Best Biblical Christmas Personality?

Lowbrow Answer: The Three Kings
Guys, it's called FedEx. I appreciate the effort it takes to cross a thousand miles of desert, but you're totally wasting whatever it is that makes camels go. Just throw your frankincense and your myrrh and your "Dora the Explorer" DVD's into a UPS envelope and be done with it. Jesus is just a baby anyway, he's not going to remember you were even there.

I'm not exactly sure why you're bringing Jesus presents in the first place. You're Kings. Don't you have like, important royal business to attend to? Ya know, proclamations to make and illegitimate children to father and peasants to behead? You don't even know this Christ kid. What if he had grown up to be some lacrosse-playing, I-banking, date-raping douche hat? How would history have remembered you THEN?


Middlebrow Answer: The Virgin Mary
You gotta give props to any woman that pops a baby out who becomes the savior of mankind. I can just picture her at Starbucks, showing off in front of the other moms: "How's Jesus? Oh, you know, just out curing the blind and walking on water and rescuing all humanity from sin." I also gotta hand it to any woman that lives through a fuck-session with God himself. I bet the guy screws like a polar bear on PCP. He probably blows a load like an Asian tsunami.

Of course, in reality, Mary is just another one of those lame housewives who measures herself by no other standard than the success of her children. Boooooring. Why don't you go buy yourself a new dress, Mary. Join the bridge club. Take some rowing lessons. You gotta get out from under the heavy shadow off that overachieving brat of yours.


Highbrow Answer: Herod the Great
I'm sure you're really proud of being a marketing consultant or a corporate accountant or whatever bullshit white-collar job you do, but you're a nobody compared to Herod the Great. Did you build the fortresses at Masada, Antonia, and Herodium? How about the entire port city of Caesarea? You have anything to do with the huge edifice at the top of the Cave of the Patriarchs in Hebron? No? You didn't? Oh, that's right, it was Herod the Great. Suck it. Suck it, everyone. (Except for Herod. He doesn't have to suck it.)

"But wait," you may be thinking. "Wasn't Herod the guy who drowned his own brother to consolidate his power? Didn't he murder all of his sons and have his wife killed? Wasn't he an unstable menace who butchered anybody that didn't agree with him?" Why, yes. Yes he was. But who needs a family? Bunch of annoying, greedy free-loaders if you ask me.

Best Christmas Personality?

Lowbrow Answer: Santa Claus
He's disturbingly overweight, he lives in the middle of nowhere in a little house, and he only works one day a year. He's basically the Unabomber with a cholesterol problem. And I'm sorry, but when did it become okay to break into people's houses to give candy and toys to children? He sees me when I'm sleeping? I'm surprised Santa hasn't been on "To Catch a Predator" yet.

Santa is bullshit. Every kid I knew growing up got presents. Even the little shithead rich brats or the Podunk idiots who'd kick my shins in the hallway. Where was your "naughty" list then, you fat prick? What's the point of me studying hard and following all the rules if it means nothing at Christmas? I could have been out throwing snowballs at cars on the highway or lighting frogs on fire - instead, I wasted 3rd grade learning about Earth Science.


Middlebrow Answer: The Elves
Elves can do anything. One day, they're fighting off legions of Uruk-Hai at the battle of Helm's Deep, the next they're hand-crafting dresses for Polly Pocket. What a versatile species. I wonder what would happen if you bred an elf with a human being. Actually, I think that's already happened once. It's called, "Danny Devito."

How is the Department of Labor not all over this? An army of midgets making toys around the clock for no pay and no pension? Can you say, "lawsuit?" I'm surprised Nike hasn't made a deal with Santa for some of his workforce. I bet elves could make soccer cleats way quicker than depressed, undereducated, chain-smoking Chinese children.


Highbrow Answer: Blitzen
Rudolph may get all the credit, but if you ask me which reindeer is probably calling all the shots behind the scenes, I'm saying it's Blitzen. How could it not be? Let's say you're Prancer or Donner. Who are you taking orders from? The dopey runt with the glowing red nose or the chiseled badass who's named after a terrifying form of German warfare? I rest my case.

If Santa's team of reindeer were an ensemble action movie, then Blitzen is totally Brad Pitt in "Oceans 11" or Vinnie Jones in any Guy Richie film or Insectosaurus in "Monsters vs. Aliens." He's the awesome, ruthless hero behind the wimpy, lovelorn hero. Oh, and there's no question that Blitzen is totally porking Vixen. You know they sneak off to Santa's sleigh whenever they can for a little session in the back seat. Hot.

It's NBA Basketball Season Again. I Hope...

Lowbrow Answer: ...The Celtics or Lakers Win the Championship
I'm sorry, gold and purple? Really? Whose dumb idea was that? Because somebody should find that guy and shove a lawnmower up his ass. And look, I understand that you're called the "Lakers" because your franchise started out in Minnesota, but come on. There aren't any lakes in Los Angeles. There aren't any trees or clean air either. Even our rivers are fake. Maybe you should change your name to something more LA, like the "Traffics" or the "Budget Crises" or the "Massive homeless population and failing school system-s."

