Everyone has their secret fantasy that pretty much no matter who you tell it to they’ll clear their throat uncomfortably, try to change the subject, and then not call you for a couple of days. I know I do. I’ve been with my girlfriend for over five years, and I still haven’t told her that thing I like that makes me completely horny (it involves a broken lamp, a life-size portrait of Val Kilmer playing tennis, two cops watching me, and a mostly uncooked salmon fillet). But all of us totally want to be able to find that special someone who so loves and accepts us that they’re willing to let us do that one horrible thing in the bedroom and will still look us in the eye in the morning.

Below is a list of the

Top 18 Sex Acts

That You Shouldn’t ask for Until At Least One Year Into The Relationship:

1. Having your neighbors watch.

2. A threesome.

3. Giving each other nicknames …. for your genitals of characters from the show “Family Matters.”

4. Having a basket of lively kittens in bed with you.

5. Throughout the intercourse, both of you yell out classic lines from the hit TV show “House.” Such as, “I don’t care how much power you have at this hospital, I’m House and I do it my way!” or, “Face it pal, you’re going to have this surgery or my name’s not House. And my name is surely House!”

6. Getting to yell out, at the moment of climax, “I think this goose is cooked!”

7. Mutual masturbation, but using waffles.

8. Getting a blowjob… while eating a Double Bacon Cheeseburger.

9. Getting a blowjob… while eating a Double Bacon Cheeseburger and going number 2.

10. Getting a blowjob… while reading a really graphic Edgar Allen Poe short story.

11. See above, but in front of a team of professional judges.

12. She’s on top… while you lay very still inside a chalk outline at a crime scene.

13. Roleplaying: that you’re both Gozer from Ghostbusters 1.

14. In a 69 position……except your penis is wearing a tiny Luigi mask.

15. The Hillside Strangler. That’s where you both set aside money for 15 years, put down a down payment on a lovely three bedroom house overlooking the city, and then on the first night you move in you get into a really bad argument, but a few hours later you both calm down and fall asleep watching Wesely Snipes and Sean Connery in Michael Crichton’s classic,  ”The Rising Sun” (which has a great auto-erotic asphyxiation sex scene).

16. The Shopaholic. That’s where you meet up at the mall, realize you’re both wearing the same color t-shirt, act playfully embarrassed, and then have quiet sex in the bathroom at the Radio Shack.

17. A fiftysome.

18. A key party a la mode: That’s where a bunch of your discrete friends come over and you all put your keys in a fishbowl and then you have sex with whoever belongs to the keys you pull out, with the added caveat that your house is filled with so much ice cream that it’s difficult to move around, and some of you freeze to death trying to eat your way out of it.

NerdyShirts.com is hooking us up with some funny t shirts that five of you lucky readers will get your hands on. Specializing in the funniest pop culture referenced shirts online, NerdyShirts.com also offers an array of accessories that could work to complete your geeked out look!

Here’s how to enter!

Leave a comment telling us YOUR FAVORITE POP CULTURE REFERENCE OF ALL-TIME (e.g. “That’s What She Said”)

Follow us on Twitter and Tweet this: “I’m a funny T-Shirt whore thanks to @Manolith @NerdyShirts” along with a link (http://bit.ly/19aJAA) back to this post.

You get one entry for each of the above, so the more you enter, the more chances you have to win!

NOTE: Please use a valid e-mail address.

FIVE winners will be chosen randomly.

Giveaway ends Wednesday 11/11/09. Winners will be reached by email, and announced on the blog on 11/11/09.

Whether it’s true or not, it would be really amazing if this catches on. Known ’round the world and on TV for their gallows humor, cops in New York have apparently adopted a new nickname for the hipsters that populate Williamsburg: Marshmallows. According to a Tweet by kirstengronberg, she found out that New York’s finest now refer to hipsters as marshmallows due to being predominately white and soft.

Though Manolith’s own Ned Hepburn claimed to be glad the current hipster thing is dying out, I, for one, hope it stays around for a little while longer — especially if marshmallow really takes off as an insult.

Among certain bearded, PBR-drinking, converted fixed-gear riding crowds, calling someone the H-word is about as offensive as a racial slur, but could you imagine how amazing it would be to walk into your local dive bar and watch an argument about skid-stopping techniques come to blows between two bike messenger wannabes after one calls the other a marshmallow?

Do we call drunk hipsters toasted marshmallows?

Could you imagine what the next generation will think if this takes off and the nickname “marshmallow” ends hipsterdom as we currently know it? Does this mean we can think of marshmallows hipsters like Ray Stantz did in Ghostbusters, as “something that could never possibly destroy us”? The possibilities are endless.

Thank you, NYPD.

(image via x-entertainment.com)

Watching Mad Men has given me a behind-the-scenes look at how old-school advertisers used to sell even the most unmarketable of products. And when it comes to products that have absolutely no personal benefit, tobacco products take the cake.

As such, smoking products have been, and will always be, about trying to make you look cool. Smoke this brand, get the girl. Smoke that brand, and you’ll be all set to arm wrestle your buddies.

