Hello. I'm Eugene.

The Reason Our World Is Coming to an End

Thu, 14 Sep 2006 11:28:32 -0500

I recently got a call from a polling firm asking me how I felt about the crisis in the Middle East (Actually, I feel pretty good. Things are finally going according to my plan—that's right, fools!—who do you think has been pulling the neo-cons strings? Me. Like a Sith Lord I have also been directing Hezbollah through a series of re-routed late night drunken texts! Fools! Never listen to military commands that are preceded with the phrase 'What r u up to?"). Anyway, this polling firm wanted me to rate countries, leaders, and organizations (considered by many to be either sneaky or dangerous) on a scale of 1 to 100. I did what I could to help this Shadow Polling company understand what Americans thought could or could not be blown up around the world—and why! Here is the call.

Have You Ever Protested Yourself?

Thu, 08 Jun 2006 16:12:12 -0500

A few weeks ago I held a protest of myself outside of the White House. It was very rainy, but some wonderful people came out to call me names and protest me. I found out that it's very easy to protest outside the White House. There were three nice policemen on bikes that asked me my name, the name of my group, and how long I plan to protest. Then they radio the information back to someone in a pod beneath the earth who begins to secretly monitor you. But then you can protest—apparently anything—from wars and policies—to yourself or ice cream (only an asshole would protest ice cream—I think you know who you are—Sebastian "Bach.") Another thing I learned is that you can't stand still on the sidewalk in front of the White House, you have to stand in the street. You can only be on the sidewalk in front of the White House if you remain in constant motion (meaning walking—not running in circles, as I postulated to the secret service officer who asked me to move. People think it is hard to make those British soldiers in front of Buckingham Palace smile—it can also be hard to amuse some of those charged with protecting the White House.)

Before you watch the video of the protest, I just want to apologize for earlier saying that Sebastian Bach was the kind of "asshole" who would protest ice cream. I'm wrong. He wouldn't. And good luck with the show Supergroup, Mr. Bach. I hope you win. Is it a contest? Well, whatever it is, good luck with it.

Here is the video.

And here are some of the signs I made.

YouTube Spreads Eugene's Message From the Future

Fri, 26 May 2006 13:50:08 -0500

Here is an advertisement I made for my new CD/DVD, "En Garde, Society!". Sub Pop Records (who released the album) did a promotion with YouTube, who featured one of my videos on their site. YouTube decided to feature one of the weirder videos from my DVD (a video I sent myself from the future), and the response was almost overwhelmingly negative. Here is the video they featured, and the ad I made as a result.

Eugene's Gift to the US Senate

Fri, 21 Apr 2006 16:02:38 -0500

There seem to be an endless web of weird telemarketing companies that have nefarious links to each other and constantly offer me the oddest combination of things. My last entry was about a call I got that promised me a free cruise if I completed a survey. I'm not sure exactly what they do with this information, but I bet they turn it into cash. At the end of the survey they then offered me some weird too-good-too-be-true health program. I decided to decline. A few days later, I got a call offering me the cruise. It was a free trip with no strings—except I needed to pay $118 in border crossing fees right away (perhaps that would be a simple way to keep illegal aliens out? Where would they get the money if they can only work once they're here! Feel free to forward my plan to the Senate.)

Here's the call.

You've Won a Free, Annoying Cruise! (We're Lying.)

Tue, 11 Apr 2006 16:58:34 -0500

I get a lot of wrong numbers and telemarketers calling my landline. People frequently try to fax things meant to go to a hospital to my house. I'm not really sure why. I don't mind though. If I'm busy, I tell telemarketers to calls back. And if not, I talk to them and try to understand what they want. My favorite thing about most new telemarketing companies is that a recording will call you. The recorded person is often informal and just wants to be your pal. In this case, it was someone named Casey. He claims to have convinced his company that because people hate filling out surveys, they should send those who agree on a cruise. They also seem to be trying to sell me health care. Anyway, here is the call.

FM Radio: Tune In, or You're Racist

Wed, 22 Mar 2006 17:13:19 -0500

Video: Why Eugene Won't Shut Up and Rock

Last May I got a call from a company in Atlanta about a video I made where I am a robot with lots of different skills (incredible strength, ability to feel emotions, etc). One of my biggest claims was that I had a radio in my finger that had more music than iTunes. That's quite a claim (as a robot I could make it though).

