The standard viewer of pornography is male while the standard tabloid reader is female.  So what is the compromise?  Celebrity sex tapes.  Supposedly, there have been sex tapes back as far as Marilyn Monroe, but ever since the Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson sex tape, celebrity homemade porn has been all the rage.  Since then, America has been able to download the sexual home videos of every other retarded celebrity out there.  Other infamous celebrity sex tapes that “accidentally” leaked to the public because they were “stolen” include the Paris Hilton sex tape, the Kim Kardashian sex tape and the Colin Ferrell sex tape.

But then, this happened (not explicit, just weird):

Holy crap!  Vern Troyer (Mini Me) has a sex tape.  Gross?  Absolutely.  Enticing?  Definitely.  With absolutely no sexual motivation, my deviant curiosity wants me to see this movie.  It has got to be hilarious.  I think the background music would have to be Danny Elfman’s score to Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure.

Unfortunately, Vern Troyer filed a $20 million lawsuit against the prospective distributor of the sex tape, saying he never authorized the release of the tape.  *cough*bullshit*cough*  It was obviously a ploy on Mini Me’s part to get some money and, more importantly, some buzz.  Seriously, does he really think anyone would believe this?  Who would break into that little guy’s house?  Unless the burglar wanted to procure some really tiny dishes and furniture or thought Troyer was a Leprechaun and had a pit of gold, nobody would break into the little rascal’s home — especially just to get a tape of him doinking someone 10 times as big as him.  Ultimately, a cease and desist order was court-mandated, and distribution of the video was barred.

So, I guess we’ll never see Vern Troyer’s sex tape.  It’s a shame, because unlike that other coked-out celebutard garbage, that would have been a celerity sex tape worth watching.  So, in the spirit of Vern Troyer’s sex tape, I give you “Creepy Celebrity Sex Tapes You’ll Never See”:

1. The Wilford Brimley Sex Tape

2. The William Hung Sex Tape

3. The Gilbert Gottfried Sex Tape (thanks Brandon)

4. The Magic Johnson Sex Tape

5. The Michael Jackson Sex Tape

Last time I counted, there were about a million games out for the PSP.  A large percentage of the games are horrible, a fair amount are mediocre, there are some really fun games, and then there are some awesome games.

Meggie’s brother, Danny, and I like to discuss video games, often recommending games for various consoles to each other.  A few months ago, Danny let me play Metal Gear Solid: Portable Ops.  I played it for a few minutes, and decided it would be a good game to try out.  When I read about it, the reviews are all very positive.  So, I decided to get it.  For some reason, I couldn’t find it anywhere.  It must be really good or invisible, I thought.

I finally got a copy of it on Friday night.  I can safely say it is a PSP classic.  I have only awarded that title to Loco Roco and God of War: Chains of Olympus.  Yes, I am starting my own personal video game awards.  I’m that important.

Here is my rating of the game:

Graphics: A-
Story: A
Gameplay: A

The storyline is amazing.  It is exceptionally original.  It takes a few hours to figure out the complexity of the game, but when you finally do, the payoff is worth it.  Most of the time, I trade my games in when I am done playing.  I plan to keep this one.

A few years ago, I was doing my thing, you know, driving down the road with a case of beer in my belly and not having a care in the world.  I was buzzing, I was handsome (and I guess vain) and most importantly, I was young.  I was jamming to a classic rock station, listening to the likes of Queen and the Allman Brothers.  Then Guns n’ Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle” was played. 

What the hell?

I chalked it up to being a slow classic rock day, whatever that means, and I left it at that.  After all, GnR is not old enough to be “classic rock,” right?

So as I was strolling through the grocery store this evening, in search of some delicious sandwich supplies and a treat for Rowdy, I heard 4 Non- Blondes’ “What’s Up?”  Okay, fine.  The song was a hit when I was an adolescent, but it’s cheesy and radio-friendly, and I can get behind some cheesy grocery store music.  By the time I had rationalized this, I had gotten some ham and was in hot pursuit of some cheese.  As I contemplated cheddar or Swiss, Nirvana’s “All Apologies” came on.

Seriously?  Seriously?  One of the seminal bands of my generation is now grocery store music?

I know I’m not old, but I can see I am getting older.  I’m not sure if this bothers me or not.

Let’s go down a list of some other “old” things that are happening to me:

* I got “Wii-arm” when I was madly swinging a videogame controller around.

* A while ago, I suddenly developed a debilitating pain in my knee.

* Parts of my hair have started to gray.  This actually isn’t a bad thing because I think it will make me look distinguished.  But still, graying goes hand-in-hand with olding.

* I seriously contemplated the merits of having a moustache.

* I am beginning to sprout hair in weird places  - like my ears.

