• Only Blog Can Judge Me

    Promotional materials for the Broadway musical Holler if Ya Hear Me declare that it is “inspired by the work of Tupac Shakur.” This is not accurate. Holler is not Tupac’s work come to life; it is his work stuffed in a museum. It is TUPAC: THE RIDE, ONLY AT SIX FLAGS…

  • Your Dad Is Disappointed

    Fathers see things tattooed deep within, all that is wrong with you. And they see the good, too, things that are subtle, because they are always searching, always trying to find out why you are the way you are.

  • This American Bro: A Portrait of the Worst Guy Ever

    He has existed for as long as there have been gluttonous men dedicating ceremonies to their own existence. The only things that change are the miscellaneous wristbands he wears, and the brand of energy drink on the promotional T-shirt they gave him. He is both timeless and terrib…

  • King of New Yawk: Mike Francesa and Loud Noises

    Mike Francesa exists to exceed things. He does not “think” or “believe” or “have opinions”; he recites the indisputable principles of Mike Francesa’s universe, of which he is the sole architect. If you told him that there was a Mount Rushmore of radio hosts but that his face was…

  • Maurtified

    It is a Wednesday night in early December, and I am waiting in the lobby of the Rich Forum Theatre in Stamford, Connecticut, because I am here to see a taping of Maury, because I am an American, and gawking at the calamitous decisions of strangers is what we do to feel ali…

  • Joe Frazier Is Dead; Long Live Joe Frazier

    Frazier believed in a cold pursuit of something; his objective was not to proselytize but to give himself over to the sport. Not to transcend it or to reshape it but to be consumed by it, to thrive within its merciless structure. To beat Ali, he said, he was willing to die.

  • Look on Mike Tyson, Ye Mighty, and Despair

    Mike Tyson is a motherfucker. Mike Tyson is a scientist of pain. Mike Tyson's prefight music is just noise. Mike Tyson is afraid of everything and everything is afraid of Mike Tyson. Mike Tyson is a God.

  • A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

    The title of one of Richard La Ruina's e-books is How to Make Your Move With Zero Chance of Rejection. I haven’t read it, though I assume it just contains a list of the trunk dimensions in every car manufactured since 1974.

  • Scott Disick: American Psycho

    We first encountered Scott Disick in 2007, four minutes into the series premiere of Keeping Up with the Kardashians, a show about sunglasses, insincerity, and women exiting sport-utility vehicles. In the vacuum-sealed, deliberately enunciated infomercial that is the Karda…

  • Land of the Free, Home of the Cave

    Man caves still exist and civilization is worse off for it. They are the male ethos writ large: no ambitions beyond hiding in a place surrounded by miniscule triumphs and pedestrian hobbies, while females are present only in two dimensions on a television screen with the volume t…

  • Standing on Your Lawn Shouting His Own Name

    Kanye went from backpacker to Jumbotron rock star to messianic figure. He wanted to get Jay-Z’s attention, then to rise in the sky at Coachella, then to be Steve Jobs. This was his career trajectory. Kanye doesn’t want to take over the world. He wants to be gravity.

  • Man Have Sex with Girl in Cave: Dissecting ‘Gigolos’

    It is conceivable that, one day, I will meet someone who has walked on another planet. The person will describe for me the cosmic insignificance of our individual lives and how simultaneously splendid and bleak the universe is. I will make a face and wait for the person to finish…

  • Ryan Lochte Is a Human Jägerbomb

    Ryan Lochte is just barely a person. He is a walking treatise on bro culture: driven only by his basest impulses, no restraint, going hard, going big, getting your back, shredded abs, hot dog/penis jokes, iPhone pictures of friends mid-vomit. He is a debauched, self-impressed, pe…

  • The Loveliest Chauvinist

    If the name Andrew Dice Clay has any significance to you, it is, inevitably, as the blockheaded, spectacularly leathered obscenity-dispenser who once looked like some combination of Mad Max and Liberace and who now looks like the guy who lives downstairs from your grandmother and…