House of Burgess

I've been blessed (cursed?) with an overabundance of stomach acid. As a result, I once had a procedure done a few years ago called an endoscopy where they basically knocked me out and took pictures of the inside of my stomach with a small camera attached to the end of a long tube. Though I don't remember most of this, apparently I woke up halfway through and tried to rip the tube out of my throat before I was subdued and re-sedated. I'm told a similar thing happened when I had my wisdom teeth removed. I guess I'm just not very good with anesthesia.
Anyway, the reason I bring this up is that I am required by the searing fire that burns red hot in my esophagus from time to time to procure a box of Prilosec, which I did yesterday.
As I ripped open the packaging last night, I found a pack of Brett Favre trading cards. I then checked the front of the box and saw under a tiny picture of Brett's torso in the middle of throwing a football that Prilosec is an offical sponsor of NFL.
What?
My love of not feeling like I've swallowed hot coals has no relation to my thoughts on the National Football Leauge. And it has even less to do with my feelings on sports trading cards, which I did used to care deeply about when I was a little kid, but have little to do with the acid reflux I have to battle every few months.
All this reminds me of those budget-priced commercials you'll see every once in a while where they'll try to sell you two things in one commercial. This Prilosec incident is probably the topper because this is the first time I've seen three promoted at the same time.
And all I wanted to do was to be able to eat Mexican food.