The Douchebag List

Before I delve into this, it’s important to note that the Aggressive Douchebag of the modern era also goes by the name of poseur. If you see any guy sporting the following:

-Popped collar
-Frosted or spiked tips
-Jeep Wrangler
-Lacrosse stick
-Barbed wire tattoo
-Arrogant smirk and/or an absolutely enraging sense of self-satisfaction

Run away. Or else this guy will have you drinking Franzia and listening to the Beastie Boys in no time. Beware!

Again, this is a mere sampling. If you have any issues with this list, feel free to add to it in the comments. The following people are douchebags:

-The Gotti children. I’m not lying when I say the world would be better off if these children were dead. Like Paris Hilton, these people are sociopaths who haven’t killed anyone yet because they are too fucking weak and stupid to do so.
-Ken Griffey Jr.
-Terrell Owens
-Graduates of Harvard University. The over/under on a Harvard asswipe telling you he went to Harvard? Seven seconds.
-Linkin Park, Good Charlotte, and any other pussyass “rock” band that is not Queens of the Stone Age
-The French
-Poets. Half of all poems are about poetry. This annoys me to no end.
-Dick Vitale
-Scrappy Doo
-Any guy who pisses in the middle urinal of a three urinal bathroom
-Steve Forbes
-Anyone from Cincinnati
-Quentin Tarantino. Badass movies, though.
-TV host James Lipton
-Any grocery clerk who needs “the key” to scan an item. Hey fuckstick, why don’t you just keep the key on you at all times?
-Any MTV News "Reporter"
-Internet movie dumbfuck Harry Knowles
-Everyone responsible for the film "Magnolia"
-Ozzy Osbourne (sorry, Ozzy)
-Eddie Furlong in "Terminator 2”
-Everyone on the Academy Awards telecast
-Marilyn Manson
-Roger Ebert
-Writers for Pitchfork.com
-The staff of Rolling Stone magazine. Green Day saved rock? My ass.
-Billy Crystal
-Darren Star (thanks for creating "Sex and the City," you fucking douchebag. Hate that show)
-Fans of the Boston Red Sox
-Anyone associated with Duke University
-Terry Bradshaw
-Your younger brother
-Jerry Seinfeld. Girliest man ever on television.
-Any guy that doesn’t finish his beer
-Anomalous Yankee douchebag Paul O’Neill
-Jim Koch, brewer of Sam Adams. I work in advertising. This man’s voice is on a tape loop in Satan’s waiting room.
-Paul McCartney (post-Beatles era)
-Anyone who went to prep school (Hey. That’s me!)
-Anyone with a last name for a first name (like Carter or Blake or some other preppy dipshit name like that)
-Carson Daly (See what I mean?)
-Anyone who "summers in Nantucket"
-Anyone who skis and walks around saying how much they love “fresh powder”
-Frasier Crane and Niles Crane
-Billy Joel
-Fans of Billy Joel
-Your friend who got a new girlfriend and doesn’t do jack shit with you anymore (I did this)
-George Bush (the older one)
-Waylon Smithers from "The Simpsons"
-Hamlet. What a puss.
-Kevin Arnold from "The Wonder Years"
-Most independent filmmakers
-Ross from "Friends"
-Larry King (by the way, have you ever noticed that Larry King only likes shitty movies? “Cutthroat Island is a slam-bang thriller! Cracking good entertainment!” An endorsement from Larry King will take $20-$30 million off your opening gross, guaranteed.)
-George Costanza
-CNN newsman Aaron Brown (“What I’m saying is important!”)
-Rodney King
-Trekkies
-Emeril Legasse
-My buddy Scott, who actually thought it was funny one time to punch me in the nuts. This whole punching-other-men-in-the-nuts-because-it’s-fun phenomenon is wrong and fucking annoying.
-Bob Costas
-Jay Leno
-Any contestant on "Deal or No Deal"
-Richard Simmons
-The guy who decided to show chicks peeing in Penthouse
-Fredo Corleone
-Woody Allen
-The Ken doll
-Arsenio Hall
-TV critics who keep insisting that Bonnie Hunt is funny
-Rivers Cuomo of Weezer (good band, though)
-Obi-Wan Kenobi (“So what I told you was true! From a certain point of view.” Try saying that shit to Han Solo.)
-Luke Skywalker
-Kurt Cobain (who killed rock and roll, which is a topic for later discussion)
-Most environmental activists
-R.E.M. lead singer Michael Stipe
-The Tooth Fairy (cheap dipshit)
-Hugh Grant
-K-Fed
-Most Olympians
-Pip from “Great Expectations”
-Styx
-80’s metal band Stryper
-Jon Bon Jovi
-Ahmad Rashad and Sean Salisbury. Both former Vikings. Guhhhhhh.
-Your high school or college valedictorian. Valedictorian speeches are always brutal. You know the type. “It seems just like yesterday when we walked through these doors, the world filled with possibilities, but also a little scary too!” Kid, all anyone wants at a graduation is to get to the roll call. Hurry the fuck up.
-Anybody who wears a letter jacket for a non-sport sport (like Band, or Debate, or Cheerleading, or Lacrosse.)
-Every dipshit on MTVs "The Real World"
-Your high school swim team
-Cameron Crowe. Cameron Crowe movies are bullshit. “Jerry Maguire” was a chick flick that purported to be about sports. “Almost Famous” was a chick flick that purported to be about rocking with your cock out. I hate this man and his painful earnestness.
-People who like Cameron Crowe movies
-The Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Cowardly Lion
-Kobe Bryant
-George F. Will
-Robin
-Pauly Shore (Sorry, Tiff)
-The video store clerk who keeps urging you to rent "Evil Dead 2"
-Andy Rooney
-Anyone who wears black jeans and white sneakers
-The Snuggle Fabric Softener Bear and the Honey Nut Cheerios Bee
-John Rocker
-Packer fans
-Chris Berman
-Peter King
-Pundits (All of them. Liberal or conservative. Die. I would like you to die.)
-Joe Theismann
-Billy Crystal. Again.
-Vince Carter
-Frankie Muniz
-Ashton Kutcher
-Tom Cruise. Of course. Tom Cruise loves the douche!

Midnight Questions And The Evil That Men Do

I do not get to sleep easily. In order to fall asleep, I have to do a few things. First off, I must have an orgasm in some way, shape or form. No problem. I can take care of that in two minutes flat. Second, I have to get whatever song lodged inside my head to go away. This is a fucking horrendous task, especially if I’ve been to Target that day and forced to listen to “Baby, Baby” by Amy Grant at least three times.

