PaulKatcher.com

Happy 30th Birthday to Eric Lindros! (And Me)

Famous birthdays on February 28:

• Gavin MacLeod (1931)
• Mario Andretti (1940)
• Frank Bonner (Herb from WKRP) (1942)
• Gilbert Gottfried (1955)
• John Turturro (1957)
• and ... both Eric Lindros and Paul Katcher (1973)

What a set of overachievers that is.

Oh, and Feb. 28 is also the day Booty Call opened to thrilled movie audiences nationwide (1997).

Thanks to everyone who helped me get to 30. I've got big plans for the next 30, so stick around.

Mister Rogers: 1928-2003

Sad news to report this morning. Fred Rogers, whose neighborhood was a playground of learning for millions of children, died at age 74 after a brief battle with cancer.

Expect the Internet to be flooded with genuinely nice remembrances. Can't leave a legacy much better than that. Sure beats trading on Wall Street and bragging about BMWs.

If I Had an Amazon Wish List, This Would Be It

The Amazon wish list. What respectable blog doesn't have one?

All of them.

I can see where an Amazon wish list, which is basically a personal registry, could maybe, possibly, almost be of service to those with a large, dispersed family. Short of that, it's just another tacky, monkey-see-monkey-do aspect of the Internet akin to worthless, self-gratifying Flash intros (may they rest in peace) and the posting of song lyrics after a vague disclosing of some kind of heartbreak (I love those! If I can't come up with words to describe how I'll rebound from Jenny not calling me back, maybe the Smashing Pumpkins can say it for me! And inspire the online community at the same time!).

But, if I did have an Amazon wish list for my 30th birthday tomorrow (Friday), you know it wouldn't be a normal one. Beg for a Norah Jones CD? Please. If strangers are gonna buy me shit, it's gonna be stuff I'd be too embarrassed to order on my own. And then I could throw it away in 10 minutes after my curiosity has been fulfilled.

These are actual items sold on Amazon.com, the profits of which go into the pockets of 1999 TIME Person of the Year Jeff Bezos.

(By the way, nobody is to buy me any of this stuff.)

A Hand in the Bush: The Fine Art of Vaginal Fisting — A book by Deborah Addington, who I'm guessing has had more fun with her nights than watching The Gilmore Girls.

Night Owl Night Vision Goggles — An $800 pair of goggles with no stated reason for use, not even in the user comments. So I'll just come out and say it: this product is for people who like to watch their neighbors fuck.

The Worst Team Money Could Buy: The Collapse of the New York Mets — A book about the Mets' disastrous 1992 season. Hey, where's the 2002 version?

Erotic Survivor — A reality show with fake breasts, if you will. Now on DVD!

Hulk Hogan and The Wrestling Boot Band — Be the first one on your block — hell, be the first one in the world — to own this 1995 musical release.

Complete Guide to Oral Lovemaking — A VHS tape about which one insightful viewer writes, "There are two parts in this video, the first part is women on men, the second part is men on women." What, no third part showing midgets on farm animals?

Ragdoll Cats 2003 Calendar — 'Cause god knows I'll go insane if I go a single day without looking at a ragdoll cat.

Let's Have a Gay Ol' Time

I get a lot of fan mail, but few as entertaining as this one:

Paul,

I just stumbled across your site and saw that you had linked to Outsports.com — and that we're your favorite gay sports site :) Thanks for the props, and the link!

Your site is pretty cool — pretty funny. The great thing is, it's so cool I can't tell if you're straight or gay.

Thanks for being out there.

cyd

Who do I look like, fucking Sandy Koufax?

While it is true that I adore Brady Anderson for hitting 52 home runs for my fantasy baseball team in 1996, — and that I derive half my jokes from Richard Simmons and Bruce Vilanche — the fact remains that I would rather have sex with the girl who played Darlene on "Roseanne" than come face to face, so to speak, with anything that throws up and doesn't clean after itself (meaning either my college roommate or a penis).

Not that there's anything wrong with it. But there's one thing I have a major beef with: getting a complimentary e-mail from a gay man without a comment on my looks. At least the homos at Hedonism II had the manners to compliment me on certain anatomy before I told them I just wanted to be friends.

More Gay Notes:

• I recently ran into a longtime lesbian couple, whom I've known for about a decade. One of them was several months pregnant. Very rarely does one look at a pregnant stomach and ask, "How did this happen?"

• My friend called the other night to brag on a salesman at Barney's who not only saved him tons of money but taught him a new term: "powergay." The powergays, the salesman explained, are so gay that even gay guys don't want anything to do with them.

More Gay Links:

Salon's Kaufman: What's Sandy Koufax So Mad About? — The columnist and I agree that being called gay is no big deal, but I'm not in Koufax's shoes, so I don't know what it's like to be either a) famous and hiding a gay life; or b) famous and reading lies about one's personal life. I do know what it's like to not be famous and have one's sexuality questioned (see above). It's kinda funny.

Olbermann: Koufax Rumor a Spectacular Example of FOX Synergy — The former FOX Sports Net employee reports, "Their book. Their tabloid. Their team. Their scandal." Good piece.

Alstott Named Outsports.com's Hot Player of Super Bowl — I linked to the feature last year (Adam Vinatieri) so I might as well do it again. My prediction for next Super Bowl's hot player: Tiki Barber. (Only 'cause Jason Sehorn appears to be on his way out of New York.)

2002 Brass Balls Awards — Outsports.com selects the best-looking guys in baseball. Final score: Yankees 4, Red Sox 3, Mets 2. Choke on that, mother fuckers. (Just not in front of me.)

Puppets and Penis Jokes: A Masterful Combo

Next week marks the return of one of this country's most celebrated traditions. Nope, we're not talking about Red Sox ace Pedro Martinez's prediction that he will last the entire season. We're not talking about bare-breasted babes at Mardi Gras (though that will be discussed in the near future). We're talking about barfing, farting, foul-mouthed puppets.

Yep, next Tuesday is the premier of Comedy Central's Crank Yankers 2!

Knowing that I fit perfectly into the show's targeted demographic — 18-to-34-year-old male going on 12 — my high school buddy mocked me via IM by asking, "How can you even stand the wait?" Fact is, I can't.

He tried to steer me away from such childish programming by writing, "The only thing I saw in a commercial was a puppet asking a guy at a bowling alley if he had eight-pound balls." Jeez, I thought, this really is gonna be better than the first season.

The genius behind Crank Yankers is that the comedy is not limited to just testicles. The writing is diverse enough to include vomiting, burping and, as you can hear on this .mp3 preview of Niles Standish's call to a hardware store, plenty of phallic innuendo:

How big is this caulk? Does the caulk smell? Is it dangerous if it gets into my face or my eye? Does the caulk harden? The black caulk, is that bigger?

Man, if that's not better than 60 Minutes, I don't know what is.

My Favorite Crank Yankers:

Elmer Higgins — The fast-food joint did not respect its elders when it gave Elmer a bucket full of fried chicken beaks. They offered a replacement, but Elmer said he didn't want it "if it's gonna be all beaky." He also called the cable company to file this complaint: "I just saw something that made me wanna crap!"

Bobby Fletcher — Tells employers he's got a lot to offer, then offers them a lot of gas.

Confucius — Quick-hitting words of wisdom, such as "Wife who put husband in doghouse soon find him in cathouse ... with whores," "Crowded elevator smell different to midget," and "Man who fart in church sit in own pew."

Crank Yankers Links:

Various Downloads — Buddy icons, sound bites and phone messages that you can record on your own phone.

Crank Yankers Episode Guide — Pretty good recaps from an unofficial site.

TV Tome: Crank Yankers — General cast/episode/goofs guide.

Head 2 Head: NBA vs. NHL

Here's how Head 2 Head works: I throw out a debate between two people, places or things, and you settle it by posting a comment.

Today's question is, Which is better bridge between football and baseball, the NBA or NHL?

The NBA: Size matters in a sport in which only the truly physically gifted need apply.
Pros: Highlights inspire more appreciate gapes per 48 minutes than the Pamela & Tommy Lee video ... League finally cracking down on thuggery, though it took one player calling out an opposing team's bus and another's double-bird to the crowd to do so ... It's truly becoming a global sport. And guys like Nowitzki, Stojakovic and Ming are not just there for window-dressing .
Cons: A lot of players' off-court behavior — from the worship of bling-bling to the fathering of an astounding number of illegitimate children — is a disgrace ... Trickle-down of attitude has poisoned even NYC rec leagues and pick-up games into to a confrontational test of manhood and, ultimately, a waste of time.

