Prosin means Please in Czech

Sometimes you just gotta lure an unsuspecting mathematics grad student into your van, offer her anywhere from two to five hundred bucks, and see where things go from there.

MATHBUS not to be confused with....


Seriously folks, this is totally safe for work. Click the link, watch the video, you will not be disappointed. (More than I can say about those B an G Brothers, or whatever they call themselves.)


This is an internet pornography spoof. Approximately 1/3 of our readership may think this is the funniest thing ever in the history of the internet. Everyone else will just think to themselves:

Why didn't they just go to

Big Tonsils

Hey hey you you

Have you ever been lonely and lost, adrift in a sea of hopelessness and despair? Do you gauge architecture by its potential for accelerating you to terminal velocity? Is every moment punctuated by ever-deeper meaninglessness like painful rimshots that echo in the depths of your suffering?



Maybe you should watch Bear Grylls and his ursine dental jewelry. You don’t know misery until you’ve squeezed the juice from elephant dung into your face. You haven’t plumbed the profundity of sorrow until you’ve pissed on your shirt and wrapped it around your face.



Let him be a lesson to us all.

Five to Four

Ladies and Gent's,

Your Heroes of the Day... The Supreme Court!!!

(Yaaayyy!! So dapper, always dressed to impress... at a funeral.)

Oh, these fuckers... I wish we could replace them all with the Red Stripe Man, he's never issued an opinion that is disagreeable. Chances are, he'd find a solution to world peace and an end to racism.

"Boo reversing Brown v. Board of Ed...

"

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/28/us/28cnd-scotus.html?hp

Love is...

Sure, it's an embedded youtube video. But it's so much more than that. It's about love, honor, commitment, and anal sex.

After all, love is all about experiencing and understanding all that you can about your partner. What could be more natural than knowing him or her physically? The physical is deeply tied to the spiritual. The physical act is consecrated by the deeper undercurrents of trust and responsibility. And the spiritual act is enhanced by the physiological response, the interplay of animal emotion and stone-cold Rousseau reason.



True love is all about tempering passion with reason. Why not experience both at once? Live in the ever-collapsing space between the two extremes. That is where love lives. Love is neither cold nor mechanistic. Nor is it mere desire and lust.



Love is the bit between your naughty bits and your brain. Kind of like a sandwich. It's the meat between eros and thanatos, physical and spiritual, you and your partner.

(Just because this sounds like a monologue to convince your homecoming date to take her top off and/or make out in the backseat of your '92 Protege does not make it invalid. It just cheapens it a little.)†

Hova Knows Best

I love this fucking country...

One thing you gotta love about America is that it is so easy to find redemption. Life in the land of Apple Pie isn’t like the movies, where the wayward protagonist may have to run up a mountain and destroy communism a la Rocky IV or sail to the Worlds End to bring back witty Jack to once again walk along the path of righteousness (or at least improve your PR). Nope, all it takes is 2 little words: “I’m Sorry.”

“What you want me to do, I’m Sorry!”

Yup! In the land of some free, home of some brave, those who get the fact that the easiest way to find your way back in the good graces of the huddled and scolding masses are those who beg us for our forgiveness. We don’t care what you did, as long as you feel kinda bad about it, or at least tell us you feel kinda bad about it, we’ll let it slide. We’re not seeking to Kill Bill, we’re more like

It worked for Kobe, Bill (for Monica and Rwanda), Laura Bush (she actually killed a guy), the Catholic Church, Jerry Maguire, Julia Roberts in Closer, John Edwards, Alan Wong, Mel Gibson (eventually), and KKKramer. There’s nothing we love more than seeing those who once were on top apologize for falling off their pedestal. After they complete their round of humility, we’ll pick them up by their bootstraps and start a slow clap for them. As long as you can still score 81, we won’t be mad, we’ll just be impressed.

Those who don’t accept their plate of humble pie are doomed to swallow a bucket full of doo-doo butter. Mike needs to apologize for Jesus Juice. OJ needs to say “I still believe that they deserved to die, and I Hope they’re burning in Hell, but I’m sorry that I did it (and got caught)” Hillary needs to say “umm, I’m sorry for the yellow pantsuit.” White people need to apologize for slavery. Black people need to apologize for the Ying-Yang Twins and anything else that shows up on BET Uncut. Mike Vick, Barry Bonds, Britney, Paris, Alan Wong, John Kerry, the people behind Spiderman 3, and Osama Bin Laden. Jack Bauer needs to apologize to Audrey, and Lindsay needs to apologize for this.

