Mustache Cops (Theme)

Mustache Cops

Refreshment = Gayness?

It's hot outside, REALLY hot. So these dudes do what any other guys out there would do on a hot hot HOT day: they line up, get a running start and SLAM into each other, EXPLODING AND SPRAYING ALL OVER OTHER GUYS' FACES (I'm assuming it's Sprite that's being sprayed). The only way this commercial could be any gayer was if someone re-cut it with "It's Raining Men" playing in the background.



This one is just kinda gay:


I guess I'm just so used to seeing half-naked chicks with hypnotic boobs sell me shit on TV that a little good ol' fashioned "Boy time" seems out of place to me now...

Then again, they did EXPLODE ALL OVER each other. And those other dudes were showering in that shit, they had their eyes closed & heads back and they were letting the spray hit their faces like an Herbal Essences commercial. Since when did refreshing lemon-lime soda become synonymous with homoerotic playground behavior?

Seriously, what the fuck Sprite?

Dinosaurs!

The endless hours of wondering what teenage dinosaurs did back in the day are finally over --- science has once again stepped in and set the record straight.

(Read the full article here)

2008 NFL Season Recap

Time to say farewell to the 2008 NFL Football season. And Boy George what a spectacular season it's been. So many great memories, so much excitement... so much passion. Throbbing passion…

…Like the passion Tony Kornheiser has for ruining Monday Night Football. Or the passion he has for Brett Favre. Kornheiser (aka the Woody Allen of color commentary) had a total boner for the Favre retirement/un-retirement/trade/soap opera-thing that went on early in the season. But then he couldn’t let it go. He talked about it every single Monday Night game for the rest of the year -- even if the two teams playing had no connection whatsoever to Brett “Real. Comfortable.” Favre or Aaron Rodgers or the Packers or the Jets. “Well, it’s 3 and long for the Buccaneers, Carolina has a solid lead right now, and I think the question on everyone in America’s mind is: did the Packers make the right choice? Jaws, your thoughts?” (Actually, I got a thought: SCREW YOU ESPN for letting him get away with that crap all season!)




But, seriously -- what am I getting mad for? I mean, like Brett Favre says, “Hey man, ain’t nothin’ more comfortable than some Wranglers. NOTHIN.” …or at least that’s what I pretend he’s saying when he’s wearing his Wrangler jeans and throwing fade routes to his Labradors in that commercial.

I wish I was one of Brett Favre’s friends, they're all so down to earth. And they all drive trucks. Tuff trucks. And they all wear Wrangler jeans. Real. Comfortable. Wrangler Jeans.


A lot of coaches got fired this year. The Cleveland Browns gave Romeo “Cheeseburger” Crennell the big boot (bout time). But, not to worry -- Romeo bounced back in a big way: he’s scheduled to star as “Officer Carl Winslow” in the Broadway (Ave.) Production of Family Matters: The Musical, AND he just signed on to play “Doc” in the upcoming film Punch-Out!! The Movie.



I heard he locked-it-up at the audition with his “Select-button/Stamina Technique”, but that’s just the rumor.


Also, its official: Tom Coughlin is the ‘GODDAMMIT!’ Coach from Not Another Teen Movie.




In other news, the Lions went 0-16… and I blame this picture:

Doesn’t get much gayer than that.


Plaxico Burress shot himself while wearing these sweatpants at a titty-bar. Yeah I know. Sweatpants at a titty bar -- no class.



Braylon Edwards was there to drop the ball in New York City for New Year’s Eve this year, just like he did the entire 2008 season. (c'mon, 137 drops dude? Nobody cares you played at Michigan, either -- just catch the rock)

3, 2, 1 ... Happy New Year!


Damn look how swole Ed Hochuli is. Does he get tested for HGH? If his balls aren’t shrinking, his brain sure is because this blown call right HERE is definitely going on The Refs “Greatest Hits/Worst Calls in History” album, once it comes out. Two-disc set.



Brady Quinn: 8 endorsements this year, played about 10 quarters of football. When he broke his finger, I can’t help but wonder if he said, “NOW I’M DONE” like in his bro-drink commercial:




Another favorite theme of mine this year? The hot new look for field goal kickers and holders. Check out the Timex IndiGlo/wedding band combination.



