Best Male Underwear?

Lowbrow Answer: Boxer-Briefs
Look, I know the world is a complicated place, but pick a fucking side. You're either boxers or you're briefs; you don't get to be both. Flip-flopper. It's like how every new invention these days has to be 8-things-in-1. "This camera is also a phone and a knife and a nightlight and a respirator and a pistol and a nine-iron and a badger! All in one!" Fuck that. I want my camera to be a camera. I want my underpants to be underpants. End of story.

Even if you concede that these are comfy, we couldn't come up with a better name than "Boxer-Briefs?" Really? It's like those annoying people who hyphenate their last names. Get over yourselves. Pick one or make up something new. Imagine how dumb it would be if other shit was named this way. We'd be stuck writing all our emails on "Calculator-Typewriter-Camera-Phonograph-Telegraph-Televisions." (Get it? I'm talking about computers. Moron.)


Middlebrow Answer: Tighty-Whities
In this tumultuous era of falling stocks and armed Middle-Eastern conflict and Katy Perry music, the last thing I need is my Pocket Dolphin flopping around all nimbly-bimbly in the breeze. I want that shit tucked in tight, where he's protected from all the fear and the war and the Moammar Gadhafi. I mean, come on. My Wang is my third-most valuable physical attribute, right behind my tattoo of Elton John and my detachable kneecaps; I gotta protect it.

Of course, sometimes my Yogurt Slinger needs some space to roam. Sometimes he yearns to be out on his own, seeing the world. And I respect that. I don't want be one of those helicopter parents, hovering over their kids at every turn. I want my penis to be able to enjoy a steak dinner or a tennis lesson all by himself if he wants to. More power to him.


Highbrow Answer: Underwear?
Would you cage the regal Alaskan Elk? Would you close the gates to Yellowstone Park? Would you lock Michael Cera in a windowless basement? No. Of course you wouldn't. Because Alaskan Elk, Yellowstone Park, and Michael Cera are national treasures. They're supposed to be out in the open, encouraging the world to greatness with their very presence. Such is the nature of my Penis; its very existence inspires the advancement of modern civilization.

If you're asking yourself, "Did he just equate his Dong to a National Park?" The answer is yes. Yes, I did. Clearly you know nothing of my Peen and the wonders thereof. It once traveled back in time to stop the assassination of a human boy so that he could grow up and become the leader of mankind against an army of robotic overlords in the future. Yeah. Suck it. What has YOUR penis done lately?

Best Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?

Lowbrow Answer: Michelangelo
Is it me, or is Michelangelo always stoned? Like, always. "Anchovies" is probably a euphemism for "massive bong rips." It's kind of impressive if you think about it. If he's that good with nun-chucks when he's baked, imagine how good he'd be sober. He could probably shit on Shredder's face with his eyes closed.

But what the hell is "Cowabunga?" What language is that? It sounds like the Latin term for bovine anus. Which is weird, because why would you shout that as you charge into battle? Why not something more like, "No Mercy!" or "Charge!" or "I'm-a-kill-yo-ass!"


Middlebrow Answer: Donatello
Donatello is smart, he's witty, and he can actually speak the English language without saying "whoa..." or "dude..." every thirty seconds. He's also named after a fucking badass. Donatello was a fourteenth-century painter and sculptor who basically invented bas-relief. He's way more highbrow than Michelangelo and his stupid ceiling. He's representin' Perspectival Illusionism, motherfucker.

On the downside, his weapon is a broomstick. I know that ninja geeks will call it a "bow" or a "staff," but that's total bullshit. It's a curtain rod, at best. Leonardo gets two swords and Donatello gets a shower dowel? What kind of shit is that?


Highbrow Answer: Raphael
Raphael bows to no man. You want him to help you save April O'Neil? Fuck you, he's busy. The Foot Clan is attacking Manhattan? Tough shit, he's reading Proust. Bebop and Rocksteady have captured Leonardo? Let that goody-two-shoes burn. Raphael doesn't need anybody. He's a surly one-man army.

Raphael carries two Sai, which only adds to his awesomenitude because it means he has to flight in close quarters. None of this arms-length bullshit for him - he gets right in your face before he rips your heart out and eats it.

You Have Three Kids. You Should...

Lowbrow Answer: ...Give them all names that start with the same letter.
The parents who typically pull this kind of shit are either super-wealthy white people or super-poor minorities. Either way, go fuck yourself. You have three beautiful daughters. You can't come up with more interesting names than Kelly, Kimberly, and Kelsey? Are you literally trying to make me hate you? If you are, it's working. Even if you aren't; it's still working.