This “lifestyle” slant has made for some hilarious vintage smoking ads over the years. Additionally, early ads often market cigarettes as good for you, or at least less deadly than the alternative. With so much for those ad men to work with, it’s no wonder so many ridiculous smoking ads have cropped up over the years. Here are some of the funniest:

(Ads via Found in Mom’s Basement)

In case you didn’t know – because you’re not in the know – because you are fat and ugly and live under a rock – there’s a clothing line called ‘Warriors Of Radness’.

I KNOW.

Let me say that again. It’s called ‘Warriors Of Radness’ and they make clothing reminiscent of late 80’s / early 90’s Southern California. Kind of like, say, Saved By The Bell, but what the cool kids who were always outside smoking would wear (because cool kids smoke) (actually don’t smoke because it’s really fucking bad for you). So there you have it. The style is coming back into vogue, and you will be seeing the simple-yet-very-fucking-stylish look coming back around reaaaaaaal soon. Did I mention how awesome it is to have a shirt with ‘WARRIOR OF RADNESS’ on it? It’s one of the greatest marketing feats of all time. Totally genius. It’s almost like actually BEING a warrior, except you’re doing it just to be totally rad. Honestly, I don’t know why you haven’t already rushed out the door to get one of their awesome shirts or gnar hoodies already. But wait! You can do it all online, right here! Click through, buddy ol’ friend. You’ll be a Warrior Of Radness in no time.

It is not, as you might think, a dyslexic homage to renowned character and voiceover actor Morgan Freeman. It is infact a way of LIFE. This way of life is dedicated to:

• Dumpster Diving. Should you want a bagel, Monsieur? Then go to the dumpster outside a bagel shop after closing, and you will find perfectly good 8 hour old bagels JUST SITTING THERE LIKE IT AINT NO THANG.
• Barter. Gosh, does that guy’s bike need fixing. Boy, do you need an In-N-Out burger. Hey! Why don’t you fix his bike for $5.01, the exact price of a #1 with whole grilled onions and a milkshake plus CA State tax?
• Beg. There is nothing wrong with saying “hey buddy, howzabouta loaf of bread”.
• Forage for wild food, such as berries, nuts, and other things that grow. This also means that should you perhaps find a field of marijuana you can take that, too, because you are one lucky bastard and will be able to afford like A GAZILLION day old bagels now.
• Curb Shop. This means you can take whatever is laying on the curb. Do you know how the ‘Mattress King’ guy you see on TV became the Mattress King? He started out just like you and me, on the streets. Getting alllll the mattresses. Yup. Thats how the world works.
• Become a Meegan. A Meegan someone that eats meat that would otherwise go to waste. Like Slim Jims, and beef jerky. Sounds good to me, amiright?
• Become a Heegan. Actually I just made that one up, because the word sounds funny. Tee hee! Adding ‘eegan’ to anything sounds funny.

Ok, back to the serious stuff. You are NOT HOMELESS. You are simply “free of the contraints of a normal Capitalist job”. Don’t get a job because ‘The Man’ wants you to! You’re a rebel, Dottie. A loner. You live on the edge and live only for yourself, like a badass outlaw or cowboy except you’re broke as fuck and drinking labeless beer behind a grocery store.

But man, what a way to live. Free. You answer to nobody. You are your own master. You are your own God. You are you’re own landlord, ex girlfriend, Uncle With A Mustache And a Creepy Smile, and your own best friend, all rolled into one. You are: A Freegan.

For more, check out this from Oprah, or this from The New York Times Newspaper. It’s a wonderful way of life.

It happens to the best of us, dear readers. Sometimes, out of nowhere, you get unfairly fired. But all hope is not lost! Here’s a handy dandy list of what you can do to pull a Partridge Family and c’mon-get-happy.

1. Pull yourself together. LITERALLY. As in: hug yourself. That’s right. Don’t be afraid. Are you afraid? Then you probably shouldn’t be around yourself.

2.Do not be afraid to expose your inner child. Although, it should be said that exposing your child to anyone else could be considered indecent exposure.

3. Don’t listen to Coldplay. No really, don’t listen to them. That should be a given. Just: don’t. Remember that ‘Civil War’ bullshit they did? I mean, ‘Vida La Vida’ wasn’t that bad of a song, but then they had to go all Gettysburg Address on us. Wha da fuh.

4. Now that you aren’t listening to Coldplay, be sure to buy a jaunty hat. This will make everything better. Look at Peter Pan, Batman, and Liberace. They were all very happy with themselves and very secure in who they were.

5. Take up a hobby.
Do not take up the hobby of ‘Driving Around At Night Listening To Philip Glass With Your Headlights Off’.
Do not take up the hobby of ‘Trenchcoat Parking Guy With Hook’.
Do take up the hobby of ‘Jennifer Love Hewitt’s Official Breast Wrangler.
Do take up the hobby of ‘Professional Sandwich Eater’.

6. Nobody likes a sad person. Force yourself to smile, even if this means sticking two fingers in your mouth and pulling your lips into a smiling position. This will show that you are making EFFORT. People like EFFORT.