And this.

The list goes on…
Some people need to be sorry for ever existing.

The only person who seems to be exempt from this is R.Kelly, who’s album just went #1 on the charts despite that he has a habit of going #1 on little girls. But, then again he did give us “Trapped in the Closet,” which was fucking genius, so who cares? After all, he is the Pied Piper, Black, handsome and rich, plus he sings, and is a flirt. I’ll keep steppin.

See, America doesn’t need to export democracy, it just needs to export forgiveness (not Christianity, though). Then, maybe everyone else will forgive us.

Liveblog: The Age of Love, Episode 1

The ultimate social experiment. The experiment begins. He has everything except a woman to share his wife with. Does age matter?

Watch his face drop, chin on floor. I’m 48.

His eyes look a little like Duncan after a foul as he meets these women. You can see his chin drop a little and his eyes go wide in shock and surprise.



Turns out, the premise of the show was a surprise to the cougars. And now the claws are coming out.

“If they wanna get nasty, we can get nasty.”

“Mark is the man that every woman wants.”

He looks like a scruffy, Australian Matt Dillon. There is no choice here. There’s no way he’s choosing a woman in her forties.

I’m pulling for Jen (48) the cougar and Megan the kitten. Jen has a son who is 25.

One of the women claims to be successful; all she lacks is a man to share her life with. She wants to get married and have a baby. Why are you on a dating show? Will you win and have a loving relationship with a pro tennis player? Will you lose but build some cachet with the “I watch summer reality dating shows” male demographic? If you are successful, why do this? There is no upside to this. It’s too late to break into acting, Ellen Barkin and Demi Moore have the cougar set locked down in Hollywood. Why, cougars, why?



Mark Consuelos uses Crest BrightStrips and a tanning booth to get his smile like that.

Marky P is still waiting for a grand slam in love. All the cougars started making dubious faces when he mentioned that he was a playboy in his introductory video. Then their faces softened when he pulled out the dog.

Why does he bring the dog with him to meet the women? [The dog doesn’t show up for the rest of the show. I guess he just needed some moral support.] Philippoussis’ last relationship was with a woman 10 years his junior. That means she was, at the oldest, 20 years old. There is no hope for our cougars.

Some of the ladies sense that something is up: how’s he going to react to older women?

Oh my, the drama of the descending glass elevator is fantastic. All the cougars are dressed up and packed into a great glass wonkavator on their way to meet their Mark Philippoussis. They’re nervous, he’s nervous, I’m nervous.

He’s about to meet the ladies…

He swallowed SO hard when he heard that she was 40. He’s acting like Ashton Kutcher is gonna jump out at any moment. (Either to punk him or reassure him that older ladies need love too.) Kelli is terrifying; she’s talking about her biological clock, and her neck has been ravaged by age.

And now Mark has gotten his Manning/Duncan face under control. (How can he not know something is up when every woman introduced gives her birth year and age?) HA! The 46 year-old blew him away. And Jen asks him to guess her age. He cannot think of a response, and he stammers out a tentative 37? She just looks at him, and he drops it to 36. Jen is 48. (Although she is possibly one of the best-looking women in the cougar set.)

I cannot WAIT for the eliminations. I’m guessing that he’ll knock out the oldest and youngest first. I mean, 48 years old? She was smoking and drinking before he could hold a racket. He’ll probably eliminate one of the blondes. Somehow blondes fail to age well. Or maybe it’s just these ones.

The incentives for the cougars are entirely different from the kittens. So far, it’s just been kittens, but the producers are making it sound like these 40-somethings are a cacophony of ticking biological clocks. We want husbands and babies. If you’re gonna fuck around, Mr. Australian Tennis Player, we can go back home to our good jobs, children, and dry martinis.



Commercial break… and we’re back.

Finally Marky P has figured out the pattern after four women. They’re all around 40. They are telling this to him explicitly, one after another. How do you not realize this? This show is going to be painful.

I’m waiting for the kittens to introduce themselves as a bunch of Tiffanies, Stephanies, Jennifers, etc. They will stand in stark contrast to the Angelas and Jodies.

