Real Housewives Of (Insert City Here) Are In Fact As Fake As Bruce Jenner’s Face

I’ve been making some rounds on the expansive internet. Without trying to toot my horn too much I would like to direct any readers that I’ve still maintained after a 4 month hiatus to a couple website where I’ve been exposing my skills as a writer.

I’ve written three articles for a new up and coming website called “Joe Crazy.com”. The website is trying to model itself after other websites like “Cracked.com” or “CollegeHumor.com“. While it’s going through its growing pains I would recommend you guys check it out for a laugh or two… or at least to read my stuff.

Check out these articles at www.joecrazy.com: Moustaches Trying Too Hard To Be Cool, Top 5 Questions To Ask Before Getting Your Tattoo and 10 Celebrities Who’ve Cheated Death (So Far).

Lastly, I wrote a bit for a website called TVStoreOnline.com about my all time favorite comedy: Tommy Boy. It’s pretty good (I think) as I dish about my love for Chris Farley and his best movie by far. Check it out here: A Look At Tommy Boy: A Movie You Need To See Again. 

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Several years ago, in an effort for the Bravo Network to stay in the ever growing competitive market of reality television and to feed off the success of Desperate Housewives on NBC and The Hills or Jersey Shore on MTV they created what could very well be the most damning evidence as to why terrorists want all of us dead: The Real Housewives of Orange County. 

I would throw that orange away. It looks spoiled.

Let me say first that I didn’t (and still don’t) watch this show religiously and I probably would never had watched it if it wasn’t for my wife.  The show targets women, but more often than not the men in their lives are trapped on the couch next to them where they’re forced to continually throw up in their mouth over and over again.

Unfortunately, the orginal show was a hit. So some greedy network executive decided to make more. Out sprouted New York City, Atlanta, New Jersey, Beverly Hills, Miami and Washington D.C.

What’s next? I dunno… Antartica maybe?

In the vein of all reality shows it follows around individuals who just happen to make “great television” by living their lives as they normally do.  In this instance, these individuals happen to be “housewives” living very affluent lifestyles with nothing better to do with their time than spend their husbands/sugar daddies/ex-husbands/boyfriends money.  Hilarity, drama, and “real life” bullshit ensue.

A typical storyline could be this: “30-year old Gretchen stays at home to attend a party while her 80-year old fiancé travels out of the state to get treatment on his leukemia.  From his hospital bed he buys her a new 10 carat diamond engagement ring.  And a motorcycle.  And a new car.  And a bracelet.  And a small to scale replica of the golden gate bridge carved from the femur bone of fossilized mammoth.”

Oh, how much she loves him! So she calls him and tells him with tears rolling down her cheeks in front of several Bravo cameras held by staff members urging her to cry just a little bit more.

"Oh whoops! I misplaced your medicine with hydrochloric acid!! Sorry!! You'll be fine. I want a new Porsche."

Or this:  “Top heavy Kim’s sugar daddy only known as ‘Big Papa’, buys an 8 carat diamond engagement ring and proposes to her gigantically disgusting breasts despite the fact he’s still married with children.  At a party showing off her ring, everyone is too busy looking at Kim’s boobs to notice her ring.  Other  housewives are disgusted and talk about Kim behind her back while they pick delicacies like chocolate covered bald eagle embryo and sour stem cell candy from their bowls made from the skulls of orphan children.”

"Me? Why yes... I am a skank"

What’s even more disturbing is what the producers of this show deem what a “housewife” is. Most of them on the show aren’t even married and some don’t have kids!  A more appropriate title might be “The Most Spoiled, Money Grubbing Chicks Without Souls On The Planet.”

Perhaps the most frustrating aspect of this abomination is that it creates role models out of these women who really have nothing to offer but saline enhancements, catty bickering and dependence on material things. The last thing I want is my daughter growing up thinking it’s no big deal for her to suck the final pennies from a dying man in order for her to “love” him and, to add insult to injury, televise her ploy for the whole world to smirk at and call a skank.  Or even worse, grow up to be a beautiful woman hell bent on destroying the marriage of a man with children and parade herself as the “other woman” in his life whom he’ll leave his family for one day.

Are we sure these are the people we need to be giving a reality show to?

With the media having you believe that a housewife can be nothing more than a cheap, made up, cheating floozy who can barely raise her Chihuahuas… then we’re headed towards our demise faster than anyone anticipated.