7. People also like people that CAPITALIZE. This would explain the popularity of Kanye West.

8. Eat bread right before you go to sleep. This will ensure that come Winter, when you still don’t have a job, you shall be snug in your own fat – like a Walrus or Manatee. Observe the Manatee. This shall be you.

9. Resume? Schmesume. If people want a resume, just tell them everything you want them to know on a Denny’s placemat drawn with a crayon. Be sure to color outside the lines, as this will show the future employee you think outside the box, literally and figuratively.

10. Nobody likes a quitter, so develop dependencies to both Heroin and Nicotine. Also: the television drama ‘House’.

11. Listen to the song ‘Goodbye Horses’ with your genitals tucked inbetween your legs and dance infront of the mirror. Ah, you got the movie reference? Well this will be you in a matter of DAYS unless you find a job.

12. Ask everywhere for a job. Ask down potholes, sewer grates, inside trash cans, and piles of waste. This is because the Ninja Turtles, Oscar The Grouch, and The Fraggles are all expert job hunters and will be able to assist you.

13. When you get a job interview, make sure that you dress the part. The part will be: Hamlet.

14. Be sure to offer a strong handshake to your future employer.

15. Be sure to tell your future employer that you have studied under both Alfred Kinsey and John Wayne Gacy. This will impress him.

16. Be sure to have a flower that squirts water in your lapel pocket. It will make you seem classy and refined.

17. And finally, if all is lost, you can always go back to your old work and pretend you still work there. They won’t mind. Nor will the guy with your old desk, because when you got fired you had the wherewithall to put a tuna sandwich in there, taped the the bottom, so he will never find it. You are a cunning wizard.

After Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain professed his adoration for cult singer-songwriter cum artist Daniel Johnston, Daniel experienced a huuuuge surge in popularity. Again. In the mid-’80s he’d been somewhat of a cult figure for his self-recorded albums describing love, loss, and everything else. The thing is, Daniel is somewhat of a schizophrenic — making ‘outsider’ music that would definitely not get played on the Top 40 stations, but that has been beloved by college radio DJs and listeners for 25 years now. A few years back there was a documentary made about him, “The Devil & Daniel Johnston”, which is great if you’d like to find out more. Personally, I think he’s a fucking genius.

Anyway, with the surge in grunge nostalgia recently, the ‘Hi How Are You?’ album cover shirt, made famous by Kurt Cobain, is making a few appearances in movies and TV again, the most notable example being worn by some male model bro in the recent Drew Barrymore (future wife) movie ‘Whip It’ (which apparently noooobody saw, I am told). Also, duh, Kurt Cobain. That too. Expect to see it a lot more, as it’s available on Daniel Johnston’s official website for a mere $22. It’s the super soft kind too, made on Alternative Apparel shirts. Totally rad. I suggest you pick one up. Be wary of imitators selling them for as high as $45 though.

Visit the Daniel Johnston Official Store at Hi How Are You.com.

Hey, do you like cool stuff? Do you want to look cooler than the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, or are you going to remain an Urkel the rest of your life? Fluxus Brand is a kickass LA based company that is causing a street commotion with their down to earth philosophy and their super comfy, yet totally stylish clothing. That’s right. Also, they’re totally rad; and are all about supporting local economy and does not believe in outsourcing. Wiggedy-wiggedy-WHACK! Here’s what they have to say: ‘Everything in our Los Angeles infrastructure is vertically integrated, from conceptualization and manufacturing to retail.’ They’re starting to top a lot of ‘must have’ lists and they have given us a bunch of cool loot to give away!

First Prize:

Is a Black Long Sleeved Vest V-neck Cardigan Pullover AND A Black Burnout Crewneck Tshirt.

and

TWO lucky Second Prize winners will receive: An Oatmeal colored Long Sleeved Vest Cardigan, with a warm fleecy interior.

To win leave us a comment (with your real email address) telling us your best 90’s catchphrase a la Fresh Prince.

DARN TOOTIN’. So get enterin’.

We here at Manolith were lucky enough to get our hands on some exclusive fall apparel courtesy of FLuXuS Brand. With their “Mid-century” inspired look and “Los Angeles inner-city culture” FLuXuS is a cool new fashion brand that really appeals to the “stylish metrosexual.” Unlike many other popular fashion brands, FLuXuS doesn’t outsource their operations, but instead combines all aspects of creation “from conceptualization and manufacturing to retail.”

The FLuXuS T-shirt we got to review was awesome. Its soft polyester and cotton material makes for a comfortable look that is stylish at the same time. The color sequence of light to dark gray also gave it a true urban look.

Overall, we definitely recommend checking out them out on their FLuXuS Brand website for more fall street wear. Thanks again to FLuXuS: “There is Life, there is art and in between is fashion.”

