The Oscar Mayer Wienermobile...Finally, In Safe Hands

Cheeeeeers Chuckleheads!!

As you may or may not know, July is National Hot Dog Month here in these manifested and destined states of ours, so it is only fitting that I speak today about one of my dreams in life.

Something that I the Matt-Man, would love to make come to fruition.  I want to be able to someday say…

“I own the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile.”

Let me tell you something folks…I have always wanted to own that smooth riding wiener. And if I did..?

It would no longer be known as the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile.  It would simply be known as, Matt-Man’s Wiener.

Oh Dear God!!  I would have such fun tooling town around with my huge and sporty looking wiener, as the townsfolk gawk in amusement and amazement at my gigantic, smooth handling wiener.

From the North Side to the South Side, to the East Side to the West Side, Bagwine denizens would know that Matt-Man’s wiener is, The Ride.

It would be fun to drive through town and with my wiener, lovingly tap the rear end of every hot chick driving a car.

Or pull up to some punk in a hot old Camaro at a stop light, and yell across the lane…

“Hey dude?  Wanna race? ‘Cause even though you think you can; there’s no way in Hell you’re beatin’ my wiener!!”

But it wouldn’t be all fun and games…no.

With my wiener in my possession and my hands firmly in control, comes responsibility, and of course, risk.

I would dread taking my wiener to the grocery, for I know damn well, that some oblivious and self absorbed asshole will carelessly allow their grocery cart to slam into the side of my wiener and leave a mark on my wiener.

Oh sure I’ll take my wiener home and wash it and wax it hoping the mark comes out, but…Oy!!  I just hope somebody doesn’t dent my wiener.

If they did, I would have to apply bondo to my wiener and then ultimately sand and paint my wiener, so it would once again be as smooth and lovely as the day I got it.

I would also take precious care of my wiener.

I would religiously take it to my personal grease monkey, and say things like…

“I need you to change the oil in my wiener, and could you check my wiener’s alignment?  I was driving my girlfriend home the other night and she said that my wiener felt like it was pulling to the left.  It was really making her uncomfortable.

Also…sometimes it’s hard to get my wiener started so check the battery as well.  In fact, as my wiener sometimes runs a little hot, just give my entire wiener a thorough looking over.  While you work on my wiener, I’ll just hang out here and eat a bagel.

Oh and check out the crankshaft…as it has gotten older, it seems to be making some funny noises.”

See folks?  I have a dream.  A dream to own an American icon…my beloved wiener.

Oh sure…Some of you may think of me as one to succumb to pipedreams, and to be a dork, a dick, or a bonehead, but let me say something…

When I make this dream happen, and am driving my wiener into every nook and cranny of America, and graciously allow you to take a spin upon it, you will be saying…

“Damn that Matt-Man; he is a great American, and by God do I love his wiener!!”

Cheers!!

Matt-Man

neshobadude@yahoo.com
@mattmaniws

Some Things Are Coming Less Easily To Matt

Cheers and suck my Schwedy balls people…

Ha actually, I don’t want you to do that, because it wouldn’t be good for either of us, but...

Man, it was hot.

In fact, I worked Friday and all Saturday at the Beer Mine, and it was 101 on Friday and 103 on Saturday.

And, because people are incredibly stupid, I wrote this directive:

Most people who actually saw the sign, laughed, and gave me a dollar, but as you know…I hate that, and as I am all about excellent customer service, and the sign was, well…funny….

I’ll take a dollar where I can get it, because while I am upright, I am also, destitute and unworthy…would you please…contribute…to a boy…like me?  Anyhoo…

When I wrote the, don’t ask how hot it is sign, I thought of a few other sayings I don’t want to hear, and which although gladly accepted in our culture, are completely stupid.  Annnnnnd, here they are bitches…

Easy Come, Easy Go… No…It was not easy to get her to COME marry me, and it is even harder to get her to GO and divorce me.

You Must Have a Kink in your Neck…What the hell is a kink?  Is it Ray Davie?  Did he get stuck in the bicycle chain of my fucking neck?  I don’t understand.

Plurals on Names…I hate that, and it sounds worse when I hear people say, “your Benito Mussolinis”,  “your Adolf Hitlers“, “your stupid people who evidently don’t know that these people are SINGULAR!!”