Kim Kardashian Ready To Marry Former Cro-Magnon Man: Kris Humphries

 Cro-Magnon men are well-known as the earliest modern humans with traces of their existence dating back about 35,000 years ago. From what scientists with brains larger than the average watermelon can assume is that their forehead was straight, with slight browridges along with a prominent chin and a tall forehead. They stood around 6 feet 3 inches tall and their limbs were long making them stand like a stretched-out Stretch Armstrong. All in all, you could expect them to look like what the ugliest human alive today might look like.

"Hmmm... What for dinner? Wooly Mammoth or that dude that died yesterday?"

It has long been assumed that these Cro-Magnon men died out long before the Wal-Mart deli made catching a saber-tooth tiger in order to feed your family seem like a desperate act of suicide.

Well, that’s what scientists with brains bigger than the average watermelon want you to think. What they’re not telling you is that several years ago they discovered one of the Cro-Magnon men completely well-preserved in a frozen pile of mammoth dung.

“The best we can tell is that he was the unfortunate recipient of a major blockage inside a very constipated wooly mammoth,” said Norwegian fecal scientist Ole Vogelstein who discovered the giant pile of crap. “Uh… judging by the fact he had a spear in his hand when we found him, we assumed he was sneaking up on the mammoth as a means to run him through with a spear. It didn’t pan out as he’d expected.”

Scientist Ole Vogelstein stands near the discovery of the largest pile of mammoth dung ever found. Shortly after this picture was taken, the frozen Cro-Magnon man was found inside.

The frozen Cro-Magnon man was found in the mammoth feces shortly after it was attempted to move giant pile of preserved poop.

“We ran a couple seismic tests on the pile and came to find a rather large, unusual lump within the pile that, had it actually come out of a wooly mammoth, would have torn it a new asshole.” said Ole. “Since it is just poop and we weren’t really worried about keeping it in mint condition, we broke it open and found a caveman inside, frozen all these years with a scream still on his face.”

Ole and his fecal scientist associates unfroze the cro-magnon man, named it Kris and taught it how to play basketball.

Unfrozen caveman basketball player: Kris

Before too long, the former Cro-Magnon man who was perfectly preserved in a giant pile of wooly mammoth shit, garnered attention from several basketball scouts from America.

“It appears that the mammoth shit he was preserved in helped his body stay warm and moist while slowing down his heart just enough to stay alive,” said New Jersey Nets scout Humphrey Smithbalm, “What most of us couldn’t imagine staying in for more than a few minutes, this kid survived in for 35,000 years! For what it’s worth, I think the mammoth shit regenerated his cells to a point where he’s almost unbreakable! Which is pretty amazing considering wooly mammoths only really ate tundra grass.”

For a life that began over 35,000 years ago in an arctic cave and seemed to have ended under an incredibly large meadow muffin, Kris’ life has really turned around. Several months ago, Kris asked reigning reality show queen Kim Kardashian to marry him (after he smashed her across the cranium with a giant club as was his former custom).

She said yes.

Going with what he’s known for the last 35,000 years, Kris runs to the next closest thing to a giant, steaming, rancid, frozen pile of mammoth droppings.

“Me like her,” said Kris in broken english, “She have big ass. I like. Not big like mammoth but still pretty big.”

 

“You know, he’s just the sweetest guy,” says Kim, “Other than those moments where he starts sweating and smells like a giant turd.”

 

 

Hide Yo Kids… Doug Hutchison Is Creepin’!

51- year-old character actor Doug Hutchinson recently hoped to expand our minds when he decided he wanted to stop being seen as “that guy who looks like he’s going to murder you with an axe” and instead be seen as a loving, caring individual who believes love has no boundaries. He accomplished this by marrying a 16-year-old (at least we’re made to believe she’s 16) aspiring contry singer named (Courtney) Alexis Stodden. 

Doug Hutchinson is creepy. Not just because of his most recent marital situation, but because of his face:

If you’d asked me who Doug Hutchinson was a month ago, I wouldn’t have known who you were talking about right away. If you’d have told me, “He’s that creepy dude from The Green Mile!” Then I would have said, “Oh yeah! That guy who is always looking like he’s going to murder the world as he stares at you from underneath his protruding brow!”

 

Perhaps age is “just a number”. It seems these days old dudes can now climb Mount Everest and old grandmas can give birth to twins so why can’t a man marry a 16 year-old girl who is 35 years younger than he is! Oh yeah, wait… did I mention she looks like this:

Uh….

Let me guess what you’re asking yourself right now: “So, you’re telling me that this:

Plus this:

Equals this?”:

Yes. Yes that’s exactly what I’m telling you.

