The Conversations With Distinguished Gentlemen Issue
Suiting Up, Crusting Down
Recently London was tousled by a series of riots led by outraged anarchists who were probably just really bored. As usual, it looked like a good time.
Hock Talk
We were disappointed when the pawnshop we visited in Amsterdam wasn’t some seedy box in the red-light district with a mean old coot slouching behind his desk and patting the shotgun on his lap.
Surrogate Cocks, Inc.
It happens to a lot of men. You meet a beautiful girl, and for some reason you can’t divine, she’s attracted to you. You get to know her, take turns putting your mouths in unspeakably awkward places, establish sides of the bed.
Hock Talk
Pawnshops in Canada aren’t all that different from those in the US, but for whatever reason finding a chatty pawnbroker was like chiseling a dead body out of concrete.
A Living, Breathing Philosopher
Simon Critchley is renowned for his groundbreaking ethical reading of the deconstructionist movement (that’s an important thing, even if you have no idea what it means).
Sex Smells
This stuff is supposed to make a man more irresistible to women than LL Cool J after bathing in a pool of Spanish fly, beaver musk, and balm of Gilead. It arrived last week, and boy does it reek.
Asher Levine Has Balls (as If You Couldn’t Tell)
"Workout gear is just so bland. I want to go to the gym and wear something sexy and fun. To me, life really shouldn’t be anything but fun and sexy!"
Hock Talk
The most recent store opening coincided with an uptick in the poor-people-selling-their-cherished-belongings business.
Ripping The Universe A New One
Last September, the opportunistic hypochondriacs who control the global media tried to convince us that the end of the universe was coming. This turned out to be an exaggeration.
Ripping The Universe A New One
Last September, the opportunistic hypochondriacs who control the global media tried to convince us that the end of the universe was coming. This turned out to be an exaggeration.
War Is Hell, And Hell Sucks
It’s about as clichéd to call a war book “harrowing” as it is to call a movie about a handicapped guy overcoming the odds a “triumph,” but I’ll be damned if this book didn’t harrow me out big-time.