Just over three months ago, I made a pilgrimage to Mecca… err… I mean Columbus, Ohio. This pilgrimage was no less of a religious nature than an odyssey to see the black cube of Kaaba, instead my odyssey was to leer at enormous more than half naked freak men… and capture it all on video tape! What the hell am I talking about? The Arnold Schwarzenegger Classic.

Easily one of the most interesting characters of the 20th century is Arnold Schwarzenegger. I have talked at length before about this. Quick overview: born in just-post-World War II Austria, began training in bodybuilding, won several competitions, moved to the US of A, became the number 1 bodybuilder in the world for the better part of a decade, became an action star, became the number 1 movie action star, evolved into a leading male actor in action and comedies, married a Kennedy, 2x Governor of California. I’m also glazing over many other accomplishments like stumping for the Republican party Presidential candidates dating as far back as Ronald “Dutch” Reagan, starting and running many charities regarding fitness for children et cetera.

Anyway, when Arnold was a body builder circa the American Revolution circa 1972, he was in a bodybuilding event in Columbus, Ohio. Arnold believed this particular event was the best run bodybuilding event he had been apart of in Los Estados Unidos. Arnold committed this to memory. Much like the glorious symbol of the Republican party, the elephant; Arnold Schwarzenegger never forgets. Fifteen years later, 1987 – the same year Arnold gave us two of the greatest films ever Predator and The Running Man, Arnold was ready to start his own bodybuilding competition: the Arnold Classic.

As mentioned, Arnold never forgets. He went back to Columbus, Ohio and tracked down the man who ran the bodybuilding event 15 years earlier. At this time, Arnold told the man of his plans for world domination and the man was eager to sign up. Since then, Arnold and this man (go google it, I don’t know the man’s name) have ran the Arnold Classic event for 22 years in Columbus, Ohio and each year it becomes even more egregious, even more hedonistic – in essence it is getting better and better like Hegel’s wet dream.

Kyle and I attended this year’s Arnold Schwarzenegger fitness expo and it was GLORIOUS. The nice people at Asylum hosted two videos of Kyle and I’s adventure to the great white central point of Ohio, which can be viewed here:


But what about the piece de resistance!?! Well, Kyle and I made several other videos of the Arnold event. We expected them all to go up on Asylum, but plans have changed as they do. Now our hilarity will be on Y-O-U-T-U-B-E. Although, the Arnold Fitness Expo is four days long and filled with wild hijinks and competitions ranging from Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu to figure skating; everyone is in “Broke-Ass-Chicago” Columbus, Ohio because they want to see the muscle men, the oiled up muscle men, almost naked except for a thong covered in glittery rhinestones muscle men. And here they are:

My and Kyle’s story dealing with these behemoths.

Kyle and I showed up to Columbus, Ohio late Thursday night. We really had no idea what to expect. After 9 hours of driving through Pennsylvania, the tip of West Virginia, and the Eastern half of Ohio, we arrived at our hotel… err motel… err crack den. Kyle chose at random a motel amongst a series of motels and he won the lottery on that one. The place honestly smelled like someone died the night earlier and was in the process of cleaning it up. Needless to say we were not psyched that we would be spending the next four consecutive nights there. Let’s just say there were half smoke cigarettes moldy and festering in the shower and cigarette burns on all the sheets.

We regrouped and left the armpit motel and headed to the Veterans’ Memorial Auditorium for the first event of the Arnold Schwarzenegger Fitness Expo: bikini women. BIKINI WOMEN! B-I-K-I-N-I W-O-M-E-N! BEE KEE NEE WEE MEN! We walked into the backstage area equipped with our press passes and were greeted with a weight room filled with 100 women in bikinis and clear high heels … and a shit ton of photographers taking pictures and video of them.

We were in heaven. A heaven of musclely, mahogany, near naked women that we were now supposed to talk to. Kyle and I were in trial by fire territory, sink or swim territory, go talk to women and be funny with them on video tape and not be intimidated by their near naked well toned red bodies territory. We eventually got into the swing of things and began treading the water of these bikini women. We had a great time.

