SK sent me this photo to end our content drought. It made me realize we could just write and talk about Max for the rest of the month and solve a lot of our "lack of creativity" problems.

Saul also suggested starting a TEXT MESSAGE OF THE WEEK box on the front page. Because he’s on his way to JOKE ERASED FROM EXISTENCE DUE TO COMPLAINT, I thought I’d just chime in with my favorite Max text from the last few months.

High school cheerleading on ESPN2

Send in your stories, texts, voicemails and suggestions to admin@wishwewerentfriends.com

At least SK is sending in material…that’s more than anyone else can say.

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Hi Max! Hey buddy! Why didn’t you let me know that you would be coming down here to Australia for a visit? I’m a bit insulted. Well anyway, I’m still glad that I got to see you this past weekend. Even though you were too busy munching down your eucalyptus leaves to notice your old friend, I was there. I even got to pat your back - your fur is so soft! Like a carpet. And the bottom of your foot feels like a dog’s nose. By the way, I’m sorry things didn’t work out with that blonde park ranger - I saw you grasping for her hungrily, but she still gave you the cold shoulder, huh? I guess some things never change, even across continents. Alright, I’m sure you’re tired so I’ll let you go. Eat those leaves, little friend. Bye!

Same weight, double the girl.

The general reaction was “it’s about fucking time” when the bald, frumpy senior citizen that we used to know as SK moved across the world from us*, but after the initial glee at his long-awaited departure wore off, speculation on the real facts of the matter began to run rampant. What exactly happened, anyway? Is it really possible that SK is in Sydney, Australia? And more importantly, is it really possible that SK is that bald? And most importantly of all, what was going on with that female figure standing next to SK – was she, or was she not, a tranny, and either way, how much had she been paid?

Having nothing but time on our hands, WWWF turned its powerful investigative arm loose, with a demand that it get to the bottom of these utterly unimportant questions as soon as possible. Months passed, and as they did, some puzzling information began to sift back to us, until eventually, with growing disgust, we slowly pieced the pieces of this contemptible puzzle together. And the true facts of the SK Situation are, I’m afraid to say, more sordid, more pathetic, than anything anyone of us – even Mike – could have imagined.

Let’s just spit it out: SK is not in Australia any more than Max is on the moon. Instead, SK is in LYME, NEW HAMPSHIRE, and has been ever since he claimed to have left the country! That’s right, everyone!  SK has been hiding out in his parents’ basement since October, 2006.

The truth is that SK, as we all know, has never been right since the night that he overdosed on an exotic combination of mushrooms and salvia in a seedy Amsterdam hotel room, while Noah, Saul, and Sam observed his breakdown with the truly sincere pleasure that can only occur when one watches a good friend doing something that everyone else knows will have a devastatingly negative effect on him for the rest of his life. Ever since then, SK has drifted through Brown University (may I remind that the other HHS person to attend that eminent institution was Paul “Oh-I’m-So-Normal” Schminlaw) and, subsequently, life with a deeply scarred mentality, existing in a paranoid world of colorful fantasy and confused imaginings where the only true anchor he has had is the undeniable fact of his own accelerated balding.

When the time came to leave Lyme for the Eastern world that he had preached about with such annoying earnestness to his so-called friends for the last three years, SK realized, with a sickening jolt, that he was unable to bring himself to go through with it. Brain sick and fogged with the remnants of saliva, he instead spun a cunning plot to spend the next five years holed up in his parents’ house, using high-powered Photoshop technology to make him appear to be moving through a variety of foreign locales. Fueled by desperation, enveloped in a thick cocoon of shedding hair, SK might well have gotten away with the whole scheme, had not his newest post – complete with girl – finally provoked us into finding out the truth.

Realizing the controversy that this post will cause, we asked our media department to offer up a quick example of how easily deceptions like this can be carried out. The above picture is the result.

* Although “it’s about fucking time” was, as stated, a generalized response to the news of SK’s departure, we realize that not all of you feel this way, and that some of you surely dislike him enough to make this reaction sadly understated. Therefore, we encourage you to think back and send in your own comments to let the WWWF community know how you felt when you first heard that you might never see SK again.

As a different exercise, feel free to rank that day among the overall best days of your life. As an example:

1.    Day I found out Tim had a trust fund I could leech off for the rest of my life
2.    Day SK said he was moving across the world
3.    Day I lost my virginity
4.    Day Noah got fired from his EMT job for pooping on a coworker’s windshield
5.    Day I heard Max lost his virginity behind a potted plant in the lobby of a Japanese brothel 

        Dave sent me a cache of videos from a CVS disposable camera illustrating just how sexy we are "late night" after 37 consecutive games of Beirut and four arguments about whether Gabe Kapler or Tom Brady looks better in the showers.  You know that time in the night, girls, when you wonder if maybe you should just stay and let your annoying friends go home alone because they are in a bad mood and they’re fat and they never get laid anyways? And then you realize you’re an insecure, characterless loaf who would do better going along so you can check Facebook and happily fart out your lunchtime Cobb salad?