Third, I have to clear my head of all thought. You would think this would be easy. I am not a deep thinker. There are lots of people who spend time thinking about God, or death, or the state of world affairs. I am not one of those people. Mrs. Drew will sometimes ask me, “What are you thinking?” and it’ll occur to me that I was thinking of absolutely nothing at all. “I got nothing,” I’ll tell her, and it’s the God’s honest truth. And even if I were thinking about something, that something is likely to be animal crackers.

Yet, when I lay down to sleep, suddenly my brain turns on full throttle. “Hey Drew, what if Metallica got their shit together and made a decent album for a change?” “Hey Drew, do you like fried zucchini? We should make some!” “Hey Drew, when do we get to drink next?” Fucking brain. I have to get all that residual shit out of there before I go to sleep. The only way I know I’m getting to sleep is when I start thinking about random shit, like unicorns, or a blonde Liza Minelli. Shit like that.

And that’s the place I had reached the other night. I was all ready to drift off to sleep, when Mrs. Drew suddenly asks me this:

“Hey, where do you think the mailman goes to pee?”

Are you fucking kidding me, woman? I’m trying to sleep here! You just set the process back a good half-an-hour! Now I have to go jerk off again! Where does the mailman piss? I don’t know! At a fucking Starbucks, like everyone else! Guhhhhh. Women are masters of the Midnight Question. Mrs. Drew doesn’t do it often, but every woman will happily spring a difficult question on you just as you’re about to hit the hay. They could have asked this question any other time during the day. But noooooo, it’s gotta come out at 11:59PM EST. “What should we make for dinner tomorrow?” “Do you think the baby can dream?” “What are you itching?” Dammit, dammit, dammit, no thinking! It’s sleepytime! I demand silence!

This also brings up two other funny things about Mrs. Drew. First, she’ll happily continue a conversation that I assume had ended three days earlier. Apropos of nothing, she’ll say, “So, I think we’ll go with the Rosy Peach.” Huh? What? Is that code or something? “The paint. For the dining room.” Well shit, where did that come from? I need this shit prefaced! I need to be briefed on the details of what we discussed before! That shit goes right out of my brain to make room for all the Amy Grant lyrics. You know that!

Second, Mrs. Drew will project the evils of other men onto me. This is a universal thing that women do. If any man anywhere does something horrible and shitty, they’ll automatically assume that you’re capable of the same thing. Here’s an example. The other night we watched “Match Point”. Good movie, not enough nakedness. Anyway, the dude in this flick (SPOILER) takes a mistress, knocks her up, and then offs her with a sawed-off shotgun. Sweet. Later that night, in bed, Mrs. Drew says to me, “Don’t you go getting a mistress, then getting her pregnant, then killing her.” Well, why the fuck would I do that? I can barely remember to make a sandwich for lunch at work. What makes you think I’m a murderous psychopath prone to infidelity, woman? All of that shit takes effort. And ambition. No thanks.

All I’d like to do is get some rest. And some fried zucchini.

UPDATE: A incredibly nice emailer helps answer Mrs. Drew's question:

"Sorry if this is a bit late, but this is a response to your Midnight Question post. Feel free to pass this along to Mrs. Drew. Or not.

You see, I know where the mailman goes to pee, because my mother is a mailwoman. The simple answer is that she goes home. When she just started, she used to get assignments to deliver mail to bumblefuck, so she'd have to find bookstore or a coffeeshop (this was before a Starbucks was on every corner) on that side of town, preferably one she was delivering mail to. Later, when she got a regular mailroute that was closer to home, she would just go home for lunch (and to use the bathroom). I always wondered if the neighbors thought there was something illicit going on at my house when they saw a mail truck parked out front for about half an hour in the middle of the day.

Also, it's interesting what kind of skills you pick up as a mailperson. My mother is the best parallel parker I've ever known. I'm convinced that if the government fired her, she could get a job as a auto stuntwoman. I don't know how much call there is for short Asian car-driving stuntwomen, but she could probably do an admirable job."

Thank you a million times over, my friend. A good night's sleep awaits.

Confronting the Growing Douchebag Problem

Douchebaggery is nothing new to the world. The origin of douchebags dates to somewhere around the Middle Ages. Why, just think of that one homo prince in “Braveheart”. Total douchebag. And that was, like, the fifth century or something. So douches have been around these parts for a while.

The modern douchebag archetype really took hold sometime in the late 60’s/early 70’s. It was during this time that the douchebag became an urban phenomenon, best personified by acclaimed director and total pussy Woody Allen, seen here:


Guhhhh, what a douche. Anyway, this more cosmopolitan douchebag – which manages to combine whiny insecurity with an almost sociopathic self-centeredness – was the standard bearer well through the Great Asshole Spike of the 1980’s. But this douchebag was relatively harmless, easily suppressed by Assholes and Badasses alike. Certainly nothing to worry about. I myself fit into this more traditional douchebag mold. I’ve come to grips with my own douchey tendencies, and I spend every day trying to control them the best I can. It isn’t easy, but it’s all I can do.

As we progressed into the 90’s, a new kind of douchebag emerged. This MegaDouche, if you will, was cockier than its forebearer. And dumber. Here’s a visual:


Yes, they can reproduce. Ugh. It was around this time that this Aggressive Douchebag population began to explode. And now, we’re faced with a crisis unlike any other in recent American history. These nuveau douches must be destroyed or, at the very least, barred from ever entering a recording studio. But there is hope. A movement against these douchebags has sprung up organically, as a common cause of all rational Americans. Hot Chicks With Douchebags is doing their part. And the immediate backlash against the Duke lacrosse team for rape allegations, despite flimsy evidence, is proof that people want douchebags to be made an example of. Here’s what you need to know to protect yourself:

Douchebag FAQ

Q: Hey, what’s a douchebag? 

A: Douchebags are men who are unknowingly inconsiderate, self-serving, obnoxious, and overall, ANNOYING. 



Q: That’s a boring definition. Spruce it up. 

A: Douchebags snd txt mssgs. Douchebags laugh at their own jokes. Douchebags will repeat a joke they made that you didn’t laugh at because they think you didn’t hear them. Douchebags tell you "this is the best part" 50 times when you watch a movie. Douchebags spend more time bitching about how much work they have to do as opposed to actually doing any work. Douchebags are, simply put, douchebags.

Q: Are you a douchebag? 

A: Again, no. I have made the transition to full-on Badass. 



Q: Can women be douchebags? 

