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.

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.

       Lying in bed last night dreaming about the sex trade in Eastern Europe, my phone began to ring annoyingly on the bedside table. The caller ID read Brian Venti.
        I answered and heard the familiar sounds of a loud bar in the background and promptly hung up, thinking that it was a run of the mill drunk dial or pocket dial that I’ve become used to with a name that starts with A.
       Then it rang again. Could this be serious? Brian and I hadn’t really talked for months, and now two calls in one night. Was someone dead? Was his internal ass disorder acting up? Was he going to marry that skank from Lebanon?
       But the news was bigger than anything I could imagine. It was earth-shaking, ground-breaking, doughnut eating news. 

         Questions raced through my head. What did this girl look like? Had Mairk been dancing? Did she dip Cherry Skoal? Was Mairk a good kisser? Did he get a hand job it in the back of his Saab? Was Mairk getting more than me?
         Way to go Mairk. Making out with a girl. It only took you… on second thought let’s just stay positive on this news for a while. This calls for a full report!

UPDATE: I, admin, received this picture, and didn’t put it up right away. My bad. Noah grew a moustache and deserves to be recognized. Do so here, and in the Moustache March Photo Gallery.

Ah spring, a time for pelting rain, sub-freezing temperatures, continued weight gain, and false love. This voicemail from Max reminds us what inspires the excitement of the season: the chase of the elusive springtime beauty.

Moustache March is New Years Eve, and April is New Year’s Day. The former, a glorious, carefree celebration that, no matter how good, never lives up to the hype. The latter, a harsh realization of what a waste of your life that was, followed by an equally long period of lethargy, mourning and recovery. We’ll do what we can to keep things fresh in the coming weeks, but how much can you honestly expect from us? Three fifths of us are still nursing our formerly sheltered upper lips, and the other two are of weak moral fiber. We’ll eventually return to form. It will be like a danaus plexippus emerging from the cocoon. Or like that Jesus fellow.

In the meantime, we’ve got each other, and we’ve got baseball:

6:42 PM, April 4, 2007:

Aldo: april is here and its 40 and raining

Admin: It’s snowing here. But Johnny Damon can "barely walk."

Aldo: HA! what’s wrong with him?

Admin: He left the first game with cramps. (Vaginal)

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.

(more…)

After a long deliberation concerning the future well-being of his upper lip, Opeation Iraqi Freedom vet, Corporal Max Rifkin Sterling, 2nd Recon Batallion (Retired), has made the bold decision to join a new platoon—Team Moustache March! The announcement came as most might expect—Sterling left a blackout message on my phone at 4:31am while “taking a number 3” in the bathroom.

The message can be heard by conveniently clicking above. Who said we weren’t technologically savvy (we, of course, meaning Webmaster Rob)? So knock yourself out with Max’s wise words, and stay tuned in the coming days (or weeks or months) for a fancy new voicemail section on WishWeWerentFriends.com!