Real men don’t watch movies or stay in hotels – they sit naked at the sides of rivers, smoking tree branches, slamming their balls between rocks while eating raw fish caught by their own ball-slamming hands as their women-folk are out getting girdles or having their toenails waxed by Brazilian accountants. They then journey home atop a grizzly bear, longing for German sausage and some hand-picked potatoes, with their hair still damp from the river and balls still swollen from a day’s hard slamming.
As I am a woman-type folk, I ride my grizzlies sidesaddle.
You are a great talent!
(Is it creepy I linked here from Gawker? Maybe I already know the answer to that…)