Reader, this is a memorable day. I’ve finally done it. I’ve attained Kriss Kross status. Let me explain: I’m a Mac daddy. No, I haven’t sired a scrappy young pugilist who will one day challenge Mike Tyson in the ring. Let me explain further: I now own a computer synonymous with a certain fruit, after my hard drive crashed faster than Tiger Woods leaving his house. Also, like Tiger, I neglected to backup properly. Then why the “daddy” title, you ask? Ease up with the questions, Morley Safer. For starters, it cost as much as a child, its small and portable, and it came from China, where many people go to get a little bundle of sweet and sour baby these days (available in pint and quart sizes). The way I understand it, the unwanted tots are just stacked all along the Great Wall and Americans are welcome to stuff as many as they’d like into their fanny packs and you pay for them at customs when you leave the country (girls are buy one, get one free). Now that’s what I call a Wailing Wall (eat it, Jerusalem)!

Kriss Kross had no trouble turning their clothes around. Their careers? That's another story.

Sadly, I wasn’t inspired enough by the Winter Olympics to do this with my old laptop. Heck, I’m still so upset about the hockey loss that I’m boycotting maple syrup, Canadian bacon and Molson. Breakfast has been ruined for me. Still, the thought of turning my Toshiba into a snowshiba is tempting.

So, how can I justify owning a product by a company that I’ve made fun of numerous times on this site? I had no say in the matter, really. You see, I’m married. My wife, who loves Macs to the point she should be classified as a “manimac,” suggested we purchase one. I sternly said “No.” While I was putting my foot down, she was whipping the credit card out. One week later, I was Shanghaied. Secondly, you learn a lot when you run a website, like that you can’t compete with porn and no one wants to buy your mint-condition back issues of Ranger Rick. I’ve also discovered you always mock the ones you love the most. And vice-versa. (Oh, and I’m a raging hypocrite).

What does that mean? We ridicule our reality. It means I wish Hammer  never stopped dancing, that I take my cue from Tiger and use Gatorade as an aphrodisiac. It means Will has molded a 10-foot-tall statue of Jean Claude Van Damme out of gelatin, which he displays in his living room (he calls it “Jello Claude”). It means I have a Strawberry Shortcake ankle tattoo.It means this post is as random as Ellen Page being the spokesperson for Cisco (honest to blog, she is).

With my theory from two paragraphs ago in mind, there’s something I need to say. It comes from the mouth of a man much older, wiser and fictitious than I. Will, you’re dumb as a mule and twice as ugly. If a strange man offers you a ride, I say take it.

And once again, The Simpsons bails me out when I can’t think of a conclusion. I thought Macs were supposed to make you more creative (maybe more creative with your budget after you blow your savings on one…hmm…instead of turning on the heat I could start a tire fire in the living room as soon as a swipe some tires from my neighbors. Thanks, Mac-enhanced brain!). Where’s that receipt and my bus pass? I’m headed to Chinatown to see if I can exchange this for a knockoff “Mackbuk,” a couple bootleg DVDs and 700 egg rolls.

After the recent 8.8 earthquake hit Chili on Saturday, leader of the 700 club Pat Robertson is the one left shaken, baffled at how God can allow such misery to happen. “I just don’t understand”, the televangelist said. “I believe in a just and righteous Lord to strike down the wicked. I just got through blaming the Haitians for their earthquake and now THIS happens to me. Who’s left to attack at a time like this!? This just isn’t fair.”

The real victim here is Pat Robertson.

“We might need to come up with some new ones. How about Eskimos? Those blubber chewing igloo jockeys have been on easy street for too long.”

Robertson is no stranger to pointing fingers, claiming that 9/11 was because of the abortionists, Katrina the gays and lesbians, and Haitians, he discerned, caused their own misfortune by “being born in Haiti”.

We asked if, as crazy as it sounds, that maybe bad things happen to good people, but the notion was quickly scoffed at. “It’s pretty straightforward. If something bad happens to you, then you must have really deserved it. I’m an old, hateful son of a bitch, but you don’t see anything bad happening to me.”

When asked about his prostate cancer surgery, he deflected. “I let a homosexual doctor put his finger in my rectum. Of course God would punish me. If I never went for that appointment, I would never have received the news I had prostate cancer!”.