He joins the whole team, and he is absolutely terrified. He is out of his element. They accuse him of homosexuality. “Did you at least know we would be women?” He has no idea how to respond. They are at ease and looking a little predatory. “It’s like throwing piranhas in with me.”

Jodie brings out the kids and mentions the divorce. That’s it. Off the team. You’re out. You’ll receive a lovely parting gift: a home air conditioner to deal with the menopausal hot flashes.

Kelli is the cougar to watch, she unsheathed the claws from the get-go. Mark, Kelli, and Jodie are sitting there having a drink and Jodie mentions the kid and divorce. Kelli swoops in with the back-handed compliment: “Can you believe that she’s had a kid and been married? She looks beautiful.” I cannot wait to see what Kelli does later in the game with the younger women.

I can see the women making ad hoc teams to deal with the age competition. Older women wing-manning for their peers.

I really wish that they’d put in random facts about each of the women like in Pop Up Video. Throw up random stats beyond the DOB. I want to see number of children, number of marriages, credit score, annual income, employer, birth control type, and whether or not there’s been any plastic surgery. This would make things WAY more fascinating.

Jayanna swoops in and steals him from Kelli and Jodie. Jayanna is an executive assistant and a student? Studying for her bachelor’s degree? If she didn’t look her age, I’d think she was in the wrong group.

Mark speaks Korean? Of course he does.



Consuelos throws in the twist: One woman will be eliminated tomorrow. And he tells Marky P: test their athletic ability to see who will be able to keep up. He is an adrenaline junkie. Jaynna is afraid of heights… and about to be off the team. Her dramatic swoopage is all for naught.

Meanwhile, they don’t know that… here comes trouble….

The 20s!

I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty excited to see this happen. The kittens are coming in very cocky, they think they can take this on athletic ability alone. Little do they know that there are some wily cougars lurking in the shadows waiting to pounce on their man.

“Hopefully by forty I’m not still dating. It’s pathetic, I think.”

The date is revealed! Everyone involved will be rappelling down the face of a building in downtown Los Angeles. Jayanna is afraid of heights. Maria (42) seems to be down for whatever. She’d make a really cool aunt. Lynn is making threats along the lines of, “If you eliminate me after I do this, I’ll kick your butt.” Jayanna is gonna faint and/or vomit in the face of this challenge.

Oh shit, Maria is going to take Jayanna down. It’s only forty minutes in, and there’s already some pretty serious tension. Jayanna may have faked her fear of heights to get closer to Marky P, and Maria called her on it.

Here’s why I think the kittens are in for a serious competition: the cougars recognize the game, know the rules, know how to break them, and will not hesitate to do whatever it takes to get their man.



At this point, Marky P is making do with what he’s got. He’s picking the best of the cougars, but things will definitely change when he meets the younger women.

The younger women, who have been settling into their hotel room just waiting until they get revealed in the final minutes, are being characterized as childish. They’ve got a hula hoop that they’re playing with. Meanwhile, Jodie (cougar) is doing needlepoint in her hotel room. Jodie, come on.

Jayanna: “I am the one to beat. I’m the best rapper alive, ask about me.”

The eliminations are beginning, and I can barely contain my excitement. I want to see Marky P’s face when he sees the younger women. I want to see the older women get angry and concerned.

So far, the cougars seem like nice ladies. I would not date any of them, however. I might rappel down a building with them, but when nibbling on an earlobe, I don’t want to end up with all the pulled-back neck skin from her first plastic surgery in my mouth. My mother has a friend dating a guy my age. Thirty year age difference. What do they talk about? Does she help him with his taxes and major life decisions?

That said, Jen is kind of hot. So is Maria.

He’s taking out Jodie. She’s out. There’s no way she can compete. She shows her age more than anyone else. Also, she did fucking needlepoint.

Apparently, he’s calling them up individually to tell them that they’re staying. It’s like walking the green mile. He brings up his concerns, then says, “I would like you to stay.” Fuck that rose business, this creates way more suspense and terror.

The axe is about to drop. It’s down to Jodie and Jayanna. And he tells Jodie that, “I see you more as a friend.” Jayanna may actually be the one to beat; he compliments the hell out of her. She was afraid of heights, but she overcame it for him. Maria thinks it was ploy, and it may have been, but it got her to the second round.

The kittens are coming out. They are in glass boxes posing like Charlie’s Angels. And Marky P looks THRILLED.