Every guy out there who networks needs a good business card, but the problem with buying business cards is this: you never know exactly how they’re going to turn out. Most of the time they’re too flimsy, and it’s like giving someone a wet piece of paper with your name on it. And you don’t want that! Fuck no. You want something STRONG and BADASS and GLOSSY because you are the type of person who wants to make an impression (and use words like STRONG and BADASS in every day conversation). The Moo uploader takes away all the hassle of crazy designing and keeps it simple. And Moo does make some really strong, sturdy cards, perfect for making the right impression. Or just impressing that chick at the bar. Or reenacting the business card / dinner scene from American Psycho, that’s what I usually do with me and my dog. Whatever. They’re $21 for 50 cards, and totally worth every penny. Here’s the ones I made (contact info removed for all you’s stalkerz).

Check out these, they hold your phone. And whats better than something that does that? Nothing. iBend’s are super lightweight and durable and now have ART (that’s right!) on them, showing you just how cool your iPhone looks on top of art. And some people say that the iPhone is a work of art in itself. That means you now have art on top of art. Place another piece of art underneath and you have a veritable art sandwich.

The Artist Series and the iBend Classic, available in Black and White, all come two to a pack and can be purchased for $7.99 and $4.99, respectively, at www.myibend.com.

Once upon a time, there was a successful silversmith named Paul Revere, back in the days when people used silver for things besides fancy forks and second place awards at the Olympics.

Paul lived in Boston, and spent his days making shit out of metal, drinking beer out of wooden mugs, and generally hating the British, who at the time still held control of colonial America. It’s hard to believe that America was once under the thumb of crumpet-eating limies, but keep in mind that Americans at that time were living in pretty much just the East Coast, as they hadn’t yet gotten around to killing the Native Americans that inhabited the rest of the country.

Like many Americans of the day, Revere wasn’t too pumped about being a British subject, and had been chumming around with the rebellious Sons of Liberty, occasionally riding messages to other towns about how much the British sucked. This wasn’t just a Boston thing (though, like today, Bostonites were especially loud about it) – Colonialists all over were sick of having their tea taxed and being forced to answer to people wearing stupid white wigs. Also, the British had recently proven their prowess at being douches by killing a bunch of people in the Boston Massacre. So tempers were already high one fateful night when the British Army decided to march.

Paul Revere was probably minding his own business that evening, engraving pictures of Christopher Columbus mooning King George, when rumor spread that the British Army was leaving Boston to march up to Lexington, where Sam Adams and John Hancock (two revolutionary leaders who would later have beers and buildings named after them) were hiding. Revere’s friend, Dr. Joseph Warren, knew they needed to be warned. The conversation most likely went something like this:

Warren: Hey, Revere! The British are marching on Lexington! Somebody has to ride a warning!
Revere: Why don’t you go?
Warren: I’m a doctor, and therefore too important/old. Also, you’re good at riding horses, even though being a silversmith has nothing to do with that.
Revere: Alright, I’ll go.
(William Dawes, a tanner, passes by)
Warren: Hey, Dawes, you’re a tanner, which for some reason makes you also qualified to deliver important messages by horseback. You go too, in case Revere gets captured.
Revere: I won’t get captured.
Warren: Shut up, Revere. Only Dawes, you have to take the longer route, because you’re a bitch.
Dawes: Awwww!
Revere: I call the faster horse!

So Paul Revere and William Dawes (contrary to later legends claiming Revere was the only rider) set out from Boston to get to Lexington before the British, who were too stupid to have horses. Having the faster ride and shorter route, Revere arrived shortly after midnight, beating his message-mate by a full half hour. After congratulating Revere on being much more awesome than Dawes, Sam Adams and John Hancock proceeded to waste a bunch of time talking about what to do. Revere pretty soon got sick of this and decided with Dawes, who had finally decided to show up, to continue riding to Concord, where the militia and their arsenal were hanging out. After all, it’s all fine and well to tell a couple of leader guys that the bad guys are approaching, but it’s even better to tell the dudes with the guns.

On their way out of town, Revere and Dawes ran into Samuel Prescott.

Revere: Hey, Prescott! We’re riding to Concord to tell the militia that the limies are coming. Wanna come?
Prescott: What? The British are coming? Sure, I’ll come – I’m sure history will remember us all equally.
Dawes: What are you doing out at this hour, anyway? Whose house is that you’re coming out of?
Revere: Hey, isn’t that the house of that chick you’re nailing?
Prescott: What? No, I was just, uh, going for a constitutional at 1:30 in the morning.
Dawes: Why are your old fashion-y trousers unzipped?
Prescott: None of your business. C’mon, let’s go.

So Revere, Dawes, and Prescott headed toward Concord but promptly ran into some British soldiers. Pulling a classic play from the old horse-chase handbook, the three tried to split up and all ride in different directions. Revere drew the short straw and got captured, but Prescott, having just refueled his mojo with some Colonial boning, jumped his horse over a fence and got away. Dawes almost escaped too, but he fell of his horse, either because he sucked, or because Warren truly had strapped him with the shittiest horse in all of Boston.

And so, it was Samuel Prescott, not Revere, who made it all the way up to Concord to warn the militia, which was subsequently able to fend off the British troops and send them scurrying back to Boston, harried by guerrilla fire the whole way, thanks to dozens of other riders who’d spread the word to anybody interested in taking pot-shots at some slimy Brits. Revere hung out with his British captors for a while until they wigged out (pun intended) over some gunshots, stole Revere’s horse, and left Paul alone to become a mediocre officer in the war.