NHL: The only place to find white men fighting sober. Bills itself as the coolest game on ice.
Pros: Hockey players are overwhelmingly regarded as the nicest and most thoughtful of pro athletes ... Playoff overtime game are as dramatic as any event in sports ... Everyone loves The Cup ... Combines other major sports' best features — power, speed, intensity — then adds some uniqueness to the pot.
Cons: What do Elton John concerts and NHL games have in common? 20,000 white people ... Off the boards, off the helmet, off the skate, it's in! That why hockey has been described as "one big mistake."

Another Pro Wrestler Drops Dead

Attention, hotel managers. Unless you're a fan of seeing dead bodies carried out your freight elevators, don't allow pro wrestlers to stay at your place. A couple of weeks ago, Curt Henning, 44-year-old father of four, died in a Tampa hotel room. It's not a rare story.

Henning arrived in the WWF in 1988 under the moniker of Mr. Perfect. I never understood how a guy with a frizzy mullet could be considered perfect, but Henning's smug character always make me laugh. I'll never forget the teaser clips the WWF ran to introduce him. In one, he bowled a strike, then looked at the camera and said, "Perfect." Next he made an impossible trick shot in pool. Again he said, "Perfect." He also drilled home runs, made behind-the-back halfcourt shots, sunk putts, threw bombs, and did flips into a pool. It was great comedy.

You can view these spots in the well-done video tribute at the bottom right of the WWF's long eulogy to Henning.

His death, of course, is no laughing matter. The New York Post's Phil Mushnick wonders why there is little news interest in drop-dead deaths of wrestlers. Surely there's a bad pattern here: Davey Boy Smith, Brian Pillman, Rick Rude. According to Mushnick, the Wrestling Observer Newsletter reported last year that eight wrestlers under age 40 had died — and it was only May. Perhaps people will pay attention only if a truly huge name in the industry — a Rock or Hogan or Flair — goes down.

In fact, I bet less people click on the news link above than this one showing vidcaps of Stephanie McMahon's buttcrack.

Other News Links

The Great White Tragedy: A First-Hand Account — Someone e-mailed Metal-Sludge.com his experience at The Station in Rhode Island, where 96 people died during Thursday night's Great White concert.

One Nation Under Wal-Mart — Fortune.com examines how Wal-Mart affects business in America. It's the No. 1 employer in 21 states and if its estimated $2 billion it loses through theft each year were incorporated as a business, it would rank No. 694 on the Fortune 1,000.

‘Punkin Suit’ Pride — Following the Colombia tragedy, John Glenn gives a first-person account of what’s it really like to re-enter Earth’s atmosphere from space.

Photos: Polish Sky on Sept. 1, 1939 — The quick caption on the bottom is a powerful reminder of the event that changed the world forever: Germany's invasion of Poland.

Video: Questioning War Protesters for Answers — A man hits the streets near the U.N. to find out what smart alternatives protesters have to war with Iraq. Turns out they don't have much, though it is true that a small sampling of sound bites from a large crowd can make any group sound like a bunch of morons. (Link found on Life in New York City, which is an interesting read in itself, considering there's a post about the author trolling AOL for shemales.)

'Girls Gone Wild' Goes on 31-City Tour — No surprise that alcohol plays a large role in women's decisions to bare themselves for public viewing. A friend of mine went on the road with them once and said it's all real, that something just clicks in people's brains that it's a good idea.

Look Out Wrigley, Here Come the Yanks

Yesterday morning at 11 a.m. ET, tickets went on sale for the Yankees' first road trip to Wrigley Field since they beat up on the Cubs, 4-0, in the 1938 World Series. You remember 1938, right? The Cubs hadn't won a World Series in 30 years and Hitler had yet to invade Poland. In fact, the Cubs are so pathetic that they lost to the Red Sox in the 1918 World Series. So when the year 1918 comes up, Red Sox fans can actually make fun of Cubs fans. That is unreal.

The seats sold out quicker than Mo Vaughn could clean out a buffet, and getting through to Ticketmaster.com was harder than a virgin on Viagara.

Good thing for my pal Kevin, who says he has six tickets, including one with my name on it. Even if it falls through, I am going, one way or the other, with my Bernie Williams No. 51 jersey on my back and friends in tow.

Yankees vs. Cubs. It's like IBM vs. Tandy. Bud vs. Beast. McDonald's vs. Whataburger. The only problem is that I have nothing bad to say about either Chicago or the Cubs. Everyone I know from Chi-town is cool, and they say I'll love the Second City, where I have never visited. Hell, some of the most passionate PK.com fans I've ever heard from work there in a hospital. If I get in an accident, they might scrap mouth-to-mouth for mouth-to-south. And Cubs fans seem to represent what's right about sports. So, in order to fill my quotient of digs per post, I will simply say this: New Jersey is a stinking pile of crap.

I may have mentioned before that what I love most about the Internet is how is teaches me about people's behaviors. For example, how sex is the No. 1 interest among anonymous surfers. (That's funny, you wouldn't think that by the way people talk.) It's only through the Internet and the listing of Cubs-Yankees tickets on eBay that went up mere hours after sale did I understand what a hot ticket this gig was. Already tickets are going for $150-200 a clip to sit in a crappy seat for a baseball game, where the entertainment value varies between thrilling competition and four hours of ball-scratching.

One interesting part about ticket sales on eBay is that sellers are getting around illegal scalping by assigning premiums to throw-in items like this pair of $12 tickets that went for $250 because one 2002 Fleer Greats Dave Winfield baseball card was included. The disclaimer reads, "Any amount exceeding the face value of the tickets will be implicitly applied to the Dave Winfield baseball card auctioned with the tickets."

But, with a 65-year interval between matchups of two of the majors' most storied franchises (even though the Yanks have won 26 World Series since the Cubs won any), no price is too high to see Hideki Matsui crank one onto Waveland Ave. Or Jason Giambi. Or Bernie Williams. Or Derek Jeter. Or Jorge Posada. Or ... ah, forget it. We'll be back! These last two years have been torture. F the Mets. F the Red Sox. Long live King George and his bountiful supply of dead presidents.

( Special thanks to Lucy for alerting me to the sale date of Yanks-Cubs ducats. I owe you a beer. So let's shotgun it together at a tailgate party. If you win, we'll relinquish all 26 World Series titles since 1923.)

More Tickets Notes:

• I want tickets to Bruce Springsteen at Giants Stadium on July 15, 17 and 18. They go on sale March 1. I have 10 Bon Jovi tickets for Aug. 7 & 8 at Giants Stadium (section 123) to trade.

• I want tickets to Notre Dame at Syracuse on Dec. 6. I have 10 Bon Jovi tickets for Aug. 7 & 8 at Giants Stadium (section 123) to trade.

• I want tickets to N.Y. Giants at New Orleans Saints, date TBD in 2003. I'll pay an arm and a leg.

Other Spors Links

Koufax Cuts Ties With Dodgers; Newspaper Retracts Gossip Item — Remember when I wrote a couple of days ago about media conglomerates having their hands in various cookie jars? Well, Sandy Koufax wasn't happy that the New York Post insinuated he was gay, so he said "fuck you" to the fellow-FOX-owned Dodgers. Right on for conviction. And we've got some work to do as a people in erasing that stigma about being gay.

Yanks' Wells Used — and Uses — Drug That May Have Killed O's Pitcher — When the stakes are this high — in the millions of dollars per year — one tends to take risks. Anyone out there surprised?

Bechler's Teammate Threw Out Bottle of Pills — You don't think pro athletes don't know the consequences of dangerous performance-enhancing and physiological-changing drugs, stimulants, etc.? Think again.We're the ones who are just learning.

My Last Week in My Twenties

I turn 30 in exactly one week, next Friday, Feb. 28. The only apprehension I have is that, when it's done, I'm going to have to wait another 10 years for a party this much fun. (If you haven't heard, a group of around 25-30 of us will be at Coyote Ugly around 11 p.m. If you know me, you're invited. If you don't know me, you're invited. It's nothing formal, just laughs and booze.)