As we all know digital music is scaring the shit out of record companies and radio stations and redefining how we get music. They're afraid of losing all their profits (and Thai sex vacations don't grow on trees, except in Thailand—but still for a fee). This Atlanta company believed that the concept that a radio station had more music and variety in it's "finger" than you could on an iPod or computer would be a great campaign for new stations (JACK FM, MIKE FM, THE WOLF, etc.) They asked me if while on tour I would stop by for a few hours and record some stuff. I was hesitant at first and then agreed to do it (because we still use money in this century I'd need it for food, shelter, plus I am saving up for two helicopters—one to sleep in and one to throw out. However, I look forward to the future when we're all self-actualized and the only people turning tricks are simply those hookers who see it as a fulfillment of their destiny. We can dream, can't we, 2064?)

A No-Frills Guide to Doing Standup

Thu, 09 Mar 2006 17:34:07 -0500

People often ask me how does someone become a comedian? How do you write a joke, and in general how comics come up with their persona, material and so on. I'm not sure. It's different for everyone, but I'm going to try and take a stab at some of the more universal elements. There are basically five things every comedian does at some point. I'll try to list them. The rest is up to you.

1) The first thing you have to decide is what kind of comedian you want to be. There are seven basic categories—"The Surprise!," "The Zing," "The Flip-a-Roo," "The Bam!," "The Shit NO!" "Voicies" and the "Hmmm?-HAHA."

Obviously, just like with colors, styles can be mixed to create variations. I mostly do "Hmmm?-HAHA-Flip-a-Roo-Zings." While David Cross is a "Surprise!-Voicies-Shit NO!" comedian. Demetri Martin has popularized the "Hmmm?-HAHA-Surprise." Dane Cook is known for his "Bam!" humor (sorry to those who thought he did "Flip-a-Roos.") Robin Williams is a "Surprise!-Voicies-Zing-Flip-a-Roo-Bam!" comedian, making him at times difficult to follow (i.e. some of the radio-montages in Good Morning Vietnam.) The only exceptions to this are Jon Benjamin and Jon Glaser who exclusively do "HOLY-MOLY" humor.

2) How likable are you? Likability is a big part of standup. No matter how good your jokes are, people have to want to hear them. Where do you fall on a 1 to 10 scale, with 1 being as likable as Kim Jung-il and 10 being A Baby That Commands the Same Respect as Bono. You need to at least be a 6 to do it, and an 8 or higher for television, excluding Metro channel. If you are unlikable, you can do some of the following things to be more likable—sneak up on people and push them down—especially at your job, get a Bow Flex, take a cooking class, etc.

3) What makes you mad? Are you ready to go break some taboos (for instance—rape-shmape)? The government (full of bullshit makers!)? Girls (so tricky!)? Boys (simple and sex something!)? Catholics (guilty like Jews)? Those little things in the box that always don't work and you're like, "Thing?! Who designed this thing?!"

4) What will you wear? Your clothes let people know who you are. For instance, George Carlin always wears a hat, generally a golf cap, but sometimes one of those cool kangaroo hats. Paul F. Tompkins always wears a suit. Todd Barry performs in his lucky bandana.

5) Finally, what do you plan to do with your comedy? Do you want to brighten people's days? Do you want to criticize a celebrity (some are spoiled, while others made music videos a decade ago that now seem outdated)? Are you going to use your comedy as a corrective tool for society or an individual? Choose one or two of those. Great. Good luck.

Now all that's left is writing out some material, going to an open mic and trying it out. Have fun. The first time is usually great, because many audiences are supportive. There is one exception to these rules. If you're an actor wanting a new avenue to be seen by the industry, you probably just want a "development set"—basically a set that spells out your sitcom for industry. In that case, here you go:

Your sister is gay, your brother is a robot, and your parents were hippies and you have to take care of everyone! But you're a comedian! You're not responsible. Your neighbor is a Shaolin Monk with mystical powers who helps you. Good luck. Make the stories real and don't forget to act out all the characters.

Politics 2006: Is a War on Doggystyle Next?

Wed, 01 Mar 2006 15:32:46 -0500

Many of you were too young to remember when the second Iraqi war broke out a few years ago. You were probably still glued to Kurt Loder on MTV announcing that the latest Green Day influenced band was finally at maximum handsomeness. You may have been sitting in your cube trying to figure out how to walk the line between flirting with a beautiful co-worker and blatant puke-on-coke-can sexual harassment (something Judge Alito did to My Chemical Romance at Live Eight.) Or finally, you may have been finishing your GED, not knowing that you would use those "useless" math skills to break world records in addition (now you know why you learn algebra.)

