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Or How I learned to beat a One-Note joke into the ground.

(Originally published May 5th, 2009)

A discovery has recently been made that could change the course of human history--and frequent masturbation--FOREVER. That's right Aficionados of blowing out the brains of the bald bull and corralling the tadpoles, (I myself actually majored in masturbation in 2000, graduating Magna Cum Often), Megan Fox, best known for her riveting, Academy-Award winning performance in the field of ubiquitously bending over in 2007's Transformers--and well, that's it-- has a deep dark secret; a secret so vile that it has actually forced me to reevaluate my lofty criterion as to whether I'd never be in the position ever in my life to have sex with a person like her. After all, I have standards. A pulse for one. And that's about it. That secret?-- TOE THUMBS.

Now, before you ask, Toe-thumbs are indeed a real-life medical calamity that affects 1/1 people with toes for thumbs. It's a Pandemic sweeping the country, but apparently the government would *rather* pester you with fake flu viruses allegedly spread by angry and disgruntled ethnic barnyard animals than address this true tragedy: RUINING AND SULLYING WHAT UP UNTIL THE DISCOVERY OF DISPROPORTIONED MUTANT THUMBS WERE NEARLY PERFECT UNATTAINABLE WOMEN. I for one am sick of it. And handsome.

Now, let me say this, it takes a lot for me to sour on a woman. A LOT. Restraining orders are one. (But not by choice!). Secret Penises and/or confusing or misinformed genitalia have been known to also somewhat put me off my game. Infecting me secretly yet purposely with the incurable immune deficiency disease known as AIDS? That might not earn you a call back. But TOE-THUMBS? Jesus Christ! What is she trying to do, make me sick?

Seriously, though. I'm not a shallow man. That would insinuate that there was ever any water in the proverbial pool to begin with. But still, a guy has to draw the line somewhere, AMIRITE?

I mean, Megan Fox had it all. She was hot. She was um, hot. And she was something else I'll fill in later when I finally think of it. But now, thanks to this discovery, my perfect vision of her has been ruined with the revelation that apparently sometime between 1986 and now, she climbed into Jeff Goldblum's Atom-transference pod from the Fly, and shit got mixed up bad. Feet became hands. Hands became feet. It was anarchy.

Still don't believe me? PSHA! PEEP THIS SHIT, YO.

The above image has not been altered in any way. Sadly. But, to be safe and preserve my obscenely reputable reputation of journalistic integrity--and redundancy-- I personally launched a full-scale investigation into this matter. I started with miniatures first, but I sat on them accidentally.

I was now on a mission. One that I undertook for my fellow man. I can't remember his name. He was nice, though. So, there I went, researching COUNTLESS online Megan Fox pictures for the world, scientific community and religious pundits everywhere, in a valiant attempt to solve the one lingering mystery that had plagued me: Just how many consecutive times can a person whose name rhymed with Sean Carless violate oneself to the same airbrushed Maxim magazine scans? It was a complex riddle to be sure, but the answer I ultimately came up with, after creating a series of complicated bar graphs, polls and even breaking it down on a cellular level via all my resources in molecular science, was-- A LOT.

But still. Facts were facts. She literally had a big toe for a thumb. I may have been able to forgive this travesty if it was a baby toe, but come on. That shit just ain't right. If I was willing to let that go, I'd maybe also be forced to open the flood-gates and accept other minor flaws in people despite ignoring the thousands I have, and, well, that'd just be absurd.

Anyway, as much as I didn't want to believe it, I just could not fight science. It's ground-game was just far too solid. This ruining of this beautiful woman-- via unsightly inverted appendages-- was the equivalent to me of shooting a small child in front of its mother. If that mother was a 32 year old man, and that child was Megan Fox, and shooting them signified toe-thumbs and the general ruination of any and all sexy possibilities.

Ultimately, I had to accept her fate. And my own. It was unavoidable. Like an impending 5 year-sentence for stalking. If I was ever going to have sex with Megan Fox via copious amounts of alcohol, sudden riches, or nuclear holocaust leaving us as humanity's last great hope, I