My A/C is ON THE FRITZ…What, who, and/or where is the damn FRITZ?  I understand that the FRITZ is not good, but could someone tell me what the who, what, or where the FRITZ is?

Ain’t Nothing but a Thing…What the hell is that?  That has to be the stupidest phrase I have ever heard. It makes no sense, other than that it is typically uttered by black people, and then the laziness of the phrase comes together.  Fucking lazy English speakers.

Do You Have dem Fitty Cent Juices?  Ha…No we don’t…Sure you do the people say, they’re right there.  Oh, I say, those are called Big Hugs and they don’t sell for “Fitty Cent“, dumbass.  Well gimme one uv dem.  Me?  Oy.

I like to speak and write colloquially, but I also respect the language when I am typing something serious.  Others, and well, many, don’t feel the same…they speak whatever they want anytime.

I like the English language.

I like to make the English language my bitch.

Unfortunately, many younger people like to make the English a second language.

Yeah, I’m an old man I guess, but if hating young people bastardizing the English language makes me old…I can live with that.

And kiddies...Jayman and Matt-Man talked to Carrie Welch yesterday...They talked about her days on the Food Network and what she is doing now at Little Green Pickle to hear it all, play on:

I Am a Prick, But I Think I Am Getting Better

“An excellent man, he has no enemies, and none of his friends like him.”
--Oscar Wilde

I dig Oscar Wilde.  Oscar Wilde and I are much alike, well…other than his penchant for enjoying the buggery type of sex, but I tell ya…

He was an Irishman who was as wise as he was witty, and that my friends is a unique gift, and I experienced that this weekend in the form of several incongruous meetings, chats, and happenstances.

Several “things”, spontaneous meet-ups, and kind words from the mouths of others, brought me out of a mild funk that I had been in, and the funny thing is…

I never feel that I deserve any of it, because to paraphrase the Wilde quote above, and how it relates to me…

I’m a prick!!  And yet, for whatever reason, people like me.  Still.

I do have to say, a lot of my prickness comes from years of biting my tongue where my kid and mother are involved and then just recently realizing of late…

“Hey, I only have 52 legally required payments left on that make and model, and then my check is all mine...well...Schmoop's.”

Those of you helping to support a child in addition to having an angry ex-spouse, or in my case, quasi-ex-spouse, know that feeling, and know how liberating that feeling is.

And so yeah, while I left my wife 14 years ago, only now, with a smirk, and anemic financial independence looming, do I have the self-aggrandizing freedom to tell her, and to all y’all…fuck off.

And I would do just that, however…I can’t.

I am one sick son of a bitch who has this nasty nice streak within him, which compels me to want everyone to be happy in spite of how much I my or may not hate them.

G-Dawg, I Hate It!!  And let me tell ya, I couldn’t act upon my prickishness this weekend because several good things happened.

Friday, we were only quasi-busy, but folks were tipping me like I was Scar-Jo on a Dance-Po.

Saturday?

My BFF/OSP Schmoop, and her brother came through.  They were both in good moods which for those of you who don’t know them, that happens once in 150 years.  Those two were like Venus in transit.

After a more than unexciting day, around 4 this chick came through.  She….was….hot.  And I knew her.  I have actually known her for some thirty years, and yet don’t know her.

She smiled at me, I got a hard-on, hid my bad teeth, and sent her on her way with a 12 pack of Bud Light bottles, as she handed me a dollar tip, and a feeling of not knowing where I was.

I stood there smiling until I heard the next customer chime in my ear, “Could I have a 24 of Labatt’s Ice and a Slim Jim?”

After I responded, “$3.47.”, and collected his money, my thoughts turned to the woman who had just  left and threw me off my game.  She came through because she liked me, as did Schmoop, and as do others.

And I thought…

“You’re such a jerk sometimes, Mahoney.  There are a lot of people who like you. Why don’t you accept that, and delight in the fact that you make some people smile, and ignore this one asshole?”

And my answer to myself is always the same…

“If only smiles came with money, and if only people knew I was becoming this callous.”

If that were the case, and to paraphrase my hero Oscar Wilde, my friends would not like me, but I’d have huge tips, and I would have no enemies.

Pffffft.....I'll take having the friends over the tips any day.  And enemies?  Bring em'on!!

Sorry Oscar...