A: No. Women who exhibit douchebaggy behavior are called Shitheads. 

Q: How big is that list? 

A: Holy friggin’ crap, it’s huge. That list starts with any woman who owns a cat and goes on and on after that. 



Q: What if I own a cat? 

A: Any single man who owns a cat is either the biggest douchebag in recorded history or a serial killer. 



Q: Name a famous Shithead. 

A: Drew Barrymore. Watch any interview with her and your eyes will glaze over, as if baked in a kiln.

Q: Can a woman be a Shithead and a Bitch? 

A: Yes, because of the menstrual cycle. 



Q: Are gay men who act like douchebags also called Shitheads? 

A: NO. Oddly enough, a gay man can be a douchebag, but not an asshole. 



Q: Give me the classic example of a traditional douchebag. 

A: That’s easy. Kevin Arnold from "The Wonder Years." Kevin bitches all the time to himself about how much he wants to tell Winnie Cooper that he loves her, then never has the balls to just say it. Jesus Christ, you fucking pussy, strap it on and be a fuckin’ man! 



Q: What about an Aggressive Douchebag?
A: Watch any old footage from Woodstock ’99 and you’ll get a sense of what makes the MegaDouche tick. Or watch MTV. There are so many douchebags on MTV, you can practically taste the vinegar coming out of the screen.

Q: Can douchebags reform? 

A: Much harder for a douchebag to reform than an asshole. Don’t know why. Once a pussy, always a pussy. 



Q: Are douchebags good for the world? 

A: Not really. Assholes, terrible as they can be, are almost always productive. Douchebags tend to dither about and generally act like total dipshits. And anything a douchebag accomplishes is generally not done as a byproduct of their douchebaggery. The world would be better off without them. 



Q: Hey, why is Ozzy a douchebag? Ozzy fuckin rules! 

A: But he almost killed his wife in a drugged-out stupor a few years ago, then didn’t remember anything afterward. Much as I love the guy, he’s a douchebag. 



Q: Are most Jewish people douchebags? 

A: No, you racist asshole. 



Q: Who’s the world’s biggest douchebag? 

A: That one’s a toughie. Because douchebags don’t vary to the degree that assholes do, it’s hard to pick one that stands out. For traditional douchebags, I’d probably have to go with Ross from "Friends." Just an amazing douchebag all around. How do you mess it up with a piece of ass like Jennifer Aniston? Or is it Eddie Furlong in "Terminator 2"? God, he was a little piece of shit. “No, Terminator! Don’t kill people!” Hey kid, fuck you. I paid $10 specifically to watch the Terminator terminate some motherfuckers. Let him do his thing. Or what about Eddie Furlong in real life? See how hard this is? 



For the newer MegaDouches, the easy answer is Kevin Federline. Arrogant. Brain dead. Absolutely no internal sense of self-criticism, despite the fact that the entire world reviles him. It’s hard not to think of Kevin as the quintessential Renaissance Douche.

Q: Who’s to blame for this douchebag epidemic? 

A: Bad parents. Period. Did you name your kid Braden, or Landon, or Jordan, or Tristan, or Carson, or Ashton, or any other disgustingly preppy name? Then YOU are responsible for starting your kid on the path to douchebaggery. Do you give them everything they want? Well, fucking don’t. God forbid they learn to develop a fucking work ethic. Do you let them wear anything they want? Eat anything they want? Do you do everything in your power to get your kids to like you because your Daddy was cold and aloof? Bad move. Your Daddy had the right idea. You had to bust your ass for his approval. That’s smart parenting. This whole “I Want To Be Close To My Kids” thing is total horseshit.

Q: Who’s the most surprising Douchebag? 

A: Probably Tiny Tim of "A Christmas Carol." Yes, the kid’s poor and crippled. But that doesn’t excuse that dipshit "God bless us, everyone" line I gotta hear every Christmas.

Q:
Jesus of Nazareth: Asshole, Badass or Douchebag? 

A: You turn water into wine, my friend, and you are a fucking Badass. 



The most important thing right now is for everyone to recognize the douchebag problem. You won’t be seeing this on the cover of Time or Newsweek (even though you ought to). Word must be spread at the grass roots level. As soon as everyone acknowledges the problem, we can go about figuring out the best way to solve it. This newer douchebag model is virtually impervious to ridicule, so we have to be creative. In the meantime, I’ll publish a comprehensive douchebag list later in the week to get the ball rolling.

The Asshole List

This is only a relative sampling of the general Asshole population. There are certainly people here who I have missed or omitted for the sake of comedy. Feel free to add your own in the comments. But don’t fucking write some shit like, “Hey, my friend Steve is an asshole! You should put him on there!” No one knows who your friend is, and you’re a fucking douche if you propose something like that.

That said, the following people are Assholes:

-The Ghost of Christmas Future. Look, Scrooge is asshole. No doubt about it. But this fuckface won’t even talk to the guy.
-DC Cab Drivers. DC has the worst cab system in the world. You can’t drop a friend off somewhere else during the ride, or else it’s treated like a separate fare. Are you fucking kidding me?
-The guy who clogs up the office toilet with a huge growler and leaves it (I do this)
-Michael Jordan (his assholishness has been well-documented, which actually makes him a more interesting person in retrospect. Maybe Tiger Woods should beat up a busboy. Might make him seem more human.)
-God. But not Jesus. God is the Marv Marinovich of divine parenting.
-Adolf Hitler and most Nazis (that Schindler guy was okay)
-Any police officer with a mustache (which in essence means any police officer)
-Any Irish police officer with a club handy (valid only if you’re black and live in Boston)
-Stalin (love the mustache though)

-Your older brother. My older brother pinned me down and drooled one me and also routinely tickled me until I threw up. Bastard.
-The Turks. Note: Mrs. Drew is half-Armenian, so I have to put the Turks here. She’s also half-German, which means she spends most of the day persecuting herself.
-The warden in "Shawshank Redemption". A quick note: there is nothing more gratifying than an asshole getting killed in a movie, and nothing more frustrating than when the asshole doesn’t get a cap in his ass.
-The guy handling the keg tap who pours beer for every single person in the goddamn universe before finally getting around to you. He’s seen you! He fucking knows you’re there! What the fuck did you do to deserve this shit?