Two days later, Kyle and I were scheduled to go back to the Veterans’ Memorial Auditorium for the men’s bodybuilding event. In those two days, Kyle and I had slept maybe 8 hours. We spent Thursday night at the crack den motel. We spent all of Friday at the Expo interacting with the insane masses and watching and interviewing the participants like Amateur Strongmen. That Friday night, Kyle and I went to the FIGHT! magazine party and got ferociously drunk with a bunch of UFC and WEC cagefighters.

To sum up Friday night – Kyle blacked out, got his cellphone stolen from a handsy gypsy drifter, and this was all before we still dragged him to another bar. I drank an eff ton and passed out and then woke up a couple hours later looking like a taller and less bearded version of Zach Galifianakis in The Hangover. So Saturday did not start off well. We were both deprived of sleep and in pain and we were going back to the Expo to spend our day until 7pm when we would head to the Veterans’ Memorial.

Skipping to Saturday night at 7pm. Kyle and I arrive at the Veterans’ Memorial ready and waiting. We’ve been there. We’ve seen an event there. We are veterans ourselves at this point. We know where the press enters. We know how shit gets done. We know… wait… the doors are locked. Wait a second, there is almost no one here. And the people that are here are looking serious. Serious like they were discussing the never-ending war in Afghanistan – serious.

On Thursday, everyone was smiling and happy and laughing. It was a night of whimsy and dreams coming true. There were WOMEN in BIKINIS! Everything was gold in the world. On Saturday, shit was real. First, we were lead around back to the service entrance and loading dock area. Kyle and I and a guy from some muscle magazine take the dark back entrance* to the backstage area of the event. Once there, it looked abandoned.

Again, Thursday night’s competition was ONE HUNDRED women in bikinis. Saturday night’s competition was 13 professional bodybuilders competing for $130,000. When Kyle and I arrived, only 1 of the 13 guys was there. He was in the “oiling station” being rubbed with the Jan Tanna mahogany sheen by Pierce. On Thursday, there were 15 women deep waiting for Pierce to rub them down. Smiles and chuckles and sexual innuendos were flowing like wine. With Pierce only rubbing down the big Russian in the tiled off oiling station it appeared like he was a Roman gladiator being prepared for a death battle.

The mood was eerie. The Russian spoke very little. His trainers watched Pierce rub him down making critical observations about posing to the Russian. We spoke to Pierce is whispers trying to understand what was happening and why is everything so scary. But Pierce was quiet as well. A few minutes later a couple more of the 13 showed up. Next in the room was Branch Warren. He stripped in front of Kyle and I and proceeded to work through his routine in front of the mirrors with his coaches saying curt encouragement. I literally was frightened by all of this.

Kyle and I left that room for fear of our brains falling to pieces from the madness. In the main room, 5 other competitors were there. They were all in sweat suits just lying around. Some were eating, some were listening to music, some were almost sleeping. Either way, no one was talking. More reporters and camera men showed up, but they all waited on the sidelines without talking. They just stood there shuffling their feet watching the beasts of men sit in sweat pants silently.

I was freaking out it was so serious. Then as mentioned in an earlier post, Snooki as in SNOOKI from the Jersey Shore appeared amongst the photographers and reporters. We talked to her in the whisperiest interview ever conducted. Eventually all the 13 men were in the main room. They all stripped down to their glittery thongs and made last preparations. They lifted some weights, they made final rubdowns of tanner, they posed. The photographers were taking pictures a 100 a minute. All you could hear were flashbulbs popping, but no talking. No talking. It was as if these men were going out to die and these were the last moments of their living lives.

The 13 were lined up and taken to the stage. Kyle and I grabbed some open seats in the crowd. We didn’t have tickets for seats, we just had the press passes for the backstage. We were informed that by an usher that we were sitting in the Mayor of Columbus’ seats, but he was running late, so we could sit there until he shows up. Or until he makes us is what I thought. I’m from the North East, son. No lowly Mayor of a third rate Chicago is going to scare me. Nevertheless, we sat and watched the wildest competitive event I have ever been privy to.

Running on fumes – no sleep, no nutrition except for random energy shots and power bars eaten at the expo – we were transfixed on the wildness in front of us and the bark of the crowd hypnotized us and we too were screaming and applauding these freak men. These men of freakdom.

Back to the working week. Back to me being unemployed except for this post I hold tirelessly trying to entertain you and you and you and you all. The weekend is over. My weekend was lovely actually. To be perfectly honest, I had an incredible weekend.