Still, Robertson was left grasping at straws for liberal groups to toss under the bus after the most recent tragedy. “It’s at times like these where I turn to the Bible for inspiration. I find comfort that my faith will guide me to an obscure passage I can misinterpret. It’s my blind hatred that gets me through this”, he says.

“How about the Jews? No, we blamed them for the economy last year. The Blacks, of course, stole the White House and every single one of a billion Muslims in the world are just waiting to blow us up, biding their time. The Chileans ARE Hispanic, though, so that’s a good start right there.”

A Telethon is scheduled for later this week with all proceeds going to fund Robertson’s batshit crazy predictions.

We think Hammer nailed the interview.

Interviewer: You’re confident. I like that. You’re also the first candidate to answer entirely in rhyme. Moving on. (clears throat) This job requires some time spent on the road. Do you have much experience traveling?

Hammer: I’ve been around the world, from London to Bombay.

Interviewer: Ok, this question is designed to test your vocabulary? If this object (picks up stapler on his desk) is intangible, what can’t you do to it?

Hammer: You can’t touch this. No, you can’t touch this. This is something you can’t touch.

Interviewer: Very good. Times are tough right now. What do you think people need to do just to make it today?

Hammer: Pray.

Interviewer: Alright. An etiquette question for you: Let’s say you’re at a business lunch. You arrive early and are the first one there. The appetizers are already on the table. Is it acceptable to begin eating before your colleagues arrive?

Hammer: I think taking a little of the food is ok. I don’t see anything wrong with sampling. You’d have to be a super freak not to sample. Although my friend Vanilla Ice would tell me not to sample unless I was under pressure.

Interviewer: Has there ever been an instance where you heeded someone’s advice, even though you were reluctant to do so?

Hammer: Yeah, I was about to dance these cats who dissed me into oblivion, make their legs twist up like soft pretzels, but a group of people, who I thought had gathered around to watch, begged me not to. “Please Hammer, don’t hurt ‘em,” they pleaded. They were right. I was acting like a spaz in Zubaz. I realized dancing needs to be constructive, not destructive. I told my therapist at the time about it, and he said, “Hammer, if that situation comes up again, look to your haircut for help. Fade. Let your anger fade.”

Interviewer: Is there any person who has influenced your values or beliefs?

Hammer: Yes. A whole clan, in fact. The Addams family. They’re my neighbors. I really like them.

Interviewer: What is it about them you appreciate?

Hammer: They do what they want to do, say what they want to say, live how they want to live, play how they want to play, dance how they want to dance, kick and then slap a friend. The Addams family. They helped me find my groove.

Interviewer: What sorts of activities do you enjoy when you’re not working?

Hammer: I don’t want to talk about my person life. That’s Hammertime.

Interviewer: Why can’t we discuss Hammertime?

Hammer: Stop.

Interviewer: I don’t see what’s so special about Hammertime–

Hammer: Stop! (long pause) Hammertime is when I look for girls with the pumps and a bump.

Interviewer: Say no more. I also have a thing for pregnant women who think of a good time as helping me remove water from my basement.

Hammer: That’s not what I meant–

Interviewer: Ladies like that are hard to find. Well, that completes the interview. We have a few more candidates we’re bringing in, but you should hear back from us by the end of the week. If you get the job, you won’t even be the only person here at Home Depot with a hip-hop background. Sir-Mix-a-Lot  is in the paint department. He’s been great. Really lives up to his name.

Postscript: Hammer is working on a book of advice about choosing a career, entitled, What Color is Your Parachute Pants?

As startling as this may seem, Will and I occasionally have thoughts. Coherent, insightful, non-Simpsons-related, sober-ish thoughts. Some of them are collected here for you to consider:

Inspired by the auto recall, we’ve created the plot for Speed 3: Keanu is trapped inside a Toyota that can’t decelerate (there’s a bomb strapped to it, of course). Prepare to hear at least a hundred “Whoas” and see him out-acted by a Prius.

Sarah Palin took some heat for having talking points written on one of her hands. Want to know what was scribbled on her other palm? “Go to Staples & buy index cards.”

When it comes to public speaking, Palin could use a hand.

Shaun White doesn’t like his nickname, “The Flying Tomato.” Ok, how about “Carrot Top with a Snowboard Prop?”

