O.J. Simpson bragged, when he had sex with Kris Jenner, then Kris Kardashian, he was so well-endowed, he sent her to the hospital.

"If it does not fit, do not sleep with it."






O.J. Simpson bragged, when he had sex with Kris Jenner, then Kris Kardashian, he was so well-endowed, he sent her to the hospital.

Apparently OJ also stands for Outsized Junk.







Fans of the Spice Girls' reunion tour are demanding their money back.

Why? Posh Spice is there. What? Victoria Beckham isn't in it? They still have so many hits. Like "Wannabe" and then there is, uh, well. Oh, hell, give them their money back.









A story has emerged that, during Donald Trump's inauguration, John McCain recited a list of dictators.

There is no truth to the rumor McCain said Trump put the dick in dictator.







Fans at the Spice Girls' reunion tour are asking for refunds. Their exact words are, 

"I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want . . . is a refund."







A former manager of OJ Simpson said Simpson bragged he had hot-tub sex with Kris Jenner - then Kris Kardashian - that sent her to the hospital.

Let's just say it wasn't the only time OJ tried to get away with sneaking in the back door.








Fleet Week is over in New York. Also over is the New York hooker's $250 "Drop Anchor" special.






Amazon founder, Jeff Bezos's ex-wife, McKenzie Bezos, is donating half of her $36 billion divorce settlement to charity. 

In one moment, her net worth went down $18 billion. That drop is almost Trump-like.








Fleet Week is over in New York. So is the hooker's $250 special to perform a "Rear Admiral."









Kris Jenner had sex with OJ Simpson because he was more endowed than her husband, Rob.

Then Nicole Simpson had sex with Marcus Allen because he was more endowed than OJ. 

Look for the next Hollywood reality show, “Last Penis Standing.”








Since you asked:

When you sit on your seat on a plane, the first thing you should always do - besides buckling your seatbelt - is to try and imagine all the people who have farted in that seat before you.

You're welcome.


When I grew up in bucolic and wholesome leaf-laden Winnetka, Illinois, I had a consummate bully in my childhood named Paul Babigan. 

Having said that, Paul never bullied me because, like all bullies, he was a coward and only picked on smaller targets and I was way bigger than he was.

But, even though he stayed clear of me, to be candid, I was still terrified of him. That is how well Babigan had stitched together his image as a tough guy: motorcycle boots, army jacket, fingerless gloves. Smoked in 6th grade, did drugs in 7th. 

One day in 6th grade, I was walking in the opposite direction of Paul on my very own Elm Street, but Paul did not see me. Instead, Paul was looking at a group of thugs collected across the street and the look on his face was sheer terror. When he saw it was a group of his fellow thugs, the relief washed across his expression and he ran over to greet them. At the time I remember thinking I had never felt that kind of terror.

The name Babigan became synonymous with juvenile delinquent. Each year, hundreds of parents would specifically insist their child not be in the same class as Paul Babigan.

Paul could have written the book “Juvenile Delinquents For Dummies.” Starting fires, vandalizing cars and buildings, petty theft, skitching cars in the winter after a snowstorm, which is to grab the back bumper and hunker down and skid a ride at 30 MPH. It was incredibly stupid and dangerous and Paul was a master skitcher. 

Then one day in eighth grade, it happened. Paul bullied the wrong kid, Patrick Hayes. 

Patrick was small, but he was a good guy, a great baseball player and tough as hell. He also had about four older brothers, so, as it turns out, Patrick knew how to defend himself.

But Patrick was, as I said, small and he had long, beautiful lustrous blonde flowing hair which Paul decided made Patrick an easy target. 

One day during recess, Paul started calling Patrick a girl, then a sissy and then quickly escalated to the final insult, fag. Even though we had no idea exactly what a fag was, you just did not want to be called one. 

Patrick tried to ignore Paul. Then Paul shoved Patrick to the ground.  Patrick fell down, got up and ran up to Paul Babigan and, smack, punched him right in the nose. Hard. At the time I remember being surprised it did not make the cracking sound you heard in the Westerns. Just a fleshy thud. 

Blood everywhere.

And in that one split second, Paul’s entire lifetime of crafting his image as a bully had vanished. His super power was gone. Paul screamed, he cried, he sobbed, he ran away. Paul, the entire school came to know at the same time, like all bullies, was a massive coward. 

After that, the second tier of tough guys got in line to beat up Paul Babigan at least every week. They wanted to beat him up while he still retained a slight trace of the image of being a tough guy. At one point I remember almost feeling sorry for Paul and his practically daily beatings, but I did not. He had earned them. 

We would find out later - when Paul came home with a black eye or split lip - he would get even more from his alcoholic step-father who wanted to toughen him up. 

A quick Google search of Paul Babigan revealed Paul would go on to up his game and do serious time in Florida prisons for serious crimes. 

The only cure for a bully is a hard punch to the face. We just need a Patrick Hayes, someone with enough guts, to do it.






When I was single, I distinctly remember getting on a few hot streaks with women, in Santa Barbara, New York and San Diego, that were pretty impressive for an albeit funny and buffed, but non-pretty boy, not rich, not famous dude.

It was just about confidence. When you feel it, women have a sixth sense for it. There were a few times, with alcohol involved, when I could swear a woman could tell I had had sex the night before and, as a result, she was attracted. 

But that tail also wags the other way, and, as a 60-year-old divorcee, it has wagged hard the other way.