I'm waiting for the day when people just quit trying and name all their kids "Dana." Male, female. It won't matter. We already spend all our time shopping at Wal-Mart and eating at McDonald's and watching "Transformers." We may as well go full-bore and just all have the same identities. At least you'd never forget somebody's name again.


Middlebrow Answer: ...Love them all equally and raise them well.
I hate kids in the first place, but if you're going to ruin my day by having one, at least be a good parent. Teach the thing to read and write and worship Adorno. Teach it to enjoy foreign arthouse poetry and listen to Chopin and sneer at Steven Spielberg movies. Teach it to be nice to everyone, except racists, homophobes, bigots, and lacrosse players. Fuck those people. They can swallow a rattlesnake.

On the other hand, there are few things worse than happy families. With their golden retrievers and white picket fences and Ford minivans and Saturdays at the park and Sundays at Episcopal church and smiling Christmas card photos from top of Mount Belmont. What is this, The Family Circus? Life is shit. Your son will get AIDS and your daughter will get hit by a comet. And The Family Circus blows. Worst comic ever.


Highbrow Answer: ...Kill two of them.
The world is overpopulated. There are like 147 billion people living in China. We're running out of space. We're running out of food and water. The last thing we need is idiots like you pumping out kid after kid after kid like your vagina is some kind of Pez dispenser. I don't care if you're Catholic. Or Evangelical. Or any other dumb religion that demands you have kids so that they can join the Pope's army or whatever. Use a condom. They're cheap, they're accessible, and the ones we have today are much better than the sheep's bladder you would have had to use back in the day.

I don't understand why some people are so intent on having 25 children. Doesn't it get old? Aren't you totally bored after the first two? Aren't you sick of potty training and diapers and whining and soccer practices and singing lessons and birthday parties and visits to the hospital and crying? No? You aren't? Man, your life is pathetic. Like, Eddie Murphy's post-1995 acting career pathetic.

Best Outfit for a Flight?

Lowbrow Answer: A Sweatsuit and a Neck Pillow
Maybe traveling from Boston to Albuquerque was a perilous adventure during the Civil War, but it's the 21st century for Christ's sake. The planes have heat. They serve you Pepsi in mid-air. It's pretty cushy. We're not sitting on wooden benches, helping to peddle the 747. Come on, the whole flight is only going to take like five hours. You're not crossing the country on a 9-month expedition with Lewis and Clark.

And don't get me started on this neck pillow shit. What the hell has happened to us? We used to kill bears with our hands and build houses with rocks and slaughter thousands of Native Americans for fun. Has it really come to this? We need a semi-circle cushion to help us sleep sitting up? If this continues, one day we'll be relying on some kind of Hello Kitty-themed robot from Japan to chew all our food for us and kiss us goodnight.


Middlebrow Answer: High Heels and a Tight Skirt
Hey sweetheart. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this isn't a frat house. There aren't any drunk football players to feel you up by the pool table or hump you arrhythmically on a makeshift basement dance floor. This is an airplane. Nobody wants to chat with you about how great it is to be an English major. All the flight attendants are gay. Take off your Manolo Blahnik's and wipe all that makeup off your face. Trollop.

The guy version of this is even worse. Nothing like a douchebag in an Armani suit and CK One sitting next to you all the way to New York. Yes, I see you're on your way to a business meeting. Good for you. Let me guess. You work in consulting. You attended some yuppie white kid college like Williams or Princeton and now you spend your time moving other people's money around until you save enough of your own to buy a big house and a golden retriever and a wife whose first name is "Grier." I hope your plane crashes. Into Princeton.


Highbrow Answer: Jeans and a T-Shirt
Yes, flying somewhere was a huge deal in 1984. It's not anymore. Get over it. At this point, an airplane is just a big Toyota Camry with wings. Are you really going to get dressed up for a Toyota Camry with wings? Is that how pathetic your life has become? Have you no better occasion to make a big deal out of than a flight to Cleveland? That's sad. Like, Elmo dying of Syphilis sad.

The joy of wearing jeans and a T-shirt on an airplane is that nobody knows anything about you. If you're wearing a suit, we know you're some Wall Street asshole. If you're wearing sandals with socks, we know you're some yocal from Indiana who hasn't been in one of them there flying machines since 1991. Jeans and a T-shirt is understated. You could be anyone. You could be flying to a meeting with the president or a play rehearsal with Johnny Depp or a T-Shirt and Jeans convention. The possibilities are endless.

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.