We don’t think it’s a coincidence that the holiday celebrating love shares the same initials as the generic term for sexually-transmitted diseases.

Somewhere, while four of Canada’s most famous athletes were lighting the giant columns, Vancouver’s favorite native son, Seth Rogen, was lighting a giant joint.

Since 2010 is the year of the tiger, we expect to see a few 100 million Chinese enroll in sex addiction classes.

President’s Day is a great time to reflect on the accomplishments of two of America’s greatest leaders: George Washington, who fought against tyranny, which often took the form of cherry trees,  and Abraham Lincoln, who freed the slaves, singlehandedly kept the stovepipe hat industry in business and gave men a great excuse to get out of seeing a play.

“Fat Tuesday” is sensitive about its weight issue, which it insists is a glandular problem, and would prefer to be called either “Thick Tuesday” (it likes alliteration) or “Fun-Sized Tuesday.”

49 of the 50 states reported snowfall on Saturday. That faint sound of laughter you heard was Hawaii pointing its finger and “Aloha-haing” at the rest of us.

The song Haitians least want to hear has to be AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long.” (They also don’t care to hear “Back in Black” because it’s been totally played out.)

New reality show idea – America Gets Douched. Hosted by Carlos Mencia, Dane Cook and Jeff Dunham, we look for America’s doucheist comics to replace these three who’ve faded into obscurity none too soon. First prize is a dvd recorder so they can copy all of the jokes we’ve already heard from better, more talented comics.

The movie “Valentine’s Day” will be exactly like the holiday – women will look forward to it and men will dread it’s upcoming arrival, it’s way over budget, and if you come for the early attractions, both of you will bound to feel disappointed with the mess you’re left to sit in afterwards.

There’s a fine line between hipster leather carrier bag and man purse. Just remember, if you can carry 3 nudie mags, a 6 pack of beer, and enough cuban cigars to suffocate a nursery, then you should be ok. Also, make sure it’s worn on the opposing shoulder. Easy mnemonic device – If it crosses your chest, you’re not cross-dressed.

Would you willingly accept a DeLorean, the greatest car ever created, with the caveat that every time you turn it on, Huey Lewis and the News would constantly be playing? The Flux capacitor is an optional feature, but you can not go back in time to eliminate them from history. Also, this situation does not apply for the Batmobile and it’s corresponding 60’s tv show theme song, as that’s always playing in our respective vehicles.

How many manly movies would it take for us to forgive Matthew McConaghey for How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, Failure to Launch, and the rest of his craptacular movies us dudes are forced to endure? Please note, Mel Gibson, while batshit crazy, is forgiven for What Women Want because of Braveheart. If you can look like a bad ass in a kilt, you get a pass.

As we’re degenerate gamblers forced to work off our debts while hustling rounds of “Blades of Steel” in underground NES casinos (the only time anyone ever enjoys hockey outside of NHL ‘94), you can say we know our gaming inside and out. Today being the Super Bowl, we’re obliged to throw away our hard earned blog money faster than Tony Romo going through a box of Kleenex during a Designing Women marathon on Lifetime. Vegas’s lines are all too pedantic for our tastes, though, so we decided to spice things up a bit with some of our own. If you care to follow along, here now are ours, namely odds that…

The last place The Who rocked was a chair.

…religious zealots jump the Colts running out of their locker room as they completely misunderstand comments made about “attacking the Saints” in Miami: 4-1.
…said zealots get crushed by the Indy defensive line: 1-450
…the collective willpower of several million football fans focus their hatred of Joe Buck to the point that his head explodes: 7-1
…we see a Sony commercial where Timberlake rips off the chest piece from Peyton Manning’s uniform: 15-1
…everyone in the city of New Orleans gets so drunk they all pass out before Brees can throw his first pass: 1:1
…Peyton Manning appears in more commercials than throws TD passes: 2-1
…Khole or Kourtney Kardashian (the lesser skanks, not Kim), are shown on camera and mistakenly identified as Reggie Bush’s girlfriend: 6-1
…you’re tempted to switch to light beer based on the hilarity of an ad for it: 1,000:1
…Eli convulses in a fit of jealous rage as he makes the “I’m going to choke Peyton harder than the Giants choked this season” face: 10-1
…The Who, to honor New Orleans, will perform at halftime as “The Who Dat?”: 200:1
…Carrie Underwood ends the national anthem with “and the home of the brave — and that two-timing bastard, Tony Romo.”: 300:1
…David Caruso flips off his sunglasses more times than we flip off our TV’s after listening to innumerable commercials for CBS’s CSI: Miami as the host city for the Super Bowl: 13-1
…we see a commercial starring Brett Favre in a commercial for IHOP describing his love for “waffles” during the Senior early bird 5am special: 4-1