Next week: the cougars meet the kittens for the first time.

He owns all the air south of Beijing

Tonight and tonight only, we at The Alan Wong will be live-blogging a monumental event...



Age of Love airs tonight on NBC. The premise is simple: take the Bachelor and make it into a two-tiered, tournament-style competition. On one side, you've got your kittens. (For those of you who failed to take notes in Misogyny 101, kittens are young women. In this case, they are women in their 20s.) On the other side, you've got your cougars. (You guessed it: older ladies. In their 40s, to be exact.)

Cougars vs Kittens

VS

Why does this merit the first-ever Alan Wong liveblog? Because it is about the struggle between youth and experience, age and beauty, large predatory felines and baby cats. It is the epic struggle into which our hero finds himself thrust again and again.

We will learn nothing of love. But perhaps we may learn something about life.

Kenny motherfucking Rogers

I believe in a loving god who forgives small fibs when they lead to recreational sex.

You know how it is in small town with not much to do in the evening. So, like Cool Hand Luke you start cutting the heads off of parking meters. Quarters pouring onto the pavement in a staccato waterfall of laundry money, you can either pick up the money or just walk on by.



This is about missed opportunities and no regrets. Sometimes, you have to prioritize your options. Let’s assume the following:






It is four in the morning on a Saturday. Your friends have been sober for an hour or so. A night out at the bars was expensive and unremarkable.

There is a truculent blonde on your friend’s futon. She looks sleepy and pissed off at the world. She is impolite and speaks in monosyllables.

Her friend, the object of your lust, is on the futon next to her. She is wearing an ugly hat that does not distract from her braces. She claims to be twenty-two. She could pass for a mature fifteen.


Those are the facts as you know them. You have two options here:

A- Go home. Go to sleep. Go to work in the afternoon.

B- Try to make the move on the third-cutest girl in AP Biology that you met tonight.

You gotta know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away know when to run.

There are various permutations, but those are the basic options. You are not starved for attention from other women. You are a handsome man with a pleasant personality. You have just graduated from college.

There is no excuse for option B. Sometimes, you have to let them go. There will be others. You know how they say, “there are other fish in the sea”? It’s true. There is no need for a feeding frenzy on guppies when you are not hungry. There is no need to gorge yourself when another meal is just around the corner.

Sometimes it’s just catch and release fishing. You meet someone, make their acquaintance, get a number, and that’s it. No obligation. No promises. They were nice, but you don’t need to drive forty-five minutes to see them once in the daylight to know they’re not your speed. So give it up.

Take the compliment and move on.

Love in the time of cholera

Periodically, we will be dispensing advice to random strangers who A. never solicited it and B. will never read this blog. We trolled some sex advice sites, stole the questions, removed the names, and answered in true Alan Wong fashion. Enjoy. Learn something.




My question has to do with my husband. After being together for over twenty years, today he requested anal sex. Not to be performed on me but me doing it to him. Is this telling me something about his sexuality or could he just be curious?

MP- Is this telling you that he’s been harboring homosexual desires for the duration of your twenty year marriage and fantasizing about fucking men while the two of you make sweet matrimonial love? No. Not in the slightest. There is nothing abnormal about “pegging”; lots of women fuck their men in the ass. Not only is it not that freaky, many men genuinely enjoy having their ass played with. If you feel comfortable with it, by all means go ahead. Go out, get yourself a nice strap-on, some good lube, and go to town on him. He’ll appreciate it, and you might just expand your own sexual horizons as well.

EG- It means you better do it. If you want to have any chance of keeping your man, you better strap it on and break him off. Give him the treatment and enjoy the view. It may be telling you something about his sexuality, or it may be telling you something even deeper than that. You should actually get down on your knees and thank whatever deity you believe in, because it means your husband is completely committed to you. If he really wanted to, he could get his fill from another source. But he chose you. If that’s not love, then I don’t know what love is.



I'm a single straight guy who really enjoys performing oral sex on women. A few years ago, I experimented with coke and Ecstasy. The combo made me incredibly horny, but I couldn't get an erection—so I gave girls head for hours and loved every second. Now, I find myself seeking out escorts. I pay them to lie back and let me eat. It's even better if the girl is nonchalant about it—sending text messages, doing my blow, and drinking champagne while I eat. I lose control and bury my face in muff for hours. Why does this turn me on? How do I stop? What's this about?

