great about himself.

You are Detroit, bedraggled and tired and unemployed. But you might be also the hardest steel produced from the hottest fire. You are a stylish import. You’re Eminem. And it was so wrong of Kim Kardashian to dump you for a pair of sneakers. Thank you for the very best initial date ever.

Copyright by Lucy, a beautiful girl who likes swimming, shopping online and has a shop with juicy couture tracksuits and juicy couture sunglasses.