Ode to a dying breed...

One of my fondest childhood memories came at age 6 when was I sitting in the living room watching Slap Shot on our newfangled VCR. It was me, my old man, my little bro and two neighbor kids 7 years older than me. All of the sudden dad jumps up, kneels in front of the screen and starts beating on the TV like the reception was bad. My two neighbors were going ape-shit, "Get outta the way!", they chuckled. Years later I would discover that the old man had indeed prevented me from seeing my first topless woman, the bastard. Oh yes, at the tender age of 6 I had missed out on the Reg Dunlop-Hanrahan's wife topless pillow talk scene.

Paul Newman made plenty of great movies, but what seperates him from the jerkoff Hollywood headliners of today is the fact that he's a man's man. I mean honestly, if you hear anyone say they can relate to Brad Pitt or George Clooney punch that asshole in the mouth. Oh yeah, Paul also raised about a quarter of a billion dollars for various charitable causes, and you never saw him bragging about it. I can see why so many women wanted to sleep with this man. I mean that in a straight way ladies.