MP- Many people love nothing more than to eat pussy or suck dick. (And God bless their hearts.) That love for fellatio or cunnilingus can indicate that the person receives pleasure from pleasing their partner, or that they just like the feeling of a hard cock in their mouth or a wet pussy on their lips. Good for them. It sounds like you fall into the latter category: when you’re rolling and high, a delicious McMuff sandwich really hits the spot.

But it sounds to me like you might be developing a mildly expensive habit. Not just financially (I mean, coke+E+escort= pricey), but also in terms of your health. Burying your face in a stranger’s cunt, particularly an escort with a streaky sexual history, might not be the safest sex one can engage in. There are all kinds of nasty oral STIs with all kinds of repercussions: gonorrhea of the throat, syphilis, HPV (which can lead to throat cancer), and the slim possibility of HIV.

So, if you wanna stop, stop. But it doesn’t sound like you do or you would have stopped by now. There are steps you can take to mitigate the threat to your health, however. Most importantly, invest in escorts with a clean bill of health. Drop an additional five hundred bucks for the hour you’ll spend in the Planned Parenthood lobby and get her checked. While you’re there, get yourself checked and ASK about checking your oral health. Clinics will check for the basics, but you’ll have to specifically request a check for your mouth and throat.

And drugs are bad.

EG- I think your problem is with your concoction of cocktails. Add Viagra to the mix, and you should be able to solve at least some of your problems. Aside from that? I don’t see any problems here. It sounds as if your first night was one for the ages. What kind of guy doesn’t live for stories where he can brag that he spent hours on end performing oral on multiple women? Unless it was with the cast of The View, you should be all good. You might be concerned about the amount of money that you are spending, however. Between the coke, ex, and escorts, it sounds like you’ll be going broke any day now. The way I see it is, you have 2 options, none of them pretty. 1) get a female kitten. 2) Get a sex change and a rib removal. Pricey at first, but the cost gets balanced out over the long run.



(It is important to note that we are not sexperts. We do not have a doctorate in clinical sexology. Most of what we know was gleaned from old Ladies' Man sketches on SNL.)

Whatcha gonna do with all that junk

This one goes out to Transformers, voted the best movie you haven't seen yet this summer. GM paid for Sarah Silverman to destroy Paris Hilton, for Mike Meyers to promote the Pontiac whatever-the-fuck it's called, and Shia LeBouf to plug a potential summer blockbuster.

Crass commercialism is what we're all about here. Whatever gets you paid.

Maybe you'll make enough to buy one of these for each of the ladies in your life

Democrats in Wrigleyville

Oh, the lovable losers.

Yes, politics and sports are continually connected like there is an umbilical chord between the two. You will always see politicians at sporting events, vying for camera time and pretending to root for the home team. Some politicians were athletes once upon a time, and most athletes don’t do anything with politics, so there’s a connection there too. But regardless, in America, two things undeniably reign supreme: Politics and Athletics go together like peas and carrots.
Where's John McCain? (hint: 2nd seat from the left.)

Who's the Boss?

Which brings me to my point. The Cubs suck. They always have and they always will. They haven’t won since 1908 and they won’t win anytime soon. They have a dedicated fan base who can simultaneously boo and smile at the same time. The thought of rooting for another team is inconceivable, but there is no pressure to demand improved performance. As long as you can still enjoy a game at the friendly confines, drink a beer, take your shirt off, and drink another beer, who cares about the score?

A sign of life? Probably not.

And that is why they’re exactly like the Democrats. Yes, over the years, the Democrats have had a little more success than the Cubbies, but what difference does that make? Right now, each are equally pathetic. In the past 8 months, both groups have given their fans a reason to cheer, the ‘Crats took back the House and Senate, the Cubs spent over $300 million in the offseason. The results? What results? The Dems caved immediately on their promises to end the war, removing their withdrawal timetable from the most recent spending bill, haven’t produced any significant legislation, and are too busy complaining about Bush without working up the nerves to impeach him. The Cubs, meanwhile, signed a new manager that was successful back in the days of FDR, have been losing from the start of the season, can't pitch, can't hit, can't run the bases, and are too busy complaining to the Umps that they forgot about winning. The more things change, the more they stay the same

The other similarities are eerie too. The Northside is exceedingly liberal (and full of alcoholics). The two most recent superstars for each group (Sosa and Bill) both got in trouble for playing with Corked Bats. The democratic voters never really demand action from their leaders, and Cubs fans will always play hooky to catch the afternoon game in the friendly confines. And when it looked like both the Democrats and the Cubs would make it to the Big Show, Steve Bartman and the Swift Boats showed up rain on the parade. They just can’t win.
As both fanbases say:
Wait till next year.
Right?