While stuck in snowy South Carolina over the weekend (a cruel punishment I’d only wish on the cast of Gossip Girl), I reached the apex of boredom: I watched nearly an entire Nicholas Cage movie (on a Zenith, ironically). If only I’d had Apple’s latest device, the ipad, I wouldn’t have resorted to such shameful and desperate measures to attempt to entertain myself. If Steve Jobs and glowing media reports are to be trusted, the ipad is the greatest achievement since civil rights (a portable electronic reader was definitely part of MLK’s dream for the future. Anyone who says otherwise is a racist). For consumers who can’t get enough of the company’s costly creations, Apple has plenty of related products planned should the ipad succeed.

ipadlock. You’re going to need a security system to protect your expensive gadget. If someone attempts to steal it, the ipadlock sends a signal to the police to come stop the robbery. Any would-be thieves caught are carried away in Apple’s criminal transport vehicle: the ipaddy wagon.

ipad thai. After hours of staring at a screen and not stirring, you’ll have worked up an appetite for some stir-fry. All the rice is grown in special ipaddy fields. This meal generator puts the ‘yum’ in “tom yum gai.” Thai it, you’ll like it!

Apple engineers used their noodles to come up with ipad thai.

ipadma lakshmi. For the finicky/lonely eater who wants more culinary variety/companionship, a virtual version of the Indian model/chef. She’s a dish who can prepare almost any dish. She runs on flattery as much as batteries. So be sure to  compliment her cooking — it’s the best way to curry favor with the Chennai cutie.

ipaddle. Has this scenario ever happened to you: You take your ipad out on a motorless boat and become so engrossed in what you’re reading that you forget to bring a rowing instrument and drift out into sea? Thanks to the ipaddle, there’s no need to give yourself a stern reprimand. In trials, participants were so happy with how well the ipaddle steered them back to shore safely and swiftly, a few had oargasms. Apple is also working on a ping pong ipaddle (finally, table tennis technology enters the 21st century) and an ipaddle for irate parents to smack kids who touch their ipad.

ipaddington station. Having raked in more money than they know what to do with from its other iproducts, Apple is in negotiations to purchase the central and historic railway terminal in London, a city famous for being hip and pricey, a reputation that aligns with Apple’s. Talks broke down with the transit authority in New York City when Apple insisted on running only one line, the i, which doesn’t currently exist.

So, today is February 2nd, Groundhog Day. Originally invented in 1796, it was first started to commemorate Doc Brown’s failed attempt to travel back in time to arm wrestle Napoleon over the name of the famous dessert. Of course, while weight training to win said challenge, the good doctor’s fingers became far too pudgy to press the number keys correctly and was instead vaulted to the middle of Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania.

The Groundhog’s 2nd place finish in the Daytona 500 is sadly overlooked.

Upon arriving and having no opponent with which to do battle, he and Slimer from Ghostbusters had come too far just to turn back. Instead, they challenged the nearest rodents to a battle of Simon, the light up memorization game. Groundhogs, having been invented the previous year during the “Sinning Against Nature Fall Classic”, were the most naive and the first to accept the challenge. Having been bred to excel at ColecoVision, they were at first considered the heavy favorites. Unfortunately for them, the mix of flashing lights and sounds were too much, scaring them back into their holes.

In retaliation for this perceived slight and intoxicated from a mixture of steroids and horse grade tranquilizers, Doc Brown took it upon himself to release the radioactive core from his DeLorean’s Flux Capacitor, causing a small nuclear winter upon the Northeast. Later regretting his actions, he made a deal with Bill Murray (who is, in fact, an immortal highlander) to cover up the disaster.

The groundhog, for its cowardice, is assumed to have seen a shadow causing the winter that fell upon Pennsylvania. In return for his cooperation, Murray was given the lead roles in the movie Groundhog day and, with the help of Slimer, Ghostbusters. For his crimes against humanity, Doc Brown was given a full frontal lobotomy, which left him able to do little more than smack his forehead, yell “Great Scott!” and hilariously misunderstand 80’s slang about a situation being “heavy”.