The only thing worse than a Laker is a Celtic. Fucking Boston. It's the racist, white-bred, Irish-Catholic capital of the Union. With a shitty accent. There's nothing like meeting a cute girl at a bar who leans in close and says, "Yah Fahkin' hawt. Wanna go screw in my cah?" The Celtics have won the NBA Championship a record 17 times, including a stretch of eight in a row. Fuck that. Fuck winners. Fuck the Celtics and the Yankees and the Spanish National Soccer Team and Lance Armstrong. Winners can blow me.


Middlebrow Answer: ...The Heat Win the Championship
Hey, Cleveland. Get over it. Labron James is a professional basketball player, not Mother Theresa. What the fuck did you expect him to do? Stay in Ohio? Are you kidding? He's a multi-millionaire and he's black. He belongs in a rap video, pouring champagne onto naked chicks, not in Cleveland, blowing chalk dust into the air for legions of corn-husking, swing-stating white people.

Look, I hate the Heat as much as anybody, but fuck it - at least they're interesting. Most of the NBA is so boring. I mean, the NFL has their juiced-up, gun-toting concussion jockeys and the NHL has their toothless, Manitoban fist-fighters and Major League Baseball has Manny Ramirez. What the fuck does the NBA have? Steve Nash? Booooooring. Cut your hair, you dirty hippie.


Highbrow Answer: ...All of the Players Die in a Forest Fire.
My god, basketball is useless. It's literally the same thing over and over again. Like, 200 times. Like, kill me. At least in other sports, scoring points actually matters. But not in Hoops. You shoot an amazing three-pointer? Who cares, we're still losing by 27. You block a shot? Big deal, they're going to take 95 more of them before we're done here. Basketball needs to add some element of surprise, like let one of the point guards ride a snowmobile for the second quarter or have an angry wolverine guard the free-throw line. THEN I'd watch.

Basketball players are the worst. They're all eight feet tall and block my view when I go to see "Harry Potter" movies and have sex with all the women in my town. Fuck you and your cool tattoos and your bling and your fancy cars, Carmelo Anthony. You're making me look bad. Forest fires, on the other hand, are fucking awesome. It's like a regular fire, only pissed-off and on speed.

Best Colloquialism?

Lowbrow Answer: "Not Gonna Lie"
Have your friends been spouting this one at you like some kind of record player on angel dust? Yeah, me too. I don't get it. My friends are pretty good people. I'm not hanging out with baby rapists or armless Thai hookers or Lindsey Lohan. I feel pretty confident in assuming that they aren't lying to me when we speak. Except for my friend Phil. That guy is always elbows deep in shady dealings. I swear he's in the KGB.

Where does this bullshit stop? Am I going to have to start prefacing everything I say with a dumb list of stuff I'm not about to do?

- Not gonna molest a donkey, Tina, but that dress looks incredible on you.
- Not gonna stuff a quiche through that little window at the bank, but man is it hot outside.
- Not gonna learn how to write backwards in Finnish, but I totally love Radiohead.


Middlebrow Answer: "That's What She Said"
Okay, Steve Carrel is kind of amazing. And "The Office" is a funny show. Sometimes. When John Krasinski isn't smiling at the camera like a fourth-grader on a sugar high. But this one has got to stop. Suddenly every idiot thinks he can spout punchlines like Dan Akroyd. (Funny, edgy Saturday Night Live Dan Akroyd, not dumpy, embarrassing Yogi Bear Dan Akroyd.) If you weren't funny before you memorized this phrase, you REALLY aren't funny afterward.

The worst part about this one is that most people are morons and don't know how to use it properly. It's like watching a beagle trying to fly a 747:

Me: So then she told me to stick my penis into her vagina.
Idiotface: That's what she said!
Me: ...I know. I just told you she did.

Me: Do you have the numbers for the R15 report yet?
Dumbass McGee: That's what she said!
Me: I'm going to stab you with a curling iron.


Highbrow Answer: "Heretofore"
Pop quiz, asshole. Define "heretofore." Can't do it? Didn't think so. No wonder you got stuck at Eastern Michigan University getting a degree in "General Studies." Idiot. Heretofore basically means "up to the present time." Try using it in a sentence. It'll drive the babes in the Critical Theory section of the library wild:

"Heretofore, Zizek's writing had seemed petulant and Philistine." Philistine."
"Philip Hearsey's sculpture work has created heretofore unimaginable visual commentaries on global vicissitude."

(If you don't know who Zizek or Hearsey are, my interest in you as a person has heretofore been grossly misguided.)

Best Hippopotamus?