On March 18th, 2003 George W. Bush (author of, Chicken Soup for the End of the World) gave Saddam Hussein (a Jew!) 48 hours to leave Baghdad. What few people know is that earlier that week I gave Saddam a stricter deadline—leave Baghdad within 12 hours by March 16th (I guess I am just more of a ball buster.) Though I have no military might, my disapproval of someone can be quite intimidating. Sadly, I'm not even sure my ultimatum actually reached Saddam.

At the time I didn't really know where I stood on the war (though I guess in hindsight it's been pretty awesome.) Still, the anti-war movement was not going to stop the U.S. from kicking some T&A in Iraq and nothing would stop the Juggernaut of War from marching (Phil Ochs would have been furious.) There had been a lot of talk of a draft (which luckily is over) and I wanted to make a case why I shouldn't be drafted (other than being called "gay" as a kid, being bad with tanks, and being argumentative with authority.) I couldn't prevent the war, yet I could make commercials asking to not be drafted. However, I do want to make one thing clear—we've all been drafted as soldiers in the war on terror (and let's not rely on an army of robots to do the fighting for us—remember the movie Terminator? Also, do you remember the movie The Matrix? And do not forget about the movie I, Robot. Not to mention the latest one, Angry Airplane. Plus in Star Trek, Commander Data is able to have sex.) By the way, to all the critics—you can have a War on Terror—just like you can have a War on Drugs or a War on Doggystyle (please don't.) So shut up! Or I'll scare the shit out of you and you won't be able to do anything because you think you can't have a War on Scaring The Shit Out of People. So you're your own enemy.

Finally, here are the few commercials I made to not be drafted/suggest no war.

Oscar for Best Movie Trailer: 'Backdraft II: Backdraftier'

Wed, 15 Feb 2006 14:59:06 -0500

For a while I was mildly obsessed with the idea of making sequels to movies that needed no sequels. Not because the movies were good or bad, just because it would be weird and unnecessary. Say there was a sequel to the movie Frequency? There could be. Why though? All the loose ends were tied up in the first. How about a sequel to Cold Mountain? Nope. What if there was War of the Worlds II (where it turns out another alien race had also planted machines in the ground even before the aliens we know about—fuck! Not again?! We're so fucked! Unless the second alien race also didn't consider the dangers of microbes! Suckers!)

However, by sequel, I don't mean an actual sequel. I mean a three minute movie that has little to do with the original. Sometimes I would mention this idea to voiceover artist/ comedy-therapist/ entrepreneur Jon Benjamin (who co-hosts a monthly talk show called Midnight Pajama Jam with rebel-comic Jon Glaser, where they interview fake guests.) For one of these shows Jon, real-life talk show host Sam Seder, and I shot Backdraft II: Backdraftier. I don't remember the original movie that well, but it was definitely about firemen. And so is this one. Here is the movie.

Is Mirman the New James Frey?

Thu, 09 Feb 2006 18:45:25 -0500

Though I was not trying to create a stir with my last entry, I guess I did. First of all, let me say that I made some factual mistakes. As an immigrant, I am dedicated to two things—justice, honesty, and job usurpation. (I listed a third to create a hole in time. It obviously didn't work. Whatevs.) I would like to apologize to everyone for getting some things wrong. Some corrections—the dance club in Las Vegas that I was at is not called "Body Bar," it's called "Body English." And though I thought INXS was not there, they were. I fucked up and I'm sorry. (What I maybe didn't make clear was the INXS after party I was referring to was not the one at Body English, it was the one before it in the Simon Room of the Hard Rock Live. And I may even be wrong about that.)

Either way, for my last entry, I got many comments—some nice, some that corrected me, some mean and weird, and some that made little sense. However, only one was from a lonely place—a place that's dark—like a cave (where, as we all know, terror lives) posted by an anonymous person—"Kerry Simon threw INXS the party, they were there with the Killers. The bar is called Body English and you're full of shit."