Cheers!!
Matt-Man

neshobadude@yahoo.com
@mattmaniws

We also did one helluva joke show on IWS yesterday.  Jay and Matt were cutting up and the lovely Schmoop called in with some joke about her boyfriend.  Good times were had by all, so give it a listen, if you haven't already...

Learning More About Matt-Man

Cheeeeeers Bitches!!  

This is the Matt-Man coming to you live in a literary sense, from my living room…

A place that houses my control center, the exact place where I tell women how much I love them over the internet, and the exact spot where I know that nothing good can come of my internet trangressions, but do it anyway.

Yesterday, the one and only Jayman wrote about some of his idiosyncrasies, his foibles, his weird ass habits.

In keeping with the theme he set, and more importantly, because I could not think of anything else, I shall maintain blog continuity and do the same.

I will however, do this in an un-Jayman type style…I will talk about myself in FIRST person, because, well…c’mon…I’m Matt-Man, Bitch, and as we all I know, I am the Sun and I revolve around myself.  What, wait…what?

Anyhoo…a few things you may not know about me.

I have an amazing case of OCD.  It’s not awful or anything, at least to me, but it is quite noticeable.

I like things in order.

Look at this picture of tree that I mentioned on my Facebook page the other day.

See that tree topper sticking up?  I see that every day that I walk to work, AND IT BOTHERS ME!!

Look at our cabinets…Soup, soup, bean, bean, spice, spice…It has to be laid out that way.  If it’s not, I may end up eating a can of Cream of Peas…And seriously, who wants that?

Not I, says the Matt-Man, not I.

Although I am a smoker and share the Bagwine digs with an uber-hot smoker in her own right, I am compelled to empty ashtrays if I see more than two or three butts in one.

And the pacing!!  Oh Dear God, the pacing!!  I bet I walk four miles a day in the apartment, because I think better when I pace.

I pace as I smoke.  I pace as I drink.  I pace as I talk on the phone and usually…I am doing all four things at once, because once again, I am Matt-Man, bitch, and I can handle multi-debauchery.

But seriously…

I am one pacing Mother Fucker.  We used to receive complaints until the stupid, Norman Bates-type Nazi motherfucker who lived downstairs moved out, and then we got new carpet that could actually absorb the sound of my incessant plodding upon the carpet.

When I am typing out a post on Word,  as I am now, the red line often comes up indicating that what I typed, is not a word, and you know what I do..?

I look at it carefully, and then say to myself one of two things...

Either…

“Damn, I really fucked up the spelling on that word.”

Or…

“Motherfucking Word doesn't recognize a new word when I have just made it up.  It can kiss my ass.”

As you may or may not notice, I have a problem with rules, when it is attempted to be amateurishly applied to masters of the English language.

To be a true, eleoquent purveyor of one’s thoughts, one must write as one speaks, and if that includes made up words, and the hyper-pausitic beauty of the ellipse…

So fucking be it.

Cheers !!

Matt-Man

neshobadude@yahoo.com

@MattManIWS

Divorce...A One Trick Pony

She's a one trick pony
One trick is all that horse can do
She does one trick only
It's the principal source of her revenue.

Ha.  I love Paul Simon.  In my lifetime, no one has summed up every aspect of life quite like he has.  The man is a genius, and soothsayer.

Me?

I’m nothing more than a purveyor of humorous political punditry, tawdry tales, and half truths.

Yet, we here at IWS pride ourselves on exposing the stupid…The lies in life…The infirmities of human civilization.

I have a half truth to expose here today, and it’s not pretty…Well, it…er, she….er…whatever, used to be pretty but now, not so much.

You see, I became an independent two years ago in order to shed myself of Pelosi, and then this year, became a Republican so I could vote for Santorum, and now, I feel it necessary to bear my soul about something else, in order to let you now what’s going on.

I am still married.

It’s true. I got married in 1987, left in 2000, and yet, the woman who sought and gained matrimony from me, continues to cling to it like grim death, and will not let me go.

I have said things like…I’ll write it up.  What’s the big problem with a dissolution?  You have the house and everything else, what gives?

And yet?

She clings to me, day by bitter day, with the courage to tell me that our permanent, yet impermanent separation is MY fault!!

She will cite and/or make up things like, “You have used me, and want to stay married to me so you don’t have to marry Beth.”  Ha!!

Or she’ll say….“We need an ironclad contract, so you don’t steal anything.”  Like What!!

Or she’ll say… “If only…blah, blah, blah.”  Seriously?

