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The Super Bowl ads sucked so bad this year. All that angst and guilt and tender dad-child moments.

I mean, it’s the Super Bowl, people. The ultimate celebration of our national battle religion.

The Super Bowl is for simplemindedness, misogyny and gluttony. It is not the place for sentiment in advertising. It is the place for fart jokes.

You don’t advertise emo-drenched fatherhood moments. You show guys screaming at the TV, beer dribbling down their chins, spittle flying everywhere, and glow-in-the-dark Doritos turning their insides bright orange.

You know what my favorite Super Bowl spot was? The original Go Daddy spot with the puppy getting its ass sold off on eBay that the domain name advertiser had to pull.

Oh, my. Go Daddy so mean to puppies.

Feh.

You know who’s to blame for the sappy sack of advertising shit that was the Super Bowl commercials?

Millennials.

All that tear-inducing nonsense during the Big Game’s commercial breaks was intended to lure your self-entitled eyeballs, because marketers believe what Millennials want to see and hear from their brands is to be genuine and good corporate citizens.

Of course, lost in all that advertiser angst about reaching you and your shiny purchasing power (actually probably, your parents purchasing power) is the reality that Millennials won’t sacrifice anything for anybody.

Ad Age ran a story recently about the emergence of specialized ad agencies that focus on Millennials. No doubt you think that’s just a swell idea (use of outdated slang term very definitely intended).

It’s not enough that you get a job and three months later wonder why you’re not the CEO yet.

It’s not enough that you demand companies show a social conscience and be “authentic,” whatever that means, but even a cursory review of your own lives reveals that what you all really want to do is get rich and be on TMZ.

It’s not enough that you are helpless without a digital crutch of some kind. (Watching a Millennial navigate physical space, or try to get information from a live phone operator, or figure out how to use a fax, or do anything that requires more than clicking on a keyboard is like watching shit-faced drunks singing at a karaoke bar.)

I am so glad my generational cohorts trashed the planet you’re going to inherit and spent all the money you’re going to need for retirement. That’s what you get for screwing up the Super Bowl.

Boom, bitches.