But FIRST this STATE OF THE GODDAMNED UNION ADDRESS FROM MR. VINNIE ROSE, our esteemed leader, breaker of balls, and ho' hopper-in-chief:

Three days awake (don’t ask).
Still can’t sleep (don’t ask).
Still practicing saying with a straight face, “ah, fuck. I can get sex anywhere, baby. I just like TALKING to you.”

Still an asshole.

But not so’s much of an asshole that Carly at Pornblography hasn’t realized how fucking handsome we are and how much that quickening of her pulse means that we are on the precipice of a kind of love that can only end one way, baby. In bitter tears, thrown crockery and recrimination, but that’s not the point. The point is…I…I…I LOVE her. For even acknowledging that we exist. For wanting to see how many push ups we can do (LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS). For having the discriminating taste to know that men like us who can do lots of push ups like us also have cocks of gold like us.

Yet another real spurious photo of The Vinster.

But sadly, even as much as I love her it could never come close to the total restraining order kind of love we all have here for OLIVIA. We just called her at home and her phone is disconnected. Her website is disconnected and our only option is to do like a raid on Entebbe on her condo to see if we can rescue her the only way we know how: with some red wine.

OLIVIA: WHO WE LOVE!!!

But a few fucking knuckleheads have written in and said “who’s OLIVIA?” to just fucking fez our heads into a beehive of rage. Or “do you mean OLIVIA SAINT?” Or “OLIVIA DEL RIO?”

To which we’ve responded by politely asking for their home addresses so we can show up and throw them a beating.

But fuck it. It’s Friday the 13th…or was before I fucking passed out faced down in dinner...and we’re on the cusp of a weekend…Ahh…weekends were made for fucking Michelob. Especially if by Michelob you mean all of the fucking narcotics you can get your hands on.

Seymour: I got all of this Vicodin. Shit I don’t even need it. I have no idea why the doctor gave it to me.

Vinnie: Fuck, man. Give it to me.

Seymour: What do you need it for?

Vinnie: I’m a no hold’s barred fighter. What the fuck DON’T I need it for. What? You got a moral problem with this?

Seymour: Why yes.

Vinnie: Strange. Very strange.

Seymour: What?

Vinnie: I don’t have any friends with morals.

And so ended another wonderful relationship.

Listen, FRIENDS DON’T KEEP FRIENDS FROM GETTING HIGH. In any case, the weekend is here, we’re going to fuck like bandits tonight, fight Jake Shields tomorrow, and recuperate on Sunday by watching a virtual bonanza of boning cinema. So what’s it to you?—Vinnie Rose