And so began the Revolutionary War, thanks in part to Paul Revere, though maybe not as much as common misconception would have you think. Thankfully for Revere’s children’s bar-bragging rights, however, years later a poet named Longfellow came along and changed the story to re-assign all roles to Revere. It’s hard to blame him though: “Revere” rhymes with all kinds of things… and there isn’t squat that rhymes with “Prescott”.

(Photo Courtesy of the Gov’t via Wikimedia)

PRC Clothing is the latest and most exclusive streetwear brand out. Based out of Seattle, WA, People’s Republic of Clothing was founded in 2006 and has worked “towards raising standards of quality and providing the world with a truly unique clothing experience.” And they’ve done just that with their limited edition Tees, Tanks and Sweatshirts.

Manolith.com was lucky enough to get their hands on a few cool items to give away. More precisely: a PRC T-shirt and Mixtape. For those of you interested in participating in today’s contest, all you have to do is leave a comment below describing the most “unique” outfit you’ve ever put together. Both men and women are invited to participate. All entries must be entered by Monday, October 12th. Winner will be announced Tuesday, October 13th. Good luck!

In honor of the Seahawks, we present to you the 11 ugliest sports uniforms ever worn.

Southern California Sun (1974-1975)

This long-defunct World Football League team had the audacity to not only wear magenta jerseys, but pair them with orange pants.

University of Oregon Football (1990s-2000s)

Mixing and matching different pants, jerseys and helmets allows Oregon to choose between more than 350 different combinations, each of which looks more ridiculous than if the players showed up to play wearing pajamas.

Tampa Bay Storm (1991-1992)

No, Zubaz was not a bad dream brought on by all the Jolt Cola you were drinking in the early ‘90s. It was very, very real.

Tucson Toros (1980)

Former Pittsburgh Pirates pitcher Dock Ellis has admitted to tossing a no-hitter under the influence of acid, but he still denies that he designed the uniforms for the Tucson Toros of the Pacific Coast League later that same day.

Chicago White Sox (1976)

Yep, a major league team once thought that it would be a good idea to take the field in shorts. Why, you ask? Perhaps it was to distract fans from the ridiculous collar.

Denver Nuggets (1982-1993)

Liberace would puke if he saw these uniforms.

Toronto Raptors (1995-1999)

Big. Purple. Dinosaur. And yet the team got upset when fans nicknamed this uniform the “Angry Barney”…

Vancouver Canucks (1978-1984)

These monstrosities were affectionately known as the “flying V” (and less affectionately as “clown costumes”).

Alaska Aces

At long last, humankind has invented something tackier than the tuxedo t-shirt: the tuxedo hockey jersey. Thankfully, these were only worn once (on a New Year’s Eve). They are but one of hundreds of terrible one-night promotional jerseys worn by minor-league hockey teams.

Arsenal (1991)

Fans likened this shirt to a bruised banana. Frankly, they were being kind.

Atletico Bilbao (2004)

These might have looked more at home at Pittsburgh’s Heinz Field than they did on a soccer pitch in the Basque region of Spain. Get it? (It’s a ketchup joke.)

What kind of a Luddite needs plain ol’ electricity to run the lighting in their home? Design artist Mike Thompson has come up with a lamp that’s powered by your own blood. Yeah, you read that right. Not convinced? Read it again. I’ll wait.

Are we good?  OK.

Here’s how it works. You’ve got this glass bottle with a solution in the bottom, right? Then you break off the top, dissolve the accompanying tablet in the now-accessible solution of luminol (that crime scene blood detector stuff) beneath, and then cut yourself on the jagged edge of the bottle, and drop your blood into the lamp. The solution and tablet react with the blood to produce a blue fluorescent glow.

The intent behind the blood lamp is that it would force people to think about the energy they use and how much they waste. A noble thought, but really – who in their right mind would buy a lamp like this? Let’s see: here’s your conventional lamp. It uses a light bulb. You plug it in, turn it on, and you’re done. And in this corner, the blood lamp: break it open, throw this tablet in, and cut yourself to get it working. There’s certainly a cool and dangerous element to it, but somehow I think most people are gonna take option #1. Oh, and the blood lamp only works once, so what about the wastefulness there?

I also wonder: How long does it last? Would it keep its consistency and glow if you removed it from the glass? If so, imagine the cool and totally creepy blood-splattered lighting element you could create on Halloween. You could put it next to your personal urn. And what other bodily-fluid-enabled products can we expect next? Spit-powered TVs? A stove that runs on tears? I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.

Lastly – didn’t anyone learn from Little Shop of Horrors? Using your blood to power things in the house can only lead to disaster in the form of carnivorous alien plant life. I’ll stick to electricity, thanks.

Okay, in all seriousness, unless you’re looking for a coupon (or doing research for an article so that you can make fun of deodorant scent names), there’s absolutely no valid reason to visit Right Guard’s consumer website.

