WWKRD Man of the Week Award

This week's award goes to none other than Mr. Woody Harrelson, Hollywood leading man, television's favorite bartender, crazy pothead, hippie vegan, and zombie fighter. 

Woody is probably best known for his role as Woody Boyd on the hit sitcom 'Cheers.' He was nominated for five Emmy awards, winning once in 1989. He later broke into feature films with 'White Men Can't Jump' and 'Money Train', co-starring with convicted felon Wesley Snipes.  Woody became an A-lister and starred in films like 'Indecent Proposal', 'Natural Born Killers', 'Kingpin' , and 'The People vs. Larry Flynt.' 

But it's Mr. Harrelson's off-camera exploits that have earned him this week's honor. Because frankly, Woody Harrelson doesn't give a shit. 

In 1983, he was arrested for disorderly conduct for dancing in the street and disrupting traffic. He would later leap out of his police transport, laughing maniacally, and proceed to punch one of the arresting officers in the face, knocking him to the ground.

He is a self-proclaimed former sex addict, was once arrested for planting hemp seeds in Kentucky - a defiant act that challenged the state's marijuana laws, and even climbed the Golden Gate Bridge to protest a lumber conglomerate. 

But it's Harrelson's most recent brazen act that has vaulted him into the upper echelon of WWKRD royalty. Earlier this year, at La Guardia Airport, Harrelson and his daughter were confronted by a rogue paparazzo, who apparently caught Woody at the wrong time. 

Harrelson allegedly pushed the cameraman in the face and damaged his camera, leading to a scuffle that was captured on video. 

And while most men would vehemently deny any wrongdoing, Harrelson admitted that he was simply trying to serve the greater good and prevent catastrophic events from occurring. 

"I wrapped a movie called 'Zombieland', in which I was constantly under attack by zombies...with my daughter at the airport I was startled by a paparazzo, who I quite understandably mistook for a zombie." 

That, my friends, is damage control at its absolute finest. 

We here at WWKRD salute you, Woody Harrelson, for your contributions to cinema on-camera, and to zombie-prevention off of it. 

 

Lady Looks Like a Dude

At this year's World Track and Field Championships in Berlin, Germany, all eyes have been fixed on Usain Bolt, the freakishly tall and fast Jamaican who has shattered the world records in the 100- and 200-meter dashes.

That was, until this chiseled, handsome young sprinter from South Africa burst on to the scene to obliterate the competition in the women's 800-meter final.

That's right, the women's 800-meter final. Now, we here at WWKRD are not licensed in any sort of medical field, nor have we ever claimed to have practical experience in gender testing, but we have come to the conclusion that Semenya is likely not a woman - at least not totally. 

Could it be possible that the track and field world has seen it's first tranny superstar? It certainly appears possible. 

What's even more amusing is the manner in which track governing body IAAF is handling the situation. A gender test was ordered several weeks ago - a process which inexplicably takes quite some time. 

Reports state that the gender test "takes weeks to complete, requires a physical medical evaluation, and includes reports from a gynecologist, endocrinologist, psychologist, an internal medicine specialist, and an expert on gender."

An EXPERT ON GENDER?? 

We can only imagine the years of study and training one must endure to come to the conclusion that a person owns either a penis or a vagina. We're pretty sure this guy could tell you that in about 10 seconds, and for much less money than the standard IAAF process.

Adding to the hilarity is that gender testing was once required for all female athletes at the Olympics, but was abandoned in 1999 - probably because it doesn't take a team of doctors and scientists to distinguish a shaft and some nuts from a hoo-ha. 

One of Semenya's former teachers had some humorous commentary on the matter:

"She was always rough and played with the boys," said Eric Modiba, head of the Nthema Secondary School. "She never wore a dress. It was only in Grade 11 that I realized she's a girl."

Wow. 

So, even in these modern times of teacher-student affairs and pregnancies, a male instructor didn't know if this person was a dude or a chick. That's certainly not good for one's morale.

We here at WWKRD certainly wish Semenya the best, regardless of the outcome of her test. We hope that she would not manufacture a 'mangina' for the purpose of entering an all-female race and earning international renown. We certainly hope that she wouldn't undergo some sort of tribal castration or Manny Ramirez-like feminine hormone gorging to gain a competitive edge. 