While I don’t advocate that love can’t be found between three and a half decades of age difference and the mere fact that the man happens to look as though this face was run over by the San Francisco 49ers but, you have to admit… this is just a tad creepy.

As you can see in the video below, what would even possess a man 35 years old her senior to put up with her annoying cackle of a laugh and obvious lack of life experience other than the fact she’s perhaps an automatonic Barbie robot he built in his mad scientist basement.

“What we’re here to do is touch each other and love each other the best we can.”

*shiver*

Well… who am I to argue with God. I guess they really do love each other.

What do you guys think? Creepy or is this legitimate (I’m trying not to laugh) love.

Hello? Anyone There?

It has been what feels like an eternity since I penned any words on ye olde blogge.

How are you? I want to know. Have you popped that huge cyst that was growing in your underarm? Have you made sweet love to the homeless man on the corner of Robinson and Kelly yet? What about the serum you were working on to cure penis envy?

A lot of happened since (1) I bid a momentary farewell, (2) I fell out of love for Kim Kardashian and (3) I paid homage to the tush.

For one… Bin Laden got shot in the face. Go USA.

Secondly: in keeping with my promise to all of you, I lost 2o mother effing pounds!!!

I hate me in this picture but I think it illustrates the weight I’ve lost… especially in my face… as opposed to my huge gut and double chin in the pictures below:

An extra scoop of double chin fat for anyone? Anyone?

Thirdly: we got all moved in to our mansion.

Gratuitous outside shot not really lending much to what the inside of the house looks like.  Don’t worry… I can tell you about it later.

Fourthly: Bunny lost, like… 15 pounds and now looks like she could crush Brooklyn Decker in a “who’s hotter” contest.

God I love them both…

Fifthly: I now have a man cave.

Yes… it’s messy. Yes… it’s a work in progress. Yes… I’m getting a bigger TV. Yes… I’m planning on writing a blog post about it. No… Bunny and I haven’t christened the room yet (dammit). No… you can’t come over.

Sixthly: There are at least eight billion things to talk about.

I’ve been out of the blogging business for almost two months. I haven’t kept up with reading some of my favorite blogs (I’m looking at you, you, you, you, you and you… sorry). I haven’t really tweeted or Facebooked. I haven’t really done much of anything worth relevance in trying to promote my douchness.

What I HAVE done is earn some money with my writing skills. I must say it is nice to get paid to write… but I can’t write about what I want to write about. This delivers a near fatal blow to my creativity. I miss pouring my life in so many words to the faceless readers who so diligently follow my walk through life like I was Johnny Depp or Kat Von D.

I’m ready to do it again.

I can’t promise the diligence I once had to update my blog every couple of days. I CAN promise that I won’t leave.

I can’t promise that I’ll always be at www.whoispapak.com. I’ve learned that writing and getting paid is desirable. I just might pigeon-hole myself into a blog focused on a theme.

I can’t promise I’ll always be so fraggin’ sexy. When I’m 183 I might not be all that smokin’ hot any more. In fact… I could be dead if they don’t figure out a way to regenerate frozen bodies soon.

I CAN promise I’ll always try to make you smile, I’ll always try to make you laugh (and cry… maybe… at times) and I’ll always try to get Brooklyn Decker (no more Kim Kardashian) to know I’m alive.

“I’m Papa K’s new #1!!!! *Squeal*!!!!”

Kim Kardashian And I Broke Up

Those of you who know and read me are familiar with my crush on the socialite gone mega-super reality star, Kim Kardashian.  I’ve mentioned her one too many times on this blog and have kind of made it a running joke for those of you who read me often.

I understand my fascination with her.  It isn’t her wit or wisdom or ability to make me laugh.  It certainly isn’t the fact she made a sex tape with Ray J who might possibly the Universe’s biggest douchebag.  It honestly was because of her looks.

But even I can’t maintain a celebrity crush based on that alone.

When someones fame becomes far larger than the galaxy in which they reside… it kinda turns me off.

She’s everywhere.  She endorses everything.

Shoes:

Fast Food:

Weight-Loss Supplements:

Silly Bands:

The Dodgers:

Giant Mouth Bowls:

And along with a million other products… she has her very own song for the love of everything holy.

How much more exposure does she need?  How much bigger can she become?  The Kardashian mafia made over $65 Million in 2010 and they command such outrageous demands as $25,000 for a tweet to endorse a person or product!  No wonder I could never get her to follow me on Twitter!  I don’t have $25,000 to throw at her so she can make more in one second typing something on Twitter than most people in Cambodia or Somalia make in their entire lifetime.