This is how we celebrate.

    As August approaches and the heat in attics climbs everywhere, the material from Marine Max only improves. In the video voicemail montage below, we get the constant peaks and valleys that results from the frightening combination of post-traumatic stress syndrome and living with Mike and Noah. Put your headphones on, crank the volume, and laugh away.

I’m pretty sure Max could go on a national stand-up tour and sell out arenas coast to coast. What would you rather see, a WNBA game, a Dispatch reunion tour to benefit Zimbabwe, or Max Uncensored?

Personally, I’d probably rather just look for undiscovered Cum on Eileen clips online, but I know other people would go to the show.

        For all those middle school and high school English teachers who threw up their hands in disgust and said Max would never amount to anything – well, apparently you’re wrong! This former Marine proved he has brains AND brawn when he strapped on his reading glasses and sauntered down to the local bookstore last week.

Here is what Max says about his newest foray into the literary world, and I quote:

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dear gandolf,
          this is the description of the book i’m reading, ver batum; Felix has survived operation iraqi freedom.  being turned into a vampire, by a ravenous horde of  nymphomaniacs.  now he faces his toughest task ever- navigating the the corrupt world of los angelas politics to solve the murder of a  distinguished young surgon turned porn star. But both human and vampire  alike have reasons to want this secret to stay buried……

  perhaps next i’ll read his other nover; The Nymphos of Rocky Flats.

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There are upstanding citizens right in your community that are former Marines. They, too, have gone on to a level of success that they often attribute to their time spent in the Marine Corps.
- Marine Core Website

         Last weekend, as I cooked dinner in Gabe and Tim’s kitchen for the 17th day in a row, I found my cellphone mysteriously “powered down” and idle, unable to receive calls or texts from my legions of fans or harem of sex-obsessed, trust fund-buoyant girlfriends. I quickly powered up, ensuring that I would be “in the loop” for another high-octane night on the town as one the major players in New York’s young, hip “in” crowd.
        With a beep and a purr, Moonphone alerted me to new correspondence. 11 voicemails! My phone had been off for only an hour. Was someone dead? Did I get a job? Did Noah participate in a gangbang?
           I soon learned the answer to all my questions was simply the timely updates of my favorite Special Forces Reconnaissance Marine. Never leaving me out of the loop, I was immediately up to speed on all of the afternoon’s events.

        The first message was an important newsflash from the week’s hottest gossip. Knowing the full-scale importance, Max took the time out of his busy work schedule to clue me in. Pay close attention to the soothing hold music as he takes another call.

         Luckily for me, Max was dedicated to the story, and wanted to rehash the details once more to make sure that I knew just exactly the sort of example Noah was setting as Max continues to reintegrate himself into the civilian world.

       Turning the topic to himself, Max then asked a few favors of his friends in New York. Just some simple “intel” that would ensure his new love interest wouldn’t be straying too far from the cave.

        As my new messages ended, my first saved voicemail reminded me that times had not always been so “stable” for young Max, and that problems with girls had extended beyond them being in other cities where he wasn’t sure of their whereabouts or activities with other men.

        As we can hear, the extensive, life-threatening tours in Iraq and Afghanistan have allowed Max to celebrate his return to American soil with enhanced confidence, the luxuries of capitalism and the support of lifelong friendships.  Sleeping on a naked mattress in the attic of a condemned townhouse, enjoying the intellectual company of asexual couch monkeys living on a diet of bong smoke and Nattie Light, Max has found that leaving a world of berkas, grenade launchers, and communal showers has enabled him to progress as a human and an American.

God Bless the USA.

     A quick story about Max because it’s worth noting. Last week our dubious little red-haired tomcat was asked to be Gerber’s wingman for a date he had planned that evening. Not being one to say no to anything involving booze and a female Max of course said yes. So off the two Casanovas went for the night and no one in the house heard from them until early in the wee hours of the morning when they noisily returned.
    First in was Gerber’s girl who I must say, besides looking like she had snuck out of her house to go on the date, looked quite good. The same could not be said of Max’s beast of a lady friend however. This Gila monster that entered our house looked like she had just eaten a kitten and then laid down and projectile vomited it back into her face. No amount of makeup could salvage this train wreck. She had a gut, and walked like she forgot to take the 10 inch black dildo out of her ass before she went out. In other words, she was right up Max’s alley.

WARNING: This story contains explicit sexual details and embarrassing information. Do not continue if you want to have respect for anyone involved.
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Mike, Max Study for Advanced Degree with Prof Bubblesworth

This little gem of a voicemail is proof that over in Boston, Mike and Max are, as usual, up late studying diligently under the one Professor they truly know and love. Complete with a tour de force cameo by Gerber, this beauty has it all. If you have ever heard anyone having as good a time as these three – and can prove it – I’ll buy you a round-trip first-class ticket to Oberlin, Ohio, where you can hang out with Tim on Friday through Sunday of each week.

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