-Any Lawyer. Nothing is worse than someone is both an asshole and a complete bore.
-Anyone who works in finance. Oh, you only got a $50,000 bonus this year? Oh, boo fucking hoo. I hope your house in the Hamptons suffers from erosion. Erosion!
-O.J.
-The hunter who killed Bambi’s mom.
-Santa Claus (seasonal) 

-The guys in the frat house who tell you you’re "part of a brotherhood" before making you fellate a sheep during Pledge Week
-NBA analyst and hairplug victim Peter Vecsey. Hey Vecsey, your jokes aren’t funny. Maybe Jimmy Fallon will hire you.
-Every boy age 5-13, all little assholes

-Sharpton
-Howard Stern (for the record, I’m a huge fan)
-The editorial staff of the New York Post (Times editorial staff goes on the douchebag list)
-The asshole who took Boo Berry cereal off the market. This was a fantastic cereal, almost as good as when they put out the limited edition Crunch Berries that was ALL Crunch Berries. I saw that in the store one time and almost wet myself with excitement.
-Joe DiMaggio
-Billy Martin
-Mickey Mantle
-George Steinbrenner (God, it’s like the Yankees are the cradle of Asshole civilization)
-Ted Williams (Until you consider the Red Sox and their fans)
-Tom Clancy (I saw him lecture when I was abroad at school. He’s one of the biggest assholes on the planet. “Red October” the movie was fucking Badass, though.)
-bin Laden (durka durka durka)
-Bryant Gumbel (“Do you like my self-consciously smooth, palatable delivery of news and opinion? Am I being smarmy enough? Let me check around and see if I can find just a touch more smarm.”)
-Everyone responsible for the condom. Seriously, there has to be another way to avoid the HIV. What if there was some sort of post-coital bleach?
-Bob Knight, who actually goes by “Bobby”, which is a strongly preferred name for assholes. It’s a complete mystery to me. It’s like how anyone named “Cody” is a douchebag. I don’t know why. It just is.
-Tommy Lasorda. Irwin Fletcher backs me up on this.
-The Vice Principal of your high school (he always punished kids because the principal was too gutless. Fucker.)
-Any non-white gang member (see douchebag section for white gangs)
-Darth Vader (pre-Emperor disposal)
-Germans who don’t tip when they come to the U.S.
-Rock band The Eagles and the DJs who actually think "Hotel California" is a good song.
-The guy Al Pacino played in "Heat". If De Niro wins at the end of that flick, it rivals “The Godfather”. But they had to go and fuck it all up. Nice job, Michael Mann, if that is your real name.
-Almost any Mexican bartender. Look, I know I don’t have a vagina, but my pesos are just as good as anyone else’s.
-Dennis Miller and Bill Maher. True, sometimes comics are more insightful about the world than most other people. But when they know that to be the case, it’s a recipe for assholedom.
-Proponents of cockfighting (the kind with chickens, not penises like in the movie “Skin Deep”, which is highly underrated)
-Most any Fortune 500 CEO. You don’t get to the top by loving your wife and paying attention to your children.
-All bouncers
-Smurf nemesis Gargamel. Will you just kill that fucking cat already? All it does is fuck up! Johan and Pee Wee could figure that shit out!
-Traffic cops who make you take a detour with no way to get back to the main road. This actually happened to me once. Mother. Fuckers.
-Pete Rose (Note: belongs in the Grade A class, beats Ty Cobb for baseball’s King Asshole)
-Anyone who has more money than me
-Whoever’s President during a game of Asshole. The Asshole, ironically, is actually a douchebag.
-Joe Pesci’s character in any feature film
-The drill sergeant in "Full Metal Jacket" (perhaps the funniest asshole in the history of cinema)
-Any guy who steals porn from another guy. I, shockingly, have never done this. It’s as if I respect the sanctity of masturbation too much to infringe upon it.
-The Emperor in "Star Wars"
-The guy Kevin Costner plays in any Kevin Costner movie. Talk, damn you! You’re the main character! Fucking talk!
-Barry Bonds
-The Terminator in "The Terminator"
-Roger Clemens
-My Dad at a fancy restaurant. Waiters, this man will bring down hellfire and brimstone upon you if you serve that halibut to the wrong person. So study that table chart carefully.
-Andy Sipowicz on "NYPD Blue" – TV’s most lovable racist!
-The two brothers in Oasis
-The one roommate who eats all the food you bought and then bitches about how there’s nothing to eat. Again, I have never done this.
-Michael Corleone. There are some who may say Michael is a Badass, but that is wrong. His father is the Badass. Michael almost makes the douchebag list because he’s deluded himself into thinking that he’s protecting his family. But he’s just too cold to belong there. He goes here.
-Any rapper on MTV Cribs who shows off everything he bought after he got his advance that will soon be taken away because he got all of it with bad credit.

FKS Field Guide – Assholes and Badasses

I got a note from Yahoo saying my old site dedicated to Assholes, Douchebags, and Badasses was about to be erased. So this week and next, I’ll be updating you on the modern definitions of all three terms and listing examples of guys who fit snugly into each category. If you’ve seen this before, don’t worry. It’s all been updated and revised.

The world, as you may or may not know, contains roughly 3 billion men (There are more women on the planet than men. Which, for you ladies, explains why that one fat friend of yours can’t find a husband.) These men fall into four separate categories: Asshole, Douchebag, Good Shit, and Badass. There is no overlap. You cannot be both at the same time. This categorization is more important than ever now, as the douchebag population has grown wildly out of control in recent years. We need to recognize and curtail the problem now, before it’s too late. Today, we’ll be covering Assholes and Badasses. Let’s go to the Asshole FAQ:

Q: What is an asshole?
A: An asshole is a heterosexual male who is knowingly inconsiderate, self-serving, and obnoxious.

Q: That’s a boring definition. Can’t you give details?
A: Assholes are part of all our lives. They are everywhere, from the fucker who cut you off on the way to work, to that piece of shit weatherman who smiles as he tells you a violent hailstorm is coming tomorrow. Assholes cut in line. Assholes mess up families with one wife and then start a new a family with another wife so they can "get it right this time." Assholes hog the bong. Assholes are never wrong. Assholes fart and don’t own up to it. Assholes, simply put, are assholes.

Q: Hey, isn’t an asshole also the place where poopy comes out?
A: Yes, but that is not relevant here.

Q: Are you an asshole?
A: I used to think of myself as more of a douchebag. I work in advertising. I also went to prep school. And, of course, my roommate’s girlfriend walked in on me when I was beating off to "The Price is Right" during freshman year. Typical douchebag behavior. The poor girl is probably blind now. But no, now that I have gone five days alone caring for The Girl, I am a Badass. There’s no doubt about it.

Q: My father beat me up when I was a kid. Is he an asshole?
A: Yes, unless you were a douche and had it coming.