Kim is very pretty but I believe her head has become bigger than her ass at this point… and that would make for one gigantic head.

I’m sorry Kim… it’s over between you and me.

Please stop crying.  You’re embarrassing me.

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So, as the former holder of the number one spot on my list, you might be thinking, “Who are you replacing her with?”

I’m celeb crushin’ on Andy Roddicks wife: Brooklyn Decker.

You may have seen her in Adam Sandler’s most recent movie, “Just Go With It.”

She seems to be the antithesis of Kim Kardashian (for now) and that’s alright with me.  I just hope fame doesn’t make her ugly because I can move on pretty fast once that happens.

Gluteus Maximus Finally Receives The Recognition It Deserves

I make a lot of noise about (  .  )(  .  )’s on this blog because… uh… well, because it’s my blog gosh darn it.  I happen to be a hormone-enriched Neanderthal of a man and am not afraid to admit my fascination with God’s most fabulous accessory creation.  Men are visual creatures and I am no exception to the rule.  Rather than worship them in hushed tones, I choose to say, “Hey… I’m a Neanderthal!  Me likey!!”

But this post isn’t about what I’ve written about in jest several times before this.

“But Papa K,” you’re asking yourself, “You’re supposed to be writing [all classy-like] about boobs during the whole fourth week of this month of February [where I set aside a week to talk about individual people/things I love]!”

I know.  I know.  But this post isn’t about boobs. 

It’s about the derriere.

I was somewhat horrified when scanning everything I’ve written in the two-and-a-half years I’ve been doing this and not one single post was dedicated to the tush.

What a horrific revelation!

I have nothing against rear-ends.  In fact… I quite fancy them!

Thus my fascination with Academy Award winner Kim Kardashian I suppose:

My fascination is not far beyond most rappers infatuation with boobs’ southern cousin.  Countless songs have been written by bejeweled and/or grilled rappers regarding the ba-donk-a-donk to a point where I’m sure it could warrant its own XM radio station.  In fact, more songs have been written about the tail-feather than have been written about its more flaunted cousins from the north. 

Sir Mix-A-Lot was really ahead of his time.

Now, this is real deep stuff… but quite frankly, the booty and the breast would be helpless without one another.

Disney’s Booty and the Breast… what a great flick

You may claim to be a breast man or a booty man but if you have one without the other it’s like eating a sandwich without bread or kicking ass without taking names or watching The Wonder Pets without Ming-Ming. 

So, am I a boob man?  No.  I’m a boob AND arse man.

It’s time for me to give these lovely lady lumps their dues.

CABOOSE!! I SALUTE YOU!!

(PS – Do you know how hard it is to come up with so many different names for Gluteus Maximus?)

(PSS – I’m thinking about submitting this post to Rearders Digest)

(PSSS – I seriously can’t believe I came up with that joke.  I’m laughing at myself.)

(PSSSS – It was really late when I wrote this)

Some Things You May Find Interesting

Since February is the month in which Valentines Day is contained I figured I’d dedicate each week during the month to something that I love.  So the upcoming schedule for the month of February is as follows:

February 1st – 7th:  Any post added during this time will be about DLG
February 8th – 14th: Any post added during this time will be about Bunny
February 15th – 21st: Any post added during this time will be about baseball
February 22nd – 28th: Any post added during this time will be about boobs (  .  )(  .  )

Now I won’t be posting every day… just any post during those blocks of time will be about that weeks “person/thing that I love”.

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If you haven’t already asked me a question… then do so.  You’ll be automatically entered to win a $15 iTunes gift card from ME!  It’s that easy.

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NEWSFLASH: I finally figured out a way to get Kim Kardashian to follow me on Twitter.  It seems some genius came up with an idea to raise money for charity by getting certain celebrities to auction their Twitter follows, retweets and such on eBay.  For those of you unfamiliar with Twitter… what I mean is that I could bid against several other hopeless stalkers like myself JUST to get Kim Kardashian to follow me and my spectacular tweets!!  For a moment, I thought that I might be the only one who knew about this auction and be able to get Kim to follow me on the cheap!!! $50 AT THE MOST… I was sure.  Unfortunately JUST to get her to follow me I would have to pay (at this point) more than $177… and there’s still almost a week left to go.

This guy probably has money to blow…

Dammit.  I ain’t payin’ that much.