Feels like just yesterday I was half ass-ing a post at the end of January by commenting on Marc’s birthday. But, history repeats and I have a startling lack of self-respect for my writing ability and a near unfathomable depth of loathing for you poor suckers who think I may say something funny one of these days. How else would you explain my aspirations to keep this out of control train wreck of a website continually updated?

In any case, I’d like to celebrate Marc’s birthday the best way I know how: pointing out what an old fart he is at the ripe age of 28. No longer the spry, young pup, he is now a leather faced ghoul of a man, clinging on desperately to the shreds of youth as they pass through his bony fingers. As he places one foot in the grave, I hope I can offer some solace in these his waning years:

Denim’s the pits – So our campaign to ban pants altogether failed. C’est la vie. I say ride those suckers up to your armpits and completely buck the “low riders” trend. The alternative is to let your slacks fall to the floor, but I’m informed by the internet you’d be “lookin’ like a fool with your pants on the ground”. You can also get away with calling them pantaloons without admonishment.

I also know of a llama who does windows.

Monkey see, monkey do – Despite what the inbred masses of West Virginia would tell you, the civilized world believes in evolution. Every year older you get, the better chance you’ll see our chimpanzee brethren take up their rightful place in butlering. The day we see a monkey fling his poo and immediately clean it up is just around the corner, with its odds approaching 1 on a long enough timeline. If that’s not a reason to rage against the dying of the light, I don’t know what is.

Steel hips in a steel cage – Van Damme’s kickboxing at 50, which is clearly the new 30. Being 28, that would mean you’re only about 8 years old in terms of martial arts skills, so your fighting prowess can only improve over time. As JCVD’s alias “the muscles from Brussels” has garnered him fame, so too might a pseudonym help build your mythos. I suggest taking up the mantle of “The Curry Fury”, “The New Delhi Devastator” or the “Calcutta Clubber”. Peaceful civil disobedience my ass, Gandhi.

Grave Robber – Speaking of “steel”-ing, Nick Swardson’s right, get old and just rob the shit outta places. When you’re 90, you should be going 90. Right now at 28, though, you’re not going to get so much as a speeding ticket except driving around a hospital zone.

Golden Years = Golden Showers – Only two groups can void bowels and bladder alike without condemnation: Old people and children. Your perpetual 5 o’clock shadow excludes the latter. Break 65 and you can break wind wherever you like. Personally, I’d like to poop myself in the White House, what with secret service scrambling to handle a “dirty bomb”. I guess that “depends” on what you dream is, though.

Drugs – I may be wrong, but when you’re a senior citizen, the government gives you money to get whacked the fuck out on all sorts of sweet prescriptions. Who’s going to question an 80 year old needing a pound of your best medical grade marijuana?

Creeping out kids – Since you’re now back in the South, I don’t think you can get away with being an outright asshole (unless you’re in the KKK and I somehow don’t see there being a strong Indian chapter). You might as well go for the asshole neighbor shtick. Pop a couple footballs that land in your yard, sic your dog on trespassing kids, or go for a casual nude stroll on a Tuesday morning if you’re feeling particularly saucy.

Here at Concentrated Awesome, we often obtain exclusive scoops — and we’re not just talking about the experimental ice cream flavors we get to try at Baskin Robbins because our ex is the assistant manager (Darryl Strawberry, with its cocaine sprinkles, was truly addictive). However, this may be our biggest one yet: a transcript of the speech President Obama plans to deliver tonight during his State of the Union address.

Good evening, my fellow Americans. Before I begin, I’d like to thank the Vice President  for warming up the crowd with a Lady Gaga medley, which I know was a hit with the troops on his overseas visits. It’s important to have, uh, light-hearted moments once in awhile in these otherwise somber times. I’m not sure the wig was necessary, Joe, but it was, uh, colorful.

Many of you watching on TV may be wondering why the Congressmen seated before me are wearing 3-D glasses and, well, it’s because I’ve asked them to. I’ve reached across party lines, as I promised to do during my campaign, and sought out their help. You see, 3-D worked for Avatar, turning an otherwise mediocre movie into an amazing, memorable experience. I’m hoping the glasses can do the same for my Presidency. I took office over one year ago, asking the American people to don rose-colored glasses. Well, that hasn’t worked. I, uh, fully acknowledge that. The prescription in those lenses, so to speak, wasn’t strong enough. I understand now that only 3-D spectacles using the latest technology offer a way to see my true vision for this country’s future.