The list could go on.

The other day, Meggie and I went for a walk with Rowdy.  The fact that I enjoy “taking a walk” is an inherent indication that I am aging.  We decided to stop at a park.  Meggie wanted to play on the swings.  In a desperate attempt to reclaim a bit of youth, I decided to join her.  Both Meggie and I pushed off…

Wheeeeeeee……*stomach grumble*….Oh boy.

Meggie and I both got all dizzy and light-headed.  From swinging!  I have aged enough that swinging doen’t agree with me.

I guess we’ll see what other adventures await…

Now get of my damn lawn, you little brats!

I’m not a fan of Kanye West, but I have had limited exposure to his music.  Maybe I would have a greater appreciation for Kanye West if I made an effort to listen to more of his music.  Unfortunately, I cannot separate Kanye West the person from Kanye West the performer.

The problem is not that Kanye West is opinionated, it’s that he expresses his opinions like whiny little girl.  We all remember the Hurricane Katrina fundraiser when Kanye deviated from the script and let the nation know that “George Bush doesn’t care about black people.”  Hey Kanye, you’re probably right, but Dubya doesn’t care about anyone you self-righteous bitch.  Jesus.

Speaking of Jesus, nobody can pull off the role of martyr better than Kanye, and I think this is the real reason Mr. West makes my blood boil.  I understand that a sense of entitlement is an occupational hazard/prerequisite for celebrities, but I can’t think of anyone in the current spotlight who is a bigger prima donna than Kanye West.  In 2006, Kanye West proclaimed that he would “really have a problem” if he did not win the Grammy for Album of the Year.  Then again, one can’t be shocked by a comment like this, considering it came from the mouth of a man who posed as the Son of God on the cover of Rolling Stone.

Kanye Christ’s recent bitch fit is just another example of the delusional world the man lives in.  CNN posted an article regarding Kanye’s June 15 Bonnaroo Music & Arts Festival outburst when everything didn’t go exactly the way it was planned and his little show was postponed, much to the dismay of festival-goers who began chanting “Kanye sucks!” and hurling bottles and garbage at the stage.  In response, Kanye posted a blog, almost entirely in ALL CAPS (you know, like when a spoiled girl is mad at her parents for not getting her a pony AND EXPRESSES HER ANGER ON MYSPACE. OMG!!).  Regarding the mishap at the festival, and the attendees’ response to his delayed performance, Kanye wrote “This Bonnaroo thing is the worst insult I’ve ever had in my life…This is the most offended I’ve ever been … this is the maddest I ever will be.”  Really, Kanye?  Even more mad than when that plastic surgeon botched your mother’s surgery?  Kanye went on to explain that the preparations at the festival did not go over well because he was “dealing with … idiots who didn’t really have the capacity to really put on this show properly.”

What a little bitch.  Kanye West, go away.

I was finally able to burn Saints of Los Angeles on my personal computer and therefore spared my office PC from a date with a baseball bat.

The album is currently rocking my face off.  Motley Crue is just as badass as they were 20 years ago — more badass maybe.  It has a more current sound but it incorporates the heavy bass and pounding drums that made Girls, Girls, Girls such an amazing album. 

If you are a Motley Crue fan but were disappointed (like I was) with Generation Swine and New Tattoo, grab S.O.L.A.  It will make up for those last two albums.

I’ve been waiting for a month go download the new Motley Crue album, Saints of Los Angeles.  It finally came out today.  The minute I came to work, I logged into my Rhapsody account and downloaded the album.  I was all psyched to have my eardrums annihilated by SOLA.  Rhapsody sucks, but MyCokeRewards.com has a deal with them, so that’s where I have to go to download free albums.

For the past few hours, I have been trying to burn a copy of my download to a CD so that I can put it into my iTunes library.  I am not sure if it is my work computer or if there is a problem with Rhapsody, but everything I do results in one error message or another.

All I wanted to do was listen to my goddamned SOLA album.

I’m going to try and do this from my personal computer after work.  If it doesn’t work, I expect you will see something about me on the news.

AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHH!!!!

I have a love/hate relationship with reality TV.  There are some shows that I think are fine examples of what reality TV should be.  Pretty much any reality TV show that appears on The Food Network is worth my time.  On the other hand, TV has managed to kill parts of my soul with abortions like The Hills, The Real Housewives, A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila and The Real World.  Somewhere between rare quality reality TV and the cancerous drive-me-to-kill-from-a-bell-tower reality TV is something I like to call ”guilty pleasure reality TV”.  This includes shows like Rock of Love with Brett Michaels, Gene Simmons’ Family Jewels and Celebrity Circus.  Often I hate myself for watching these shows, but something about them is appealing enough for me to sacrifice some brain cells to.