Anyone who's read anything more than a crossword puzzle knows life gets better as you get older. If you're not accumulating friends, wisdom, stories, knowledge and dirty jokes every single day, then you're wasting it. Life-changing events happen every day to people of every age — both jubilant and tragic. All you can do is to try to equip yourself to make the best decisions possible — and the strength to live with them. Everything after that is luck. I've been blessed with as much luck as anyone. If my luck changes, I still feel I've equipped myself as best I can.

Here's a little photo recap of my twenties, although I wasn't able to pull anything from ages 24 or 25. Faces have been blurred just to protect those who may not want their images online.

20 Years Old, South Padre Island (Texas), 1993 — Me with my Syracuse University suitemate John at Carlos 'n' Charlie's on Spring Break. Texas was the first state I visited outside of New York, New Jersey, Virginia and Florida. I'd never met friendlier, slower or dumber people in my life to that point. It would since be surpassed by Louisiana, where people also confided in me their dislike for blacks.

21 Years Old, Key West (Fla.), 1994 — Me and two Syracuse buddies horde beers before last call at an all-you-can-drink 7-10 p.m. special at Rum Runners on Duval Street during spring break. A huge group of us would drink for free for the next two hours. Graduated from Syracuse in May and the world hasn't been the same since.

22 Years Old, Seaside Heights (N.J.), 1995 — That's me, Casper, in a photo booth on the boardwalk, with an ex-girlfriend's arm around my neck. I took her to the place where I had great childhood memories. I guess guidos did not bother me when I was 12 and winning Yankees posters in those games of chance. Moved into my first bachelor pad, 511 E. 87 Street, in August. Life was easy and fun didn't end in college.

23 Years Old, Pelham (N.Y.), 1996 — Me playing softball in the town in which I grew up. A bunch of my high school friends and I won the league title and had a ton of fun doing it. I'm superstitous when it comes to sports. I tie my left shoe first, like Reggie Jackson, and back then I wore long sleeves, even in 90-degree weather. Now it's long pants. In October, I took a website-building course that put me on a new career path.

26 Years Old, Boston (Mass.), 1999 — Me and a fellow FOXSports.com producer Rob at the MLB All-Star Game in 1999. Our only seats were buried in the media room (named for Johnny Pesky, I think), so we hung out by the FOX Sports Net stage on the right-field roof. I'll never forget the military planes' fly-by that almost knocked me over and sports media members who cheered giddily for Mark McGwire during his monster display in the Home Run Derby.

27 Years Old, Cancun (Mexico), 2000 — Me and an ex-girlfriend ditched the Club Med camp for a night on the town. Good move for the yanks. It was a lot more fun, and it was a return engagement for me, who went as a 19-year-old sophomore for spring break. One of my most successful years in a lot of ways. Upped my salary 55% in one February job move, PK.com was born in the summer, and my fall and winters were magnificent.

28 Years Old, New Orleans (La.), 2001 — Me and the wolf from, appropriately enough, the Wicked Wolf on Bourbon Street. I enjoyed it so much, I had to return in 2002. And you bet I'll be there when the Giants visit the Saints in 2003. On Monday, Sept. 10, 2001 I had a housewarming party, coinciding with the Monday night fooball opener beteen the Giants and Broncos, with people from all periods of my life. I swear to god I rested my head on my new couch and thought that life did not get any better.

29 Years Old, New York (N.Y.), 2003 — Me and a coworker on Eighth Avenue in New York, the only city in which I could see myself living. A Columbia student from Toronto recently told me she misses grass. I almost bought her a plane ticket home. That's like going to Hawaii and complaining that the skiing sucks.

Is This the Most Famous Photo Ever Taken?

Last week, for a work project that chronicles the last 80 years of history, I sought out Joe Rosenthal's Pulitzer Prize-winning photo of a flag-raising on Iwo Jima in 1945. As a genuinely curious guy who feels that life is wasted if nothing original is left behind, I did a little research on the history of the one of the most impactful photographs ever shot. (C'mon people, and I don't think about sex every minute of the day.)

In 1995, the AP published a fantastically insightful story on the 50th anniversary of the photo that changed Rosenthal's life in 1/400th of a second on Feb. 23, 1945 at 1:05 p.m. It chronicles the photog's decades-long battle to defend his name against those who say the photo was staged, since the famous flag-raising was not the first of the day. It was a replacement of a smaller one.

When asked if the photo was posed, Rosenthal said that it was. The problem was that he was thought someone was asking about a different picture — a "gung-ho" shot of Marines celebrating on the summit together. Such was the horror of WWII. Even the moments of jubilation had 6,821 dead Americans at their feet.

There were other controversies, such as whether a second flag-raising should be given as much historical importance as it did. A moot point, in my opinion. Five of the 11 men who participated in the two flag-raisings never left Iwo Jima. That's what people should remember about World War II.

What are photos that you remember as the most familiar or impactful of all-time? Post a comment below.

Other Photojournalism Links:

The Pulitzer Prize Photographs: Capture the Moment — Rosenthal's shot leads the online project.

AP's Photos of the 20th Century — No Iwo Jima. What's up with that?

Remembering Alfred Eisenstaedt — The life and work of the famed LIFE photographer. Includes the famous V-J Day kiss in Times Square, which I consider the second-most familiar photo of the 20th Century. Also see LIFE's Images of the Century.

Best American Journalism of the 20th Century — As voted on by a panel of experts assembled by New York University's journalism department. Rosenthal's photo comes in at No. 68. Watergate investigation is No. 3. Truman Capote's landmark book In Cold Blood — one of my favorites ever — is at No. 22.

James Nachtwey's 9/11 Photos — I'm a little cynical when I think about at the photojournalists running to the WTC on 9/11. They weren't going to save lives. And I know of their typical difficulty when it comes to protecting photo rights online. (If it's so honorable and valuable to society, I ask, why worry about someone downloading them?) But I know, I know, that Nachtwey puts himself in harm's way to detail for the world what most are not brave enough to see for themselves. These shots are stunning. And he shot these before and after ducking into a building that went pitch black. I was told he crawled over bodies to get out. How can you be cynical about that? There is a documentary about him titled War Photographer.

My Night With a $150 NBA Ticket

If the New Jersey Nets win at home and no one makes a sound, did an NBA game really take place? From what I experienced Tuesday night at Continental Airlines Arena, the answer is yes. And I have the pictures to prove it.

I was about ready to leave work — no, I don't make a living running this amateur, commerce-free blog, so stop asking, morons — when a friend of mine called saying he had company tickets to the Nets game. Granted, this meant that I'd have to venture into the shitpile known as New Jersey for the second time in just over a week, but it sure beat his offer the last time he had tickets — to see a Czechoslovakian rock band in Queens. (I went. How could you not?) This time, I said yes as soon as I heard "18th-row seats."

I logged on to NBA.com to see who the opponent would be. I had visions of Kobe driving. McGrady slamming, Garnett swishing, cheerleaders flashing (that's one for you, Google). Learning that the opponent was the Miami Heat was like winning an all-expenses-paid vacation to Utah. At least I knew the final buzzer would be loud enough to wake me up.

So five us piled into a rented Chevy Something-or-Other and held our noses as we crossed the river to the land of toxic waste and, worse, Jersey residents. While in the car, I saw that the tickets had a face value of $150. Apparently, we were in for $750 worth of excitement — or the equivalent of ordering two women to penetrate each other in front of 30 of your friends for one hour. But what's that in comparison to Nets-Heat? We also had an extra ticket that would go to waste, because we were too late to pawn it off, and there were more empty seats in the arena than at a I've Got Herpes convention.

As for the game, the Nets were winning big, trailed by a bunch, and came back to win it, 84-79. More importantly, I ate Doritos, a Snickers, a sausage hero and Carvel ice cream, which I washed down with beer. I didn't have room for dessert.

But I got a story out of it, and plenty of laughs. Thanks to my friend for coming through. Next time the Denver Nuggets are in town, it's my treat.

Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue 2003

We interrupt this frighteningly immature weblog to bring you the following announcement: Sex sells.

Under the guise of a fashion issue produced by a sports magazine, AOL Time Warner unveiled Tuesday the latest edition of its long-running male masturbation facilitator, the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. From 8-8:30 p.m. ET, SI.com will air a launch party webcast, which will be the one-millionth most erotic thing on the web during that time period.