That is, unless you want to see a perfect example of what happens when ad campaigns get out of control.

“We hate sweat. We hate the smell of it. We hate the look of it. We hate the feel of it. We are waging war against it, because we want it gone.” This is the first text you will see if you are ever bored enough to visit rightguard.com.

Are they serious? Do they actually think that sounds well written? Do they really think I’m going to read that ad copy and think, “Yes! Here it is! Finally, a deodorant company that is so brazen and uncompromising, they have actually WAGED WAR against my sweaty armpits! I’m sold!”

Dig deeper, and the Right Guard websites is filled with more hilarious gems of over-stylized ad speak:

“Long-lasting protection and patented technologies combine forces to create a juggernaut in the battle against B.O.”

“Its advanced odor-eliminating action makes it a true shutdown defender.”

“Odor and wetness, prepare to get schooled.”

You can also become a fan of Right Guard on Facebook or learn about the “science of sweat” (don’t worry though, the sweat lesson isn’t too nerdy – the chalkboard font has backwards N’s).

And then there’s the deodorant names themselves. Right Guard Xtreme Ultra Gel Cool Peak! Right Guard Xtreme Stealth! Right Guard Powerstripe Fresh Blast!

Right Guard, you are obviously trying too hard (although to be fair, if you uncap that Right Guard Powerstripe Fresh Blast, you totally will be “blasted” with freshness). This “in your face” marketing campaign smells of desperation. And sure, you’re not the only guilty party – Old Spice sells “Red Zone Mountain Rush” and Axe pretty much got the whole ball rolling with those Body Spray commercials.

But newsflash: YOU’RE SELLING DEODORANT! You can’t make it fun. You can’t make it cool. You can’t make it extreme. And that’s fine. All you’ve got to do is make a product that smells good and keeps my pits dry. End of story.

By Hour Three…

We had run entirely out of Kaluha, and I was bleeding pretty bad from my wrist. I wasn’t sure which was the worse problem. On one hand, I had somehow smashed a glass over my own hand and missed any serious damage, and on the other hand we were running desperately low on White Russians. Preston was keeled over and slurring; Dan was wondering how to get his brassiere off. The night had descended into a debaucherous cartoon stupor; what would three grown men do when given nothing but Girl Drinks for six straight hours?

The Beginning.

It had begun innocently enough. There we were; with two handles of premium vodka, two bottles of Kaluha, three packs of cigarettes (of discerning brands), four different types of fruit juice, a bottle of Apple Schnapps, a quarter of a bottle of Goldschlagger, the basic ingredients for a Bloody Mary, the extraneous ingredients for a Bloody Mary, a quart of cream, three Bic lighters, one bucket, and one towel. There were four of us that were to do this: Paul Jay, Dirty Preston, myself, and underground comedian Mister Dan Dominguez.

The little hand on the clock pointed to 9pm, and we started. No-one was to leave the apartment, except for to smoke a cigarette if needed on the back porch. I was to document all of this with my trusty Moleskine notepad. Sadly, the notepad was not to survive.

Scientifically, we wrote our name on four pieces of paper and pulled them out of Dan’s motorcycle helmet, one by one. In order to pick the drinks, I had gone to my bar of choice (the Cha Cha Lounge) and asked ten patrons (five women and five men) what they would consider “Girl” drinks, and what they would consider “Manly” drinks. Nearly all said that beer and whiskey were “manly”, while the “Girl” drinks ranged from Appletinis to Sex On The Beach to things I had no idea existed named “Pink Squirrels”. I narrowed it down to four drinks, with Bloody Mary’s – I thought – for the hangover the next day. Regardless, after the pulling of the names, had we stuck to the plan that night, Dan would have stuck to Appletinis, Preston would have stuck to Goldschlagger, Paul would have had to have stuck to White Russians, and I would’ve been relegated to Seabreeze Slammers. However after an hour of continuous drinking we decided – much against our own chagrin – to try other drinks. Now, as any person knows, mixing different types of alcohol is not just a bad idea but an idea frowned upon and shamed by much of Western society, and we were none the wiser. We were collectively the Lewis’s & Clark’s of womens beverages.

In Which We Drink.

The easiest to drink was the White Russians. You’d think it might have been the Seabreeze Slammers with their fruit juices and what not, but after four or five of those you start to get belligerent and slur. Trust me. I found out the hard way. Upon standing up to make my fifth drink I almost fell over onto the glass dining room table, nearly ending the entire night altogether. Instead, I broke the glass I was holding, and jabbed it into my own wrist. Thankfully, this was to be the end of the bloodshed for the night. But woe was for he who drank the Goldschlagger, for Preston, by his third drink, decided it was time to take to interpretive dancing. Sadly, no evidence of this exists, as we were all laughing as the throws of Sarah McLauchlan played over the speakers.

Paul decided he couldn’t handle it anymore – mostly due to the Sarah McLauchlan – and (un)ceremoniously bowed out. This left Dan and Preston to wax philosophically about how easy it was to be a girl.