This guy was grillin’ Brats and rockin a polo shirt from Kohl’s literally 4 minutes before this play started. Oh and the kicker missed. I guess that’s IndiGlo for ya!



Another great Kicker moment from this year was “Monday Night Jihad” – a story penned by Atlanta Falcons Kicker Jason Elam. Check out this description:

After a tour of duty in Afghanistan, Riley Covington is living his dream as a professional linebacker when he comes face-to-face with a radical terrorist group on his own home turf. Drawn into the nightmare around him, Riley returns to his former life as a member of a special ops team that crosses oceans in an attempt to stop the escalating attacks. But time is running out, and it soon becomes apparent that the terrorists are on the verge of achieving their goal: to strike at the very heart of America.

All it’s missing is Trey Parker and Matt Stone screaming “FUCK YEAH!!!” on that last ‘America.’




So that’s a wrap. Can’t wait to see what 2009 has in store for us … hopefully no more of this:



Get over it already, stop ruining MNF.

Christmas Shopping

"Every kiss begins with Kay"? No every ulcer begins with one of those goddamn commercials. Who the F has money to buy diamonds these days? Shut your MOUTH already Kay Jewelers, before I give it a smack. What? Don't think I won't Carlo Rizzi a jewel company... I've done it before, I'll do it again. You guinea brat you.



Forget diamonds. Get her something that counts. Get her something that stands out. Get her something that says "I'm a lady."

Introducing "Pons" by Wendy.

Hurry, just 3 days 'til Christmas...


(click to enlarge)


(*Yeah this is real)

Halloween Awesomeness

If you’ve ever met me, overheard me ramble, or read my super-secret diary, then you’d know just how much I love Halloween. I mean, I actually LIVE for it. And when I say “live,” I mean just that. Because I don’t just “dress up” on Halloween -- I transform.

We’re talkin’ 364 days of preparation, and one night of perfection. Because, like I said, I don’t just put on a costume… I become the character. To put it bluntly: I “De Niro” that shit.

Like last year I was all ripped and whatnot, so I went out as John Basedow… you know, the guy who does those workout commercials and he’s always flexing/lifting under a waterfall for some reason and he has sort of a lesbian pompadour going on? Yeah, that costume was a huge hit.



Or the year before when I ballooned up to 340 and went as Jared from Subway (the “before” version) -- that took some serious discipline (thanks again, "Frito Lay diet"). But again, I’m all about commitment.

And I’m always looking for/thinking about future costume ideas. Like if I ever lose a leg, BAM: I’m a pirate for Halloween every year. Or if I ever wind up rockin’ a wheelchair: I’m Corey Haim in “Silver Bullet.” Those are extreme circumstances, I know, but hey -- you gotta look on the bright side of things.



I even daydream, from time to time, about how SWEET it’s going to be when I lose my hair. I mean, think about how many great, bald cinema-psychopaths there are: Hannibal Lector, Nicholson in “The Shining”, Clarence Boddicker (“Robocop”), either one of the Fratelli Brothers (“Goonies”), about 4 Kevin Spacey characters, or Joe Pesci from “Home Alone.” The sky’s the limit (when I’m bald)!

skip to 5:25 = best line ever (after being arrested)

Anyway, Halloween’s right around the corner, so there’s no time to try and do what I did. Your best bet is to wait until November 1st and either begin some sort of extreme diet regimen or become involved in a freak, life-altering accident. That’s where I’d start. In the meantime, I do have a few other Halloween “pointers” to throw your way… Enjoy!

“HALLOWEEN FUN” TIPS

1.) Safety is vital around Halloween time, and when it comes to candy you can never be too safe. So, be sure to check all candy before passing any out. One measure is to completely unwrap and inspect each piece, ensuring that it’s free from poison, razors, or (especially) lead paint -- since most candy comes from China* (*a fact I just made up a second ago). When inspection is complete, simply re-wrap candy, place in bowl and have fun handing out all those super-safe treats!


