Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

My apologies for the lack of posting over the last day or two.

One of the reasons ol’ Robbo stopped watching professional football years ago was the fact that all the commercials run during the games seem to be fixated on either sex or alcohol or some combination thereof and I didn’t think it appropriate for the gels to be exposed to such trash.

Nonetheless, it is a tradition at Port Swiller Manor to make a big ol’ mess of nachos and watch the Sooper Bowl together, and so the gels and I duly sat down Sunday evening with heaping plates even though I really didn’t give much of a toss about the game.  (The gels decided to root for Bal’mer out of a sense of regional loyalty.)

Now I am well aware of the fact that I am getting crankier and more curmugeony in my old age and growing religious dementia, but honestly, this year’s crop of ads seemed to set yet another new low in raunchiness.  I’m certainly no prude (they’d throw me out of the Roman Catholic Boys for Art if I was), but I was thoroughly disgusted by many of them.

And as for the gels?  Every time there was a suggestion that an ad was going to go what might be called the sex-route, they all turned away from the screen and threw blankets over their heads.  For some reason, this put me in mind of having read somewhere of ye olde Puritan names like “Fly-Fornication”.  It was both amusing and gratifying.

“Why do they do that?” the gels asked several times.

Why, indeed.

“Because this is a barbarous and godless age in which we live and people have no self-respect anymore.  And it sells,” I replied.

As for the half-time show, we turned it off altogether.

Barring locking them all up in a convent, there really is no way to shield the gels from all of the messages and imagery spewed forth by our so-called “culture”, but I am pleased that they appear to see it for what it is.

Then again, eternal vigilance is called for.  This morning, the youngest gel asked out of the blue, “Dad, when you were in college, were you the kind of guy everybody wanted?”

“What on earth do you mean by that?” I replied.

“Uh…I dunno, really,”  she said.

Which I believe, by the way.  I’m sure she picked it up from the teevee or her teeny-bopper music.

“Well, if you don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re better off just not saying it,”  seemed to me to be the suitable response.

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