My god, that is so much information for two sentences. First of all, let me say that I was lying when I said that the comment was posted from a lonely place. I don't really know. However much time I've watched the various Law and Orders (I'm counting—Law and Order: Order Time, Law and Order: Ouch Patrol, Law and Order: Criminal Children, and of course Law and Order: DRUGS) I still can't figure out the psychological profile of a person from a sentence. I can figure out these things: The person was either there or knows some of the people involved, seems to care, and thinks I am "full of shit." Typically, "full of shit" means lying. I'm clearly not lying—though I did get some things wrong. I definitely don't like dance clubs (this is true I don't), I was there (I was) and I have two magic powers (one is Heat Face—it works like heat vision—but from the entire face, and laser-hands, which sadly don't work anymore—damn you Dr. Vaseline!)

Mirman Gets Wasted With the Killers

Thu, 02 Feb 2006 16:57:52 -0500

Currently I am traveling our fairly great nation as part of the Unlimited Sunshine Tour, with Cake, Tegan and Sara, and Gogol Bordello. A few days ago we did a show in Las Vegas. I'd only been to Vegas once before. Quick fact—Vegas is short for Las Vegas (just a little FYI. I wouldn't want to be caught droppin' slang like boom-boom. WHAT?!)

Like three or four years ago I was briefly almost working with an awful agency. (They were sort of sleazy in a 1930s bar room hoodlum way. When I first met them, one of them pointed at a waitress at a comedy club and said something like, "Check out the skirt.") I was going to L.A. for a showcase for them and also to maybe meet with random industry people about something crappy. The showcase was on a Wednesday and the meetings were the following week. So to kill some time, my maybe-to-be agents booked me eight shows in a room they ran in Vegas.

The room, which was off the main strip in a sad hotel, was filled with mostly old people and sprinkled with tough-looking families. It was an incredible mismatching of audience to performer. I was supposed to do two twenty minute sets a night for four days. Things went poorly and I only did the first two shows. After my first set, the host, trying to be helpful, asked me if I had any Jewish jokes or fart jokes—he was in luck—I have a joke about a farting Jew! It's about a lawyer-accountant who goes to Mexico in 1860 and finds himself locked inside a bean!!! Guess how he gets out?!?!?! Sadly, I actually don't have a joke about a farting Jew. (I do have a few jokes about being Jewish, but they aren't about over-feeding grandmothers, but cynical attacks on the status-quo. That's also not true, but that sounded very "Smart-Gressive," which is a new brand of comedy that Dennis Miller would like to have made up for himself, but couldn't—because he is limited by his obsession to compare things inaccurately.)

Comic Genius: Sex and Pot Jokes

Mon, 23 Jan 2006 18:16:18 -0500

For the last few days (and the next few weeks) I have been on the Unlimited Sunshine Tour, headlined by Cake and featuring the bands Tegan and Sara, and Gogol Bordello. I'm not sure how much time you've spent on the road, but she is a sneaky lady (but good sneaky—like when she does something in a relationship that makes the man realize he wants to get married.)

The first date of the tour was in Worcester, MA. Worcester is a sad place probably. I only know it from driving through it, never stopping to enjoy the now empty factories and weeping metal-heads (who are still mad at Grunge for ushering in women's lib.) Later I found out that Worcester's slogan (one that the town elders probably dislike) is "the armpit of the world." I do not believe it is called that because it connects the world's upper torso (Boston) to the world's arm (Belchertown.) I believe it's more of a metaphor.

I've now done four shows, and Worcester was by far the WORSEster (I think that is a joke, but I may be wrong, sorry.) People were unruly, and if I wasn't a sensitive, politically correct man, I would even call them Retarded. In fact, being from Massachusetts myself, I would even say they were Wicked Retarded. But I won't. I'll just write it and hide behind a Veil of Irony (which is how so many people can secretly remain racist—on a side note—watch out Schopenhauer, because my "Veil of Irony" may just replace your "Veil of Maya" as the most talked about "Veil"-based concept.) Bam! I just changed our culture! Bam! I just re-appropriated Emeril's signature phrase (much like gays took the word "queer" back, and African-Americans took the word "Vaganitor" for themselves in the mid-'80s—pretty selfish, if you ask me, African-Americans.)

That was quite a long aside. Back to bad show story. Actually, it's pretty much done. People yelled, it was hard to talk, someone threw a pineapple top at John, the lead singer of Cake's head. I'm sure many of the people were wonderful, but some jerk-holes ruined it for everyone.