2.) Trick-or-treaters sure do love getting treats… but they also love tricks. So, be sure to set up a number of elaborate Rube Goldberg-style booby-traps and plenty of large objects to obstruct a clear path to your front door. Kids these days love a good challenge anyway. Fire is also a good alternative.

3.) If you have children who are going out trick-or-treating, it’s a good idea to starve them for at least 11 hours prior. Sure, they’ll cry hunger -- but you know better. Letting them go hungry is a good way to instill a good ol’ fashioned American work-ethic in them, where being “hungry” can make for a quick rise to the top. After all, that’s what capitalism’s all about! And when they come home with 4 pillowcases full of candy (as opposed to their friends’ 1 pillowcase) they’ll thank you with all their heart for teaching them such discipline.

4.) Hey, it’s Halloween… so be scary! Turn off all your lights, set up a chair in the bushes, and ask kids -- in a soft, creepy whisper -- if they “want some candy.” Or, jump out of a tree and “candy ambush” them (kids love that)! OR -- if no kids come down your street, passing out candy from the side door of your van is a practical solution (the only scary part there is high gas prices!).


5.) When your children return home from trick-or-treating, be sure to inspect their candy for them. Take special care to remove any “unhealthy” items and replace them with delicious, whole-grain solutions. Then, take all 60 of those Reese’s Cups and stash them in your closet. You want to be Jared next year for Halloween, don’t you?

It's a Blanket ... with Sleeves, No Less!

Q. Blankets are probably the oldest and greatest invention in the history of all mankind -- how could you possibly make them sweeter?

A. By adding sleeves.



It's called "The Snuggie. It's a blanket. And it's got sleeves.



It's perfect for keeping warm and staying hands-free and apparently getting down on mad games of Backgammon.

It's also great for: pretending you're a Jedi knight, convincing your neighbors you've joined a scary religious cult, re-enacting the high school graduation ceremony to which you were never invited, assisting in a Catholic mass, or recording an album of indiscernible Latin chanting.



But if you really want to complete the look then you totally gotta get the "The Hillow" -- the pillow you wear as a hat.



I just invented them shits. Patent pending.




**BONUS PRODUCT**

http://www.lippiselkbag.co.uk/



It's the sleeping bag -- that you WEAR!

Now you can be warm AND look like DEVO.



(**special thanks to True Stories fan Ryan for finding this European gem)

Happy Birthday, Linda Hamilton!

Here are a few snapshots celebrating the life of actress Linda Hamilton:



Hanging out at the Discotheque...




A night of passion...




"HE'LL KILL US ALL!!!!!!!"




"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The "Wispys"

So check this out; I’m just now getting back from the glorious city of Juno, Maine where I attended the 26th Annual "Wispy Mustache Awards" -- AKA "The 2008 Wispys" -- hosted by gay teen heartthrob Orlando Bloom.

As an avid mustache fan, I gotta say the ceremony did not disappoint. Shit was incredible this year. There were so many spectacular moments -- where do I begin?

Well, the first award they gave was the "Wispy Athlete Award", given to the professional athlete with the best awesome mustache. There to present this year's Wispy was NFL quarterback and last year's winner Charlie Frye.

Now back when he won the award, Charlie was the starting QB for the Cleveland Browns (my squad) … but then he got traded to Seattle where he is now a backup. Anyway, I got a chance to talk to Charlie; when I asked him how he felt having to leave Northeast Ohio, he just looked away, sighed and said: "Damn dawg, I miss Lake Erie."

I feel you, Charlie.

In a total landslide victory, NBA Basketball player Adam Morrison claimed the 2008 award.

Look at him ... God he was so happy.

Later in the evening, The "Wispiest City in America" Award went to -- SURPRISE -- Garfield Heights, Ohio. I know -- they win it every GD year. There to accept the award was "White" Dave McMullin and his older brother Charlie. I began to notice a trend where white dudes named Charlie and wispy stashes seemed to go hand-in-hand. I made a note of it.

Speaking of Charlie’s, this year marked a significant event: a lifetime achievement award for Full Wispiness. The award was given posthumously to the late, great Charles Bronson. Man he was awesome in The Mechanic.