Q: Why do assholes have to be men?
A: Because women who exhibit assholish behavior are called Bitches.

Q: Why is there no Bitch List?
A: Because I can only write so much. Suffice it to say, the list starts with my ex-girlfriend and unspools for miles thereafter.

Q: Why can’t gay men be assholes?
A: Because gay men who exhibit assholish behavior are also called Bitches.

Q: What about lesbians, then? Can they be assholes?
A: No, lesbian bitches are still just bitches. Funny how that works.

Q: Do assholes split along party lines?
A: Somewhat. Republicans, who take money from big corporations while feasting on the innards of immigrant children, tend to be assholes. Democrats, who are huge pussies when it comes to having to blow shit up, tend to be more douchebag in nature. This is not a hard and fast rule, as you will find that Former President George H.W. Bush is a douchebag. And, of course, Former President Bill Clinton is a Grade A Flaming Red Asshole.

Q: Grade A? Are there degrees of assholishness?
A: Absolutely, and here they are:
GRADE F: Asshole. This is your standard, everyday asshole. Like the guy at the convenience store who bitches when I give him a twenty. He’s an asshole.
GRADE D: Real Asshole. This is a guy who busts balls for the everyday fun of it. Your Boss generally belongs here.
GRADE C: Major Asshole. This is where assholes start to get dangerous. Major assholes blatantly inconvenience you for the sake of their own assholishness. Major Assholes are prevalent at the Department of Motor Vehicles.
GRADE B: Fuckin’ Asshole. Now people start to get hurt. Fuckin’ assholes beat wives, bat .230 when they’re making $10 million a year, and can indirectly hurt people for their own profit. These can range from Major League Baseball player Carl Everett to any oil company executive.
GRADE A: Flaming Red Asshole. Reserved only for men whose assholish behavior was innovative and historic. Hitler? Stalin? Flaming Red Assholes.

Q: Hey, speaking of Hitler and Stalin, who’s the biggest asshole in history?
A: The Kraut and the Pinko are neck and neck, but we’ll go with Hitler. Stalin starved 20 million people to death but did it with no regard to race or gender, whereas Hitler devised a system to kill 6 million people, and would have gladly killed more if it weren’t for Uncle Sam and Co. Bonus points for the mustache. But, I’d also like to think that the world’s biggest asshole is out there, somewhere, hidden and lurking among us. Where could he be? And what waiter is he planning to insult? If I see the fucker, I’mma punch him in throat.

Q: Are assholes more prevalent in certain areas of the country?
A: In general, you can say the East Coast is full of assholes, while the West Coast tends to be awash in whiny little douchebags. And the Midwest, of course, is full of fat people.

Q: Can fictional characters be assholes?
A: You bet. How about that police chief in "Die Hard"? What was up his ass? Total asshole.

Q: What’s the difference between an asshole and an asswipe?
A: Asswipes are douchebags. Same term.

Q: Are assholes good for the world?
A: They absolutely can be. Assholes get things done. And that’s a healthy thing for scoiety. Assholes also keep things interesting. Every guy has an asshole friend. Why be friends with that guy? Because you need an asshole in your hip pocket. They yell at women. They steal things. It’s always handy to know one. As for the good assholes, former NYC mayor Rudy Guiliani cleaned up Manhattan by adhering to a strict code of persistent assholish behavior. And it takes the leadership of a born asshole to get New York through 9/11 the way he did. But, on the flipside, assholes like Hitler did some serious bad for the world. Killing Jews, at least in this country, is a big no-no.

Q: Can assholes reform?
A: Absolutely. Look at Darth Vader. Oppresses the Rebel fighters and tries to lure Luke Skywalker to the Dark Side, only to pull it together in the end and toss the Emperor down a fancy-looking garbage chute, automatically qualifying him as a Badass. Nice job, asshole!

Q: Can you be an asshole and a douchebag at the same time?
A: Again, no. The difference between the two is that the asshole knowingly aggravates. The douchebag unknowingly agitates. It’s impossible to pull both off, unless you suffer from schizophrenia like the guy in "A Beautiful Mind," who brilliantly pulled off the asshole/douchebag twin billing.

Q: Is there an Asshole Heaven?
A: Not sure, but there is definitely an Asshole Hell. Once there, you are given an IROC coupe, a carton of Winstons, and a monster kick in the nuts from Satan.

Q: If an asshole marries a bitch, do they have little assholes and little bitches?
A: Yup.

Q: Okay, if you aren’t a douchebag, you aren’t insane, and you aren’t an asshole, then what are you?
A: You are either a Good Shit or a Badass.

Q: What’s a Badass?
A: An asshole who can get away with it because he’s a cool fucker. If you need a visual explanation, see Col. Kilgore above. Badasses are extremely rare, accounting for less than 1% of the entire male population.

Q: What’s a Good Shit?
A: A normal, everyday, fairly unexciting guy. This species is slowly becoming more extinct, and this is not a good thing. Since 1900, the percentage of Good Shits in the population has decreased dramatically, with Douchebags coming on strong. And that could lead to severe Global Douching.

Q: Can assholes be Badasses?
A: No. Badasses get a pass from the Asshole List. Even Patton.

Q: Who’s the most surprising asshole?
A: Could be Muhammad Ali. Respected as a boxer and civil rights activist, Ali’s gone through wives like I go through a bag of Doritos, racially taunted noted Badass Joe Frazier for no good reason, and helped Don King rise to prominence. That’s an asshole!

Q: Are all serial killers assholes?
A: Surprisingly, no. Take Jeffery Dahmer. Dahmer went to work on time, did his business, didn’t bother anyone, and led a peaceful home life. If you take out the times when he kidnapped, sodomized, killed and ate young boys, he’s a relative Good Shit. Insane? Yes. But an asshole? Not really.

Q: Is the President an asshole?
A: Yes. But people who bring up politics in polite conversation are douchebags.


Q: Why is Santa Claus an asshole?
A: Anyone who’s seen the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Christmas Special knows that Santa Claus is the racist asshole who made Rudolph hide his nose for so long. Big jackoff. And when I asked for a copy of Velvet when I was twelve years old, Santa totally bagged out. What an asshole.

Q: Was Malcolm X an asshole?
A: Tough call, but no. Malcolm X was a Badass, a Righteous Black Man who inspired millions of American black people and spawned a line of really cool X baseball caps. And, without Brother Malcolm, there’d be no Public Enemy. And Public Enemy was the tits.

