Guys, do we really need more televised proof that women are better than us?
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Goodbye, guys selling “Too Close for Comfort” reruns to emerging markets that have yet to discover the joys of Jim J. Bullock.
Some things should never change. Albert Pujols’ swing. The creamy filling of a Double Stuf Oreo. The unexplainable glee of seeing people land on their heads on “Wipeout.”
Throw the collected works of Anne Rice into a blender, mix in an old Chris Isaak album and a couple of hours of Skinemax, garnish with a tiny Confederate flag and serve it to David Lynch on a Louisiana front porch on a sweltering afternoon.
When it comes to the use of guns, I’m somewhere between Don Knotts and Duke Nukem.