I'm all for selling to the public what it wants, and you can't spell PaulKatcher.com without T&A, but I don't like to be patronized. So when I see AOL-TW execs in their Armani suits, I see people whose salaries are paid, at least in part, by swimsuit issue whack-off videos and gay porn chat rooms. The company is struggling with convergence all right. Converging customers' hands with their privates.

I would have loved it if Michael Eisner was standing next to me at an Upper East Side bar when I saw a "Strippers Gone Crazy" video commercial aired during Disney-owned ESPN's SportsCenter. I would have asked him why, when sports gambling is illegal in 49 states, ESPN airs Hank Goldberg's NFL picks against the spread. Would he be honest and tell me that, yes, it does encourage illegal activity, but we turn a blind eye because it makes us money? (And maintains interest in the NFL, therefore making the league money.)

And I've already posted a link to the story exposing how corporate America is cashing in on porn. I mean, does anyone else laugh at the dichotomy of a a luxurious Marriott hotel room offering pay-per-view videos of Forrest Hump and Teenage Mutant Ninja Dildos?

I wonder how much of AT&T and MCI Worldcom's annual reports are dedicated to its profiting in the 1-900 market, which is dominated by phone-sex services and psychics.

I once had a meeting with representatives from Keen.com about getting well-known magazine columnists to participate in their fee-based conference calls. I asked them straight up what percentage of their income was derived from sex- and psychic-related content. (No shock that they never mentioned either category.) Their answer was far lower than what was reported in a major newspaper report shortly thereafter. Surprise, surprise. (In August 2000, Salon.com profiled Keen.com and said that "Keen.com wants to be the 'eBay of advice,' but looks more like the Web's 1-900 directory.")

Viva la capitalism. And profiting off sex, gambling and phony psychics while not really admitting it.

See last year's PK.com update for my reviews of SI swimsuit issues past, including images of my favorite covers.

How's the Weather Out There?

We haven't seen this much white powder in New York since the Mets' 1986 World Series post-party. Here are 15 pictures I took today.

Other New York Links

Shanghai vs. NYC in Battle for World's Tallest Building — China will revisit plans for building that could be upstaged by WTC rebirth. You know men have to be at the controls of these decisions.

NYCBP.com's Coyote Ugly 10th Anniversary Party Photos — What he lacks in timing (I had these photos up before last call), my buddy Kevin makes up for in quality and quantity. I think CU is going to be the scene of my 30th birthday celebration on Friday, Feb. 28. Come one, come all.

in-nyc.com's Barmaids of NYC — I don't know if this page is produced on Canal Street, but it looks like an NYCBP.com knockoff. However, I am always in favor of posting pictures of hot broads.

And You People Think I'm a Perv?

The No. 1 use for search engines is trolling for porn. How do I know? By checking my referrer logs through a free service called InterTracker. I just pop some JavaScript code onto my pages and watch it tell me where my visitors are coming from. So I know every time another website is linking to me (always encouraged and appreciated) and what searches people have conducted to arrive here.

Between 4-11 a.m. ET Sunday, 130 visitors came to my site through Google. Another 69 came through Yahoo!. Another 50 came through Google's foreign services. As always, the significant majority of the searches were sex-related.

Did you know that the week of Sept. 11, 2001 was the only one in which major search engines reported that sex was not the most-often searched topic? I did and was not surprised at all.

I get asked a lot how best to attract search engine traffic. There's a million things I could suggest in this era of PageRank, the way in which Google arrives at its order. Your site needs clout — achieved by links to your site, hopefully from other sites of prominent standing — and you need a search-engine friendly page for people to land on. Don't link to stuff with phrases like "click here" and "this is some crazy shit." You're better off with "Britney Spears' Super Bowl outfit" or "porn star midget's home page" or "jello wrestling contest pictures with people urinating in the background." 'Cause that's what people search for.

I've slowly built up my site's standing with Google over nearly three years of hard work. There hasn't been one time when I've tricked anyone into a topsites list or begged for reciprocal links, or any of those other cheap ways people whore for traffic. I did, however, build a legitimate search-engine friendly archive page. It remains the third-most trafficked page on my site, after the home page and my top 10 favorite MILFs. People search for MILFs. A lot.

Here's a look at where I stand on Google for actual searches that landed on PaulKatcher.com between 4 a.m.-11 a.m. Sunday, with links to the results pages to see what kind of company I am in.

• No. 1 for "subway jared"
• No. 1 for "'pictures of Chris Farley dead"'
• No. 1 for "shocking cancer pics"
• No. 2 for "bachelor parties"
• No. 2 for "innie outie bellybutton photo"
• No. 2 for "bachelorette party pictures nude"
• No. 2 for "topless neighbors"
• No. 2 for "fawnia mondey naked photos"
• No. 3 for "women, swimsuit, underwater"
• No. 3 for "milfs playboy"
• No. 3 for "you're the best around and nothing's gonna ever get you down lyrics"
• No. 4 for "south beach pictures"
• No. 5 for "club med nude photos"
• No. 5 for "amazing paul"
• No. 5 for "bikini contest playboy"
• No. 6 for "nude scene"
• No. 6 for "video 'wet t-shirt contest'"
• No. 6 for "search for ace frehley sites"
• No. 6 for "female bodybuilder legs"
• No. 8 for "porn fitness divas"
• No. 9 for "spring break cancun pics"
• No. 8 for "hedonism"
• No. 9 for "hooters gretchen"

I Don't Care What Grades My School's Athletes Get

I turned on the tube Saturday just in time to watch my alma mater, Syracuse, overcome a 12-point second-half deficit to defeat No. 9 Notre Dame, 82-80, before a crowd of 32,116, the largest to see a college hoops game this year and the biggest at the Carrier Dome since 1996. (Recap | Photos). At no point was I concerned with the academic performance of the athletes.

For all know, the Orangemen players could all be on the Dean's List. Or they could be skipping classes and drinking underage, like I did. (Hey, I also made Dean's List three times.) Or they could be dealing drugs and booking bets and making fake IDs and pulling credit-card scams and getting into fights and hazing freshman, like a lot of non-athletes I knew at SU did.

But, as long as the number under "Syracuse" is more than the number under "Opponent" when the scoreboard shows 0:00, I really don't care what kinds of grades these kids pull.

I wish them well, of course. I hope they stay out of trouble, hit the books, graduate and live a terrific life. But more than anything I hope they help Syracuse win basketball games.

This week I read an article detailing Syracuse's recruiting process, which includes a quote from an assistant coach whose strategy it is to "surround the kid" and "talk to as many people in his circle" as he can. It seems like a frightening con game. But I guess that's what it takes to win sometimes. Academics was never referred to in the article. I guess no one's really interested in reading about it.

The Syracuse Post-Standard prints a weekly update on how SU's incoming recruits are doing in their high school games. Academics are only referred to if a player is struggling to meet eligibility requirements that fall much lower than the average SU incoming freshman's SAT score. (Middle 50% is 1130-1300 and, good god almighty, 58% of them are women. Class profile.)

So go Orangemen! And then go hit the books or hit the bottle or hit the gym or hit the couch. I really don't care as long as we win.

Other Sports Links:

Dr. Z's Fifth Annual TV Commentator Awards — The most detailed NFL writer out there correctly credits Sam Rosen and Bill Maas for adding to the football-watching experience. I'm surprised he's down on Phil Simms and thank god finally someone takes the Sunday night (the unlistenable Mike Patrick-Joe Theismann-Paul McGuire three-headed monster) and Monday night (Al Michaels-John Madden) crews to task.

The Smashing Machine: The Life and Times of Mark Kerr — A fellow SU alum, who was a 190-pound national wrestling champ when I was there, was the subject of an HBO documentary on the life of an Ultimate Fighter. I think he was a bouncer at a bar called Maggie's, where I frequented as a 17-year-old freshman. (Interview from 2000.)

'Office Linebacker Terry Tate' Videos — Some people are going ga-ga over this guy. Here's the official Reebok site with multimedia, including the one where he tackles the Nike streaker.

Cartoon: The NFL Experience — Kurt Snibbe's witty take on how fans can truly experience the NFL.

Top 25 College Football Recruiting Classes — SU is nowhere to be found. Notre Dame gets a top-five class for the 100th straight year. Maybe they'll win a bowl game for the first time in a decade.