Van Damme was gunning for Gam-gam, but Obama’s death panel idea was killed by Congress.

In fact, the 3-D effects in Avatar were so distracting, no one even bothered to mention the film’s astronomical budget. With any luck, we’ll get people to ignore our ever-growing national debt, which is why I not only plan on distributing a pair of these to every person in America, but more importantly, all Chinese government officials will receive them.

I know there has not been much reason for optimism these last 12 months. The conflict in Iraq drags on. The economy has yet to rebound and our experts on the matter, such as Ben Bernanke, are borderline retarded. The housing market continues to decline. The Mayweather-Pacquiao fight has been called off. Rush Limbaugh’s heart attack was a false alarm. Conan won’t return until at least next fall, and even then, we, uh, have no idea what network he will be on.

In the face of all this unrest and uncertainty, I’m here to reassure you that hope is around the corner. The season premiere of Lost is less than one week away. President’s Day is in February, so that’s one less day you have to, uh, work, assuming, of course, you have a job. We may not have prosecuted members of the Bush regime for torture, but Balloon Boy’s father is in jail as we speak, so on some level, justice has, uh, prevailed. The Salahis have grown silent, and, fingers crossed, the Gosselins’ 15 minutes of fame appear to be expiring.  The price of both the PS3 and the Xbox 360 have been reduced. All of these are signs of societal progress and all have come under this administration.

To the critics who say I have not accomplished much, I submit the following acts as evidence to the contrary. I have already Twittered more than any President in U.S. history. I picked a puppy, albeit with significant input from my daughters. I planted an organic garden. Ok, that was mostly Michelle, but I do water it occasionally. I toiled tirelessly to draft a universal health care bill and convinced Congress to pass it, even revoking the death panels, which, for the record, would’ve employed two super-human Universal Soldiers to carry out the executions. Look, perhaps I could have used some of my time more wisely, but I’m pleased to say I have not spent a single second of my Presidency clearing brush, and that is a fact everyone — liberals and conservatives, Democrats and Republicans, blacks and whites, heterosexuals and homosexuals — can be proud of.

There are many reasons some ads never air. Some are simply too cool for public consumption, like this one (Nike  found focus groups couldn’t stop stiff-arming each other and people became preoccupied with picking up the blitz).  Others are too topical or insensitive , such as this commercial based on a recent event (although it’s still not worse than the current Domino’s campaign where the company admits they’ve been selling you an awful excuse for pizza for countless years — we think their new slogan should be “Now more edible than ever!”).

Hi, I’m Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab. You might not recognize my name, but I’m the one who had the balls to carry a bomb in my underwear (let’s be honest, sticking it in your shoe is for sissies). And there’s only one brand I trust for the task, Fruit of the Doom, the tighty-whities tailored with terrorists’ needs in mind.

Briefs have been added to the no-fly list.

When you want to cause calamity, you need to be comfortable and Fruit of the Doom understands that. The elastic waistband stretches out enough for you to store almost any explosive device alongside your genitals. Yes, that is a stick of dynamite in my pants; it’s not that I’m happy to see you. If you’ve got to stash TNT, don’t bother with BVDs, only Fruit of the Doom has enough room. A special pocket sewn on the inside lets you tuck the fuse for your bomb in — because you don’t want to walk around with your wick hanging out (that would be embarassing).

Hanes may work for Michael Jordan, but if you’re from Jordan, you want Fruit of the Doom. Would a wealthy Nigerian, whose words you’re reading on the internet, ever steer you wrong?

Not only are Fruit of the Doom briefs functional and durable (they’ll last Yemeni years), they look great, too. I’m just nuts about them. When I wear my Fruit of the Dooms, there’s at least one group of police I don’t have to worry about being arrested by — the fashion police! In a recent survey, 68 out of 72 virgins agree they prefer their martyrs in Fruit of the Doom, instead of the leading brand. The days of waging Jihad in Jockeys is over.

Fruit of the Doom — I wouldn’t be caught dead in anything else.