Highbrow Answer: This one with the Baby
Oh my god that is the cutest fucking thing I have ever seen in my entire life. Look at that. Just look at it. Goddamn miracle of nature. Makes me want to vomit on a puppy or choke an infant with a rainbow it's so freaking adorable.

That is some committed parenting. I don't see you in the pool at the YMCA, following your kid around underwater to make sure he's doing the breast stroke properly. Although, after that messy incident with the beard trimmer and the underage lifeguard, I can see why they don't let you in the pool at the YMCA anymore.


Highbrow Answer: This one yelling at you
Hippos are awesome because they seem slow and docile until they're pissed off - then they chase you down at 60mph and break you in half. Having trouble picturing it? Just imagine running from an angry Volkswagan Jetta with 7-inch teeth.

Hippos are so terrifying that even hardcore predators like lions and tigers and velociraptors avoid them. They usually announce their presence with by trumpeting loudly from their throats. I wish I could do that everywhere I went: "GOOD MORNING EVERYONE, I HAVE ARRIVED AT THE LIBRARY. I'LL BE IN NON-FICTION." Then people would know not to fuck with me.


Highbrow Answer: This one Leaping through the Air
Are you seeing this shit? It's a fucking Hippo Torpedo. Be honest, have you ever seen anything more awesome in your whole life? I didn't think so. Imagine getting a few of these high on PCP and then loading them into a cannon and launching them into Afghanistan. The war would be over in matter of days.

Does anyone else think that "Hippo Torpedo" is a great name for an indie album? I can see the Arcade Fire or Vampire Weekend or one of those other really popular but annoyingly off-key bands releasing it. Maybe the Flaming Lips should do it and Wayne Coyne can spend the next 8 months touring the country in a rubber hippopotamus suit. Crazy bastard.

Best Use of Duct Tape?

Lowbrow Answer: On a Duct
Really? You couldn't think of anything more creative to do with this than use it for its intended purpose? Don't you know anything about art? The key is to take an object with a specific function and employ it in some other way. Like using a lobster as a phone (Dalí), a urinal as a sculpture (Duchamp), or your penis as a periscope (me and my brother in the tub when we were five). Now THAT'S art.

What the hell is a duct anyway? I've never seen one in my life. My underlings tell me it's something that gets used in ventilation or plumbing or one of those other blue collar arenas that I never deal with. Why would I? That's why God invented Mexicans and people from Buffalo.


Middlebrow Answer: On an Open Would
Band-Aids are for pussies. And what's this racist shit with all of them being peach-colored? Fuck that. White people never need Band-Aids anyway; they're too chickenshit to ever do anything dangerous in the first place. It's tough to hurt yourself when you spend all your time on golf courses or at PTO meetings.

What's better than a Band-Aid? Duct tape. Cut yourself shaving? Duct tape. Get stabbed by a scimitar while on duty in Persia with the Roman Legion? Duct tape. Blow a hole in your chest trying to make a pipe bomb out of a bowling pin? Duct tape. It's tough, it's sticky, and you'll look badass with a big silver bandage. It hurts like a bitch when you rip it off, but you can quit your whining and suck it up.


Highbrow Answer: On a Duck
Stupid ducks pooping all over my dock and putting yeast infections into my lake. You're overweight rats with feathers and wings. Quit walking around on my beach, waking me up in the morning with your incessant quacking. What the hell do you have to talk about? You're a duck. You wake up, eat, poop, eat, poop, and go back to bed. Shut the hell up. It's not like you've got interesting news to share about the Dow Jones.

And I'm sorry, but migration? Really? Just buy a heater, for Christ's sake. If I flew 2,000 miles south every time I got cold, I'd never get anything done. Even if you did decide to go someplace tropical, why the hell would you ever come back? That's like somebody deciding to return to New Jersey after spending 10 years living on a yacht in Polynesia. Just makes no sense.

My New Favorite Band is...

Lowbrow Answer: Mumford & Sons
Where they hell did these douchebags come from? All of a sudden, every girl I've ever met is selling her ovaries to get a ticket to a Mumford & Sons concert. I don't get it. They sound like a roofing company or a real estate firm. If you're going to pander to upper-middle class girls with semi-coherent, vaguely poetic ramblings about love, at least have the common courtesy to call yourself "Coldplay" or "John Mayer."

Every girl tells me how dreamy it is that Mumford & Sons used to be homeless and play on the streets of London or wherever. I'm sorry, but women don't like poor dudes. They like diamonds and Audi's and guys who pick up the tab at The Geisha House. I know you like to think that Mumford & Sons are some motley band of starving artists, but they're not. They're on Island Records, for Christ's sake. They probably use hundred-dollar bills to blow coke off Megan Fox's chest.