2003 NFL Mock Draft — Three QBs expected to go in the top 10. Carson Palmer to the Bengals (1), Bryon Leftwich to the Bears (4), Rex Grossman to the Panthers (9). They've got the Giants taking Ohio State S Mike Doss at No. 25, but nobody can predict that low in the draft at this point.

To All the Girls I've Loved Before

To my best estimation, my heart has been broken three times. Two hearts on a couple of sudden life-changing, I've-been-thinking-a-lot-about-us, depression-inducing dumps by women I loved who politely told me that it was time to see what else is out there. (I hope each ran face first into a case of herpes.) One-half heart by the crushing realization that a girl whom I thought was going to pull me out of one funk was the most mysterious — in a bad way — woman I'd ever met. One-quarter heart for the girl on whom I had the longest-running crush of my life and never got shit off of. And one-quarter heart for the rest of the broads who have blatantly ignored my needs over the years, even though I really never cared for any of them and just wanted cheap sex.

To all of them, I would like to say that I am not bitter. But I wouldn't mind it too much if you all locked yourselves together in a room and fucked yourselves. And then invited me to join in, OK?

In all seriousness, I don't hold bad feelings against any of the women I have loved or tried to love. They didn't want to spend their lives with me, and that's fine. There are plenty off well-intentioned women with whom I don't want to spend my entire life with. C'est la vie. And pass the Heinekens.

Now, if I was your average blogger, I would pull out some sappy lyrics from a song about loving oneself, but I won't, because I don't know any songs about masturbation. And I think most blogs are boring as all fuck.

(I can't wait to read all the reflective bullshit on blogs this Valentine's Day. Seriously, I'm going to laugh my face off at the unintentional comedy.)

Links for Horny Singles:

Man Summarizes His Day Photographing a Couple Having Sex — He says he did it for science. I say he did it to make a few hundred bucks from Nerve.com. And he used my camera, a Canon S30.

ErosBlog: 'The Sex Blog' — Finally a blog about something other than trips to Starbucks and how great pets are.

The Reverse Cowgirl's Blog — Some chick writes about sex and stuff. It's where I found Larry Sultan's artful photo gallery of life on a porn set.

Win a Trip to Hedonism III — You won't mind being single here, though from most accounts Hedo II is wilder.

How to Avoid Strip Club Scams — In case you're heading out to the titty bars Friday night. You won't see me there.

Adult Rentals at My Video Store That Delivers — One phone call can deliver gangbangs to my door in under an hour. I once told a friend that I'd never seen a porno on DVD, and he questioned why I even had a DVD player and 36-inch TV.

New Talent at Who's on First — One of my friends hired a couple of busty blondes to work at his bar. Another guy I know took the pictures. Another friend posted them. We all reap the benefits.

Review: 'Jimmy Kimmel Live'

"You're doing things that haven't been done on late-night television for 20 years," guest Jeffrey Ross said in mock appreciation of the host of ABC's "Jimmy Kimmel Live." "Things like saying, 'And now, I'd like to welcome my first guest, Corey Feldman.'" For Jimmy Kimmel fans such as myself, the line is altogether accurate, hysterical and tragic.

Seated on the guest couches at the time of Ross' quip were Feldman, Ross and Kathy Griffin. I couldn't get "Taps" out of my head. Somewhere, Chevy Chase was cleaning up his apartment. He's gotta be expecting company.

It's not good when I watch television and say, "I can do that," which happens when Judge Judy scolds an auto mechanic and Jimmy Kimmel host a live talk show. His mastery of puppets, Crank Yankers, always made me bust a gut. Same with The Man Show, which, at times, also made me bust a nut. "Jimmy Kimmel Live" does neither, and too often I ask myself, "How could it be over? I haven't even laughed yet."

Why the show is live I'll never know. Clearly it's a gimmick, since almost none of the show is written around that aspect. And while the live airing distinguishes itself, it runs the risk of extinguishing itself with poor delivery and botched sketches.

After two weeks, I can't recall a single bit I thought was genius, and the second-funniest line was also delivered by Ross: "I was in Hollywood the other day and saw some guy pissing on Rosie O'Donnell's star on the Walk of Fame. I said, 'Dude, show some respect. Next time take a dump.'"

I don't think it'll be very long before ABC takes a dump.

In Five Words of Less: Kimmel's Best on Comedy Central

Links:

Couch! Kimmel Hurts — The New York Daily News reports on how Kimmel's guests are being blocked by rival networks.

ABC's Jimmy Kimmel Strikes Out — Jon Friedman of CBS.MarketWatch.com listed Kimmel as one of the "People to Watch" in the media for 2003. Now he says "'Jimmy Kimmel Live' may just be the least funny talk show I've ever seen."

Behind the Scenes of Jimmy Kimmel Live — Humor columnist Joel Stein spent a week as a writer for "The Man Show." He catches up with his old boss and learns that for him to be a guest, ''every member of every reality show that ever aired would have to cancel.''

'Kimmel Live' Shows Few Signs of Long Life — The Kansas City Star's Aaron Barnhardt sees no more promise in the show than I do.

Official Show Page — Lists the guests each night. On Wednesday's show were Jolene Blalock, Patton Oswalt and Talib Kweli. I still don't know who they are.

Beat This Caption: Holy Sheep!

"After exchanging their vows, Ahmed whisked away his beautiful, new bride, Daisy, to a lovely honeymoon in enchanting Bagdhad, Iraq, where they made mad, passionate love under the bright lights of exploding bombs."

(To beat this caption, click "Post a Comment" below.)

Bruce Springsteen Came Out of My Ass

I got some photos from the Bon Jovi concert Monday night at Continental Airlines Arena. They were obviously shot from the same angle from which I was seated. Wish I could have done better.

I'm pretty much fucked till Wednesday in terms of updating this site. Been procrastinating for too long on a major writing assignment for my real job, so I'll leave you with these thoughts till then. (Though I will look hard for a good Beat This Caption candidate on Tuesday.)

I know Bon Jovi is a punchline. I know it's easy to crack on '80s hair bands. I'm here to defend them. Jon Bon Jovi can sing. Richie Sambora can play guitar. David Bryan can play the keyboards. Better than anyone who reads this site can. And they can pack 16,000 people, or whatever a sold-out show holds, on a Monday night in the sewer known as New Jersey.

And so, to all the Bon Jovi detractors, I ask, What did you do Monday night? Did you drive a sold-out crowd wild? Make girls' panties wet? Did you even leave the house?

Here's why I respect musicians — as well as writers and comedians — as much as anyone. They create something out of nothing. Take nothing away from Tom Cruise but if he died someone else would read his lines. Musicians, on the other hand, take the same instruments that have been around for decades or more and create sounds that only they thought of. That's genius. Know why people were so broken up when Chris Farley died? Because no one else did that. It was over. Same with Kurt Cobain. Same with Phil Hartman. Obviously, same with John Lennon. What would music be like today if Buddy Holly had lived? Could you say the same for Halle Berry, should something tragic happen to the Oscar-winning actress? Look at something as seemingly robotic as HTML coders. Know what separates 1996 web design from 2003 web design? Ideas. That's it. Same tools, only someone came along with brighter ideas.

As my regulars know, I rail against hypocrisy and anonymity. That's why I will always defend Bon Jovi. They're perfect targets for Playstation 2 experts and hipsters who bash them online, but if anyone ever shared a wedding reception table with one of them, you might as well clear an hour out of your schedule to hear how cool it was to sit next to them. They play sold-out rock shows around the world. Flat out. I respect that.

Best exchange of the night, in the beer line:

Meathead: Yo, ladies, what's uuuuppp? (Ladies walk away.)

Paul: Dude, does that ever work? Like ever? Why not just get a lasso? (People in line laugh.)

Meathead: Yo, these fucking chicks are like so young here.

Paul: You should see the girl sitting on my left. I'm gonna ask if she needs help with her homework later. (People in line laugh.)

Meathead: Yo, ladies, what's uuuuppp? (Again, ladies walk away.)

Paul: My man, you're drinking beer through a straw. (I'm serious.) You're not gonna get shit out here.

Meathead: Yo, I get mad hook-ups. Mad.

Paul tells beer lady, "This is why I come to New Jersey, to meet morons like that." She doesn't laugh. Obviously from Jersey.

Preppy Murderer Back in Media's Crosshairs

This Friday brings about an event that the New York media lives for: the release from prison of Robert Chambers, the "Preppy Murderer" who served 15 years for killing 18-year-old Jennifer Levin in Central Park in 1986.

