Full disclosure: I subscribe to Esquire.
(Now that I’ve lost all legitimate claims to elite literacy, let’s move on.)
As part of this subscription, Esquire sends me an email every month or so to plug their website. It’s not a particularly good website. In fact, there’s nothing on the site itself that isn’t in the print version. The digital communications department at Esquire‘s New York headquarters likely consists of one man, taking the hot off the presses edition of the publication every month and copying the lines of text from every story. In essence, the Esquire website offers everything I pay for yearly for free; basically, it makes me feel like a jackass.
But every now and then, I suppose, it’s good for something, something that I miss in the two hours a month I spend reading Chuck Klosterman’s column and reading about clothes that I will a) never possess the means to purchase and b) never wear because they are ugly and I don’t have a 28 inch waist. Never the less, occasionally (read: once every three months, at best), I get something interesting that keeps me opening the email.
Well, today, we can start a new three month countdown, because of this:
I am still sexually active. Just not as active as I once was. I think Viagra does help. You should try it. It might surprise you. And your friend.
I mean, come on, he’s a vegetarian, too! How did I not know this?