Max-stravaganza

HUMAN RESOURCES: Welcome. Please have a seat. I have a quick series of questions to assess your personality and see if you're best suited for this position. HR: First off, what's your name? APPLICANT: Fuck You. That's my name. HR: Heh heh. Seriously now. A: There are some who call me...Tim. HR: Okay, Tim. What unique abilities do you bring to our company? A: What I do have are a very particular set of skills. Skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. HR: How do you feel that you are different from other applicants for this position? A: Some people can read War and Peace and come away thinking it was a simple adventure story. Others can read the ingredients on a chewing gum wrapper and unlock the secrets of the universe. HR: Where do you see yourself in five years? A: I'm going to be a mighty king. So enemies beware. I'm going to be the main event, like no king was before. I'm brushing up on loo

Dear Esquire, Long time reader, first time griper. Ever since opening my first copy in my childhood dentist's waiting room, I have been a firm believer that Esquire is the one, true authority for men with regards to fashion, food and foxy ladies. So much so, in fact, that I will personally thank Esquire on my tombstone. This is done in part because your magazine helped me pick out the gravesite that will attract the most single women. Your most recent issue, however, has put me in quite the moral quandary regarding your magazine's capacity to accurately judge what constitutes "manliness." In an article titled " 10 Trends to Steal from Fashion Week ," you run down the essential points that American men should take from European stylists. These include: Shortened, blue blazers, shiny tuxedos, mesh tops, and tribal print. What the hell, Esquire? It's like you want me to get run out of town by angry villagers like I'm Frankenstein's mo