This year’s Super Bowl was the worst, most perfect Super Bowl ever. It was a peak manifestation of what the event has come to signify: a preening, triumphant display the ability of late-stage capitalism to swallow everything holy and beautiful in the world and regurgitate it into buyable, bland, bite-sized chunks.

Let’s play a little game. Do you like Game of Thrones?

What about….BUD LIGHT GAME OF THRONES?

Do you regard The Big Lebowski’s epic character The Dude as a kind of spiritual example, a modern day deadbeat Zen-master, a walking rebuttal to the mandates of our overstimulated culture?  

WHAT ABOUT THE DUDE DRINKING STELLA ARTOIS WITH SARAH JESSICA PARKER?

Do you like edgy, thought provoking half-time shows that address important sociocultural issues and push the boundaries of big-budget musical experience?

WHAT ABOUT THE GLORIFIED ELEVATOR MUSIC OF MAROON 5 AND A SPONGEBOB CAMEO?

Oh yeah, and let’s not forget the robot/tech-heavy commercials that seem to be priming us via-narrative normalization to accept, without question, the integration of our entire lives into the cloud? DO YOU LIKE THAT?

Do you like the sweaty, passionate, and painful competition of football?

WHAT ABOUT WATCHING TOM BRADY–A HUMAN ALGORITHM MADE OF WHITE BREAD–STORMING LAZILY TO HIS SIXTH SUPER BOWL?

Honestly, given the obscene levels of cross promotion in the ads, we expected the football game itself to end with Tom Brady pulling a Darth Vader and throwing Emperor Belichick down an bottomless space-pit like the end of The Return of the Jedi.

The Super Bowl is an inorganic organism. A beastly prism of our times…and therein lies its redeeming quality.

Wait, what?  

Well, dear reader.  It is the season of love.  It’s the season of the passion.  The season of that heart which Sunday night’s game so distinctly lacked.  

The CONVICTS: HEART ISSUE is gearing up to drop in the next coming weeks. So get stoked reader, because we’re putting the organ back in organic.