Middlebrow Answer: Florence and the Machine
Okay, so she's pretty hip. And her voice is sometimes great. And "Dog Days Are Over" is a fucking good song. But I already spent all my energy liking this band back when they were called Metric /La Roux / The Gossip / Goldfrapp / The Yeah Yeah Yeahs / Silversun Pickups. Does the planet really need another tone-deaf anorexic girl mincing around stage in platform shoes? Hey honey, see that thing you're doing where you're not quite hitting any of the notes? That's called going flat.

I don't really get this whole heroin chic look that Kate Moss made famous. You know, that thing where you wear a lycra unitard from the 1980's and you overuse dark blue eye makeup and you wear stilettos that are 15 inches too high and your legs look like fleshy toothpicks and you vomit up every packet of Splenda that you allow yourself to eat and your boyfriend looks like he was kicked out of The Strokes for being too cool. Can somebody explain it to me? Mischa Barton, I'm looking at you.


Highbrow Answer: The London Philharmonic Orchestra
You ever notice how pop music is totally inane and stupid? Yeah, me too. Here's an idea. Don't listen to it. You want well-crafted, profound art? Bach is your boy. Or Mozart. Or Liszt. Or ANY OTHER European classical composer. (Except for Wagner. Antisemitic prick.) As much as I appreciate Katy Perry's futile attempts at harmony, I think I'll stick to Beethoven's fifth. You may have heard of it. It's the one with the 57 separate instrumental lines and 15 sections of syncopated rhythms. Oh, but yeah, "California Gurls" is great too.

It's hard to argue with 40 different instruments all playing the same song. Look, I like Lady Gaga as much as the next guy, but her music really suffers from a distinct lack of contrabassoon. I think that earthy tone could really add some depth to songs like "Pokerface" or "That one where she's dressed like a French sex toy in the video." Mankind has taken the time to invent the English Horn - why not use it? (I will hunt you down and kill you in your sleep if you ever say anything bad about the English Horn. Goddamn miracle of nature.)

Best Form of Torture?

Lowbrow Answer: Waterboarding
Waterboarding sounds like something douchbags do behind a speed boat on a lake in New Hampshire: "Hey bro, grab some PBR and your Volcom shorts - we're going Waterboarding." Couldn't you give it a cooler name, like "Land-Swimming" or "H2-Oh-No" or "The Aquaman Surprise."

The idea here is that you make the victim feel like he is drowning. The problem is that every account I've ever read of drowning says that it's actually quite a euphoric feeling. So you've got a bad guy and you want him to tell you about all his bad guy plans and you're going to do that by making him feel euphoric over and over and over again? No wonder we can't find Osama Bin Laden.


Middlebrow Answer: The Judas Cradle
Now THAT is how you name a torture device. I'm terrified of this thing just based on the title alone. The deal is, they chain your neck to the wall and then make you sit on a little pyramid until the thing slides up inside you and splits you open. Brutal. It's slow, it's jagged, and it's a real pain in the ass. Literally. Imagine getting an enema with a bowling pin.

Although I can't help but feel that there are few people who would enjoy being chained to the wall and having a small pyramid rammed into their asshole. Like those guys that are turned on by a girl throwing up onto a balloon, or those woman who think it's hot when a dude puts a hamster into the end of his dong. It ain't torture if Kinky McGee is getting off on it.


Highbrow Answer: The Head Crusher
This one is pretty straightforward. No bells, no whistles. Just your eyeballs squeezed out of their sockets as your head is crushed in a vice. Apparently the first thing that happens is your teeth are pressed up into your jaw. Then your forehead collapses and your brain begins leaking out of the cracks in your skull. So. Just to recap. Teeth into jaw. Forehead collapse. Leaky brain. You could draw a picture of this device in red crayon and I'd still tell you everything I know. Jesus.

The Head Crusher was primarily used in that delightful little period of Iberian history known as The Spanish Inquisition. Some priest in a dress would stick your head into the device and ask you if you believed in Jesus. You say no, they turn the crank. You say yes, they burn you alive. Man. Kinda makes all that child molesting look pale in comparison. (too soon?)

I think Gay People are...

Lowbrow Answer: "Punching Bags."
Hey. Homophobic dickheads of America. Can we stop with all the I'm-going-to-make-this-gay-kid's-life-so-miserable-that-he-kills-himself bullshit? What are you, five? Newsflash. This isn't 1169. The world is round. The Earth isn't the center of the universe. Fire is a chemical reaction, not a mystical punishment from God for touching yourself. This is the modern era. We have a black president. Women vote. I can film myself masturbating and then watch it back in less than ten seconds. Get with the times. Homophobia is out of style, along with public lynching and liking Weezer.

I don't understand homophobia in the first place. What the hell is so scary about gay people? I'd get it if you were afraid of sharks or spiders or Mike Tyson. But gays? They smell nice, they drink good wine, and they're great at figure skating. What the hell is so scary about that? Although, to be fair, that Russian figure skater from the Olympics was terrifying. That guy looked like he could strangle a grizzly bear. With his hands. On ice. In a purple and gold leotard.


