Author Archive

In the interest of full disclosure, I admit that I have not or cannot do some of the things listed. However, much like Lethal Weapon, I have earned diplomatic immunity by providing you with a comprehensive list of things you should be able to do to be in the man club. If you, like our editor Peter, think we’re merely subscribing to cliched ideals of masculinity, we can take this outside. Alright, brah?

Grow a Beard:

We’re not talking about some bitch-ass Ryan Seacrest five o’clock shadow. Nay, we refer to the kind of beard which could sand a coffee table and be strong enough to rescue drowning pandas at the zoo. Timothy Treadwell might have made the Man Hall of Fame for living with (and eventually getting mauled by) Grizzly bears, but it is Grizzly Adams who we remember most, his beard the stuff of legend.

No beard = Death             Beard = Immortal

Tap a Keg:

Few things can beat the sweet sweet taste of a cold beer. However, nothing dampens the experience more when some moron has gotten between you and your (tenth) beer by foaming up the keg. Proper execution is key, for you are a beer ambassador, and the whole party depends upon your finely honed skill.

Throw a Spiral:

Fall means two things: The end of miniskirts and bikinis and the start of football. While the former makes me shed a tear, the latter puts a sparkle in that same eye. Tailgates are essential, and inevitably someone will want to toss the pigskin around. When it’s your turn to catch it, do everyone a favor by returning the throw without struggling like Michael J. Fox at a Jenga tournament. You don’t have to be Dan Marino, but a nice spiral proves you belong at a (real) football game.

Drive Stick:

This comes with a caveat. While you may know how to drive a manual, the car attached is of equal importance. New Corvette means you have a small penis, while a hybrid means you’re a flavor of the week loser… with a small penis.

Build a Fire:

The Boy Scouts are a paradox. While they teach manly things like hunting, tying knots, and survival, they offset all of that with patches and gay scarves. So unless you were a member (we won’t tell, scouts honor), there’s a good chance you know how to do none of the above and probably can’t build a fire without lighter fluid and matches.

Grill:

While the latter category frowned upon fire technology, this one embraces it. In fact, the more gadgets and knobs the better, unless your food comes out tasting like Cambodian hooker taint. Important to note, propane is unacceptable for any reason (sorry, Hank Hill).

Win a Fight:

In order to check this off your list, you must fight against someone with equal or greater stature. That means no women. So while you may think you’re Mike Tyson, the only thing you have in common is domestic abuse.

After reading some of the reviews floating around the internet, I was a bit skeptical coming in to see Tucker Max’s new film “I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell.” Entering the Arclight Dome, I nearly ate shit trying to climb up to the press section on my crutches. Great start. Luckily a cute usher came to my aid, and I got a healthy view of cleavage for my efforts with none of the guilt. And handicapped people think they have it rough.

Without giving too much away, the story centers around three friends Tucker (Matt Czuchry), Drew (Jesse Bradford), and Dan (Geoff Stults) who set off to the holy grail of strip clubs to give the soon-to-be groom, Dan, a bachelor party before he exchanges vows with his adorable fiance Kristy (Keri Lynn Pratt).

Jesse Bradford absolutely stole the show. Drew’s constant barrage of one-liners reminded me of a nerdy, woman-hating Don Rickles. His quick wit is matched only by stripper Lara (Marika Dominczyk) who seems to be the only one to effectively put him in his place.

Czuchry and Stults equally delivered with their performances, the latter carefully acting to counter-balance the former’s raging narcissism. Though most college men wish they could be Tucker, more probably identify with Dan who manages to have fun while being in monogamous relationship.

What I soon learned was that critics who had reviewed the film neglected the most important part of the viewing experience. Was the film funny? Absolutely and undeniably. It accomplished what it set out to do: make the audience hurt with laughter, rarely leaving time for them to breathe.

Max has already caught the attention of feminist groups on his premiere tour. The ironic part about their insistence to protest a film they haven’t seen is that their viewpoint of Max is clearly articulated and framed within the narrative. Many of the female characters reject and call out Tucker for being a misogynist asshole. Two in particular get their sweet revenge, leading to one of the most epic shit scenes in film history (an oft-ignored cinematic staple).