I saw a polo match, which was oddly enough the second polo match I have seen in the past year. The first was on Governor’s island and Prince Harry of ENG-LUND was playing in it. All the single ladies and ladies willing to be single and forget that they had husbands or boyfriends were out and about drunk on smuggled wine and expensive champagne in sundresses trying to attract the Royal’s attention. And my brother from a different mother, LL Cool J, was also in attendance. I’m sure LL was there for the same reason and that was to share a bed with Harry and be Princess LL Cool J. Hey, he is a reasonable man. It wouldn’t have to be forever. Maybe just a year or two. LL has done worst things for money…. ahem Deep Blue Sea. A black dude working on a submarine with a lucky parrot!

This polo match had no foreign royalty outside of myself and Dawgz. We are the Princes of the Universe ala Highlander the television series. ADRIAN PAUL! I WILL FIGHT YOU!

This was a local Polo match raising money for charity. Though there was a celebrity: Kate Mulgrew. Seriously? Seriously. Why? Who knows. Nevertheless, she was there. The New Jersey Devil was there. I should rewrite that as the New Jersey Devil was there “as well as Kate Mulgrew”. Just so people do not assume that Kate Mulgrew is the New Jersey Devil since Star Trek: Voyager was canceled.

I also played a little futbol which is why my ankle hurts and my toe feels broken, but isn’t. I also shot a gun. Not at the Jersey Devil or the pseudo Jersey Devil Kate Mulgrew, which was surprising because they were both begging for it.

Oh yeah, and I got hammered drunk.

As for the latter to the former – MISQUOTATIONS. Sunday night, in between watching the incredible Jamie Varner vs. Kamal Shalorus WEC fight on Versus and watching the season finale of Treme – Dawgz noticed a miss certain miss wants it was trending. Kristen Stewart, also not the official New Jersey Devil, was trending on Yahoo. And I’m pretty sure we all know why.


First, yes. Second, Yes. Third, YES. Fou- YES! YES! YES! YES!!!!!!11111


I click on the article naturally. The story is from ShowbizSpy who are “reporting” on an interview that Kristen Stewart had with Parade magazine. Now, I have not read a Parade magazine in … well… ever, but I’ve seen them in the newsstands usually south of the porno mags that I’m thumbing through. They do not appear to be a piece of journalistic literature that would write the word “pussy” in all or “PUSSY”. It just seems a little out of place.

I’m reading the ShowbizSpy post and it has various quotes from Kristen and Parade’s chat. A few of the quotes are about how Bella needed a sex talk, but Kristen doesn’t remember needing one. Fair enough. Apriori knowledge about the gloriousness of zip, schwing, pound town. Fair eenuff. But nowhere in that quote does she mention being obsessed with her pussy. And I would know because I reread the quote about a 1000 times.

The next series of quotes were about how Kristen cannot wait until Bella becomes a vampire in Twilight because she is really excited to try her hand at acting like a vampire since everyone else is acting like one. Ummm… SPOILER ALERT! Jeez, Kristen. Jeez, Parade. I didn’t know that she was going to be a vampire! I was eagerly anticipating the … I’m fucking with yall. I knew she did become a vampire and I really don’t care. Anyway, she talks about the vamp business, but in none of those quotes does she mention her pussy or any obsession with said pussy. Again, I would know because I READ IT!

Lastly, Kristen Stewart talks about being a cat owner. Oh no. Please don’t say…. And she is obsessed with her cat. She has become a “crazy cat lady”. I want to fucking kill the people at ShowbizSpy! HOW DO YOU PLAY WITH MY HEART LIKE THAT! I as well as the rest of the internet were dying… literally DYING… to read about K-Stew talk about an obsession with a certain part of her wanting it body and it just so happens that part is her … wait for it… pussy. Could they have lied to me, yes ME, anymore!?!

Not only does their article say she is “obsessed” with her “pussy” in the headline, but they put a ‘ around it as if she said it in general. Regardless of context, I don’t see Kristen Stewart uttering those words. Unless Parade is holding that quote back and will force me to buy the issue from newsstands when I go on my weekly porno mag purchase run then where is the fucking quote. I see no “I’m obsessed with my pussy” even meaning cat quote. So the quote even in the context of cats and not Ms. Stewart’s “whispering eye”, I don’t see the fucking quote anywhere.

