Pajiba

Unfortunately, when I was much younger, I was one of those sad girls.

I tried starting a company like this once. For fat people. Called it "Manic Fatties" and it was just one compilation after the other of obese people doing the truffle-shuffle. For their participation they were awarded teflon-coated bibs that display the Manic Fatties logo and free jello shots (literally, just shots of jello).

Like Joe Francis I have suffered accusations of rape from the plus-sized monstrosities that can't bear the thought of what they've done in my reinforced trailer.

superasente,

And don't forget the tremendous amounts of blow they can hide all over, around, and inside their persons.

The words "braying ass" come to mind.

@superking: Braff played a Francis-like character in Arrested Development?

@superasente/Kballs: You'd be surprised how many grilled cheese sandwiches we fatties can hide within our manifold... folds. Don't even get me started on grocery store samples, it's nearly impossible to get any shopping done.

It really is true what Marge Simpson said, "Don't forget about fat people. They can't stop eating!" And whores can't stop whoring.

I don't follow TMZ or any other celebrity gossip stuff but what has Zach Braff done to put him in the same conversation as Joe Francis and Charlie Sheen?

Do you just dislike him?

C'mon Rowles, have a care. If it wasn't for those women, I wouldn't be alive today. My grandfather, Pervy Assnole, married one such lady, and the rest is history.

Yes, I come from a long and illustrious line of Assnoles. In case you're wondering, it's Scotch-Romanian.

And you, dear Courtney, sound like Heaven above.

But on your colorful, truth-telling tirades and the problem men they expose: I try not to let any general shittiness bring me down to their level. And I think you're best when you write about man/boy/guy stuff. It feels far more like Klosterman than your routine blahg, only you know, more Heaven in a ten cent pamph, less worldly like a Oolong tramp.

Or to take you literally, I think you give Joe Francis' wife too much credit.

You'd be surprised how many grilled cheese sandwiches we fatties can hide within our manifold folds...

I would not, sir. I would not. Delighted, perhaps. Maybe a little terrified. But not surprised.

Posted by: THRILLHO at November 11, 2010 3:53 PM

"Don't get me wrong, I love the idea of killing unwanted babies, it's just that the idea of letting women make a decision doesn't sit well with me."

- Zach Braff on abortion

huh. All I can add is that there are just as many female tools out there as there are male twats. It goes both ways, for in nature, everyone can find a match for the kind of hole they are.

Our story begins in 1980, when a seven year old Joe Francis happened to see a four year old girl changing at a public swimming pool and realized that in 12 years she would be just pubescent and inexperienced enough to be able to be sexually exploited for profit.

But even at such a young age, Joe Francis knew that the realization of his American Dream would have to wait. And so he passed his childhood as young men of his persuasion are wont to do: Pulling the wings off of flies, graduating to kicking kittens when no one was watching, and setting fires in the dumpsters from which he found the cast-off pornography of sad, lonely men who drove unmarked white vans with rolls of duct tape in the glove compartment. Truly, a time of youthful innocence Norman Rockwell would have smiled upon whilst perhaps reaching for a telephone with which to call the authorities.

But it wasn't until a fateful Florida Spring Break fifteen years later that Joe Francis finally came into his own. Who never forgets their first kiss, their first crush, their first love blossoming within their hearts like the petals of a flower unfolding under the warm sun of emotion? Or, if you're Joe Francis, who never forgets their first completely legal victim?

"I had already had bad experiences with Rohypnol," said Francis; "While it was great for me and all the other Fraternity Brothers, the girls would wake up not only with large chunks of their self-esteem missing, but also their memory. Coming back to consciousness in a seedy hotel room, covered in semen and graffiti, surrounded by empty polaroid film packs tipped them off that the night before had not exactly gone the way they had planned when they had answered the wanted ad for a babysitter."

"So I had to come up with a new game plan. Crushed over the counter sleeping pills mixed with a little icing sugar to counteract the bitter after-taste when slipped into a Mike's Hard Lemonade worked wonders. So when they woke up sticky and violated the next morning, they still had enough recall of the previous evening to think that somehow, it was their fault. That they were to blame. Which they were, of course. I mean, if they're gonna walk around dressed like that... well, they had it coming."

But it was a stroke of genius that balmy evening in Daytona Beach that guided Joe Francis' hand. While an incoherent Hello Kitty panty-clad high school junior flopped on the Motel 8 mattress gasping for air and mumbling "No... please Daddy, no..." Joe Francis reached into his bag of genius and pulled out, not a pair of handcuffs, or a whip, or a condom with which to avoid leaving a DNA sample, or even a ball gag with which to muffle the screams but a Hi-8 camera and the holy grail on which the Joe Francis empire is built upon: The Legal Consent Form.

"I told her I was with the medical examiner's office and would need to take her statement for the trial, and she was so blotto she signed it with barely an arousing whimper. Once that was done, I unlocked the door, brought in the bros of Alpha Chi Omega, and then the high-fiving really began.."

In his opulent Santa Monica office, Joe Francis points to a framed document on his wall. Yellowed with age, and stained with what one hopes is dark red wine, one can faintly make out an illegible scribble on the bottom right hand corner.

"My first one." Says Joe Francis proudly, a beatific smile on his smug, sociopathic little face. "I'll never forget What's-Her-Name..."

And thus was born "Girls Gone Wild!" Like God, if it had not existed before, it would have been necessary to invent it. And in this brave new world of grey legal areas Joe Francis was, and is, it's Thomas Edison.

But what is next for this entrepreneur of excrement? This Horatio Algier of awfulness? "I'm glad you asked me that;" smiles Joe, "You see, I'm expanding my empire and teaming up with Dov Charney to introduce a new clothing line."

Dov Charney, founder and CEO of American Apparel?

"Absolutely." Replies Joe, pointing to a photograph on his desk of him and a hairy Canadian possessed of a greasy-looking moustache and a ridiculous sweatband. "Dov and I are on the same page. American Apparel has the same brand awareness and commitment to quality young stuff that we are all about. We are starting to embark on a cross-platform synergy of media, clothing, and design the likes of which has not been seen since the police obtained a search warrant to go through Jack Valenti's wall safe and computer hard drives. We're going to call it: "Immigrant Garment Girls Desperately In Need Of An American Work Visa Gone Wild!"

The future looks bright for this nipple-slapping whipper-snapper. Who knows how far he will go?

Coming up next after the break: A fake ID. A judge who can't be bought. A jury filled with members who have daughters of their own and a burly tattooed new cell-mate conspire to create a small trickle of blood running down the inside of Joe Francis' thigh. Here, on VH-1 Special - Joe Francis: Behind The Douchebag...

Zach Braff ruins everything. It works.

I like the sound of this Asshole Eradication Program. I'll be calling my local representatives.

Holy fuck, how many teeth does he have?

Nah Dudee, more "If anyone get more vagina love than me why the fuck does it have to be this skeezy abusive almost-rapist almost-paedophile?"

That alleged "quote" by Zach Braff looks like total bullshit.

As long as their are douches, there will be women with low enough self esteem to fuck them. It's the circle of life, people. Let's just pray that this penis wrinkle and his idiot hag don't ever reproduce--their spawn would most certainly be the Antichrist.