Levin was found dead in the early morning, with red marks around her throat and various cuts and bruises. Her mini-skirt had been pushed up to her waist. Her bra and shirt were pushed up to her neck. Her panties found 50 feet away. An autopsy revealed the cause of death to be strangulation.

She had been seen the previous night leaving Dorrian's Red Hand, a popular preppy hangout on Manhattan's Upper East Side, with Robert Chambers, a good-looking 21-year-old bad boy. When first questioned about the crime, Chambers blamed the scratches on his face to his cat and cuts on his hand to sanding floors. He then changed his story several times before introducing rough sex: Levin, he said, had tied him up and he couldn't get her to stop.

The case was as high-profile as any in the last quarter-century of New York crime, right up there with the trials of John Gotti and Bernhard Goetz, both of whom were featured on the cover of TIME magazine. (Gotti cover | Goetz cover.) It had all the ingredients needed to salivate the public: sex, money, good looks and murder. If it sounds like a made-for-TV movie, it's because it was made into a TV movie (1989), starring Billy Baldwin and Lara Flynn Boyle. Why anyone watches TV movies about real events, I'll never know, but we'll discuss middle America in another post.

Defense attorney Jack Litman contended than Levin's death was a case of rough sex gone bad, that Chambers had accidentally killed her in an instinctive act of self-defense after she grabbed him in a way that caused him great pain. The case achieved national notoriety when Chambers' defense team delivered a ruthless blame-the-victim argument, attempting to bring into evidence Levin's sexual history from her diary, which is just as irrelevant today as it was then. Levin was painted as woman who had such an insatiable sexual appetite that 6-4 men must resort to murder to release themselves from her grip. The Village Voice published an article titled "Who’s On Trial?" But if O.J.'s playing golf these days, I guess some people will believe anything, and prosecutors agreed to a plea bargain that guaranteed jail time and erased the risk of a hung jury.

Chambers, for his part, has served more than four years of his prison sentence in solitary confinement for 27 serious offenses involving drugs, violence and smuggling. Sources told the New York Post that he is leaving with a drug problem and that it's almost a guarantee that he will be back in prison. Levin, meanwhile, remains dead; her family soon to be haunted again.

Court TV Documents the Case | Upper East Side Doesn't Want Him Back

'Like Bruce Springsteen Coming Out of My Ass'

On Monday night, I'll be traveling to the stinkhole known as East Rutherford, N.J., to see Bon Jovi in concert, which allows me the perfect opportunity to feature the Bon Jovi at MTV's 1987 Hedonism Weekend photos that I've been saving in my bookmarks for quite awhile.

I'm a big fan of Bon Jovi and here's why: You see the guy on the right posing on a beach with an unplugged electric guitar, a foam hat, calf-high tube socks and all-white velcro Reebok high-tops? I think his name is Richie. Well, he fucks Heather Locklear. And his Jacuzzi — where he fucks Heather Locklear — is bigger than your bedroom. You think Richard Simmons or Jared is motivation for fat people? Not like the guys in Bon Jovi are to this aspiring guitarist.

My New School teacher once asked my small-group guitar class, "Who's taking this course for credit?" I said, "Credit? I'm taking this course for girls." Every seasoned guitarist, from my friends to my doorman, asks me what style of guitar I like to play. I reply, "Whatever gets me laid." Let's face it, Gene Simmons is one of the ugliest things to ever emerge from a uterus. Seriously, there are placentas that are more attractive than him. And he ranks No. 3 on the all-time hit list, behind Wilt Chamberlain and Hugh Hefner. And he plays the bass, which nobody likes. Plus, he's not even that good.

I'm already doing the calculations. I'll be 30 in less than three weeks. I can probably get pretty good in five years. Is 35 too old to cash in on musical prowess? I'm banking on no. So Monday night, when I escort three drunken Jersey chicks to see Bon Jovi and they pay me no mind even though I hooked them up with tickets, I'll seek solace in the fact that in five years I could be doing as well as the guy with the tube socks at a beach.

P.S. The after party is at Coyote Ugly, where Char is celebrating her one-year anniversary. Don't miss it. You can be sober at work the next Tuesday.

P.P.S. The Bon Jovi picture does not accurately depict Hedonism II in the slightest. If it did, everyone would be naked and someone in the background would be getting a hummer. Not the LeBron James kind.

Other Music-Related Web Finds

Triumph the Insult Comic Dog Mocks Bon Jovi — One of the most popular viral videos of the past year. I was at this concert in the summer of 2001, the happiest period of my life. Feels like 10 years ago.

20 Questions With Dee Snider — I respect the Twisted Sister frontman as much as any celebrity. And I don't even know much of his music. But he's consistently a forthright, smart, responsible fan-friendly showman who's not afraid to fight back against brainwashed soldiers of religion and corporate media hypocrites. I saw him and his hot wife at a Yankees game once, so right on, fellow supporter of all things pinstriped. In this interview he calls out Axl Rose, bags on Vince Neil and surmises that Pee Wee Herman is not as gay as he once was.

2002 Sludgeaholic Choice Awards — The no-holds-barred glam/metal site delivers results from its year-end visitors' poll. Breaking news: Axl sucks.

Photos of Guns 'N' Roses Guitarist Buckethead — I went to the July 18, 1992 Metallica-GNR show at Giants Stadium and it was something out of rock history, even if Axl & Co. sucked and foreshadowed their disintegration into oblivion. Now they sport a guitarist with a bucket of KFC on his head. Shit, Sambora's doing a lot better than that.

Bon Jovi Refuses to Acknowledge Bassist — Even on the band's official site, bassist Hugh McDonald, who replaced Alec John Such, is not recognized. I have a couple of Bon Jovi shows on DVD and noticed that they almost never show this guy. This cheap business decision — apparently to dupe fans — has inspired a petition to give McDonald credit for his work.

Report From the Big Apple Blogger Bash

I had come to the happy hour gathering of New York City bloggers Friday at Zanzibar to chat with 50 or so people about the best things about running a website: the semi-celebrity, the out-of-state superfans' desires to have sex with you and the wealth of porn links that people send your way. And I had come, most importantly, hoping to bring a woman back to my place.

Instead I got this:

Paul: So, what do you write about on your blog?
Dude I Just Met: Stuff.

Ah, stuff. Now I knew I was at a blogger party, as if the almost-all-white, mostly-male, pretty nerdy crowd didn't already give that away. If only he'd said "I run a site without a single word worth reading" I wouldn't have been so sure where I was. Then came this...

Dude I Just Met: How 'bout you? What's on your blog?
Me: Porn.

Sure sounded a lot more interesting than stuff. But only one of us laughed. I set my level of serious blogger alert to orange.

I traded hot-tub stories with amiable co-host GI Jane. I won, of course, because I pulled from my 11,000-word Hedonism II trip report. Another female webmaster, to whom I reiterated loudly that Playboy is dropping the ball when it comes to signing A-list celebs for layouts, disclosed a theater sex romp with a fan. And I had a good time laughing about beer and breasts with with Ken Goldstein, who said, "You're doing god's work."

Apart from that, my conversations weren't too lively. I asked one woman early in the evening if she'd ever gotten anything sent to her from a fan. I'm still not sure she understood the question. She looked at me like I'd just asked if she'd ever been with four men at once. Another one recognized my URL on my nametag and said, "Hey, you signed my guestbook," — and immediately walked away. I would've settled for a dopey smiley face emoticon instead.

The problem for me was that not only did I not know anyone, but I had not read anyone and had never even heard of anyone. (There was some buzzing that a couple of blogging heavy-hitters were in the room. I'm thinking, "You poll horny college kids and see who's a heavy hitter in this room." Some dude tried to introduce me to one of 'em. He says, "This is xxxx ... of yyyy ... formerly of ssss ... and uuuu." He looked for my acknowledgement at every name-drop, and I looked at him as blankly as most people did me.)

Awards:

NYC's Best-Looking Blog Basher: Kambri Crews, by far.

Most Disappointing No-Show: New York As I See It. Wanted to ask her about the time a friend's husband inappropriately stripped naked and erect while she fiddled with a digital camera. Finally, someone who knows what makes a good read. You would think the term blogging meant "to write about how strong your coffee was in the morning."

