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...ass, if you're reading from the title on, because we did bathe today. From his mailbag:

Stewart, seeing as how you're the Internet's premier college football pundit, is there any way you could contact the nation's journalists, bloggers and message board moderators to orchestrate a complete moratorium on all conference supremacy debates until the end of the regular season? It was fun for a while, but good god. Everyone needs to take a deep breath and count to 10.
--Stephen, Athens, Ga

But I'm afraid you give me far too much credit in terms of my clout in the realm of cyberspace. Have you read some of the bloggers out there? Here's a little sampling from the first few pages of a Google search involving my name: "SI's Stewart Mandel: I get paid to write 2+2=4" (, "Stewart Mandel is an idiot and I hope UGA bites him in the rear end" ( and "Stewart Mandel needs a long vacation" ( I'm guessing you'd have a better chance getting these guys to actually shave and shower on consecutive days than participate in any idea that originated from me.

Oh, bitch, it is fucking on. Vaseline on the face, earrings off, and we're leaving the rings on because they will cut you, dirt-tosser. We are motherfucking clean, Stewart Mandel. Clean like new sheets. Pristine as the uncut forests of Severnaya Zemlya.

And we just didn't use soap. No, hell no, soap is for amateurs. We used Sonic Death Monkey, troglodyte. It smells like coffee, chocolate, vanilla, and the sweet stink of pelvis-bruising, eyeball-rolling sexual intercourse, Stewart Mandel. We use gobs of it, applied with a shower puff and spread across our entire body. We do this with the diligence of an Indian washer woman pounding the dirt out of a dhoti at a riverside, but naked and with cleaner water and a shower puff. It even goes in the industrial assembly, so that even our earthiest parts might smell of coffee-aroma and love.

Gay? A bit. Dirty? Fuck no.

That's what we walk around all day smelling like, ape. You live in New York City, and likely wash yourself with the same stuff that cleans the Hot Pocket crust off your dish.

That's it, we said it: dish, as in the singular. You own one dish.

And if that weren't enough, we use other Lush products for men. No, it doesn't stop with the Sonic Death Monkey. We use a touch of the Coconut Body Powder, too. It serves as a deodorant AND a reminder that being within smelling distance of us is like a trip to the islands but without touts bothering you about braiding your hair or getting you blow for cheap.

We're totally gay for using either. You can say that. But don't call us dirty, Stewart. We bathe every day, and even wash our goddamn legs. All of the leg, down to our filthy, hairy, misshapen feet. If you've seen our feet you'd realize that this is a testament not only to our dedication to hygiene, but to our bravery, as well.

And we do that with two jobs, sir. So suck our cleanliness, bitch. We're cleaner than Henry Hill after he hides the gun he just pistol-whipped someone with underneath a car bumper.

As for, he's got us there.