My new favorite junk food reality TV may be A&E’s The Two Coreys.  

Starring has-been 1980s teen idols Corey Haim and Corey Feldman, it’s reality TV’s answer to The Odd Couple.  I remember really liking the first season, and when it ended, I didn’t think there would be a season two.  After Feldman and Haim came to blows over jealousy, insecurities and lies, I figured it was all over.  Then again, a show about washed-up Tiger Beat icons with a long history of drug abuse is a comedy goldmine.

Season Two started last night, re-introducing the two Corey’s to each other.  After a six month hiatus from each other resulting from their little slap-fest in season one, there was a lot of tension.  All kinds of B-list smack talking went down, and Feldman expressed his reluctance to work with Haim on Lost Boys 2.  I know, bananas right?  After having a sit down and re-opening up 20 years worth of wounds, the Corey’s decided that maybe a relationship counselor would be best.  In fact, they elected to go to a marriage counselor.  It was delicious.  It was one of those defining TV moments that reflect just how insane and twisted our culture’s tastes are.

The interesting part about the counseling session is that they touched on Haim’s sexual molestation.  During the conversation, Haim indicated that when he was 14 years old, he had been molested by one of Corey Feldman’s close friends and that only Haim and Feldman know all of the sticky details of the case.  Guess who Corey Feldman was friends with when he was a teenager.  Guess who one of his idols was.

BOOYA!

Feldman has publicly denounced Michael Jackson and testified against him.  I wonder if Jacko is person who sodomized Haim.  I’m going to keep watching The Two Coreys.  You should too.

Rest in Peace, Mr. Carlin.  You tickled the bejesus out of my funny bone.

This sucks.  Why couldn’t it have been Carlos Mencia?

What’s up nerds? 

Every once in a while, I have a weekend when I dedicate myself to videogames almost exclusively.  This was one of those weekends.  Here’s a run-down of the video games I immersed myself in this weekend:

Mario Kart (Wii):

This past weekend began and ended with a series of frustrating races that left me with deep resentments.  After investing several hours per week in this game, I figured I had finally perfected my karting skills enough to consider myself a halfway decent Mario Kart Wii player.  Playing as Koopa Trooper in the Standard Kart-S, I usually rank as first or second place.  However, on Friday, my friend Nate challenged Brandon and me to an online race.  Brandon and I assumed we would stomp Nate’s face into the ground, Mario-style.  Unfortunately, this was not the case.  Nate, who must have made a deal with Satan, schooled Brandon and I so hard that we were left completely demoralized.  At one point, Brandon got so upset that he had to ask our ladies if either of them had a fresh maxi-pad he could have.  Last night, I returned to Mario Kart online, hoping that I would wreak havoc on my opponents.  Again, I was destroyed by half the players, most of whom happened to be Japanese.  I am now terrified to play against anyone online and even more terrified of the Japanese.

Ninety-nine Nights (XBOX 360):

When I first picked up Ninety-Nine Nights or N3, the nerd at GameStop told me that the game was “hack and slash” game that had appealed to many of his dork friends.  When it comes to videogames, I often trust the word of the nerd.  I also enjoy games that involve “hacking” and “slashing.”  So after letting the game collect dust for a week, I decided to give it a shot.  Indeed, there was “hacking” and “slashing,” but that seemed to be all that there was to the game.  Visually, it was a very tight game, but I can only chop up hordes of goblins so many times before I get bored.  On the advice of my friend Kerry, I decided to abandon the game.  Unfortunately, I returned the game before I could get to the part of the game where one of the female protagonists gets raped by orcs.  Shame.

Burnout Revenge (XBOX 360):

I used to love playing the Burnout series.  Unfortunately, my recollection of the game is hazy at best because I was royally drunk every time I played.  For the past few weeks, I have tried to find an awesome racing game, even trying my luck at the new Burnout game, Burnout Paradise.  I couldn’t get into it.  Using part of the store credit I got from returning N3, I snatched up the 360 version for Burnout Revenge.  It was just as awesome, if not better, than when I used to play it with a case of beer in my belly.  Not much compares to the awesomeness of high speed road rage and multi-car pile-ups coupled with massive explosions.

Tom Clancy’s Splinter Cell Essentials (PSP):

I need to stop reading reviews.  I started playing Splinter Cell Essentials earlier in the week and decided it is fun.  Then I went online and read the reviews that just trashed the game.  This led me to second guess myself and the merits of the game.  Before I went and got my ass handed to me in Mario Kart Wii last night, I played Splinter Cell for a few hours.  I think it is an absolutely awesome game.  What’s not to like about covert CIA black ops stealthiness?  I told Meggie I like the game because its like I’m playing as my dad.