Bronson sketched this of HIMSELF before he died.

Bone Thugs came out and did a Charlie Bronson/"Death Wish" tribute song/medley. Not a dry eye in the entire house. No lie.

More coverage to come. Stay tuned...

!!Bonus Stash Pics !!


Adam Morrison Action Bedroom Poster:

Fireworks Safety

The 4th of July is a time for friends … a time for family … and a time to blow shit up. With that in mind, here are the official True Stories “Fireworks Safety Tips & Guidelines for Being Safe with Fireworks Outside While Lighting Fireworks.” Enjoy!

1. When lighting fireworks, ALWAYS be sure that the action figure/G.I. Joe is pointed AWAY from you and others. You won’t earn any Purple Hearts or Silver Stars taking Hasbro shrapnel in the leg, bro.

2. When lighting ‘Roman Candles,” it’s always important to NEVER point them at yourself. Keep them pointed at the person you are tying to shoot at ALL times.

3. With the vast majority of U.S. citizens having either cell phones or calling cards, it is no longer a lucrative operation to blow up payphones using M-80s or H-1000s. However, it’s still pretty awesome. Just remember: always practice fireworks safety and holla if you see for Five-0. Whoop-whoooop!!

4. If you are over the age of 13 and male, NEVER, under any circumstances, attempt to handle a lit “Sparkler.” Aside from it being unsafe, it’s EXTREMELY gay.

5. NEVER light fireworks when you are pumping gasoline into your car. That is, unless, you’re done filling up … and you’re looking to make some sort of a rebellious statement. Then, of course, by all means…

Ahh, Science

For years, I found myself arguing with anyone who’d listen that I had it much tougher than my younger siblings did. But nobody ever really listened. Nobody believed me.

But ahh, sweet SCIENCE to the rescue.

A recent study at Johns Hopkins University concluded that the oldest kid does in fact have it worse when it comes to parental strictness -- while the younger brothers and sisters generally coast on by. And I couldn’t agree more.

I know, I know – many of you are sitting there, saying to yourselves, “Get over it, Ray. You’re 27 now --- it’s all in the past.” And yeah, sure, that’s a somewhat-valid point. What’s done is done, you can’t change the past…

But what you can change is the future.

I think something needs to be done for the oldest sibling. A token of appreciation, if you will. Sure, we get our privileges as the oldest: we were at the top of the family food chain and we beat the crap out of the younger siblings. Our parents also love us the most (you know it’s true). And yes we are third in command after Mom & Dad (first in charge when they croak) and we abuse those privileges extensively to make our kid sister(s) get us something to drink (with ICE, I said!!).

But screw all those petty privileges --- I want MORE. I want something better. A bit of compensation, perhaps.

I want … ‘Older Brother Reparations.’

So, dear younger brother & sisters: you fuckers OWE ME. There’s now way you can deny that I paved the way for you guys. I paved the way for you to stay out late. I blazed the trail that allows you to drink at weddings and get cellphones at 16. I set the precedents that allowed you to get tattoos and bellybutton piercings (silly younger brother). And now it’s time for me to collect!!

Here is a list of the things I want to see enacted as soon as possible. Petitions are in the process of being sent to Attorney Generals, Senators, Rabbis, and all the other powers-that-be. Read em and weep:

1. Older Brother Day (August 21^st) – I want this declared a holiday. I want a 24-hour period of worship commemorating my necessary sacrifices. Without me, you’d still have to be home by eleven and Mom wouldn’t let you watch Married With Children.

2. Money – I just want some. For all the “older brother crap” I had to do (drive you to school, beat-up bullies, buy beer, play Barbies, etc). At roughly 10 bucks an hour (an amount I picked for no reason), multiplied by the number of “older brother duty” hours I accumulated (also completely made up) … by my estimates you each owe me = about 40 grand. Or you could just pay off my student loans.

3. A Bust of My Head On Mom & Dad’s Mantle – After all, I am a hero. Or, at least, I’m not in prison. That’s as good of an example as anyone can set. If I were in prison, you guys’d be fucked. Make it a bronze statue. Not a fan of marble.