I don’t listen anymore.  I don’t care anymore.  I don’t love her anymore.  And if the truth be told…

She would tell you that she doesn’t love me anymore, but it has become a game of who can get what, and yet the funny thing is…

She's the only one playing and there is nothing left to give.

Although I didn’t have to…I signed away the house; I signed away the cars; I signed away our son.

Yeah, I did all that, and yet…

Even though she despises me so, she will not simply sign on the dotted line and go on with her life as I have with mine.

No, she would never do that.  She likes drama…She likes control…

She likes Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy.

And well…there ya go.

Just had to get that off my chest and I feel better now.

Oh one other thing…As much of a jerk as I was to her, I was never that way when my son was involved.

I for one tried to keep the emotional health of the child separate from our problems, but...

Mizz I Was, But Not Really Diagnosed With Post-Partum Depression But Rather I Was Simply Lazy, Princess?

Not so much.

Cheers!!
Matt-Man

neshobadude@yahoo.com
@mattmaniws

She makes it look so easy
She looks so clean
She moves like god's
Immaculate machine

Annnnnd...We did a Prom show where we talk not only about this, but all things Prom-Related.  Such as cover bands, what not to say, and well...you'll just have to find out by listening below:

Jenna Talackova Naked!! Heidi Montag Naked!! Donald Trump Naked!!

Y’know folks…something disturbing happened yesterday.

I, the Matt-Man, the man of a thousand quotes, queries, and quantitative physics problems rolling around in my head at any given time was called…

“A twelve year old.”

In fact my friends, and lovers of all things I’m With Stupid related, the exact quote was this…

“I think both you and Jay are a couple of dudes with the sense of humor of twelve year old boy.”

After three minutes of loudly feigning expressing my outrage, and correcting her quantitative grammar problem, I bellowed to the loquitur of said character impugnment:

“I am not a twelve year old boy, and my humor is always on the cutting edge.”

What I really wanted to say was, in my best impersonation of the Crazy World of Arthur Brown:

“I am the God of hell fire and I bring you fire…”  and continue on in my Al Sharpton voice by saying:

“Oh look at you…you gots the blueberries alllll over your face.”  But…

I didn’t.  For that would be juvenile.

So instead, I attacked her accusatory statement by using simple, everyday logic with the following diatribe…

Listen…

You act like Jayman and I are nothing but a couple of heathens who want nothing more than to score cheap hits on our website by posting tawdry pictures of hot babes that are labeled with their name followed by, “naked”, or “sexy”, or “boobies”.

If that were the case, I would post a picture of the new transgender Miss Universe contestant from Canada, Jenna Talackova like this one:

And then, would label it with her name and add something like, “naked, hot, sexy” to it, which I did, but only to illustrate a point.

I am all for former men being invited to participate in Donald Trump’s Miss Universe pageant.  Does that sound like the attitude of a twelve year old?

Uh-huh…I didn’t think so...and just like I asked Donald Trump on Twitter last night…

“Does she have camel toe?”

Tell a twelve year old to come up with that line of humor.  Word.

See?  Jayman and I, are men of sophisticated tastes, humor, and upbringing.

You’ll never catch me making fun of stroke-ridden Dick Clark by saying, “Happy Doo Year” and then miscounting down to the New Year.

You’ll never hear Jayman uttering, “Trick or Treating in the projects would suck.”

Nope.  We are far more sophisticated than that.  Far more sophisticated than a twelve year old boy.

We don’t make wee-wee jokes, poopie jokes, or hoo-ha jokes.

We simply tell it like it is, and we do not, and will not post cheap pictures like this:

Because, well…it isn’t right.

Instead, we write on this site and turn in high performance shows like the one we did yesterday…

Jayman and I discussed what was in our local newspapers and had a heck of a good time doing so, as our fave Kentucky Jew, Sweet Pea, called in.

You can catch the hilarious show in the archives here:

And remember, as a cutting edge comedic person without the sense of humor of twelve year old, I also do not find it funny when I am watching TV and a commercial for Siemens comes on.

Trust me, I do not laugh at Siemens commercials, nor would I title this post in a manner simply to attract readers.  I'm not a frickin' twelve year old for Godssakes.

Cheers!!

Matt-Man

Ulysses: The Making of Irish Stew

In the spirit of James Joyce’s quasi-mythological and somewhat stream of consciousness novel, Ulysses, I give you…

“Mattlysses:  Thoughts While Sitting on the Toilet at 2:47 A.M.”

