ROCK CHALK JAYHAWK. KU.

She deserves it sooooo badly.

Maybe he'll do us all another favor and kick Ellen Page's or Diablo Cody's ass next.

You know who else has denounced and rejected the politics of fear in favor of the politics of hope?

BILL CLINTON. But that was in 2004. I guess he has changed his mind now. Oh well, presidential prerogative, I guess.

See for yourself:

+ Watch video

And, Janine seems, uh... yummy.

And, Emily is burning hot!

William Kennedy Smith.

[www.hyperorg.com]

[en.wikipedia.org]

"Now that, motherfu@ker, is what you call a tank top! Let's turn the couch back over and try it again."

And also, he's crazy.

[www.looptvandfilm.com]

And, 9/11!

And also, he's crazy.

[www.looptvandfilm.com]

And, 9/11!

I'm sure our hero is slinking into the dead-too-young room at the after-life pub wearing a copy smile and wondering if anyone's read that tidbit yet.

The horror.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that I make nothing close to i-banker money but I never expected it and haven't grown to envy such wealth (yet). I am fine in cheap jeans and a $20 Timex but if I want more, I can have it.

I have pretty low-key tastes. I was a strictly (lower) middle class kid from a mostly interior, red state. I decided to become a lawyer so I could move east to some Blue state wonderland and be among "my people." But I also knew I needed to earn enough money to get a better bike, buy a guitar, and spend lavishly on women, each of whom -- I hoped -- would fuck me out of gratitude. So far, mission accomplished!

While some of my friends and enemies might describe me as a little douchey, I'm pretty sure it's just because I hang up on them when they bore me, will not drink shitty beer, and refuse to use subterranean transportation when practical. That has nothing to do with my legal education or exposure to lawyers (although, I admit if not for the money, I would never go anywhere beyond three blocks of a subway stop).

Anyhow, the wayI see it, I am just like you: I go to an office and move words and papers around for long hours each week but I get paid a lot to do it. The work mostly sucks but I will soon have enough money saved to buy a small place in the City and think about a finding a job with a different pace.

I don't even know where the fucking Hamptons are.

As another commenter already suggested, I hope our little rosy-cheeked pixie finally responds to Mr. Authentic, tells him she is not amused by his little charade, and instructs him to go fuck himself all the way back to Chattanooga.

This story and the attention it is attracting is leaving me incredibly restless and irritable (like a bull-inmate angry at his prison wife). It's not because I pine for the sort of "adorable" love connection Patrick is attempting; it's because life is not fiction -- NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY TO FORCE IT.

To essentialize some perfect stranger into a fantasy "dream girl" is to grievously insult her and shamefully admit to being a Top Shelf douch-tard.

I hope a 30/mph dose of yellow reality finds this dope not paying attention in a midtown intersection.

Lesson over, ladies.

Sweet boy, that Billy.

My favorite stoner activity was to visit a gigantic, local supermarket for a little shopping. Typically, I would wander through the aisles for an hour or two and pack a bunch of snacks into an unreasonably tall pile in an always-broken cart.

Inevitably, each visit ended the same. I would slowly (but surely) realize that I was out in public feeling perfectly wonderful but wearing Berkinstocks, a white t-shirt, a pair of oversized boxer shorts, and a big, curly, black wig with a baseball hat pulled down low to squeeze the curls over my ears and forehead (again!).

I was always embarrassed when I "woke up" and would rush home for some melon and several more hits (followed by vigorous masturbation to the Juliet Lewis ,oral sex, scene in Natural Born Killers).

Despite my private shame over the substantially similar endings to my grocery excursions, I always returned for new adventures -- often with friends (who rarely found the experience as overwhelmingly pleasing as I).

Ahh. Good times.

And, by the way, as Africans have suffered more recent enslavement than Hebrews, we must insist on a little more time to recover. Personally, I should only require sex with several dozen more white women until I feel better about things.

First the 3 main characters, and, after a nap, the rest.