The Nieces of Robin William’s Chest Hair Should Not Even Be See

Apparently some ladies never got the memo, the evidence of which is staring me like Medusa at an East Bay Starbucks as I painful type this desperately necessary missive.  When you wear the sexy butt floss from Victoria’s Secret,  what delightful peek-a-boo north of where your jeans crest and south of where the the proud floss flies at full feminine mast should be bare flesh, not the nieces of Robin William’s chest hair.  I know I’ve just torpedoed any chance at an Ambassadorship to Kabul, but somehow the “sex” is “sexy” is lost with such wispy, furry rear cleavage, leaving one with a lonely but unavoidable “y”.  WHY?!?!?  Although I must say, such disturbing sights might provide a useful tool for us in group . . . you know, the 12 step program to remain a single guy.

Straight Will Delights Like Cheetos

Loved much of the SNL season finale the other night, and the Celebrity Jeopardy revisited was a particular delight.  I loved the physical comedy of Tom Hanks, especially the “microphone” pen and the headbutt of his lecturn.  Will Ferrell’s long-suffering straight man pitted against Darrell Hammond’s Sean Connery ranks up there with Cheetos as a guilty pleasure hard to resist.  Yeah, straight man.  For those who remember Tom Hanks in Philadelphia more than Punchline, “straight” means Alex Trebek doesn’t do drugs.  UmkayWho’s on first?