Middlebrow Answer: "Funny on 'Modern Family.'"
Yes, Cameron and Mitchell are hilarious. Yes, so are Will and Jack. Yes, so are all five of those nice ladies from 'Queer Eye.' I'll even admit that Rosie O'Donnell made me giggle a few times. But only when she wasn't ranting about Cutie Patooties or inviting some fourth-grader to build her desk out of blue marshmallows. But here's the real question about all these people: Are we laughing with them or at them?

The problem with gays in the media is that they're never just people; they're always gay people. I want a baddass firefighter character to join the cast of "Rescue Me," and only after he has saved like 12 people from a burning building and rescued three Iranian babies from a flaming car does he mention that he's gay. And when he does, the other dudes pass him a PBR and respond with, "So?"


Highbrow Answer: "Just as uninteresting as the rest of us."
So you like ballet. And Broadway musicals. And penises in your butt. Who cares. I have more important things to worry about than who's tying you to the bed and covering you with KY jelly at night. I have Marx to read. I have Adorno to critique. I can't be bothered with the trivialities of your sex life. I don't care whether you're fucking a man or a woman; either way, the sex you're having is way less amazing than the sex I'm having. Trust me.

Here's an idea. Let's just all stay out of each other's personal lives, okay? You want to have sex with a dude? Go for it. You want to make play-doh replicas of the Teletubbies and throw them at old people? Great. You want to dress like a 3rd century sod farmer and lip sync to Tina Turner in your bathroom? Awesome. Good luck. I'll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine. 123 Go.

Best of the Original Pokemon?

Lowbrow Answer: Pikachu
Admit it. You only like Pikachu because you can't come up with the name of any other Pokemon. You uneducated swine. This is a serious piece of Japanese culture and you just ignore it like it's a Jury Duty letter or a positive test result for HPV. Well. I have news for you. Pikachu sucks balls. Who wants a pet that electrocutes you when you touch it? What the hell sense does that make? It's like renting a stripper who infects you with the Bubonic Plague if she takes her clothing off. Just makes no sense.

And can somebody put a gag into this thing's mouth? Jesus. All day with the "Pika! Pika!" Hey Pikachu. Blow me! Blow me! How about you stop running around in the forest and get yourself into a classroom. Maybe learn Portugese or Farsi or one of those other South American languages. Then maybe I'd understand what the hell you're trying to say.


Middlebrow Answer: Squirtle
This little guy is a menace. He bows to no man. Fuck you and your rules - he's going drinking. Squirtle is a water-based Pokemon who eventually evolves into Blastoise. (See him here.) I'm sorry, is that artillery in your turtle shell? Do you literally grow mortars out of your shoulders? Jesus, that's awesome. The only thing that I grow out of my shoulders are pimples and that weird rash I got in Slovakia last year.

I will say, however, that "Squirtle" is a bullshit name. It's not badass AT. ALL. It sounds like:
- A sexual maneuver involving three or more bodily fluids.
- Some kind of detergent-based liquid ecstasy.
- The annoying, wets-himself sidekick in a Nickelodeon cartoon.
- An Eddie Murphy movie.


Highbrow Answer: Wigglytuff
Look at that shit. It's the bastard offspring of a rabbit and a Bean Bag Chair. On Acid. I want one. I want three. I want as many as it takes to build a pink army of fluffy, adorable destruction. That's how they get you. You look down and think, "Awwww..." right as the thing leaps onto your face and chews through your neck. Awesome.

Pokemon scientists (Umm, what? How do I sign up to be one of THOSE?) think that the thin layer of permanent tears around Wigglytuff's eyes are to prevent moondust from blurring its vision. I'm sorry, "permanent tears?" That's the most highbrow thing I've ever heard. It sounds like the name of symphony by Penderecki or a ladies' underwear line designed by Bjork. Either way, I'm sold.

Best Part of a Wedding?

Lowbrow Answer: Removing the Garter Belt

Look, I know you're excited about getting married, but do I really need to see you reach your hands in your wife's crotch in front of everyone you know? I feel like I'm on the set of a Jenna Jameson movie. Your 93-year-old Grandma Ethel is watching, for Christ's sake. Keep your mitts out of the cookie jar until the honeymoon.

And I thought the point of marrying a girl was that you don't have to share her with anybody anymore. Why would I pull off her garter belt and then give it to some jackass at the wedding? I have plans for that garter belt. I'm going to wear it around my penis during sex or make my wife eat it or some other weird thing I can think of now that I'm married and she has to do what I say.

Middlebrow Answer: The Toasts

Wedding toasts are tricky business. The good ones will make you cry and laugh and hug people at your table that you've never even met. The bad ones will make you want to stab yourself in the chest with a ballpoint pen. Here are some quick tips to help you avoid making an ass of yourself:

DO: Be honest and speak from your heart.

DON'T: Be too gay, though.

DO: Make fun of the Bride's father.