Q: Help! Everyone at my office is an asshole!
A: You must work in finance or in law. Most assholes go straight into those fields right after graduating from Dartmouth and stealing your girlfriend. Now they get to be millionaires. Bullshit world, eh?

Q: Does the animal kingdom have assholes and douchebags?
A: Yes. I think we’ve all seen asshole dogs in action. They bark at everything, bitch about the food they get, and shit all over the place. Asshole dogs, of course, are owned by asshole owners, hence the similarity in looks.

Q: Okay, so let’s see the lists of Assholes and Badasses.
A: You’ll have to wait until Friday for that. Told you I was a bit of a douche.

Grading the Celebrity Children

In case you haven’t noticed, it’s fucking hot outside. I saw a weather map yesterday and the entire country was red. And not that pussyass cherry red that means it’s only 80. I’m talking the deep crimson “You’re in Really Serious Shit” red; the red that usually only surrounds Phoenix on the USA Today map. It ain’t no dry heat either. It’s a dripping wet balls-sticking-to-your-thigh heat. Which means my brain isn’t working so good today. So let’s point out the faults of celebrity children, which requires no thought whatsoever.

Remember, we’ll be grading these children using my patented Baby Rating System. Any baby or toddler that scores lower than a 3 should be discarded immediately!


-Apple Martin. Grade: 5
Getting Apple started early on the Coldplay, are we? Smart move. You have to get people listening to Coldplay early on in life. That way, they become inured to songs that are completely sterile and devoid of anything remotely resembling passion. Are you ready to not rock? Apple sure is! This is a fairly cute kid. That shirt she’s wearing is way too billowy. Those jeans are last year’s. And the giant pink earphones, combined with the thumbsucking, suggest that Apple is not all that advanced (that stupid fucking name is no help either). But no worries for her. In time, she’ll be just like her mommy: a pretentious Anglophile who seriously overestimates her own beauty, talent, and intellect. Jolly good!


-Rowan Henchy. Grade: 6
Grier Henchy. Grade: 2
These are Brooke Shields kids, which means they’ll be smoking hot at age 16, only to slowly turn into men in drag by age 35. Did you know Brooke had postpartum depression? She did! She even wrote a book about it in order to cope! And, if you pay $22.95 for it, you’ll be helping Brooke cope even more! Let’s start with Rowan. Mildly cute. Bonus points for the hair. The nose is turned too far upwards for my taste. But she is doing that precious “I’m holding my own hand” thing, which gets her another bonus point. Grier, on the other hand, is a problem. Notice how low the eyes are set. That’s a five-head in the making. The side of the head also looks misshapen, like a bad avocado at Whole Foods. And she’s got that pasty newborn skin – almost a sort of an Eddie Munster complexion. You’re batting .500, Brooke. Let’s get that average up!


-Sean Preston Spears Federline. Grade: 9
Say what you will about Britney and the anchor she chained herself to, but this is a good-looking kid. Sean has the whole cherub thing down pat: full cheeks, doe eyes, and that perfect little tuft of baby hair. It’s almost a shame to know that this kid is probably going to die soon. Babies are more attractive when their heads and limbs are intact. Also, a point deduction for the folds of fat on the upper body. We don’t want to end up like Mommy now, do we?


-Shiloh Jolie-Pitt. Grade: 3
What a letdown. I was expecting full lips and a penchant for sex with knives. No such luck. I’m not liking that piggy nose. At this rate, Shiloh won’t even be as hot as the two chicks in that car crash mix-up over in the corner. And that would be a damn shame. By the way, there are two types of guys out there: There’s the guy that sleeps with the crazy woman but manages to get out of it just before he gets locked into a life of abject misery, and then there’s the guy who sleeps with the crazy woman one too many times and ends up with three children in the span of a year. You don’t want to be in the latter category.


-Sam Sheen. Grade: 4
When Sam is 16, I want her Dad to say this to her at least once a day: “You wear too much eye makeup. My sister wears too much. People think she’s a whore.”


-Violet Affleck. Grade: 1
Ouch. That is one dour-ass baby. Give that girl a cigar and a golf hat. “Yeah! I’m a baby, see? Yeah. And I want you to push me this way. Yeah. And I want a nice stroller. A Bugaboo, yeah. And I want you to pay for it in unmarked $100 bills, see? Yeah. Not so tough now, are ya, Agent Bristow? Yeah.”


-Suri Cruise. Grade: Imcomplete


-The Girl. Grade: 10
Dan Brown wasn't bullshitting you about the whole Sacred Feminine thing. Have your frankincense ready if you visit.

Five Things That Will Scare The Living Shit Out Of Your Kids

Anyone can beat their children. That’s easy. Just ball up a fist and send them flying. But if you want to inflict true psychological scars on your offspring, well you need to be a bit more ambitious than that. When I was a freshman in college, I went to go see “Natural Born Killers” in the theater with my brother. Sitting in front of me was a man who had brought his five-year-old. You see? Now that’s what I’m talking about. I could barely watch the movie, I was so horrified for the kid’s future. That kid is probably seventeen now. If he wants to buy a pack of Winstons at your convenience store, I highly recommend you let him.

Anyway, here are five things I experienced as a youngster so that The Girl doesn’t have to:


-The Wicked Witch of the West
God dammit, this woman is scary. Imagine the worst fire-breathing bitch of a librarian you’ve ever met, only now she’s a bloodthirsty maniac who wants to fuck you up and steal your shoes. Think of the damage this über-harpy could wreak on the streets of Southeast DC. She’d have eight pairs of vintage Air Force Ones in her possession within an hour. And they call “The Wizard of Oz” a family film. What kind of fucked up opium/ether speedball was needed to invent this story? Flying monkeys? Homicidal green women who are deathly allergic to water? Organized lollipop unions? No wonder that one munchkin hung himself backstage. This is fucking disturbing stuff. This chick’s laugh still haunts my night terrors. Keep your kid away.


-The End Reveal of “Psycho”
Everyone is scared shitless by the shower scene in “Psycho”. And yeah, that one will have you bypassing washing your back so you can get the fuck out of the bathroom. But no one talks about end of that movie, when the chick in the fruit cellar discovers Norman Bates’ mom is a corpse and whirls around to see a knife-wielding cross-dresser with a stabbing fetish smiling at her. Sometimes I go into the basement to get laundry and my brain will say to me, “Hey, there could be a guy in a dress in the room next door who wants to slash the shit of you, you know.” Do I then sprint the fuck up the stairs with my whites? Yes I do. This is what happens when you watch “Psycho” when you’re eight. My asshole closes at the mere thought of it.