Holy Cow, my stomach hurts.  I guess I shouldn’t have eaten that taco or drank that last Mickey’s Malt Liquor so late.

I haven’t felt this bad since years ago when I woke up the day after I had drunken sex with that chick with the birthmark shaped liked the boot heel of Missouri on her ass, and a mustache that said, “Pet Me!!”

Oh man!!  C’mon, bowels…Don’t just lay there all gassy n’shit.  Let’s feel some movement.  I’m very tired and want to go back to bed.

Oh what’s this?  Wow.  Merle Haggard is dying and Chaz Bono wants to be, “The Bachelor.”  How does anyone not take a shit without reading, The Globe?  I love it.

And speaking of taking a shit…

“IT WOULD BE NICE TO BE DOING SO, RATHER THAN JUST SITTING HERE GETTING PORCELAIN IMPRINTS ON MY ASS!!”

Was that a spider?

Oh hell…I have to remember that after my colon evacuates its contents, IF IT EVER DOES, I need to get the coffee ready to brew for the morning, which is technically already fucking here.

God forbid that I don’t have the coffee ready for Schmoop.  And God forbid on my behalf that I forget, as I wouldn’t want forgetting to put eight cups of water and five scoops of ground Arabica beans into said coffee maker to be the reason that I don’t get laid this weekend.

Jesus Christ…Oooooo.  Oh boy here she comes…I feel some rumblings.

Ahhhhhhhhh.  Ewwwwwwww….Man, it was like it all rushed out…as if I was pissing from my ass.  Who does that?  I’ll tell ya who!!

An idiot who can’t lay off those God Damn energy drinks, like me.  Aside from the caffeine, those bottles full of a month’s worth of B Vitamins turn any type of food into a frothy chocolate milkshake.  Oh man…

Oh dear God…that is just wrong.  Holy Cow, I only had a taco and drank a couple of beers, what the hell is still coming out of me, my freakin’ soul!?

Why is the cat pawing at the bathroom door.  It can’t be as though she is drawn to the smell in here, unless she smells death and wants to see me before I die.

Fuck…it IS a spider…Ha…Well it’s a dead spider now.  Even while on the shitter, arachnids shouldn’t mess with me.

Ahhhhhhhh….I feel better.  No pain, no gain, and man when it’s all done, it’s better than sex.  Huh?  I find shitting better than sex?

That’s just fucked up.  Eh…

I guess it’s because of that, “the pleasure given, is equal to the pleasure received, school of thought.”

I guess my body and I work in harmony.

I abuse it.  It abuses me.  And in the end…we both feel better.

Cheers!!

Matt-Man

email:  neshobadude@yahoo.com
Twitter:  @mattmaniws

I Am Matt-Man, But You Can Call Me Job

Cheers and Happy Friday Chuckleheads…Matt-Man here to help you get your big, Super Bowl XLVI weekend kicked off right.

And how will I do that, you ask yourselves?

In order to help you make you feel great about yourselves, Ima gonna tell you about all the simple, yet highly irritating misfortunes that occur to me at the most inopportune times.

Oh yeah, Bitches…

While I am not one who adheres to deadlines and timelines by any means, every day annoyances happen to me right on schedule, meaning…their schedule.

Like last night for instance.  I got home around 9:15 PM knowing that it was me who was scheduled to post on IWS for Friday.  I had put some thought into it while at work, and decided I would write about all the garbage some people post on Facebook.

I’d get home…Re-read some hilarious religious, political, and oh woe is me posts on Facebook and make fun of them.  Simple enough, right?

Sure…If you’re not me.

I got home, went to get on Facebook and voila…I couldn't read anything on Facebook, because using MY browser on MY computer, it was all fucked up.  I asked around to see if others were having problems.  Nope, not a one…Just yours truly.  And then I began to think…

This kinda stupid shit happens to me all the damn time.

Dig it…This past week, I did nine sets of taxes for various people including myself.  Three sets of Federal, State, and Local tax returns.

Eight of the nine returns were accepted as correct.  Guess whose State return was screwed up due to a simple, tiny mistake?  Uh-huh…

Mine.

Hell, yesterday my BFF/OSP Schmoop already got her State refund which I did for her only days ago, and what did I get for my efforts?  Nothing, but the right to be nicknamed, H&R Blockhead, and a one way ticket to Palookaville.