“They get all the best parking spots, and if they’re cute enough, they could shoplift”, exclaimed Preston.
“But what about dating?” I said. This turned the entire conversation around, and everything descended into hems and haws of all colors.
“They have all the god damn power in relationships”, said Preston “And that’s, you know, haha, pretty cool, I guess… it’s a good thing, because if guys controlled relationships we’d settle fights by kicking eachother in the genitals – man or woman – it’d be all out war”. He was unsure of the validity of what he had just said. Dan, on the other hand, had his girlfriend in the room, although he did not tread lightly.
“I totally fucking disagree”, he slurred, “Chicks are nothing but heartbreak. It’s like “Hey I’m A Pretty Girl” and then yer FUCKED”. He screamed the last part a lot louder than he had intended. This caused his girlfriend to retreat into her room. He entered to try and calm her, and emerged five minutes later wearing one of her brassieres.
“You can’t win all the fights”, he mumbled aloud. Nobody asked about the brassiere the rest of the night. We all took a shot of Goldschlagger ceremoniously. It was barely midnight, and we were totally over the line drunk. Dan – for whatever reason – had a breathalyzer, that he’d won in a card game from a cop in Reno. Preston blew a .15. I blew a .14. Dan blew a whopping .20, more than twice the legal limit. It goes without saying that getting in a car at that point would have been a stupid, stupid, stupid idea.

It was at this point we decided to watch the movie “Twilight”, the story of two young vampires or one of them isn’t a vampire, one of them is apparently gay and looks British, it’s all very weird, I don’t know, I couldn’t stop laughing at how bad it was. It’s really a terrible movie. That’s about all I remember. We must have all passed out before 1am. I woke up on the couch the next day with a hangover the size of Bolivia.

The Aftermath, and A Word To The Wise.

Hell, I lost my notes. This was supposed to be a scientific study in Girly Drinks, but quickly descended into full on drunken foolery. I’d kept track of near EVERYTHING… from how much alcohol was in each drink to what percentage, but in the course of the night my notes were ruined. At least one page was lit on fire by Dan, that I remember, because upon waking there was a Post It Note on my forehead saying “I’m sorry for setting some of your notes on fire – Dan”. What was the point of all this? Originally, it was to figure out what made “Girly Drinks” so appealing to those of the opposite sex.

My consensus? They get you absolutely shitfaced with the least amount of drinking possible. There are no bad aftertastes, no wrinkled faces. The alcohol goes down your throat with such ease that you almost forget you’re drinking alcohol, with the exception of the Goldschlager, which could tear the paint off a battleship if needed. I’m sure of that. That might have been used to help set the notes on fire.

It was such a huge change from the usual “beer and whiskey and gin” route that most men take in bars that it took us by complete and total surprise. Was it fun? You bet. Was it dangerous? No doubt. We kept drinking and without the “bite” that most alcohol has we became VERY drunk VERY fast. And then kept drinking, because even by hour two we were totally and utterly hosed.

Girly Drinks are very dangerous, and probably more complicated and stronger than what would be considered “manly” drinks. Use caution out there, fellas.

To promote our “Mugshot Mondays” feature we’ve got a great t-shirt… that we’re giving away on a Wednesday! You don’t have to be crazy to work here at Manolith, but it suuuure helps, folks. Wakka wakka. Anyway, the good folks at Y-Que Trading Post make these great shirts, and all you have to do enter is provide a funny caption for Elvis’s 1970 mugshot in the comments section below. It’s that easy! Seriously!

Check out the Daft Punk ones:

And now check THESE bad boys out, inspired by (you guessed it) R. Kelly’s “I Believe I Can Fly”:

(tip via Gizmodo)

Yes, summer is coming to an end, but don’t you feel like you need that one last gateway? A beautiful ocean side oasis that offers all the luxury and amenities you could ask for? From VIP service to Oceanside balconies overlooking the Atlantic, Sagamore, The Art Hotel may just be your ultimate vacation destination.

Situated on the world famous South Beach, in Miami Florida, Sagamore, The Art Hotel is unique in more ways than one. With introspective art covering its lobby hallways and swanky all white furniture, Sagamore, The Art Hotel is definitely in a league of its own. We were lucky enough to stay in this luxurious hotel during our Ultimate Labor Day Weekend Special and it was definitely well worth it.

“With only 93 one- and two-bedroom suites, including 15 two-story bungalows and penthouses, this intimate boutique hotel offers a true VIP experience with extraordinary personal service. Sagamore, the Art Hotel is a relaxing alternative for those seeking a more enlightened stay on South Beach. The Sagamore Collection, contemporary artwork by recognized, emerging and world-renowned artists makes the Sagamore Hotel one of Miami Beach’s most unique addresses.

Stroll through our halls and gardens while enjoying works of art or have a cocktail in our art bar. Spend the afternoon taking in the sights and sounds of Miami Beach, or just sit in our lobby and reflect on the many works of art and art installations.”

One of the best parts of this amazing hotel has to be it’s location. You are literally in the middle of everything South Beach has to offer. From the exquisite restaurants, outdoor cabana bars and hottest nightclubs, Sagamore gives you the true South Beach experience.

