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Trump gets massive cheers at the Super Bowl while Taylor Swift gets booed. –
The world is healing! 🇺🇸 pic.twitter.com/JXAGmTMoiC
— Libs of TikTok (@libsoftiktok) February 10, 2025
I don’t know if Fox News or the NFL was in charge of who was shown in the crowd during the Super Bowl, but I kept seeing Taylor Swift, along with a bunch of people I didn’t even recognize, while I didn’t see Trump once.
I missed most of the first half, because I was meditating with my friend Jose Canseco, who I practice Transcendental Meditation with on the weekends and on Wednesdays.
But we showed up at Applebee’s at the end of the second quarter, crunked, and Jose pointed out that Trump was never being shown.
When Kendrick Lamar came on for the halftime show, Jose screamed the n-word, and threw a whisky glass at one of the TVs. When a waitress came over to our table and started explaining Applebee’s supposed policies against throwing objects at the TV, Jose punched her in the stomach and then dumped a bucket of Miller High Life on her. She then started rolling away from our table, like you’re supposed to do when you’re on fire.
Jose then texted Trump about the issue, asking if he could sign an executive order forcing them to show him on the jumbotron, and noted that he was tired of seeing that “old cunt” Taylor Swift while “our president gets no screen time.”
Trump texted back “SHE MIGHT BE A CUNT BUT SHE ISN’T WEARING ONE, I CAN TELL YOU THAT.”
Jose showed me his phone with a perplexed look on his face, and then Trump texted a follow-up: “SHE’S TRANS JOSE.”
Jose was really shocked, and said to me: “Mane, I know she fat, eh? But she a guy? Mane, you know, I beat it to her before, mane, I really sick now, I cane belief she trans, mane, Trump gotta fix this country, mane.”
I nodded, solemnly.
Another waitress came over to the table and began asking if we needed anything, and Jose upper-cutted her, then lifted himself up on the table and drop-kicked her. She too rolled away on her side.
Jose said, “Mane, I beat my meat to a dude, mane, this blow my mind, mane, I ain’t gay, mane.”
The whole second half, we never saw Trump on screen.
But we’d both bet our entire net worths on the Eagles, so as the game played out, Jose seemed to put the fact that he’d unknowingly masturbated to a tranny aside. When we left Applebee’s to go meet our bookie, Jose was blasting Buena Vista Social Club and driving 120 miles an hour through a residential neighborhood. He crashed his Mercedes into the side of someone’s house. Jose pulled a can of gas from the trunk and lit his car and the house on fire.
“Mane, don worry bout it, this thing insured,” he said, and winked at me.
We had to walk the rest of the way to meet the bookie in the parking lot of Circle K.
