It’s three o’clock in the morning on a Sunday so if I seem esoteric or obtuse I assure you it’s the booze talking. Otherwise, I am as grounded as a man can possibly be — grounded in the earthly flavor of the Northern Highlands and a bottle of Glenmorangie: Cellar 13. Pick a bottle up if you can find one. You’re sure for a manspirational evening.
Several weeks ago, I posted the number to my personal voice mail. Calls trickled in slowly at first. Most likely because many of you thought I was joking. After all, what kind of man would post his phone number to the internet while his nuts were the target of rabid and horny feminist crusaders.
How about a man with brass balls?
Over the last 6 hours, I have received 32 messages. Well done, gentlemen. Each of your messages is like a piece of bacon to me. Some are scrawny and strange — but still delicious. While others are meaty and steaming. Either way, I wouldn’t leave one of them behind. This is fucking bacon we’re talking about here!
The message I’m getting from you people is loud and clear. You want your voices heard. So sometime this month, I will begin hosting a live web radio show. It will be the manliest show on the web. Live calls, fart sound effects, the works. Stay tuned for more information.
In the meantime, leave me a voice mail at (213) 985-DICK. That’s (213) 985-3425. Women are not allowed to call.