Your magazine is ass.

Unless it's this one. Esquire. Maybe there are some women's 'zines that are worth a damn, but I doubt it. Not compared to this one. It's the best read, hands down, start to finish, that you can find. And especially when it comes to men's magazines. Maxim? Gag me. Sophomoric soft core garbage. Loathsome. GQ? Zzzzzz. Men's Health. This reads like pretty much like it sounds. Boring as hell. Playboy? Pass. I'd much rather see one or two pages of an attractive gal, clothed(ish), than stoop this low. Details? Ironic name, fo sho. Here's a detail, a little islolated fact if you will, Details stinks.

Smarter than your magazine, funnier than your magazine, less pretentious than your magazine (I'm looking at you New Yorker), it's the king of the crop. There is none higher. Sucka magazines bow down and call it Sire. (white rapper shout out, what what.)

This magazine reads like a man wants to live. The clothes are a bit pricey, and yeah, I'll never be able to afford 99% of it, but that's just a tiny little bit of what makes this magazine better than yours.

When it mentions a film, television show, or album, it always picks something, smart, substantial, and solid. They have their own music awards, the Esky, the Dubious Achievement Awards, the Genius issue, George Clooney on every third cover, Scarlett Joe on every tenth cover, the "What It Feels" like issue (want to know what it feels like to be mauled by a bear? Need sex all the time? Survive a typhoon. Not feel pain? Read and find out)

And meat? My man, you want to talk about recipes? Gourmet food here, that's easy, attainable, and you don't have to sacrifice your dignity by having tofu instead of a marbleized, fat piece of red meat from heaven. There were over 40 pages a few month ago, just about steak. STEAK!

This past month had twenty pages on breakfast. Everyone loves breakfast.

Find out how to make the best cocktails, how to throw a punch, how to tie a proper tie. What books to read, how to be healthier, how to live life. Why would you want to buy anything else, when it's all written in this magazine, as if God himself guided the pens and keystrokes of these writers.

And lest we not forget The Rules. Here's one: Terrorists tend to have subpar AV equipment. They do!

Politics aside, how can you not like this passage:

Rahm Emmaunel. Oh, he's an asshole. Emanuel's boss has the world's most charming smile; Emmaunel has a sliced off finger. Obama says there are no red states and no blue states; Emmanuel likes to stand on tables and holler "The Republicans can go fuck themselves." Obama is "yes we can"; Emmanuel is "Yes we are doing it right now so why don't you piss off. He also once sent a dead fish to a pollster who displeased him and has said of himself, "I wake up some mornings hating me, too." The guy's like a character out of an Elmore Leonard novel.

We've all read the news. We know who Rahm Emmaunel is. But now, I care, you know?

This magazine even made the cover story about Ben Affleck seem like pulitzer material. Not an easy task.

So, pile up your magazines you've got on your coffee table, toss them in the recycling bin, and live free. Live big. Live like you read Esquire.