4. An Older Brother Montage Song – Hey, you guys are the musicians, figure it out. Just make me swoon is all I ask. Or cry. Either is fine.

5. On Second thought... -- Just make it a Montage VIDEO, of all my 'greatest hits' as an older brother. C'mon, there's plenty; it's at least a double-disc set.

6. Time – I washed a lot of dishes, cut a lot of lawns, and painted every room in the house because you guys sucked at it. Or you pretended to suck at it. Either way, Mom & Dad didn’t trust you to do it so they asked ME, the ever-dependable/workhorse older bro. I figure with the frequency of me getting screwed cost me a significant amount of time during my adolescent years. So -- Mow my lawn for the rest of 2008 and we’ll call it even. Oh, and I need one of you to stuff my gutters full of leaves for the cold months ahead. You know, for insulation.

Unbelievable

So I JUST finish playing this really badass Delta Blues slide-guitar solo in front of this entire club full of black dudes, right? When who should show up at the same exact club but Ralph mothafuckin Macchio. I shit you not, he just waltzes right in the joint, shoulders back, brimming with confidence from his victories over both Johnny Lawrence and the entire cast of Never Back Down. And so what does he do? He walks right up on stage, fuckin plugs in his amp and starts shreddin-out some Classical Gas or Mozart or some shit, RIGHT IN MY FACE, and I'm all like ... uhh, wait, uhh ... and I try to fake it --- but the brothas I'm trying to impress ain't fuckin buying it and so ... I fuckin split. I just tossed my hair and got the hell out of there, never looking back.

God, I was mortified.




"Word is bond, yo."
-R. Macchio

A Day In The Life

I literally get thousands of emails every day from True Stories readers, asking me things like, “Ray, what is it that you do all day?” and “Ray, why is your writing not good anymore?” Well today, I’d like to answer that question for you.

So, here’s what a very typical day consists of for me:

---

6:45 AM – Wake up. Kiss my wife, and whoever else is in bed with us.

6:50 AM – Practice martial arts as the sun comes up over the mountains. Playing in the background is a very rousing, powerful training/movie-montage song that I wrote myself.

7:01 AM – Bathe in the crisp waters of the river that runs alongside our cottage. Then, dress myself in clean linen robes and strap hand-fashioned sandals onto my bare feet.

7:05 AM – Change out of the robes after my wife tells me how fucking stupid I look.

7:07 AM – Get into my classic Porsche 911 and head to McDonalds for a Sausage Biscuit/hashbrown combo. I buy nothing for the wife after that last comment about the robes.

7:25 AM – Login to “True Stories” and post yet another hilarious, award-winning article. Or, take like 60 seconds to find a funny video on YouTube and write something really, really fast and unpolished to accompany it. Depends on how I’m feeling from the night before -- you know, especially after that marathon lovemaking session I had my wife and her 3 really hot friends (that also double as our maids).

7:36 AM – Get distracted by the ladies of The Weather Channel yet again.

7:38 AM – Develop an aching boner as I watch the Local on the 8s.

7:45 AM – Make sweet love to one of the maids as she comes in for the day shift … but only after I return home from McDonald’s for the second time (I knew I should’ve gotten something for the wife).

7:50 AM – Nunchuk practice on top of the roof.

8:22 AM – Guitar solo for the entire neighborhood, also from the roof.

9:00 AM – Head in to “work” for the day. In actuality, “work” is a place that looks like an office, runs like an office, and even has “employees” like an office – but I go there because my doctor says I need to sit around on my ass more (apparently I’m way too active).

9:30 AM – Smoke dope with one of the janitors out in the parking lot.

9:35 AM – Lose my keycard which allows me access into the building.

10:00 AM –

11:00 AM –

12:00 AM – Find my keycard in my pocket and go back into the building.

12:05 AM – Grab my car keys and head out for lunch.

12:30 PM – Lobster with Daryl Hannah. Look at her eat that thing!

1:30 PM – Sex with Daryl Hannah.

2:11 PM – Sneak out of DH’s apartment before she wakes up.