Drunkest: The Raving Atheist. For a nonreligious man, he sure looked like he was going to pray at the porcelain altar. Love his post on the inappropriate interjection of religion at public memorials.

Yes, You Can Have a Cleaner Colon

Spam rarely catches my attention. Horny barnyard babes? I've moved on to midget amputees. Penis-enlargement pills? What, a foot isn't long enough? But this week I saw a subject line that could grab Ray Charles' attention: Colon need cleaning?

Um, probably.

Heretowith, an excerpt from the only piece of spam that truly is full of shit.

"The stool tells you a lot about your colon health. If it's dark brown in color, and it sinks, and it stinks, that's not good. And don't feel bad, that's the way most people are. What you want to see is light brown color, which means it's full of fresh bile from the liver, very mild odor, and a stool that floats. We're talking low-density here folks. The more compaction you have the darker the color and the faster it sinks. Compaction is not good. Also, moving bowels should be SIMPLE. If the veins are popping out of your neck and you feel like your doing the bench press, you NEED to cleanse your colon."

Ahhh, so that's the secret. Dense and smelly is not good. Well that explains how Ben Affleck single-handedly killed Pearl Harbor. I'll have to wait till later to see how I rate, but if you come back from the throne displeased with the subjects, here's a link to a bottle of Extreme Colon Cleanser. Be careful. You don't want to overdose on this stuff.

Other Web Finds

Miller Lite Catfight Girl on Playboy.com — You'll need a Cyber-Club membership — and no, I don't have one — but at least we can keep an eye out when the photos get released on another site.

Wanted: 6-5 African-American Woman — Loyal visitor Kevin spotted a strange ad on the same site on which a Missouri man supposedly was seeking a cheap "Big Apples" apartment on the "Upper Western Side." Anyway, if you're black, tall and have breasts, you can make $750/day without even having sex.

Hook Up New York — A service that allows people to post personal ads for too-shy friends. T minus two weeks till the site is overrun with ads of Photoshopped high school teachers posted by spiteful students.

Rent a Dwarf — Like Jimmy Kimmel said on Super Bowl Sunday, everyone should own one.

Beat This Caption: The Newest Yankee

"Joe Torre and Roger Clemens enjoyed the Spicy Chicken With Mets Suck Sauce so much that they made Liu an honorary captain."

(To beat this caption, click "Post a Comment" below.)

Head 2 Head: Mac vs. PC

Here's how Head 2 Head works: I throw out a debate between two people, places or things, and you settle it by posting a comment.

Today's question is, Which is a better computer system to own, Mac or PC?

Mac: The Lexus EX 300 of the computer market, the Mac dazzles with its looks, but is it the same, cheaper Toyota Camry with a prettier wrapping?
Pros: Friends will think you have style, even if your closet is filled with cutoff jeans and duck shoes. Hackers don't bother generating worms to take down 5% of the computer market. Interface is so easy, a moron (or even a Mets fan) could operate it.
Cons: That inferiority complex that comes when you ask a Comp USA staffer where the Mac section is and he points to the one shelf underneath the 90%-off scanners. They crash more often than Bobby Brown after a few highballs.
Typical Users: Children of rich parents, holier-than-thou designers, bosses of PC-using minions.

PC: Most people succumb to being followers rather than leaders because fighting the good fight isn't nearly as much fun as downloading tons of porn.
Pros: No compatibility issues to worry about when sending naked photos of yourself to strangers. You can use the $1,000 you'll save from not buying a compatible Mac on 15 cases of beer and two strippers for one hour — who says someone has to get married to throw a bachelor party?
Cons: Someone, somewhere is trying to hack into your computer ... right fucking now. If you don't save a file in the right folder, you've just kissed it goodbye. The frustratingly unanswerable question, "Why the hell can't they make this stuff look as cool as a Mac? It's the same shit."
Typical Users: 17-year-old virgin gamers, everyone in the bullpen area of your maddeningly boring 9-5 job

Links: Are Mac Users Smarter? | TechTV's Mac/PC Showdown

To respond, click "Post a Comment" below.

This Is Where I Will Spit on the Koran

Pictured are the final two designs being considered for the redevelopment of the World Trade Center. They each include structures that would rise higher than any in the world — over 300 feet taller than the Twin Towers. They each allocate space for a respectful memorial. But only one of them — the final, rebuilt WTC — will be where I ascend to the greatest height possible and spit between the pages of a Koran.

And then I will drop it to the floor, rub my foot in it, raise two defiant middle fingers to the sky and mouth the words "fuck you."

I will not do this out of disrespect for any law-abiding Muslims who are not planning to hijack planes, behead kidnapped reporters or bomb Bali tourist spots. I have defended them here and in my "real" life many times. This will just be a little message for my friends' murderers that they have an ass-whooping waiting for them, but not before I'm done down here.

Other New York Links:

NY Post Columnist Recalls Punching Out Phil Spector — Steve Dunleavy recounts how the Robert Blake of the week was a grade-A dipshit at Elaine's on the Upper East Side back in 1993. Reminds me of the time me and a couple of friends stopped by after a bachelor party to, as my buddy put it, "to hit on divorced, lonely broads." We really weren't welcome there.

Missouri Man Seeks 1-BR in New York for $650/Month — I think this listing for a place on the "Upper Western Side" with good parking is bullshit, but funny nonetheless.

Gawker — A smart Manhattan weblog magazine filled with daily nuggets of content and links to NYC-related articles and sites. This defies the law of blogs, which states that 99.9 percent of each one is total crap. I swear I can't name but a few I actually like.

VIP LIFE: An Elite NYC Social Club — Speaking of things I want to spit on.

Big Apple Blogger Bash — Around 40 NYC bloggers have already RSVPed for this Friday. I don't know any of 'em, but I expect to have a good time anyway. Why not come by?

200 New Pics at NYCBP.com's Camera Club (Gallery Nos. 38-41) — The horny old guys are back with more pictures of the NYC bar scene than I could ever image. Allow me to present the highlights: Rebecca from Yogi's | Sneak attack | Erik's award | Say yes to crack | Fat, hairy back, in pain

Review: Playboy Magazine

It is with great sadness that I post a fond farewell to a friend that's been with me, like a period, every month since 1996. The final issue of my current Playboy subscription arrived and I *sniffle* *sniffle* have already decided that it's best we no longer see each other. The reason: not enough celebrity ass.

I never got Playboy for the articles. I got it because there were pictures of naked women in it and, most importantly, pictures of naked women that I could not see anywhere else. Now, with a DSL connection and access to approximately 1.5 billion pictures of naked women online, there is no need for Playboy, unless it capitalizes on its ability to lure never-before-seen-nude celebrities to pose.

There was Kim Basinger in February 1983. Madonna in September 1985. Cindy Crawford in April 1993. Elle MacPherson in May 1994. Shannon Elizabeth in August 1999. Hell, I even thought the Dian Parkinson and Downtown Julie Brown shoots were hot. And then came the Jump the Shark moment for which I will never forgive Hugh Hefner: WWF's Chyna, a man with fake breasts and thighs that could choke an ox, who posed not once (November 2000) but twice (January 2002). I have not accepted a single one of Hugh's party invites since.

Playboy and I have been through a lot together. Kleenex, especially. And I've got to hand it, quite literally, to Stephanie Seymour, Paula Barbieri and Donna D'Errico. But the last few months have brought Clint Eastwood's daughter, the naked-everywhere Jordan, the few decent-looking Enron and WorldCom women and "The Sexy Ladies of Latin TV." I didn't even know there was Latin TV.

I'll miss the Playboy Advisor, but not the wine questions. I'll miss the interviews, but only the ones with athletes and comedians. And I'll miss the "Next Month" page, which I would check first, ironically, to see if I could look forward to seeing Charlize Theron (May 1999). Alas, it was usually a promo for the next OK-looking college feminists of the Big 12.

Where the hell is Kelly from Real World New Orleans? Where, pray tell, is Jules Asner? Jennifer Garner? Jennifer Aniston? Is Elizabeth Hurley too much to ask? They should have an entire department working on securing a "tasteful" shoot with Britney Spears. Instead we're supposed to be impressed with another pictorial of Pamela Anderson, like I haven't seen her naked. Or sucking off a rock star ... twice.

So long, Playboy. Thanks for the mammaries.

(By the way, the Charlize Theron issue is going for quite a price on eBay. I've never thrown an issue out. Time to cash in.)