So, there you have it nerds.  That’s my video game wrap-up for the week.

As any young boy does, I spent a lot of time as a kid building forts.  I would build forts out of anything.  I would use the blankets and sheets in the house to construct elaborate tents.  I built a tree house made from assorted pieces of wood I found laying around the neighborhood, and much to the dismay of my father, from the lumber I ripped from the fence in the backyard.  On one occasion, I even decided that I would build a fortress in my own home and proceeded to use one of my mother’s kitchen knives to cut a hole in the wall.  Unfortunately, my parents caught me early on, and I was never able to finish this project.

The cool thing about a fort is that it is your own personal lair, hidden away from the rest of the world.  It is the place you can safely retreat and not have to worry about the mundane and often irritating goings on of your day.  Recently, Meggie and I moved into a new apartment.  I asked her to allow me one room as my own personal “dude room.”  In exchange, I offered her free reign over the rest of the apartment.  Meggie agreed, and I am content to have my own personal space devoid of any “woman’s touch.”  Unfortunately, the amount of space I have is limited, Meggie still enters said “dude room” to use the computer, and there is a cat litter box in the corner.  Furthermore, sometimes when I retreat to my “dude room” to grow hair in odd places and scratch myself, I can still hear the nettling sounds of The Hills from the living room.

So, it is 20 years since I carved a hole in the wall of my parents’ home, and I still need a fort.  For reasons I will not go into, Brandon owes me ten-thousand billion dollars.  This is the money I will be using to build my fort.  Here are some essential features of my fort - Fort Awesome:

SUBTERRANEAN LOCATION:
I have thought long and hard about this, and I think the best place for my fort to be will be underground.  I contemplated building an above ground fort, and while having an enormous and obnoxiously oversized structure that would obstruct the skyline view of all observers has its merits, I don’t want Jehovah’s Witnesses visiting.  Also, I’m not a big fan of sunlight, and being underground would be a good place to pale my skin and weaken my eyesight.  Yeah, an underground lair is the way to go.

SECURED ENTRANCE WAY: 
At first I considered having a “foyer” as the entrance to Fort Awesome.  Then I thought about how absolutely un-dude-like a “foyer” is.  Therefore, I have decided I will have a “heavily reinforced and guarded security checkpoint.”  Much better.  Trusting actual people with my well-being and privacy is a bit of a problem, so I don’t really want to employ security guards.  Instead, I will station Rowdy in the HRAGSC and have him maul anyone who isn’t welcome.  If it is someone I know, and therefore Rowdy knows, they will likely be able to pass with ease.  In an effort to keep all things ridiculous out of my fort, I also plan to train Rowdy to sniff out any contraband: shaving razors, opinions, etc.  If you are able to pass freely, you can sit down and enjoy the constant stream of Slayer and Pantera I plan to have playing while you wait for me to buzz you in through the electric (powered and enhanced) door.

TV ROOM:
I don’t mean a room designated for my television.  I want a room made out of TV screens.  The floor, the walls and the ceilings have to be made out of TV screens.  Even the chair that I sit in to watch my room will have to be made of TVs.  I like to multi-task, so having a variety of shows playing all at once will allow me to maximize my entertainment experience.  I will likely go with SONY because I prefer name brand.

PROPER RESTROOM: 
Obviously, there won’t be any issues with a toilet seat up/down rule, but in order to spite any ladies who may hear about my fort, there will be no lid to the toilet.  There will just be a toilet with a seat securely fastened to it.  I plan to have a massive widescreen televison mounted on the wall so that I can sit and watch movies and play video games while I take care of business.  There will also be a urinal attached to the wall.  It will be modeled after the face of Tyra Banks.  Guess where you pee.

A VENUS FLYTRAP ROOM: 
I don’t really have a reason for this other than that I just always thought having a room full of Venus Flytraps would be cool.  I would hope that the Flytraps would have a craving for human flesh, preferably dentists.   I’ll go ahead and have that room set next to the piranha aquarium room and the Tasmanian Devil den.

BADASS KITCHEN: 
I’m not sure how this will work yet, but I will have veal and endangered animal steaks freshly butchered and delivered to my fridge on a daily basis.  I’m sure I will need to employ some sort of automated system of robots who harvest my meat, but I’ll go ahead and work that out later.  I may also want a Chipotle built in the kitchen — again, run by robots.  I’ll also need a Diet Coke dispenser and several large canisters of beef jerky.  I don’t plan to be washing any dishes, so I will make sure that I have a good supply of non-biodegradable eating utensils and Styrofoam plates.

I’m already excited.  My fort is going to rule.  I’m sure there are a whole bunch of other features I will be incorporating into my fort, but this will do for now.