All we can hope is that the truth is revealed, and that it comes in the form similar to that depicted in the film "The Crying Game" - where Semenya, proudly accepting her medal on the winner's stand, lowers his/her drawers, fishes deep betwixt her legs, and produces that which we all know is there (allegedly).

Godspeed, Caster Semenya!

WWKRD Inaugural Man of the Week Award

It's time for the first WWKRD Man of the Week Award, given to those who embody all the integrity and bad-assedness expected of a true man in these harsh times.

The first award goes to none other than Mr. Clint Eastwood, whose no-nonsense awesomeness has stood the test of time for more than a half-century. 

Best known for his Man With No Name Trilogy, Dirty Harry, and his successful exploits as a director, Mr. Eastwood has refrained from rolling over to the trends of sissy boys and demands of Hollywood assholes. Rather, he has produced countless films laden with serious ass-whoopings, blatant exploitation of race and sex roles, giant guns, sweet cars, explosions, babes, and a beer-guzzling chimpanzee. 

And even as he approaches his 80th birthday, Mr. Eastwood continues to kick ass, as evidenced in last year's 'Gran Torino', where he shamelessly beat this shit out of some mouthy, punk Hmongs from the Detroit suburbs and pounded several cases of Pabst Blue Ribbon - because real men don't drink Stella or Blue Moon.

We here at WWKRD salute you, Clint Eastwood, for your contributions to society and your relentless pursuit of kicking sissy boy ass and scoring babes. Huzzah!

Don't Call it a Comeback

Take solace, readers. Your spirited blogger is not deceased, nor has he been taken out by gang warfare or the aggressive homeless.

Rather, I took an inordinate amount of time off to pursue my vision quest. Much like my proud Native American ancestors did while they roamed the great frontier, I, and all .0025% of my Cherokee blood, needed to escape the digital jungle and escape to the nominal amount of open acreage here in the West San Fernando Valley. Fueled by a unquenchable thirst for knowledge and truth, as well as three cases of Red Bull and some peyote purchased from a nearby mobile home village, I escaped to the wilderness to release the inner child and discover the true purpose of my life and reflect on the current state of man. 

And friends, after this exhausting, enlightening, and sometimes frightening journey, I have come to one simple conclusion...

It's time for testosterone to make a glorious return to America.

In less than a decade, our country has fallen victim to a series of trends and habits, perpetrated by women and homosexuals to suck the power from Joe Manly and level the playing field, opening your average man up to the same ridicule that he once only dished out on others in gym class. 

Be it plucked and shaped eyebrows, fake tans, shaved chests, skinny jeans, faux-hawks, techno music, or fraternities, the American male has bottomed out here in 2009. 

Adding to the slow fade of American manhood is the sudden, astronomical rise in popularity of what we'll call Douchebag Shirts. Whereas man was once content with a simple polo from the Gap, or a button-up from American Eagle, the bar has been lowered and the price raised. Evil sartorial hawkers such as Ed Hardy, Affliction, and RCVA to name a few, have not only emptied out wallets across the map, but have turned many decent, well-intentioned men into giant dickheads. Research indicates that the clothing itself doesn't contain any formulated douche-enhancing chemicals, but rather, the simple status of owning said clothing has an inexplicable ability to elevate a man's levels of arrogance, idiocy, and douchebaggery, while simultaneously stripping him of all masculine credibility to the discerning eye, or "The Seers" as we shall call them.

The Seers are those who have managed to deflect the attempts on their masculinity; those who recognize that $20 Levis from Target will not only last longer than $400 Sevens, but also look way less gay. Seers know that V-neck shirts are simply an evolution of women's low-cut blouses, and to be seen in such a shirt is to be sucked free of all manhood. Seers know that there is never, ever, an appropriate occasion to leave half your shirt unbuttoned or to side-tuck your shirt in. 

The problems extend into the world of entertainment, where popular music groups and movie stars have seen their masculinity flushed straight down the toilet, a phenomena scientists have labeled "pussification." Keep reading for further examination of this phenomena. 

In closing, your diligent, baseball cap and Wrangler-wearing blogger will continue to bear the torch of manhood, fighting the good fight for all the Seers out there. 

Until next time, my friends, do as Kurt would do...