4:53 PM – Head back in to work. Ignore all 700 messages in my inbox and close Outlook. Boy, those people in my department sure do email a lot!

4:59 PM – Shut down for the day and head out to the parking lot.

5:00 PM – Speed out of the parking lot like I worked really, really hard that day and now I’m super-angry.

5:05 PM – Get really angry (for real) because everyone is doing 60 across all 3 lanes on the highway.

5:06 PM – Daydream about killing everyone on the road. Fantasize about having machine gun turrets mounted on top of my car. Hum the Knight Rider theme-song to myself.

5:07 PM – Realize that the voice of “KIT” on Knight Rider was actually Mr. Feeney from Boy Meets World.

5:08 PM – Think about how gay Boy Meets World turned out to be.

5:12 PM – Knife someone in the chest after a seriously-heated road-rage argument.

5:14 PM – Evade a swarm of police cruisers.

5:24 PM – Shoot it out with the cops.

5:35 PM – Come home and relax after a hard days work.

5:55 PM - Watch the last 5 minutes of Boy Meets World and affirm my earlier realization that it did in fact become the gayest show ever.

6:00 PM – Work out in my basement with this guy --->

7:30 PM – Jeopardy

8:00 PM – Depart into the city under the cover of night and fight crime.

12:00 AM – Return home and hand-type my soon-to-be-published memoirs.

1:35 AM – Booty-call from Sigourney Weaver.

2:35 AM – Home again

3:39 AM – Marathon sex session #2

5:50 AM - Protein bar

5:55 AM – Sleep

6:45 AM – Wake up and do it all over again

POWAFUL LIVIN' ROCKS!!!

Fist-pumping vocals, thought-provoking lyrics ("...shaking, quaking, crashing, breaking!"), and crunchy-ass riffs --- just what a growing boy needs to help him decide what to talk mom into buying for him next.

Even at the age of seven I knew these things were retarded. But God was that commercial awesome.

http://toyarchive.com/Rocklords.html

I have the Rock Lord that sits outside your back door and conceals a spare house key. It's the only one that seemed remotely practical...

Cruisin...

So recently, NASCAR driver Aaron Fike admitted that he occasionally shot-up heroin on race days. Wow, now ain’t that somethin’? Can’t say I blame him though -- have you ever actually watched NASCAR? It’s a fucking snooze-fest!

Still, something needs to be done. I don’t care if these guys are only going around in circles on a closed track -- they need to set up DUI-checkpoints every 30 or 40 laps. And not just on 4th of July and Memorial Day weekends, either. You never know how many tall-boys Dale Jr. may’ve had by lap 100, on ANY given race day.

But honestly, I couldn’t help but try and imagine what racing on a NASCAR track would be like if you were high on black-tar heroin. Perhaps something like this?

Best Fight Scene Ever

Talk about slangin rocks!

Goodbye, Maxim Magazine

Hey Maxim, it’s me, Ray. Listen … I’m not sure there’s an easy way to tell you this, but … well, fuck it -- I’m done with you, Maxim. Shhh. Don’t say anything, don’t make it harder. It’s best to just end it fast, like pulling off a band-aid or removing a 9 millimeter slug from your shoulder after a shoot-out with the cops. Let’s just end this amicably and go our separate ways, okay?

C’mon, don’t do this, you’re making a scene. Look ….let’s just … okay, fine, you really wanna know? You wanna know why? Okay, fine, I’ll tell you. Basically, I’ve outgrown you. And even more than that – you been fuckin’ up a lot lately.

It’s not one thing in particular -- it’s collective. Like what? C'mon, you know what. Like how bout the Black Crowes fuck-up? That was really, really uncool. I mean, I’m not even a Crowes fan, but I love music enough to know I can’t make a judgment or offer a valid opinion on something until I’VE HEARD THE ENTIRE THING. I mean, I had to at least hear Nickelback once to know they were the shittiest band ever. Anyway, what you printed was, quite frankly, retarded. I can only hope the writer of that review and the editor above him/her got fired and banished to … but even then, it doesn’t make it right.

And then things went from bad to worse.