DON'T: Make fun of the Bride's Autistic dead grandmother.

DO: Talk about the couple's first date.

DON'T: Talk about your traumatic relationship with and subsequent retraining order on Lars, that creepy guy you met at the gym.

Highbrow Answer: The After-After-After Party

You know that little gathering that happens after the reception? The one where all the old people have gone home and it's just the young people drinking and dancing in the hall? Okay, well you know the little party that happens after that gathering? The one where the lame young people have gone to bed and it's just the cool kids hanging out in some dive bar in town? Okay, well you know the super small chillout session that happens after that? The one where it's just you and a bridesmaid in a hotel room watching cable and making out? THAT party is fucking awesome.

Weddings are great because everybody you meet has been pre-approved by the bride or the groom. There are no rejects in the crowd like at every other bar/restaurant/party/club/bullfight that you go to. Meet a cute girl? Go for it. She's the bride's best friend - there's no way she has AIDS or Herpes or an axe-murdering Slavic ex-boyfriend. So take her to your own little after-after-after party and walk down her aisle.

Best Denomination of U.S. Currency?

Lowbrow Answer: The One Dollar Bill

I think the last time that anyone used one of these in an actual legal transaction was back in 1859 when James K. Polk bought the Oregon Territory from the Indians for like $3.89 or whatever. Since then, the dollar bill has become nothing more than a straw for snorting Cocaine or something to shove into the butthole of the stripper whose ass is in your face. Either way - decidedly lowbrow.

And can't we do any better than George Washington? I know he's the founder of the country and all that, but what a wuss. "I cannot tell a lie?" Why the fuck not? You're a politician, George. Sack up. The last thing that Americans want is a president who's honest all the time. We prefer gun-toting, bible-humping hicks from Texas who know how to jerk us around good and proper, thank you very much.

Middlebrow Answer: The $50 bill

Ulysses S. Grant is a badass. Any man who sees Robert E. Lee on the other side of a war and thinks, "Fuck that guy. Let's do this." is pretty hip in my book. He is also responsible for the 15th Amendment, which let freedmen vote. Any man who sees a bunch of KKK members and racists on the other side of congress and thinks, "Fuck those guys. Let's do this." is pretty hip in my book.

That being said, what the hell do you use a $50 bill for? It's too big to buy fish sandwiches at McDonald's with but too small to use to rent a Clydesdale horse for the weekend. It basically just sits in your wallet, taking up space and getting germs on that one condom that's been in there since 1997.

Highbrow Answer: The $10,000 bill

Bet you didn't see this one coming. The $10,000 bill was minted in 1945 and, even though it was discontinued in 1969, remains legal tender to this day. Bad ass. I'd love to walk into a Toyota dealership with three of these: "Yeah, I'll take the red Prius. No, thanks, I'll be paying with cash." They need to start printing these again; I could mug somebody at knifepoint and end up with the down payment for a Condo in Miami.

The guy on the $10,000 bill is Salmon P. Chase. Who's he? Oh, no big deal, he was just Treasury Secretary under Abraham Lincoln. He helped write this little document - you may have heard of it - The Motherfucking Emancipation Proclamation. I love historical dudes. They're always so much more impressive than we present-day folk. This guy helped free the slaves - my biggest claim to fame is that I won 3rd place in the 1991 North Andover Arbor Day Sack Race.

Best Figure in Diego Velázquez's "Las Meninas?"

Check out the full painting here.

Lowbrow Answer: The Little Blonde Chick
You smug little brat. I see you giving me the Stink Eye. I don't care how wealthy your parents are - I'll wipe that smile off your face with a Brillo pad. And you're like five years old; you should be playing with dolls and kissing boys behind the jungle gym, not getting your nails done for a state dinner by some Flemish wet nurse named Helga.

And what the fuck are you wearing? You look like you're about to go play bass for The Arcade Fire. I could set a whole picnic up on the top of your skirt. Do yourself a favor and get into something a little tighter - you'll never marry a marginally handsome inbred English prince in that getup.


Middlebrow Answer: The Dog
Normally, I'm pretty anti-dog. They poop everywhere, they drool everywhere, and they smell like the inside of an NHL locker room. But check this guy out. What a legend. He's actually sneering. I like to think that somebody just offered him tickets to an Edward Albee play and he refused: "Albee? Are you fucking serious? What do I look like, some jackass English major from a small liberal arts school? It's Beckett or nothing, thank you very much."

This dog also looks like he's wearing black warpaint on his face. Bad. Fucking. Ass. I can think of only a few other things that are as awesome as a dog wearing warpaint:

- A flying Panzer Tank
- Powdered Donut-flavored gum
- A Polar Bear in a bowler hat smoking a cigar
- Brad Pitt from "Fight Club" beating the shit out of Brad Pitt from "Meet Joe Black"


Highbrow Answer: The Crazy Dwarf Lady
This chick smiles for no man. You want her to look pretty for your painting? Fuck you and fuck painting. She has important dwarf stuff to do, like sing about the Yellow Brick Road or drown in a lake.

