While on a conference call with a client who spent the majority of the time figuring out an easy content management system who dropped the following phrase numerous times, “Okay. Hold on just a second …5 minutes of silence… Ohhhhhhhhhhh. That is easy!” I was left with time to ponder important Art Director decisions. Decisions like who the hottest bitches of 2008 are. According to Maxim, it is Sports Illustrated Swimsuit cover model Marissa Miller. Well played, Maxim. I do, however, have to take exception with your placement of Britney at 19. Seriously? 19? FHM gave the hot chick medal of honor to Megan Fox. Even though Jake is gay and has no love for her, she is slutty delicious and I look forward to seeing her rack in more overly-hyped, big budgeted, acting-anemic Michael Bay joints. Then there are the lesbians. Apparently they are all about Tina Fey. Look, I get it. She is smart, cute, has that trashy librarian vibe and is funny on 30 Rock. But number 1? You disappoint me, lesbians. Her face scar alone should drop her out of the top ten (strictly from a comparison standpoint). Lastly, I take extreme exception with Gwen Stefani not being mentioned on any of these lists (and I know from personal experience that the lesbians love Gwen Stefani). Please review this Maxim, FHM and lesbians. That is all.
- The comics deal that put Mile High Comics and Charles Rozanski on the map.
- The 20 biggest record company screw-ups of all time. Number one? The killing of Napster. Also ridiculous yet notable; the selling of Motown for peanuts, letting Bob Dylan go for a thousand bucks and the Guns N’ Roses Chinese Democracy debacle.
- An image gallery of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue covers from 1964-2008.
- George Clooney is a bitch. All the deviants on my Thursday night ice hockey team judged me a few weeks ago for not having seen Two Girls And 1 Cup. So I gave into peer pressure and watched the scat sickness unfold before me. I am convinced the two girls were eating chocolate soft serve ice cream and not engaging in actual corpophilia. I need footage of the poop in question being shat into the cup, not the cup going off camera and than magically re-entering the frame filled with poop. Who are you judging now, Thursday night ice hockey team?
- In California, science dorks are getting their panties in a twist over the first substantiated wolverine sighting since the 1920s. Yee-haw! It is a large, ferocious weasel!
- Erotic Falconry is a great idea with poor execution (Read: birds of prey Photshopped into pictures of hot chicks). I was expecting topless shots of hot chicks with falconers gloves and assorted raptors affixed to them. I guess my standards are just too high. You disappoint me yet again, internet.
- Kate Beckinsale. Meow. I have been a fan ever since she started fighting werewolves and vampires in a tight, black jumpsuit and bustier.
- Lindsay Lohan. Doing the Marilyn thing (NSFW). Whatever. Everyone has seen her cash and prizes (NSFW) before, so getting an unobstructed view of her bare chest is not all that exciting. Regardless, the pictures are tastefully done and my maleness caused me to pause and acknowledge her befreckled fun bags. It is still too difficult to tell if the carpet matches the drapes due to her clean, close shave.
- Scarlett Johansson and Natalie Portman. It is a strange moment when Natalie Portman becomes the grenade in any scenario, but she is standing next to Scarlett Johansson’s tits. Those things are like attractive friend Kryptonite; their glory weakens any hotness within their immediate vicinity.
The always timeless Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue hits newsstands this week and SI has posted a complimentary web directory so comprehensive that it nullifies the need for a printed magazine. The Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue is responsible for me spending the better half of my formidable years tacking Kathy Ireland covers to my wall, enduring repeated viewings of Necessary Roughness and making Pee-Chee folder collages with shots of Elle McPherson and her snorkeling equipment. Back then, you could not find a sport associated with bikinis so it was nigh impossible to justify a pubescent grocery store checkout line purchase to your mother. But than this happened. And it was good.
There are degrees of physical attractiveness in this world. While Jessica Biel is “Girl Next Door” hot and Diane Lane is “Cougar” hot, this specimen is the classic example of “Fucked Up” hot. Cute yet embattled face, rock hard abs, horrible tattoos and a penchant for living on the wrong side of the law. Did daddy not hug you enough, fucked-up hot girl? Or did he hug you too much? Does the weed and the booze numb you enough to emotionally handle collecting all the dollar bills from the stage at the end of your dance? Do your three illegitimate children live with your mom or are they being raised by television in a trailer park somewhere? The world may never know what drives you, fucked-up hot girl, but we will keep trying to learn through future arrests and tribal yin-yang tattoos.
Jake: Meh. She does not stun me. Who cares if she can play some golf?
Me: I guess it is nice to know that she is not just a useless hot bitch. She can hit the shit out of a golf ball, too.
Jake: Give me Heidi Klum playing with her tits any day.
Me: Well, duh. Her tits are fantastic.
Jake: “Great knockers!”
Me: The Seal thing baffles me. I bet she is a size queen. It is the only explanation.
Jake: Never thought of that.
Me: Him and Edward James Olmos could be brothers with all that shit on their faces.
Jake: Ha! Seal had lupus. Cut the guy a break. He is just trying to get by.
Me: I do not call banging Heidi Klum “Getting By.” I call that “Out Punting Your Coverage.” “Getting By” is laying wood to someone like Britney Spears.
Jake: That is not “Getting By” that is “Giving Up.”
I was just informed by Team Hofkamp that the following video was playing at a neighborhood CB & Potts this past Friday during the family allotted dining hour.
You made that family dinner hour your bitch, CB & Potts.
The Here I Go Again video filled my pubescent years with countless hours of masturbatory fodder. Tawny Kitaen’s ruby tresses flowed in the wind as sheer linen robes exposed her bulbous breasts and buttocks while she stretched and gyrated her limber body all over the hood of David Coverdale’s car. It was a sight to behold. Unfortunately for Tawny, this was the zenith of her career. Soon after she defiled that black muscle car, her life and looks degenerated in the magical world of happy dust, prescription medication and attacks on her ex-husband with a shoe.
Jake: Turn it to ESPN.
Jake: Just do it.
I turn the channel to see Maria Sharapova, adorned in her little skirt, grunting, moaning and serving heat to Japan’s Ai Sugiyama at Wimbledon. In a well-played tennis match, Sharapova won 5-7, 7-5, 6-1. She will now face Lindsay Davenport in the semifinals. It is moments such as these that reinforce why I am friends with Jake.