The rest of the shows were great (aside from my second set in New York, where some people booed during a video I played.) Normally, people don't yell at videos, because videos can't hear people (science has been pretty bullshit about fixing that.) I'm not sure if it was the content (my Sexpert video) or people were antsy for the next band (Tegan and Sara). Either way, it has been remedied. I now go on earlier, in the middle of the set change between Gogol Bordello and Tegan and Sara, and instead of a video with sex jokes, I play a video with pot/ sex jokes. That seems to work out much better. And here is that video. It is a half-parody/half-weird take on those menacing pot ads that make children believe that if they smoke pot they will 1) either die 2) drown a baby or 3) cause people at a party to sexually assault them.

Also, while home for the New York show, I got a call from Banana Republic, a clothing store, with which I have a credit card, asking for money, because I was late paying my bill. I paid them. But I also recorded the call for you. Here it is as well.

Eugene Survives New Jersey in a Leather Suit

Tue, 10 Jan 2006 16:48:23 -0500

A little while ago I had the pleasure of taking a trip to an arena in New Jersey. Why? To go as a correspondent for ESPN Classics' show Cheap Seats and meet a new kind of sport—Motorcycle/ Fourwheeler Ice Racing. It turns out that for the past decade (probably) people have been putting spikes into the tires of vehicles and racing in circles on ice skating rinks. Who knew? New Jersey knew. That's who. (Feel free to turn those last few sentences into a pretty good song.) Who else? Probably many other people in many other states. (I bet the French have no idea, however, that we do this.)

It was pretty fun to go, and as a kid I never went to see stuff like monster trucks or wrestling (you may know it as "Fight Theater" because you went to a fancy up-north liberal arts college that gave you new words for already existing words—for instance—History becomes HERstory, Filmmaker becomes Broke-Face-Oops-Guy, and French Kissing becomes Freedom Kissing.) Still, I had a nice time at the race and learned about race bikes and American fun. And I got to meet some of the biggest names in Motorcycle Ice Racing—from the head of the organization to the man in the black leather suit, who is very good at it.

Because there was a camera crew with me, you can see how it went. Here is the video. It is sort of ridiculous. And my energy in it may at times feel false, but energetic.

Eugene Takes a Small Child to a Bar

Fri, 23 Dec 2005 12:02:29 -0500

Not long ago, I was at a dinner party in Borum Hill with some friends. Afterwards, we went to a bar in Park Slope. A friend of mine, we'll call him "Miles" (that's what people call him anyway), was very drunk. There were three guys outside the bar, and before we went in, Miles all of a sudden crouched down, pumped his fists in the air and went, "jerrrrks!" He was about seven feet from them.

The reason he did this was 1) he was very drunk and 2) he thought it would be funny to randomly yell "jerks." He was right. It was very funny. He's not a very threatening looking person—a sort of scrawny, red-haired 30 something hooligan (however he has a second head—a sixty year old black ex-marine—tough as nails.) We were standing far enough away from the three guys that it wasn't clearly hostile, but close enough that what Miles did seemed weird. So my friend Brian and I tried to explain to three random guys 1) that Miles was drunk 2) what he said, because they didn't clearly hear it and 3) why it was funny and not hostile.

Ultimately, the three guys were pretty confused. Brian and I explained that Miles was joking: he didn't think they were jerks, because they're nice people who he's never met, and he's drunk. Two of the guys, who seemed nice, got it, or didn't care. It's probably not the first time a drunk guy did something silly that made sense to him, but not many others. But one of the three guys wanted to get to the bottom of it—"What's the punchline?" (Apparently, he had a rudimentary knowledge of comedy structure.) And we tried to explain what we thought Miles meant. Getting a little angrier, the guy was like, "If it's a joke, what's the punchline?" (For those who don't know, the punchline is a conflict between a conventional and unconventional reality—but Mr. Angry had no interest in theory.) We kind of tried to explain it again. Then the guy gave it to us—BAM!—"Well, work on your Punchlines!" WHOA! After the smoke cleared—we all went in and began to frantically tighten all our jokes.

The funniest part was that Mr. Angry wanted to get worked up, but his friends didn't care, we didn't care, nobody else was invested. For me, one kind of punishment would be figuring out the point a drunk person was making. "A Toyota Corolla is better than Mulligatawny Soup? How? Explain yourself!" For Mr. Angry, it was sport.

If the guy had attacked Miles, or yelled, it would have sort of made sense—but to try to zing a drunk guy with a riddle seems ridiculous.

In the end, it turned out that the guy did seem like a bit of—a jerk.

In fairness to that guy, though, here is the same story from his point of view:

I was outside of a bar with two of my good friends—reminiscing about the Peace Corps—we saved a lot of babies (you're welcome Nepal.)