Oh well… there’s still Will Sasso, Tom Arnold and Jamie Kennedy still available on the cheap (at least at the moment I published this).

I guess unless I have an anonymous donor to the “Get Kim Kardashian To Follow Papa K On Twitter” fund then I’ll have to just try to get her to follow me the old-fashioned way: bugging her incessantly.  That’s how I got Jenny McCarthy to follow me.

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I can’t wait to see this movie:

Wait… crap… I mean this movie:

Or this movie:

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Anyone else looking forward to Super Bowl commercials!  At no other time during the year am I more focused on the advertising than the actual programming.

I have my reasons for not liking football…

If you wanna have a laugh check out Oddee.com’s “10 Most Controversial Super Bowl Ads“… guaranteed for a chuckle or two.

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Finally, if you’re on Facebook and you haven’t “liked” my blog page then c’mon…. seriously… what’s wrong with you.  DO IT!! NOW!!

If you’re on Twitter and you don’t follow my tweets… don’t make me have to pay for you to follow me.  Just do it.  Jenny McCarthy does…

Lastly, I love pictures for my Fanroll.  Don’t pretend like you have something better to do than take a picture for my fanroll… cuz I know you don’t.

127 Hours = 2 Hours

“How do you arrive at such a convoluted equation?” You must be asking yourself, “That Papa K must have fallen on his head and knocked a few screws loose!”  Well… if you must know… that’s exactly it.  Allow me to explain:

These last several weeks have been fairly nice in the sense that I don’t have to consistently fire the creative synapses in my brain to come up with a new and creative blog post.  Although, near the beginning of my blogging hiatus I was met with some major issues so perhaps it was good that I took some time off.  Blogging may have pushed me over the proverbial ledge.

I’ve seen a few gory, intense and/or gory AS WELL AS intense movies in my life i.e. Passion of the Christ, Saving Private Ryan, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Saw, Confessions of a Shopoholic, etc.  None affected me as much as “127 Hours”: the new movie based on the true life story of Aron Ralston.  In 2003, Aron found himself trapped when a boulder pinned his arm to the side of the canyon wall.  He was stuck there for 127 hours (thus the movie name) only to finally free himself after cutting his arm off!!! 

Get a load of the trailer:

Intense, right?

I’d been wanting to see the movie for a while and the first real chance that Bunny and I got to go see it happened to be the same day her grandma passed away.  In addition to her grandma passing, the previous ten days had their fair share of intense, high-stress moments for Bunny too so this particular date night needed to be one where we could just “get away” and chill out for a little bit.

Which begs the question: “Why go see a movie about a guy who (after getting trapped under a boulder) is forced to battle his own sanity, drink his own urine and cut off his own arm with a dull knife in order to survive?  That seems to be a little too intense doesn’t it?”

I don’t have an answer for you… it was a stupid call.  We should have gone to see Tron.

Bunny and I sat through the movie on pins and needles.  Aron Ralston was played by James Franco and he nailed the performance.   He nailed it so well that when it came time for him to hack his arm off with his dull knife I found myself slightly hesitant to keep my eyes fixed on the movie screen.  Alas, I kept fixed on the moving picture as long as I could because, c’mon… I’ve never had issues in movies like this before!

Until that moment.

Somewhere between sawing through his nerves and cutting through his tendons with a pair of needle nose pliers, I found myself getting overheated.  I took a deep breath and leaned forward to take off my jacket… Bunny noticed my hesitation at watching the movie.

“I’m hot.  I don’t feel good.” I said.

Visibly freaked out and a little worried she told me go get a drink of water.

As I walked down the movie theater steps, James Franco successfully tore his arm from underneath the boulder and was standing there looking at it still lodged between the canyon wall and the boulder he’d become too familiar with over the last 5+ days.  I, on the other hand, had successfully drained the blood from my head as a result of standing up and walking from the theatre.

As I made my way down the tunnel to the bright lights of the movie theater lobby I braced myself against the wall and its railing.

A few steps from the door to the theater… I blacked out.

When I came to… I was face down on the tile floor near the door leading into the lobby.  I sleepily acknowledged my screaming wife who had come to my rescue after hearing a tremendous crash in the theater tunnel shortly after I disappeared from her sight.

“OH MY GOD CHRIS!! ARE YOU ALRIGHT!!” She cried.

That was a rhetorical question of course.  I was not alright.  I had used every bit of my dead weight when I passed out to slam my chin on the tile floor and split it open.