Well You Wanna Woo Woo!

If the Internet has taught us anything, it's that people who make phony websites like the Icy Hot Stuntaz aren't looking hard enough for real examples of sperm-gone-bad. The latest examples are Bubb Rubb and Lil' Sis, who gained instant celebrity last month when San Francisco TV station KRON interviewed them about a car-modification fad, attaching whistle tips to car mufflers.

Many residents claim the whistles are unbearably annoying, but Bubb Rubb defended the practice by saying, "That's only in the morning: you're supposed to be up cooking breakfast! It's like an alarm clock. Whoo-hoo!"

Can't argue with that kind of logic. I also can't do this man's delivery justice, and so you'll just have to trust me on this and view the video clip right now.

You also don't want to miss The Official Bubb Rubb Soundboard or the Bubb Rubb Info Center, which contains a host of .mp3 remixes and Photoshopped images of the member of Raider Nation. Also see the Bubb Rubb translation page.

Other Web Finds:

Nude Blog Awards — Kat is looking for submissions of the best T&A blogs. I'll show you a submission, bitch. Speaking of...

Read/Share Kinky Sex Stories — The question of week at Dirty Questions is, What's the kinkiest sex experience you've ever had? (And we mean with someone else.)

Chapelle's Show Soundboard — Flash audio clips from the Comedy Central show by the funniest guy I've ever seen live. Definitely click on the "Dog Food Tastes..." one.

Suckadelic Star Wars Breakbeats — Some dude I met who owns a t-shirt with a unicorn on it mixes music to Star Wars sounds. Wish he had a beat in there of Chewbacca passing gas.

Commonly Confused Words — Assure, ensure, or insure? That or which? Compare to or compare with? Read this so you don't write like such an ass when begging for sex on Match.com.

Quiz: Ass or Elbow? — You're presented with 14 images. Can you tell which is which? (Found on Gigglechick.)

Take a Tour of PK.com World Headquarters

I took a bunch of photos of my apartment for a little digicam/Photoshop practice, and thought you might be interested in seeing the inside of PK.com headquarters. I'm a sucker for looking inside people's apartments (and I don't mean with binoculars, though that's been done at my place, too). Anyone else feel like an unshakable desire to peer into neighbor's apartments when they leave the door open? I always just wanna make sure there's no Jeffrey Dahmers on my floor.

(The Coyote Ugly photos have been viewed around 2,500 times in less than three days; not sure if my couches are going to top that.)

The 'Cuse Is in the House, Oh My God

When I was at Syracuse from 1990-94 we stormed the basketball court only once, after a Saturday, Feb. 12, 1994, victory over Kentucky. The current students did it three times on Saturday alone.

With No. 2 Pittsburgh in town and 30,303 mostly mustachioed and overweight fans in the seats, the Orangemen dumped the Panthers, 67-65, after overcoming a 13-point second-half deficit.

This was 'Cuse hoops as its best. We averaged 29,000 people a game my freshman year, outdrawing the New York Yankees by several thousand, but last year's average gate was only 17,000. What the fuck? Did they stop selling beer in the Carrier Dome? What the hell else do those people have to do? Plow more snow? There's only so many times you can fry up Heid's hot dogs at home while Shania Twain spins on the Radio Shack CD player.

The funny part of the game was how the fans were guilty of premature celebration — twice. Hundreds ran onto the court when the clock ran out, even though it was clear that Pitt had called time with a second remaining. After order was restored and time was put back on the clock, the Panthers connected on an final heave that was after the buzzer, but the officials — with the help of a Jim Boeheim plea — cleared the court again in order to review the play. They correctly ruled the game in favor of SU, and the crowd flooded the court for a third time in one evening.

And then presumably, everyone froze their balls off on the run to Marshall Street, where they packed the bars and threw up in the bathrooms. Ah, memories.

Top Five Carrier Dome Memories:

1. Without question, SU's 16-10 loss to Miami in the final game of the 1992 football season. No. 6 hosting No. 1 with the Big East title on the line and me blowing two boating air horns that could barely be heard over the second-loudest crowd I've ever heard. My acquaintance and All-American Chris Gedney was tackled at the Miami 3 to end a buzzkiller of a game. (I was at the 1986 Mets-Buckner Game 6. The entire stadium shook. It will never be topped.)

2. Kirby Dar-Dar's 95-yard game-opening reverse kickoff return for a TD against Florida in 1991. I didn't see a thing after he hit the 50. He was gone and everyone was jumping on the seats.

3. Seton Hall center Luther Wright trying to dribble over half-court, flubbing it, then bending over to pick the ball up and kicking it out of bounds. I swear that boy was retarded. I almost felt guilty laughing at him.

4. Having front-row center seats half of my senior year. I mean right in the front row and with the half-court line splitting my legs. Aside from the courtside media, I had the best view of the action. The perks of being a four-year season-ticket holder with a small pre-Big East season group.

5. Everything Billy Owens did. He was there for only one of my years, but he was the best SU hoops player I ever saw. No one else was close. Not Lawrence Moten. Not John Wallace. The only players I saw in the Dome who were in his class were Alonzo Mourning and LaPhonso Ellis, both of whom had bodies like gladiators.

Other Sports Links:

Video Game Makers Battle EA Sports for Supremacy — In college, I was so good at these games. Now I'm so bad, and I don't know how I should feel about it.

The Season of the Dick — That's how this site dedicated to Eric Dickerson describes his 1984 season, one of the greatest seasons ever by a running back. I'm not sure which of his seasons would best be described as The Season of the Nuts or The Season of the Scrotum.

Michael Jordan Scores Season-High 45 Points — Gotta hand it to the old man, even though if he tries to sell me another hamburger or sneaker, I'm gonna barf. We forget sometimes that this is a guy whose father was murdered on the side of a road.

Colts K Vanderjagt Calls Out Manning, Dungy — He says the QB's and coach's laid-back demeanors ain't gonna get the job done in the NFL. Might be true, but since when are kickers interviewed about anything?

Review: Trinity Pub

There's only one bar where I've swung open the door and yelled, "OK, which of you drunk women isn't getting laid enough?" That place is Trinity Pub, located on 84 Street between Second and Third Avenues and home to the most wasted and mostly desperate 20- and 30-somethings in all of the Upper East Side.

An appropriate nickname for Trinity would be "The Dugout," not only because of its tiny quarters but because it's where everyone goes after they strike out, usually after 3 a.m., when the bar actually gets more crowded. And the male-female ratio at that time is better than any bar in the neighborhood made famous for preppies who can't hold their liquor.

Now, before you go thinking that you're gonna meet one of the Hilton sisters here, there's a good reason why it's as dimly lit as a coffin. A friend and I had to leave Trinity early around Christmas, when the decorative lights overly illuminated the overly liquored patrons, who make the place look like a casting call for the next Star Wars cantina.

I wouldn't classify Trinity as wild, but generally interesting. Most people are there to meet and greet, and you can always count on at least five patrons looking like they could win a Drunkest Person in New York contest. Their mere existences do wonders for one's ego when he's trolling for desperate women and bemoaning that a 4 a.m. last call comes too early.

Hard to decide on my favorite Trinity story. One is about a guy who saw a women there with whom he'd spent a night with a year and a half earlier. She was flirtatious but clearly didn't recall the previous encounter. So he didn't mention it and went home with her again.

Another is about a friend who went home with a girl who previously had been sucking face with another dude for 30 minutes and whose New Year's resolution it was to not be in Trinity when the lights come on at 4 a.m. That means she does this a lot. After breaking her resolution, she took my friend back to her place, where he recognized her roommate as being a previous regular Trinity hookup of a mutual friend. My guess is that apartment has had more people come through it than Grand Central Station.

And a recent entry (from last night) is of a guy who got a beer poured on his head by a woman he not only accused of being a man, but demanded that she "show him her pussy" to prove she wasn't. Dripping in beer, he lobbied the bartender for a replacement drink and proceeded to try his luck with two chicks who both looked like cousins of Miss Piggy.

Anyway, Trinity is fun, the staff is friendly, the jukebox is very good, the beer is cold and the night doesn't end till that place closes shop. And even if you don't got game, tripping someone on the way to the bathroom is an acceptable introduction.

In Five Words or Less: Drunk? Horny? Lonely? Go Here.

Other Trinity Reviews: Mr. Hipster | CitySearch | NY Metro