All of a sudden three 30 something douchebags roll up—walking, not in a car, sorry. One guy looked straight out of Wet Hot American Summer—he crouched down, waved his fist and mumbled something. I think it was "jerk." I have not devoted most of my life to public policy to be called a "jerk" at 1 AM by some Waspy jackass. The one who looked like a Jew (not a big deal) tried to pawn it off as a joke. A joke? Jokes have a structure. (Plus I just finished reading Freud's Jokes and their Relation to the Unconscious—so I couldn't be fooled.)

"What's the punchline?" I asked.

These "comedians" (I don't know what they did for a living, but they looked like homeless business men) couldn't tell me. They didn't know that I knew that to make a joke you need two elements—a setup—and then—a punchline—or "punchword"—something that lets the audience know to laugh. I didn't care about this red-haired charlatan's setup—but I needed to know the punchline.

I asked again, this time, with my wit on red alert, "If it's a joke, what's the punchline?"

—Nothing. I waited a few seconds, took out my mind's gun, and fired—"Well, work on your punchlines!"

Bullseye. Now to go home and beat my wife—in Boggle (I'm very smart!)

Hi. It's me again! Eugene. I would like to say that I know that the guy who was angry really just didn't hear Miles, probably thought some guys were making fun of him, and got upset, which is very reasonable. Still, it's always funny to see how different people react to perceived aggression—and this guy happens to put on an arrogant thinking cap and get Zinging. Now, here is a video I made called Scotch and Soda in which I share drinks with a kid at a bar. The video was shot at the same bar where this happened.

Watch the video.

If You Read This, You Will Have Sex

Mon, 12 Dec 2005 17:51:10 -0500

I understand that advertising has to make it seem like buying a product will give you two things: the product itself (it has to, legally) and all of your fantasies coming true.

That's the price we pay for finding happiness from a cereal or car. Sometimes though, ads can be so overbearingly aggressive and sexual that it's a bit much. There's a number of Budweiser ads on the subway that give the impression that hot multi-racial couples are going to put beers in each others asses. But the ad does it's job—it makes me want chill out at a bar with a Bud, partially for the taste, but mostly to send the signal that if you hang with me, I'll put a beer in your ass.

Still, the ad that I recently saw (on TV) that I really hate was for Axe body spray. (Not to be mistaken with some new copy-cat body spray where foreign exchange students sex-attack a teenager because he smells like Thunder or whatever.) In this Axe commercial, some guy sprays his arm down to his penis. Cut to—that guy on a date in a car. (Maybe at Inspiration Point?!) His date begins to kiss (or sniff?) his arm (it smells soooooo good) and then moves down towards his penis. I think the tag line is "Show them the way."

I'm not exactly sure why I hate the ad so much. Clearly, in the world of this ad, women don't know where the penis is. Which is a real problem (if you want to have a healthy relationship.) They need a guide. And a giant blinking sign is expensive (not to mention tacky.) And smell is the most powerful sense (in terms of memory.) So if you use Axe three, maybe four times, women would eventually associate the penis with the delicious, intoxicating smell of Axe body spray (creating something akin to a scent-based Pavlovian Dick Bell.)

It's possible the makers may think the ad is a parody of sexual advertising, because it's so preposterous, I don't know. I doubt it since it seems geared at 16 year olds. Either way, the whole campaign is extremely annoying. (However, though spraying Axe on your penis is a ridiculous way to seduce women, using room temperature hot fudge really does work.)

A few years ago Axe started with ads of women tearing at men in an elevator, then did ads where people have sex in various small, public spaces (airplane bathrooms, boats, lockers, etc), and now they've turned Axe into some sort of blowjob spray. They are in danger of running out of ways to say Axe = Sex.

Unless they have the BALLS to make the ultimate commercial—open on a beautiful woman in a bikini, giggling, high on cocaine; she's disoriented, but happy (she doesn't need college, she's either rich, or a disposable object—probably both!) Either way, this HOT woman is fucking the shit out of a huge can of Axe (maybe two! Go Axe! Go Axe! Yes!) Sometimes she throws up a little, keeps laughing, and fucking the can(s). Just a few feet away a guy (with his pants down) is sitting and crying. (In the background, a wolf is running away with beer.) The guy is really, really sad—no beer, no girl. Then—back to the euphoric woman/can love scene. The tag line? "This can could've been your dick."