A couple of weeks ago, I was running incredibly late for work.  I managed to get showered, dressed, and ready to go when what did I hear?  A whooshing sound.  A wet, warbling, whooshing sound.  The toilet was running and about to run over.

After cursing my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and his Almighty, practical joke wielding Father, I fixed the toilet, ran through the wind and rain to work, and arrived with two minutes to spare.

Desperately in need of a smoke, I stuck my hand in my pocket, only to discover there was nothing there.  I had left my smokes at home in the GODDAMN Bathroom!!

Hell, the other night at work, I was in need of an energy boost, so I bought the last no-carb Monster that we had in stock.  I rang it up; paid for it, and when I went open it…the FUCKING tab broke off without opening the can.

I am not afraid to admit…I wept a bit.

There is hope however, and there is a bit of promise perhaps.

Due to my schedule at work, I have yet to see my kid play any of his High School basketball games this year.

This Tuesday if the weather is not too bad, and he doesn’t have to work at his “every day” job of snow removal and maintenance, Bill who works off and on for us, is going to work my evening shift, so that I may attend my son’s game…on my birthday no less.

While I find that very sweet of him, I know that given my track record in life, it ain’t going to happen.

Because…

Even if the weather is perfect and Billy Boy does show up?

As I am driving to my son’s game, with music cranked and a birthday smile upon my face, I will suddenly hear an explosion and a koo-lumpa-lumpa-lumpa sound a mile or so away from his school.

I will pull over to the side of the road, once again curse the Baby Jeebus, and begin to fix the flat tire…or the two flat tires, oh what the hell, I’ll fix all, GODDAMN FOUR flat tires.

Have a good weekend everyone, and enjoy the Super Bowl.  I’ll miss the first quarter because I am working, but I’ll get to see the rest of it.

Provided our TV doesn’t go on the shits, which...I'm sure it will.

Cheers!!

Matt-Man

Email:  neshobadude@yahoo.com
Twitter:  @mattmaniws    

The Torch is Passed

When walking through the library of comedy and broadcast journalism one can check out the dynamic duos of hilarity and masculinity that make up the best of big and small screen, radio, and the tubes of the internets.

The tittering timeline of comedy is full of manly duos that have made us laugh uproariously…

Laurel and Hardy. Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David…Donald Trump and Gary Busey.

Likewise, in the field of broadcast journalism, masculine dyads of info dissemination have graced the lives and minds of us all…

Huntley and Brinkley. Harry Reasoner and Howard K. Smith…Sean Hannity and Greta Van Sustern.

Nearly a year ago, the torch that had been lit by the aforementioned giants of hilarity and masculinity was passed on.

Passed on to the now famous duo known to all as, Matt-Man and Jayman.

Yes indeed, Jayman and I are the heirs to the lineage of the greats that have preceded us, and…it makes good sense.

Jayman and I are the embodiments of all these greats rolled into one, and we go one step above by adding the panache of Siegfried and Roy and the tenderness of Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal.

In us, history has built the Perfect Two-Headed Beast of News and Entertainment.

And after nearly a year on internet radio doing the I’m With Stupid show, we will continue to growl with hilarity and spit out the news like a hyena vomiting from a bad piece of wildebeest.

To mark our one year anniversary of doing I’m With Stupid Jayman and I will be celebrating the historical and hysterical event on both Saturday’s show at 6:30 PM EDT and Monday’s show at 11:00 AM EDT, for one show is not enough to give kudos to our genius.

Of course, we’ve had some help in the process. Correspondents, Guy Ahnyurdyck, Dick Burns, Marty Martenstein, Kim Fragile, and Slyder Balzcock have scoured the earth for incredible stories.

The likes of Michele Bachmann, Sarah Palin, Newt Gingrich, and others have provided an endless supply of mockable material.

All of the babes who have graciously supplied IWS with pictures of their gorgeous bodies doubling as I’m With Stupid billboards give the show and website needed hotness.

And most importantly, you the listeners and callers make the I’m With Stupid show the complete package.

So please join us Saturday and Monday as Jayman and I take a sentimental stroll back through year one and boldly look ahead to year two of IWS.

Cheers!!

Matt-Man
neshobadude@yahoo.com
www.twitter.com/#!/MattManIWS