The one disappointing aspect of the premiere experience was the question and answer session. Some of questions had to be among the worst on tour (”Do you get emails about Tucker Max death mix?” “Can you re-enact the Tucker/Slingblade dialog from the book?” “Can we see your ass?”… asked by a dude). Luckily M.C. Bill Dawes was able to save the sinking ship by humorously deflecting the lame requests.

I wanted to hear Tucker expand more on the unique approach to making and releasing the film. Few times has an independent film with broad comic appeal seen wide release and even fewer have seen box office success. The fact that he’s opted not to go the traditional distribution route but instead chosen to self-release makes it all the more remarkable. But make no mistake, if Tucker is successful in his approach, he could be to film what Trent Reznor is to the music industry.

Tucker and Nils mentioned that they had plans for sequels with everyone in the cast signed on with the exception of Bradford. I can’t really blame Jesse though, his role made the film and he’s going to be looking for a huge payday after the final box office receipts have been tallied. He’d be worth every penny.

Additional highlights include:

-Drew Curtis of Fark referencing the Glenn Beck 1990 rape joke of which a handful in the crowd got.

-Mark Ebner’s catcalls from the press gallery.

-An Armenian apologizing for the existence of Glendale. Long overdue, I might add.

*It’s a well known fact that every movie review title must contain an oh-so-clever pun. Hey, I don’t make the rules.

This is like the Cliff’s Notes of television viewing. And with their Oscar spoilers video, I could have skipped film school altogether.

The much anticipated red band trailer has been posted 9 days before the film hits theaters September 25th. The disgust on their faces when he asks, “Who’s the designated slut?” is enough for the price of admission.

Dear Demagogues of In-N-Out,

Since moving to California in the summer of 2001, I have had the pleasure of experiencing your restaurant unlike many of my fellow compatriots along the eastern seaboard and flyover states. Though I am an atheist, I have never batted an eye about the Bible passages emblazoned on the cups and wrappers. Who has time to pick up a Bible and read when you’re busy choking down food like it’s the last supper meal you’ll ever receive? Full admission, In-N-Out is the closest I have ever come to touching god, a god covered in cheese and saucy spread.

But upon my last visit, I had a revelation of my own. I ordered my typical double-double animal style with a strawberry shake when it hit me. Bacon. The bacon didn’t hit me literally, for I would’ve been the first ever to be hospitalized by deliciousness. Nay, like a peyote desert vision, it came to me. What could possibly improve an In-N-Out burger more than bacon? Like all things in the universe, the answer comes back to bacon. And 42. 42 strips of lightly crisped pork.

This doesn’t need to be a permanent addition to the menu. You may tease us with its presence seasonally, like a spring breeze lightly billowing a skirt on a pair of tanned California legs. You could make it a seven day affair, like ‘Shark Week’ on Discovery Channel with ketchup substituted for chum. Quite possibly, you could only allow it for only a day, like the celebration of the birth of your Lord and Savior. Merry Baconmas.

If the worry is freshness, fear not my carnivorous friends: bacon can be refrigerated up to 2 weeks. Not that you’d have to worry about storing the bacon for long, since every red-blooded American will request demand those strips of salty swine faster than you could keep it in stock.

Below, you will find other patrons of your restaurant who have signed an internet petition, which is about as worthless a communications degree from Arizona State. Nevertheless, you will find that support is far-reaching and open like the legs of a communications major at Arizona State (Just kidding, you know I love you, ladies).

Deliciously yours,
Sean

Banned readers: You know what to do. Sign the petition here.

New York Times Best-Selling author and now filmmaker scored on the Florida Gators before the season even started.

New York Times Best-Selling author Tucker Max reveals the trailer for his upcoming movie “I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell.”

If you laughed as much as we did, be sure to book a ticket on his premiere tour, coming to a city nearest you.