-The Steak That Eats That One Guy’s Face in “Poltergeist”
At least, I think it eats the guy’s face. Fuck if I know what actually happens, because my eyelids are over my lips at that point. Up until I saw this flick, meat had been my friend. It was soft, tender, and delicious. It did not slowly creep along the fucking countertop, waiting to fuck my shit up. You see that steak start to move, and you just know something bad is about to happen. And no one notices! God dammit, people, a tree already tried to eat your kid. Don’t just leave a ribeye sitting around. It’s gonna turn on you. Dumbshits.


-Old Radio Ads for “The Fly”
I never saw this flick in ‘86, but the radio ads were enough. I had a radio in my room when I was 10, and I’d listen to music to get to sleep. So imagine, after spending a quality night trying to unlock the secrets of my penis and listening to “The Power of Love”, a creepy old lady coming on the air and singing this song:

There was a young man who turned into a fly.
I don’t know why he turned into a fly.
Perhaps we’ll die.
Perhaps we’ll dieeeeeeeee.

I slept with my brother for the next month. You don’t just put ads like that one the radio. That song is creepy enough in its original version. Why is that song a kid’s song? An old lady is eating insects and we’re speculating on her death? That’s fucked. That song is banned.


-The Metallica “One” Video
“This young man will be as unfeeling, as unthinking as the dead, until the day he joins them.” You know, I just wanted to rock. That’s really all I came to the table for. This video scared the shit out of so many people, they had to release the “jammin’ version” without any of that fucked up “Johnny Got His Gun” footage. Seriously, when the kid with no arms and legs started to flip out, I had to change the channel, then check back periodically to see if they had gone back to Kirk Hammett wailing on his shit. But I’d always fuck up and get that “I’m like a piece of meat that keeps on living!” line. Guhhhhh. I want metal to celebrate violence, not make me think of the existential consequences of it. Brutal. Awesome song, though.

NOTE: Last night I had to go downstairs to make the Girl a bottle at 4AM. Because of this bit, I thought of all five of the above things at the same time and almost had a nervous breakdown. If anyone ever tells you writing is cathartic, stab that person with a knife for me.

Children With Penises Are Overrated

The other day the family and I packed up the car and headed over to Marshall’s. Marshall’s – It’s just like a department store, except that you’re poor! Anyway, we go into the store and I start looking for some white t-shirts. If you’ve ever been to a Marshall’s (or a TJ Maxx, or any other place that’s the retail equivalent of Goodwill), you know that finding anything specific in there is like trying to find your dog’s shit after dark. The entire store is gigantic bargain rack, which means the clothing you’re looking for was likely thrown on the floor, or placed next to a 64 oz. jar of apple butter.

At any other store, I’d look for an employee to tell me where the shirts are. But this is Marshall’s. You’d have better luck finding a copy of High Society at Ryan Seacrest’s house than finding an employee at Marshall’s. Or, if you’re like me, you do the thing where you accidentally ask a black guy who doesn’t work there where something is. Hooray, casual racism! And, even if you do find an actual employee, it’s unlikely that their brain has synapses that actually fire.

So I go to find my stuff the old fashioned way, when I notice a kid in the shoe section. This kid was probably 13 years old. He weighed roughly 200 pounds, wore dirty mesh shorts that hung down below his knees, and a t-shirt that was three sizes too big (didn’t know they made quintuple XL’s). He wore knee-high socks that had no elastic in them. He had bedhead and clearly hadn’t showered in two or three days. I thought I had already seen my worst nightmare. I was wrong.

God, I’m glad my child doesn’t have a penis. Yes, there are things to worry about when you have a girl. Will she date normal guys? Will she fall in with the wrong crowd? What if she can’t get on the list at Bungalow 8? Those are all normal concerns. But a son comes with worries all his own. You’ll always love a daughter. But what if, for reasons beyond your control, your son becomes a complete and utter tool? What if you love him, but don’t actually like him? What if he ends up being fucking Stewart from “Beavis & Butthead”?

Looking at that kid at Marshall’s, I thought to myself that, if he was my kid, I’d probably spend 12 hours a day just punching the shit out of him. Until I suddenly realized why the kid frightened me so. Because, at that age, I was exactly the same. When I was 13, I ordered a t-shirt from the back pages of Rolling Stone that said “New Kids on the Chopping Block.” It featured an illustration of Joe, Jordan, Donnie, Danny, and Jon (I listed that from memory) with their heads cut off. I thought it was the greatest t-shirt ever. God, what a fucking douche.

It gets worse. I was overweight. I had dandruff. When I sat on the couch, I stuck my hands in my pants. I liked making cinnamon toast 3 times a day. I thought Baja shirts were cool. I fucked my sheets. This is not the stuff greatness is made of. If I have a son, it’s likely I’ll be confronted with a spitting image of myself at the most awkward, miserable time of my life. Stupid Freudian insight! The Girl comes with no such baggage. She’s perfect. She’s clean, affable, and smells like apricots. My son would likely have none of those features.

My plan is to hold off on having the next kid until I’m 65. Then, we can have a boy by surrogate. That way, by the time he’s morphed into 13-year-old dipshit with unmistakable Drew-like qualities, I’ll be long dead of cirrhosis of the liver. Now that’s Planned Parenthood.

Oh, and I found the t-shirts. You can hide all you want, Calvin Klein men’s crew necks, but I’ll always find you.

The Playboy Channel Story

My buddy Jeremy (not his real name) has a cousin named Gary. Back in ’99, Gary worked in sales for the Playboy Channel. More importantly, Gary somehow convinced Playboy executives to give him his own show on the channel. It was called The Helmetcam Show. Maybe you’ve seen it, or maybe you’re a liar.

Here was the premise of The Helmetcam Show: Gary, wearing a bike helmet with a camera mounted on top, interviewed porn stars and Playmates live in the studio, took some calls, and did field pieces from strip clubs, porn award shows, and porn star conventions. Oh, and the theme song of the show was performed by Sir Mix-A-Lot. Here’s a sample of the lyrics:

…And if you like a little three-way,
Helmetcam’s got it!
…Or a tight shot on the pussy,
Helmetcam’s got it!

There is absolutely no good reason for this show to have ever existed. How Gary convinced Playboy execs that this was a good idea is beyond me. He must be the greatest salesman in the history of the universe. Pissing off horny, lonely men is a terrible idea. Every man knows that the longest time ever comes between the moment you purchase porn and the moment you see a naked body on the screen. So imagine plunking down your hard-earned $11.99 for a three-hour block of Playboy, dick in hand, only to first encounter a short, balding Jewish man wearing a Giro helmet on top of his head. Wars start over things like this.