For those of you hesitant on a “post-summer” Miami gateway, I suggest you strongly reconsider. Sagamore, The Art Hotel has a great weekend promotion going until mid-October, that makes this luxury oasis reasonable and more affordable than you might think.

I realize this article is going to make me the ultimate terrorist of fantasy, but I refuse to let any more of you make an ass out of yourselves at strip clubs.

Several articles have undertaken the task of explaining why guys feel drawn to the strip club experience: naked chicks, unknown naked chicks, unknown naked chicks who will show interest in you no matter who you are or what you look like, the ability to pick and choose from a variety of unknown naked chicks who will show interest in you no matter what you look like. And so on. That’s great.

But let’s talk about the strippers. Whether they like to be naked or not, whether they enjoy turning you on, there’s one thing they all have in common: they’re working. Whether you think taking off clothes for money is a great choice of career is really beside the point (is it a possibility for you to make 500 dollars for an hour at your job without a law degree? Just asking). These women are providing fantasy, yes, but that is a job. And as a patron of their services, you need to treat them like you would anyone else who was providing a service to you.

After a few nights running around the backrooms of some of Las Vegas’ most happening strip joints, here are a few tips I picked up from the girls:

Rule #1:

If you just want to drink and chill your friends, don’t go to a strip club. Not the same without the TNA running around? Do yourself and your buddies a favor and grab a Girls Gone Wild DVD when you’re out picking up the beer.

Rule #2:

Don’t ever ask a stripper why you should pay for a lap dance when you can get pussy for free at a club. It may be true, but if that’s the reason you’re passing on the lap dance, then shouldn’t you be at a club? If you’re just there for the browse, make it worth their while. It’s proper business etiquette.

Rule #3:

Don’t try to get a dancer to do anything for free. Come on, now. Most places charge between 20 and 40 dollars for a lap dance. Surely you didn’t just show up with enough money for booze… or did you? Should have stuck with YouPorn.

Rule #4:

Don’t sit at the stage and tip nothing to the women who are dancing. It doesn’t have to be as much as you would pay for a lap dance. Between 5 and 20 dollars should do fine.

Rule #5:

Don’t ask a dancer what her real name is or where she lives. Dude, come on, that’s creepy. She’s creating a fantasy and she’s well aware of the risks involved in doing that for a living. It can be dangerous. A lot of dancers don’t even share their personal information with each other, so get the idea that she would share that with you out of your head. She may, however, give you her number. A lot of dancers have separate phones for their clients. This is a way for them to engage clients and build their regulars. Getting her digits does not mean she wants to go out on a date. It means she thinks you are a client. Accept her as a fantasy. Fantasy is what she’s there to provide.

What can you do to make the best out of your strip club experience?

Tip #1:

Know that she is providing a service and expects payment. Hey, I know it’d be great to walk into a room full of naked women who just want to drape themselves all over you because you’re awesome, but not everyone lives in a rap video.

Tip #2:

Ask permission before you do anything. Every strip club has house rules and a dancer could get in trouble for stepping over the line. She may be better able to indulge you (at a fee, obviously) in the VIP room, which can run anywhere between 40 to 100 dollars for 15 minutes. Ask her. Haggling is low-brow, but if you explain how much money you have to spend and let her know that she’s worth that and more, chances are she will help you find a solution that works out for the both of you.

Tip #3:

Tip her. Yeah, OK, so you’re already paying for the dance or the VIP room. She still expects a tip. Dancers are usually not paid an hourly wage and on top of that, a lot of places charge “rent,” a fee for working there per night. It can be pretty steep. Tips go a long way. The standard ranges between 15 and 25 per cent, but any dancer will appreciate a modest tip over nothing.

Tip #4:

Respect her when she asks you for money. She’s working. Repeat after me: she’s working. Don’t ask her why she’s chosen this job. Don’t feel sorry for her. Enjoy her company and attentions. That’s what you’re there to do and what she’s there to facilitate. Let her. And pay her accordingly.

Tip #5:

Treat her with the same respect you are expected to treat other women in your life. Be a gentleman. Be human and realize that she is human, too.

Follow the rules and mind the tips and you’ll be well on your way to being the guy that strippers trip over to come sit with. As long as you remember that no matter how much they like you, that club is their workspace and pay and tip them appropriately, you’ll have a fantastic relationship.

Apparently, y’all like free shoes. And that’s fine with us, because we’ve got another pair of free shoes to give away. This week it’s a pair of tan Hi-Top Zig Zag’s. All you have to do to win is:

Tell us your best Labor Day weekend story….

We’ll run the best ones on the site!

Remember to use your valid email address!

Zig Zag Shoes are not only comfortable but great for pretty much any occasion. Plus, they look damn expensive (hint: they aren’t). In order to get the word out more, we’re giving away a pair of low top Zig Zags.

All you have to do is leave a comment with your real email address in the comment section telling us what your favorite pair of shoes are.

Free shoes!

And all you have to do is type in one sentence! What could be easier? Nothing, dear readers.

Nothing.