Oh, the Audacity of Hope...

The swim test to qualify for the deep end

In a world plagued by laziness and torpor, an elite individual has chosen to press forward and stand up. To stand up for glory and its trappings. To fight for the American dream. To be wealthy without doing a lot of work, to find entertainment regardless of cost, to meet attractive women, and to become a household name. This magnificent man, this fearless and intrepid commander of will and testicular fortitude, scoffs at failure and laughs in the face of terror. This is his world, and we are all mere pawns for him to toy with at his leisure.

It’s just that the world doesn’t know it yet.



And that is why we are here. We are here not to declare his greatness but rather to expose his journey to greatness such that you may glory in his triumph and shudder at his pain. The trials will be many, and the hardships will be unbearable. But bear them he will, and we will be here to document his quest.

The world is a cold, hard, miserable place. Our savior will bring the Duraflame logs, marshmallows and pillows to the cosmic camp-out. All is not lost, for we have a hero in our midst. A man to stand trial for us like Jesus if Jesus was not the product of nepotism. This man will make it without outside help. Or he will fail gloriously in the struggle.

To illustrate the importance of this adventure, I call upon a half-remembered parable by Søren Kierkegaard. To paraphrase:

So there’s this big lake, right? And it’s all frozen because it’s winter. (Kierkegaard was Danish, and it gets chilly in Denmark sometimes.) In the center of the lake, the ice is dangerously thin. Precariously placed upon that ice is a massive jewel of inestimable value.

A crowd would gather on the shore of the lake to witness a terrifying and amazing spectacle. A man, a hero, would venture out onto the ice in an effort to collect the jewel and all the glory that comes with it. The people on the shoreline would gasp and scream as the ice groaned and creaked with the hero’s every step. The hero would either obtain the jewel and the glory OR die and still receive glory.



The subject of these musings is that hero. His journeys, adventures, and misadventures shall serve as an example to us all. We will stand on the shores of his icy lake and look on in wonder and terror as he conquers the world one little piece at a time. So it is written, and so it shall be.

Thriving in the Chamber of Fear

What the fuck is this?

LeBron James is going to the finals. Nobody thought it would happen except for him. With a ragtag bunch of shifty miscreants and overweight and overwrought fans digging their soles on his back, he climbed the ladder and threw it down like Bill Walton told him to. Those who opposed him (read: Tayshaun Prince) cowered in his path like a Yorkshire Terrier walking into Michael Vick’s house. He elevated his game, elevated his sport and elevated his city to a euphoria unfelt before. In the kinescopes of history, this fact isn’t a big deal. It won’t bring about peace in the middle east, lead to a cure for AIDS or do much to get me laid, but it is still something worth mentioning. At 22, he is cementing his place in the grand halls of people who we call legends by executing the kind of performances that we’ll inevitably hear about on Sportscenter 30 years from now. Pantheon type shit.

Across the country, at the same time, those who only dream of being legends watched and reveled in the exploits of someone who is the same age but walks on a different earth. As we cheer him on, we curse him, because, well, fuck! He was born 6’8” and 240 lbs. He has “Chosen 1” tatted between his blades. He’s been touted since he was 11. He is a God amongst Men. His flaws on the court are constantly scrutinized, but in due time, he overcomes them. But, in spite of this, one inescapable fact remains…

He looks goofy as hell when he smiles. Deal with it.

We dedicate this blog to the flawed deities that we idolize (and mock) and impractical dreams that we hold ever so loosely. We have our tragic hero (see the title) and our smug humor (see the post above). We’re outside the Pantheon, looking in through the greasy windows. When you’re on the top of the mountain, everyone can see you. When you’re halfway up, there are a lot of places you can go. We can be our own heroes. We got nothing but words and time, and although we can’t dunk like LeBron, we can write about whatever the fuck we want. That is, until we go corporate.

Read on.

"Congradulations puppy! We found you a new home on a farm in Georgia! I heard they have a lot of dogs for you to play with!"