And helmetcams are a bad idea during football games. In porn, they’re even more useless. During the show, Gary would often stare at a stripper’s breasts, only to realize the camera was aiming at the girl’s throat, which meant he had to pan down and sort of search around for the girl’s rack. All while a perfectly competent professional cameraman, with years of experience lighting and shooting breasts, was standing five feet away.

But all criticisms of the show are beside the point. The important thing here is that Jeremy and I knew someone with his own show on the Playboy Channel, and that was fucking awesome. Our story (which happened before I met Mrs. Drew) begins at the now defunct Park Avalon restaurant near Union Square in Manhattan. That’s where I first met Gary. Jeremy and I met him for drinks there. He was accompanied by a friend of his from work. That friend was Tiffany Granath, host of Playboy’s “Night Calls”, a show Gary occasionally wrote for (make of that what you will). Here’s a picture of Tiffany that is safe for work:


If you do a Google image search (and turn the SafeSearch off. That’s for pussies.), you will find Tiffany far more naked than she is here. Not that I would know anything about that.

Jeremy and I sat down. Within 10 minutes, Tiffany was talking about losing her virginity to Pauly Shore. We were complete strangers to this girl, yet she had no problem divulging that she had lost her innocence to the douchebag from “Bio-Dome”. It’s not often you get a chance to meet someone that completely and utterly vapid. Jeremy and I were transfixed.

During drinks, Gary said he would let Jeremy call in to his show one night, provided that he not disclose his relationship to Gary while on air. Also, due to Playboy’s erratic shooting schedule, there was no telling when Jeremy would be able to call in. Gary might call him at a moment’s notice to let him know he could get on the air. Jeremy agreed to all these conditions immediately.

A bit of background on the people who call into these shows: almost all of them a) Are shitfaced, b) Have a Southern accent, and c) Claim to be “partying,” when you know damn well they’re laying spread eagle at the foot of a Motel 6 bed. So calling into these shows without making yourself sound like a convicted sex offender from Arkansas isn’t easy. But Jeremy would triumph over these formidable obstacles, though certainly not on purpose.

Jeremy and I lived together in a studio apartment on 57th St. in Manhattan. A few weeks after meeting Gary and Tiffany, I went out to drink with a few friends. Jeremy was out with people from his work, so we never bothered to meet up. Adequately shitfaced, and with no prospects for the night, I went back to the apartment.

When I walked in the door, the place had been wrecked. Given that Jeremy and I never took out the trash, did dishes, or vacuumed, it took a lot to make the place look considerably worse than it already did. No matter. My nightstand had been torn down. Sheets had been ripped off my bed. Lamps were strewn about the floor. I thought I had been robbed. Some motherfucker had clearly made off with my George Foreman Grill, and the idea of that really pissed me off.

But no one had robbed me. Over on the bed was Jeremy, out-of-his-mind shitfaced and trying to find the phone. He had come back to apartment, failed to turn on any of the lights, and decided to search for the phone by feel alone. I jumped on Jeremy and immediately began beating the shit out of him. And not in a playful way. I was actually assaulting him. Here was the conversation that ensued. Try and picture Jeremy laughing during this entire exchange:

“You stupid fuck!”
“No, wait!”
“You will fucking die now!”
“No! Gary!”
“Die!”
“Gary!”
“Fuck!”
“Gary!”
“Die, fuck!”
“I’m trying to call Gary!”
“What?”
“Tonight! I have to call Gary!”

I paused. Jeremy pointed to the TV. Gary’s show was on. Jeremy couldn’t find the phone, or the light. Yet he had managed to grab the remote, turn on the TV, and order pay-per-view porn. All while in the dark. If that doesn’t sum up the male species as a whole, I don’t know what does. Jeremy called in and got someone on the other end of the line. It was the show producer. He was going on.

This was a special night for Gary’s show. In the studio were none other than Jenna Jameson and Nikki Tyler. Mind you, this was 1999, seven years and roughly 200 kilos of blow removed from the weatherbeaten Jenna Jameson you see today. It was an electrifying moment. Jenna and Nikki sat on the couch. Gary took Jeremy's call. With me on top of Jeremy, and literally thousands of naked men watching, this is what happened:

Gary: And, on the phone we have Jeremy. Jeremy, you there?
Jeremy: Uh… uh… Helmetcam!
Gary: Hey, Jeremy.
Jeremy: Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.
Gary: Hey Jeremy, you been partying?
Jeremy: Yeah, whatever. Hey Jenna!
Jenna: Yes, Jeremy?
Jeremy: Jenna, why don’t you help Nikki out there?
Jenna, apropos of nothing: You want me to take her pants off?
Jeremy: Uh… yeah.

Jenna whipped out a pair of scissors and cut off Nikki’s pants. I have no idea why she did that. Pants are made so that you can remove them without scissors. And these were skintight Lycra pants. The odds of Jenna giving Nikki an ad-libbed episiotomy were quite high. Regardless, Jeremy was excited.

Jenna: How’s that?
Jeremy: That is… FANTASTIC.

Then, Jeremy had an epiphany.

Jeremy: Hey, Jenna!
Jenna: Yeah?
Jeremy: Why don’t you give Nikki a little kiss?

Jenna agreed and began to hoover Nikki’s face with extreme prejudice.

Jeremy: That is… FANTASTIC.

Jeremy had done it. He had called in and made himself into an impromptu porn director. It was riveting theatre. Better than “Schindler’s List.” Jeremy and I were likely the only people watching who were not climaxing at that very moment. Astounding. But then, Jeremy got cocky, and his inner douchebag got the best of him.

Jeremy: Hey Jenna, if you’re ever in New York and want to date an investment banker…
Gary, cutting him off: Okay Jeremy, thanks a lot!

And Jeremy's offer still stands to this very day.

(An epilogue to this story: Gary made a tape of Jeremy's performance and sent it to him. Jeremy's entire family watched it. Jeremy's mom said she thought the tape was “cute”. Nothing cuter than getting shitfaced and hitting on a porn star on live television!

Jeremy is still in possession of this tape. I’ve asked him to send me the tape so I can convert it to video and post it here. If you would like to see it, I strongly urge you to let him know in the comments section.)

(One other note: Jeremy's other cousin was present at the taping. After the show, he and Gary went for dinner with Jenna and Nikki. He said he’s never met two more annoying people in his life.)