Dwarfs are epic. In Norse mythology, they're the metal workers of the Gods, which means if Lord Odin ever needs a new sword or a trowel or chrome rims for his Cadillac - he calls in the Dwarf squad. The most famous Dwarf is probably Alberich, a central character from Wagner's 28-hour opera "Die Ring des Niebelungen." In the story, he forges a ring that brings about the death of all of the Norse gods. Not too shabby for a guy who wouldn't even be allowed to ride on Space Mountain.

I Am Running Right Now Because...

Lowbrow Answer: It's Raining and I want to Get Inside.
Hey, sissy. It's just water. If it were raining chainsaws or wolverines with liver cancer, then I'd be okay with you running to get inside. But it's not. So grow a pair. You can take it, I promise. People in the 1800's used to kill buffalo using nothing but a homemade spoon and a wagon wheel. You can handle some water in your hair.

People get so crazy when it rains. It's like somebody flips the let's-drive-like-idiots-and-be-grumpy-all-day switch. Lighten up. It's only rain. Without it, we don't get any crops or any drinking water or any opportunity to get soaking wet while we do epic, hyper-romantic things for our girlfriends.


Middlebrow Answer: A Bear is Chasing Me.
Okay, while part of me thinks you should sack up, turn around, and kick the bear in the face, I understand why you're running. Bears are scary. Especially those big brown ones in Alaska that eat conservationist filmmakers. (Hiyo! "Grizzly Man" joke. Too soon?) You better be in good shape if you're running from a bear; some of them can get moving as fast as a Volkswagon Jetta or one of those other little pussy cars.

Instead of running from the bear, why not invite it over to your place for some green tea and lemon squares? Or maybe take it to a Twilight movie or something. That's the thing about bears, man. Nobody ever gives them a chance. We spend all our time running from them when, really, all they're looking for is a nice meal and some good conversation. Although maybe I'm wrong. I haven't taken any biology since 6th grade.


Highbrow Answer: The Boston Marathon is Coming Up.
Competitive running is sport in its purest form. No cheerleaders or foul shots or extra points here. Just men in tiny shorts running for two hours. (sidebar: can somebody explain to me the reason for the extra point? He's kicking the ball from like, ten yards away. They never miss. Just give the guy seven points for the touchdown and let's move on with our lives.)

Long distance running, particularly, is the sport of kings. You ever run a marathon? It blows. Your legs burn, your arms ache, and your nipples bleed. Yes. You heard me right. Your nipples bleed. Sounds fun, huh? It's not. It's horrifying. Which is exactly why it's so fucking highbrow.

Best Indians?

Lowbrow Answer: Indians from Cleveland
God, I hate baseball. Let's sit around for three-and-a-half hours and watch overweight rednecks spit chewing tobacco at each other. Awesome. Sign me up. And as if the game weren't already bad enough, the Cleveland Indians suck at it. They haven't won the World Series since 1948. I know that everyone loves "Major League," but come on; your franchise's claim to fame is a Charlie Sheen movie? Since when was that something to brag about?

And let me get this straight. You're choosing a mascot and you go with "Chief Wahoo?" Really? I would love to have been in the room when that decision was made.

Executive 1: How about a cartoon Indian Chief who looks like a meth-addicted pedophile?
Executive 2: I like it.
Executive 3: I love it.
Jeff: Are you on crack?


Middlebrow Answer: Indians from India
If you're from India, chances are you're Hindu. Which means you pray to epically awesome deities like Ganesha and Shiva and that one that looks like a drunken chimpanzee. If I have the choice between worshiping an angry, thirteen-armed Elephant man or a boring, lives-with-his-parents carpenter from Bethlehem, I think you know which way I'm going to go. Here's a hint: it's the angry, thirteen-armed Elephant man.

Although, to be fair, India needs to get its fucking act together. They've got way too many people, way too much flooding, and way too much not enough food. How about we put down those cricket bats and start problem-solving, eh India? Oh, and I'm sorry, but there's no way that cows are sacred. God is laughing at you, I promise. Now Platypuses - that's another story. Those things are awesome.


Highbrow Answer: Indians from North America
Good lord, it must be rad to be an Indian. Have you ever seen "Last of the Mohicans?" Killing deer with a bow-and-arrow from 400 yards away, tracking people through the woods using only footprints and the smell of local flora, shouting, "Stay alive - I will find you" to hot white chicks. The closest I ever get to being an Indian is when I shop for moccasins at LL Bean.

You'll find no group of people with more broken dreams than the Native Americans. Intentional smallpox infections, genetic alcoholism, the Trail of Tears, falsified treaties, and the Washington Redskins are all part of America's giant "Fuck Off" to Native Indians. Maybe someday they'll fight back and scalp half of congress in a massive horse-ridden attack on Washington DC. It'd be okay with me as long as Orrin Hatch was in the half they got.

