What I’d Say To The Pope.

The Pope is gone. He took his Pope plane home, blessing the heavens along the way —  turning our moon the blood of Christ and sprinkling holy water on Mars.

I was at work when the Pope visited New York. But if I had the chance, I would’ve given him a piece of my mind:

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How to Bald Gracefully.

Like two-thirds of men approaching middle age, I’m losing my hair.

This comes as no surprise. My mother’s father was bald. My dad is bald. And when I was 7 a gypsy I’d cut in line at Arby’s placed a curse on me vowing that one day I would lose my luscious hair, and everyone I’d ever loved.

Suffice it to say, I may have had this coming.

I’ve never treated my hair kindly. Like most misguided young men with large chrome ball necklaces and JNCOs, I bleached my hair during the XtReMe 90s. I cut off circulation to it by wearing shirt sleeves as makeshift headbands from 2001-current. And for 20 years I’ve saturated it in so much product that I can still fish out fossilized remnants of LA Looks if I turn upside down and gyrate hard enough.

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Hot Orgies In Your Area Are Looking For You!

Mostly because our usual +1, Gordon, has fallen out of favor.

Gordon is a classic example of how NOT to behave at an orgy. He’s consistently late, or brings the wrong animal mask.

Gordon’s the type of orgy participant who’ll get caught in traffic, forget his overnight bag of essential orgy items, and think it’s fine to show up halfway through the orgy with a 60-count of Dunkin’ Donut munchkins. Like those donut holes will make up for the neglected human holes.

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Your Mother And I Are Concerned You Haven’t Been Blogging (by Phil Henne).

Son, I’m worried. We both are, your mother and I. Your blogging has suffered these past two months, and we need to know you’re all right.

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