As you get older, you make trade-offs with your lifestyle.  Downsides: your body starts deteriorating with the half-life of Polonium-214, hangovers get more and more brutal, and you end up spending less and less time with people you really like — especially if you’re married. But there are upsides, too.  For example, with every year that goes by, I become slightly less stupid.  But much more importantly, I’m now comfortable buying lingerie — and not just for myself.  It makes a great gift for women, a gift that they will wear almost immediately after you buy it, and then as many as 0.5 times per year thereafter.

There was a time when going into Victoria’s Secret was so daunting.  I’d go in, eye something frilly, then some woman would ask me if I needed help.  Need help? Is she implying I don’t know anything about lingerie?  Man, I KNOW lingerie.  Why, I took off a woman’s bra off with one hand!  Once!

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Suddenly I hate the South a little bit less today. Don’t let the door hit you in your deck shoes on the way out. And as for that guy that I talked to for ten minutes walking from Fike to the student union? I had no idea who you were. So next time you say, “You know something big must be happening if I’m here,” make sure you’re, like, famous or something. Or not talking to some dipshit from Ohio.

As the whole country sweats this financial bailout stuff, New York Magazine has turned its focus on the story we’ve so desperately wanted uncovered: “Golly, what ever has happened to those poor Lehman Brothers traders?”  The whole story is worth your complete disdain, but here are a few choice selections:

Like many on Wall Street, the Trader’s career was moving along briskly. By 2006, he had settled into a new $2 million house in Connecticut with a pool, and kept a pied-à-terre in Manhattan. With two young children, he had private-school tuition to cover. He had recently completed a home renovation, and now there was talk of a new porch with a built-in stainless-steel barbecue. The Trader estimated that he was two years from making enough money to retire and never have to work again.

In other words, the guy next door. A real average joe. I hardly know him, yet I already have a bottomless well of sympathy for him.

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Just a quick heads up about a suspicious e-mail that showed up in my inbox a few hours ago. Consider yourself warned:

SUBJECT: REQUEST FOR URGENT BUSINESS RELATIONSHIP

DEAR AMERICAN:
I NEED TO ASK YOU TO SUPPORT AN URGENT SECRET BUSINESS RELATIONSHIP WITH A TRANSFER OF FUNDS OF GREAT MAGNITUDE.

I AM MINISTRY OF THE TREASURY OF THE REPUBLIC OF AMERICA. MY COUNTRY HAS HAD CRISIS THAT HAS CAUSED THE NEED FOR LARGE TRANSFER OF FUNDS OF 800 BILLION DOLLARS US. IF YOU WOULD ASSIST ME IN THIS TRANSFER, IT WOULD BE MOST PROFITABLE TO YOU.

I AM WORKING WITH MR. PHIL GRAM, LOBBYIST FOR UBS, WHO WILL BE MY REPLACEMENT AS MINISTRY OF THE TREASURY IN JANUARY. AS A SENATOR, YOU MAY KNOW HIM AS THE LEADER OF THE AMERICAN BANKING DEREGULATION MOVEMENT IN THE 1990S. THIS TRANSACTIN IS 100% SAFE.

THIS IS A MATTER OF GREAT URGENCY. WE NEED A BLANK CHECK. WE NEED THE FUNDS AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE. WE CANNOT DIRECTLY TRANSFER THESE FUNDS IN THE NAMES OF OUR CLOSE FRIENDS BECAUSE WE ARE CONSTANTLY UNDER SURVEILLANCE. MY FAMILY LAWYER ADVISED ME THAT I SHOULD LOOK FOR A RELIABLE AND TRUSTWORTHY PERSON WHO WILL ACT AS A NEXT OF KIN SO THE FUNDS CAN BE TRANSFERRED.

PLEASE REPLY WITH ALL OF YOUR BANK ACCOUNT, IRA AND COLLEGE FUND ACCOUNT NUMBERS AND THOSE OF YOUR CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN TO WALLSTREETBAILOUT@TREASURY.GOV SO THAT WE MAY TRANSFER YOUR COMMISSION FOR THIS TRANSACTION. AFTER I RECEIVE THAT INFORMATION, I WILL RESPOND WITH DETAILED INFORMATION ABOUT SAFEGUARDS THAT WILL BE USED TO PROTECT THE FUNDS.

YOURS FAITHFULLY MINISTER OF TREASURY PAULSON

You don’t become a grade-A asshole like myself without having at least some level of obsessive-compulsive disorder, and for me it’s worst in the morning. I’m especially prone to earworms that become verbal tics. Today I woke up with a mash-up of Ann Curry’s “good morning” spiel and “The King of Wishful Thinking.”

I’ll get over you, I know I will
Good morning good morning
I’ll pretend my ship’s not si-inking
Everyone in the news this morning

Just wanted to share. It helps me relieve the tic. In fact, I feel a little better already. Thanks.

Stand by for NFL-related programming.

This is a brilliant mash-up of Bert & Ernie with M.O.P.’s “Ante Up.” Because any NFL blog that doesn’t bring you fetus humor, Chris Cooley’s bag of dicks and Sesame Street gangsta rap in the same day, isn’t worth reading.

George Carlin died yesterday. He was 71. You certainly don’t need us to tell you that he was the progenitor of the pissed-off comic that has been copied with varying degrees of success over the past several decades. Furthermore, it was Carlin who officially codified the seven dirty words. And as the LA Times could tell you, KSK wouldn’t be around except for those bon mots.

Carlin was right about many things, including his observation that everyone who drives slower than I do is an asshole and everyone who drives faster than I do is a maniac. This is one of his better known bits, and our favorite. Enjoy, all you assholes and maniacs…

“Listen to this dude Rufus. He knows what he’s talking about.”

Back by popular Ape’s demand is your friendly nabeyhood uomo ragno! There are not as many jokes as in previous installments, but who am I to argue with plot advancement? There are only supposed to be 10 of these things, so they gotta move it along, I guess. Time is money and whatnot. You guys you should probably find some former owners of a hip-hop label. They’ll throw money at anything!

It comes as news to me that the filmmakers are from Australia and are therefore probably related to Heath Ledger. Sorry, blokes, at least it looks like he did a good job in The Dark Knight, which the cream in my pants just creamed itself as soon as I thought about it.

I was on a conference call phone interview with Ledger when he was promoting The Four Feathers in 2002. Some other college writer dipshit asked if people in his hometown of Perth built cannons and fired them as a celebratory rite. He laughed and called the kid an idiot. That’s when I knew he’d die of an OD. It’s all in the intonation.

Dear USGA,

What the fuck? From Friday through Sunday fans on the east coast were able to watch Tiger play the Open in primetime, and now you’re just fucking us in the ass. Some people can’t stand the idea of an anti-climactic 18-hole playoff to settle the tournament, but fuck, I’m not one to complain about such things. One thing I am wont to complain about is an 18-hole playoff played at a time that guarantees my 8-5 ass won’t see a single blade of that badass kikuya.

You need to man the fuck up and tell NBC that shit needs to be on after work. I know that Jeff Zucker has a hard-on for all of those households in middle America that are clamoring for their night of American Gladiators and Nashville Star, but fuck those people. Would the advertisers even care if those piece of shit shows were preempted for some primetime Tiger? Fans of golf buy new kitchens, planes, and all of the other expensive shit made by NBC’s parent company. Fans of shitty third-rate reality programming spend their disposable income on lottery tickets, Bonnie Raitt albums, and WrestleMania tickets. To whom should you really be catering?

In the end, the USGA and NBC should ask themselves, “What would Russert do?” I think the answer is clear.

Yours in Christ,
Maj