Now, as I was beginning to regain some of my footing and the room was ceasing to spin, I began to realize that I had hurt myself… and I had a pounding headache.

After a visit from the paramedics, a never-ending barrage of humiliating and unwanted stares and thousands of embarrassed apologies escaping from my lips… Bunny and I were headed to the emergency room to get my chin stitched up.

I needed five of them:

Honestly, I felt worse about screwing up our date night than I did about the stitches I needed or the pounding headache I’d inherited.  I wanted to let my wife escape from the hazards of normal life for a little bit and retreat with me to a land of serenity and relaxation. 

But instead… she wound up in the emergency room for two hours after I passed out watching 127 Hours.

Now you understand why 127 Hours = 2 Hours.

Note to self: no more gory/intense movies.

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Anything like this ever happen to you?  Please say “yes”!  My shattered ego needs a boost.

Thanksgiving: A Time To Be Thankful… So Thank You

Before you go digging into your heaping mound of crap this Thanksgiving (that’ll take you a good five days to work off)… I think you ought to take a minute and reflect on what you’re thankful for.  Here are a few of the things I’m thankful for (in no particular order… just in the way they popped into my head):

1.  My beautiful, healthy, talented daughter

Can I get an “awwwwwwwwwww”

2. My beautiful, sexy wife

Can I get a “Hell Yeeeeeeah!!”

3. My wife’s boobs

4. AMP Energy Drink (which will kill me before I’m the age of 50 I’m sure of it)

5. That I got to meet Jackson

6. Kim Kardashian and my never-ending quest to make her aware I exist

7. My 113 followers on my Facebook page (but I could always use more)

8. My 264 followers on my Twitter page (but I could always use more) 

9. My new haircut (yes… I cut my hair)

 

                  BEFORE                                                    AFTER

10. For lullabies

11. That Josh Hamilton won the AL MVP

12.  That Bunny and I were able to get away to Boca Raton, FL and live it up a few months back

13.  That I’m officially “The Worlds Hottest Dad“

14.  For GOOD BEER!!  None of that domestic crap.

15.  My entire family.  Even though we’re all  a little dysfunctional… we still all love each other very much.

16.  My Christian faith

17.  Just for boobs in general

18.  For this video:

It never gets old… 

19.  That I’m able to work from home and be with my daughter all the time… I’ll only get this opportunity once

20.  For all you readers and your continued support of my writing here at “Who Is Papa K”… so thank you and Happy Thanksgiving.

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What are you thankful for this Thanksgiving?

Victoria’s Secret Is Cooler Than Archie Comics

I grew up fairly sheltered.  My parents didn’t let me watch rated “R” movies, we didn’t have television, I wore two pairs of underwear, we didn’t believe in Pee Wee Herman and the only music resonating within the walls of our house was mostly Christian music.

My house certainly wasn’t like those of my (limited number of) friends whose parents let them watch “A Nightmare On Elm Street” while the scariest thing I was reduced to watching was “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang”.  Or while some of my friends had complete access to their fathers “hidden” stash of Playboy magazines, I was reduced to bookmarking my Archie Comics where Betty or Veronica might happen to be wearing a bikini.

Yes… I had this issue. 

As a homeschooled, hormone enriched tween with testosterone coursing through my body at a frightening pace… Archie Comics honestly introduced me on a regular basis into what exactly the female body looked like in a bikini.

That is… until I discovered one of my mothers Victoria’s Secret magazines.

Now, I have no idea who Victoria was or what secret she was keeping from me because quite frankly… there were chicks in their underwear in this magazine!  The only underwear I’d ever seen anyone wearing was myself… in the mirror.  If my eyebrows could have gone any higher while looking bra and panties (I just said panties… tee hee) they’d be levitating a good six inches from the top of my forehead. 

As a result of my newfound love for Victoria and her absolutely awesome secret, my first crush in amidst my courtship with puberty who wasn’t a cartoon character was Stephanie Seymour:

She was no Betty and Veronica

You may remember her as being the other part of Axl Rose for a little while:

Gross…

We broke up after I found out she was dating Axl who was a satan worshiper from the one band he was in for a while.  What was it called?  Guns and Sacrificed Baby Kittens or something like that… I don’t remember.  My heart was forever broken.

Stupid Victoria’s Secret model.

Anyway… I grew up and I married my own Victoria’s Secret model named Bunny.

I have pictures… but if you think I’m going to show you then you’re crazy.

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Do you have a testosterone-enriched OR estrogen-enriched puberty story you want to tell the world about?  I just did… that means you have to too.