As Guyspeak's official "Funny Guy," I feel it's my duty to maintain a private life in line with what the readers have come to expect from such a lofty title. I try to do everything as humorously as possible: when I trip, it's always on something iconically slippery; if I'm in line at the store and it's taking a long time, I flail and whoop; when I fart, I do so audibly and yell "WHOA" afterwards every time.

And so it should come as no surprise that I purchased a copy of GQ's recently-released annual Comedy Issue, if only so I can imagine the feel of cover guy Zach Galifianakis' beard on my fingertips as I read it. What did come as a surprise, mainly because I haven't actually physically read a magazine since the late 90's, was the fact that to get to all the great articles about pee pee and poo poo I had to wade through so many ads featuring airbrushed abs I went temporarily blind.

Is it too Seinfeld-esque to say, "what's the deal with magazine ads?" Ads comprised more than fifty percent of the magazine, and made it so difficult to find articles that I eventually just gave up and bought everything being advertised. Clearly, this is a bad system. I say it's a bad system because it makes me write blog posts in the voice of a slightly edgier Andy Rooney, and no one wins in that scenario.

Is it sexist of me to post this on a site aimed at women, implying that you'd somehow have a keener interest in magazines, what with your Peoples and Luckys and Juggs? I didn't think so at first, but after seeing how that sentence devolved, almost certainly. You can find my official apology on page 156, right between the featurette sidebar with Robin Williams and the info-ad article about Kohl/Kevin Kostner's charity work.

I sure am asking a lot of questions, then answering them. What do you think that could mean? In the end, I think the moral is: magazines suck. Next week, I'll probably post something about how hieroglyphics aren't as awesome as I once thought.