March issue, Avril fucking Lavigne. What in God’s name were you thinking?

Let me get this straight -- you publish 12 issues a year TOTAL, meaning that only 12 hot girls get to grace the cover of your publication -- and y ou pick Avril Lavigne as one of them?? The most un-hot, ratty-looking Canadian “Punk rocker” in the history of, well … ratty-looking, Canadian “Punk rockers.” "Punk" is in quotes for an obvious reason -- just how PUNK are you if 7 of your hits are featured in the “Kid’s-Bop Vol. 12” commercials?

To be fair, Maxim, I’d say a good 85-90% of your models are essentially talent-less. But nearly ALL of them tend to have great racks or nice dupas -- so talent really isn’t the issue. What IS the issue here is that Avril Lavigne is not hot and possesses neither the rack nor the can to cut the mustard. She’s about a buck o’five soaking wet, with no curves to speak of. Plus she sucks. At music and at life. I can think of 1,000 chicks I’d rather see on your cover than her. Literally, a thousand (I can name them all if necessary).

But perhaps your BIGGEST eff-up to date was this past February’s issue. To my horror, I discovered that you put Heidi Montag, “star” of The Hills, on the cover. Come one -- really? Heidi Montag?? Not hot, not talented, not ... what the hell does this chick actually do?

I wouldn’t bang her with Charlie Sheen’s dick. I would never hit a girl -- but I have, if only for a second, actually entertained the idea of having a sex-change operation just to become a woman for a day so I could punch this bitch in her goddamn NECK. Did I mention I don’t like her?

I really thought I knew you better, Maxim -- but apparently I don’t know you at all. Throughout the years I've valued your opinion and trusted in your advice. That time you taught me how to make a “hobo stove” out of a beer can? That proved to be invaluable during the summer that I actually became a hobo. Or the time you had a badass MMA fighter show me how top take a punch to the head – thanks to you, I’m really good at that!

But putting Heidi Montag on your cover proves to me that your judgment is SHOT. If I wanted to see one of those plastic MTV skanks, I’d walk down to the ladies room and snag me the latest issue of Us Weekly. Why anyone cares about this chick or that show is something I ask myself at least 1,300 times a day. I kind of just chalked it up to the mystery that is women, seeing as I know NO men who watch The Hills. So why do this to us? Why taint our bathroom periodicals with this atrocity of a girl?? The fact that I even know who she IS is upsetting; media over-saturation will do that. But seeing her on your cover was the last straw. I’ve had enough.

Yeah sure you followed up the issue with super-hot Jaime King on the cover for April, and for a minute you sort of redeemed yourself. But after taking a step back I realized that it was too little too late. You and I are through.

Don’t look at me like that. You brought this upon yourself. You’re just too immature for me. And it doesn’t look like you’ll ever grow up. Don’t get me wrong, I love looking at swollen shirt-rockets on writhing chicks clad in lacy unmentionables as much as the next horny guy. But it’s just time I move on. Besides ... my tastes have shifted.

As I’ve forged ahead through my late 20s, I realize that now -- I’m really into hot moms. I'll go with Jamie Gertz over Ashley Simpson ANY DAY (not the coked-out Less Than Zero Jamie Gertz -- the Still Standing Jamie Gertz).

In fact, I just got my first issue of (ironically-titled) Hot Momz Magazine. First issue – the hot MILFs from the Weather Channel. I swear to God, every morning I watch the Local On The 8s and when cold fronts blow in from Canada across Lake Michigan (on the green-screen) these ladies begin sporting diamond-cutting hard nips before my very eyes. IT NEVER fails. Barometric pressure at 8AM has never been so awesome.

Anyway, I may stop by once in a while and see how you’re doing, but don’t get your hopes up. We can stay in touch, but it’s only because we have a child together. It’s been fun. Take care and ...

Farewell, Maxim.

Memories

So the other day I was digging through some of my memoirs and I happened to come across this piping-hot gem. It’s an excerpt from a story I wrote years ago about my time on the road with television’s favorite son, Patrick Duffy (of “Dallas” and “Step-by-Step” fame). Yes, that’s right -- Patrick Duffy. We used to pal around together.