It's Saturday Night. I'm Super Excited to...

Lowbrow Answer: Get Drunk at a Bar.
Can somebody please explain bars to me? I don't get it. You stand in a tiny room that smells like the inside of the machine they use to pump the stomachs of freshmen girls at Florida State so that you can overpay for shitty alcohol and yell into your friends' ears from seven inches away. Man, that sounds awesome. I can see why EVERYBODY loves it so much. Sign me up.

Who are you meeting at these places? Any girl who's even remotely attractive is surrounded by three fatties and a gay dude, anyway. At minimum, talking to her will cost you four Vodka-Sodas and a healthy groping from "Paul." Gag me. Instead, why not just drink the four Vodka-Sodas yourself and watch in amazement as the ugly girls you had previously ignored transform into Penelope Cruz.


Middlebrow Answer: Dance My Face Off.
Dancing rules. It's the only social interaction that allows you to ram your junk into some girl's crotch without being maced. Plus you're on your feet and getting some exercise. Good for you. Keep at it. Maybe someday you'll loose that Freshman Fifteen and people will like you again.

Hey. Legions of white dudes in button-downs and polo shirts. Learn how to dance or stay the fuck out of my way. I don't come to your stupid football games and try to jump in at Wide-Receiver; don't come to my club and jerk around arhythmically while you make "fag" jokes and drink Corona. Ladies - you're partly to blame for this. If you see a douchebag who can't dance; don't dance with him. You wouldn't get into a car with somebody who didn't know how to drive, would you?


Highbrow Answer: Stay Home and Read Proust
Can you say, "Clinically depressed existential French repressed homosexual?" Proust can! This dude is the man. He starts writing essays at the age of eleven, he founds a literary review while he's still in school, and and he literally becomes nocturnal in his later years. He's most famous for a seven-part epic novel called, "À la Recherche du Temps Perdu," which loosely translates to, "I'm Marcel-fucking-Proust, Who the Hell are You?"

Home is great. All your shit is there, you don't have to pay for anything, and you can do whatever you want. Feel like eating a peanut butter and pickles sandwich? Go for it! Need to watch Die Hard 2? All yours! Wanna dry hump your teddy bear while listening to Michael Bolton and crying about your ex-girlfriend? Be my guest! You're in charge! Huzzah!

Best Care Bear?

Lowbrow Answer: Funshine Bear
"Funshine?" Really? Is that even a word? Somebody must have been huffing Xanex when they came up with this yellow idiot. Apparently Funshine Bear is the joker of the group, but given that this is the Care Bears, I wonder how incisive his pranks really are: "Oh, Funshine Bear. You gave me three hugs instead of two! Good one!" He should up his game and start playing some real practical jokes. Like lacing Wish Bear's coffee with Arsenic, for example. Hilarious!

I can't stand happy people. Wandering through life with vacant grins and wearing Dave Matthews Band t-shirts. Morons. Hey Funshine Bear. Why don't you go spend a year in Mogadishu and see if you're still smiling after you catch shrapnel in your knee from a carbomb and a radical Islamist rapes your wife with a copy of the Qur'an. Oh, and the Dave Matthews Band sucks balls.


Middlebrow Answer: Good Luck Bear
Good Luck Bear is a bad-ass. He's Kelly green, speaks with an Irish accent, and has a four-leaf clover on his tummy. I hear he also drinks a pint of Guinness with breakfast and has connections to the IRA. I wonder what Care Bear terrorism looks like. Probably just drive-by huggings and Molotov Cocktails made from juice boxes and peppermint sticks.

The problem with Good Luck Bear is that it's not like any of his lucky magic is being used for cool shit. He's not rolling up to Vegas with that slut Love-a-Lot Bear on his arm and winning 60-grand at the Craps tables. He's not getting any action on the Holyfield vs. Tyson fight, ya know? He's wasting all his talents on helping underprivileged homosexual unicorns or whatever the hell it is they do on this show.


Highbrow Answer: Grumpy Bear
Hey, you know what's shitty about life? EVERYTHING. People are drowning in floods in India. Oil is leaking into the Gulf of Mexico. "Glee" is doing a Brittany Spears episode. There's no sense in ignoring it; you may as well embrace it. Grumpy Bear doesn't fuck around with useless things like smiling or hugging or being nice. He's too busy stabbing his arms with a sewing needle and writing lyrics for the metal band he's in.

Grumpy Bear has a big gray rain cloud on his tummy and is described as being cynical, surly, and rarely happy. Sounds like every cultural theory professor I've ever met. My kind of man. Grumpy Bear is also famous for negative sayings like "Bumbling Bitterbugs" or "Tishie-Tags," although I like to think what he really means is "Fuck this shit" or "I need a whiskey."