The story picks up when Duffy and I are driving through New York and we decide to play basketball with a few of his friends in the entertainment industry. Things get pretty interesting.

---

Later in the day, Patrick Duffy and I drove to some playground right in the middle of Spanish Harlem and played a friendly pick-up game of basketball with a few of his friends. John Stamos and Bob Saget were already there warming up.

Duffy leans in and tells me as we stretch, “Listen, kid. Things can get kind of rough out here, so watch your ass.” I nodded and tightened my shoe laces, assuming he meant because we were in Harlem.

Boy was I in for a surprise.

Stretch-limos pulled up with the likes of Rick Schroeder and the guy who played Carl Winslow. “Hot Carl,” as they called him, walked up to me, introduced himself as Reginald, and said, “Heads up, nigga. Bob Saget can dunk like a muhfucka.” I just laughed, shook my head, and walked away.

So we line up and pick teams. Kurt Russell and Bob Saget were captains. Saget decides to shoot “die” for ball. “Alright, Bobby. Gimme yer best shot … I can take it.” said Russell, in his John Wayne-esque voice. I recalled it as being one of his exact lines from his smash-hit Big Trouble in Little China. His psyche-out worked, and Saget missed. Russell chuckled.

But Saget took it personal.

Game on.

So we’re at 4-2, and Russel’s team is ahead. Always competitive, Saget keeps trying to shoot off the post. After missing a few easy hook shots, Simon Le Bon, the lead singer of Duran Duran, gets right in Saget’s face. He starts calling him Danny Tanner.

Clang, he misses another.

"Nice shot, Tannah.”

Clang.

“Why don’t you go home and get your fucking mop, Tannah,” Simon Le Bon says through his thick English accent.

Well, Saget gets really pissed and starts calling for the ball. He posts up, says, “I got your Danny Tanner right here, motherfucker!!” He gets the lob, catches Simon in the nose with a vicious ‘bow, and two-hand jams over the top of him, leaving his balls right in Simon Le Bon’s face, screaming, “You hungry like a wolf now, bitch?!”

Le Bon had to be carted off to the hospital to be treated for a broken nose and the worst case of tea-bagging I’ve ever witnessed. Nobody, and I mean nobody fucked with Bob Saget. Ever. I learned that real quick.

It didn’t end there, though. Mark-Paul Gosselaar -- you know, “Zack Morris” -- well, he was being a real show-off, and Duffy let him know he wasn’t having it.

Score is 6-5.

He checks the ball to Duffy, goes into his “Bayside High Killer-Crossover” move, and Duffy swipes at the ball so hard that he breaks Zack’s arm.

The Puerto Rican’s that were watching the game helped get him to a hospital, but not before they asked him, at gunpoint, if he could really do that “timeout”-thing from the show. And if he really ever piped Kelly Kapowski.

“What about Lisa, ese?” they asked.

“Hey, Victor, you remember when Zack was doin’ the homeless chick?”

“Si, the Christmas episode, hermano! That was a good one, holmes. She lived in the car wit’ her dad. So, lemme ask you, Preppie -- if you banged that punta in her room, would that have been the backseat or the frontseat, ese?”

Meanwhile, A.C. Slater (a.k.a. Mario Lopez), who was sitting in a chair he’d turned backwards (his signature move at “The Max”) subbed in and ran the point.

“Now we got a game,” exclaimed Kurt Russell.

Kurt, dressed in his skin-tight Boston Celtic’s shorts and green knee-pads, was being covered by Kirk Cameron.

Man, did he embarrass the shit out of the kid.

Now Kirk had been saying that his knee was not %100, claiming he’d blown it out on the set of Growing Pains in a one-on-one game with Alan Thicke, but Duff told me he was full of shit.

Anyway, Kurt Russell went 12 of 18 from the field and lit us up for 27 points and 14 boards.

Weeks later, they found Cameron’s body in a Wendy’s dumpster outside of Philly.

After the game, we all went and got ice cream.

Speaking of Politicians...

Da pump = cumming


"Take ya toy back to da cahpet!"
-Det. John Kimble