To add insult to injury, the statement KRISTEN STEWART ADMITS: ‘I’M OBSESSED WITH MY PUSSY’ is in all caps as if Mattie G./DICKS wrote it. This is ridiculous. KRISTEN STEWART ADMITS! I am on the edge of my seat because ShowbizSpy is yelling to me that Kristen Stewart is unleashing some hidden part of her soul to all of us through Parade magazine. Then with all my baited breath I whisper back to ShowbizSpy, “what is Kristen admitting to?”




Wait… she didn’t say she was obsessed with her pussy. Wait… she said she likes cats and currently owns one. Wait… she can’t wait to play a vampire. FUCK YOU, SHOWBIZSPY! FUCK YOU!





I need some coffee before I start my jihad.

Another week down and X number to go. Today’s Friday weekly wrap up will be a short one. In fact, I will be nowhere near a computer when this post is “published”. I will be in New York City and most likely a little tipsy from the morning drinking while watching USA vs. Slovenia. I will have the post already prepared and ready to go. I will send a radio frequency signal to my robot clone who will be sitting in front of the computer at my apartment waiting for this signal to be sent. Once said signal is received it will press the “publish” button on WordPress for me and, more importantly, for you.

And to answer your next Friday’s question – Yes, my robot clone is an “it”. It was made specifically with no sexual organs just in case the unthinkable happens and the robot clone turns against me. Also, if I did have a girlfriend I wouldn’t want the robot clone to get any ideas – with me or without me, ie no devil’s threesomes with the robot clone.


What did you get for your birthday? What did you want, but didn’t get?

Got: Clothes. Money. A coffee mug.


Didn’t get: KSWI commentator orgy.

I was wondering if in the future when you look back at photos of yourself from this very important day in history, what will you remember of the reasoning behind the fact that you are sporting what I assume is a mountain-man/hobo styles beard? Will you have a chuckle to yourself and remember with fondness the summer of unemployment where you decided to grow out your beard all for the entertainment of your lovely/crazy commenters on that crazy/mildly popular blog about how Kristen Stewart WANTs It, which you wrote for basically a whole year of your life?

Well, I have had birthdays with a mountain-man/hobo style beard before. It’s been awhile since I have had a beard this long, but it certainly isn’t the first time.

Do You Wanna take over the KSWI Facebook Page?

No. I’m perfectly fine leaving it in your perfectly capable hands. Plus I’m lazy.

My Friday question is, what would you add?

Ahhh yes. The list.


I have read 10 books on that list. I have read parts of some of the others and I’m not sure if I read that kid’s book or not. I could have read the kid’s book and not remember. I wasn’t exactly choosing what books I was reading back then. The list is ok. There are a few books on the list that I really do want to read like Lolita and Catch-22. I’ve seen the movies and I’ve been told the books are great. I don’t like Gabriel Garcia Marquez as a writer, so I don’t care about that book at all.

As for books I think that should be on a list for people specifically under 30:

On the Road – most definitely. It is a romantic traveling adventure by people who under 30.

Fight Club – most definitely. It is for the angry suburban 20 year old who is considered an adult, but has never had the defining moment to force them into adulthood. Meanwhile they are being forced into a valueless commercial world that they have no stock in.

Rum Diary or Hell’s Angels or something by Hunter S. Thompson – most definitely. The man is writing for the same people that Kerouac and Chuck are writing for as well.

You Shall Know Our Velocity – most definitely. I think we should all be sensing a pattern here. These are all books about and for the under 30 crowd.

Race Matters – most definitely. People should read Cornel West’s writings regardless of age. But I think people should attack issues like race when they are young before they get set in their ways.

Our Band Could Be Your Life – most definitely. Again this book easily could be read after 30, as the others could be too. But this book is a great musical history lesson of the bands of the 80’s that helped set the stage for Nirvana to overtake Michael Jackson on the Billboard charts. Excellent book.

There are tons of great books like East of Eden and Huck Finn and so forth, but let me skip to some educational books. The list mentions a few scholarly books to either sound smart or to prove the point that people should be reading scholarly stuff too. In that case, I think people should read books like Civilizations and its Discontents. You all know that I’m a big Freud fan, so that should be no surprise. Specifically for an under 30 crowd, I would suggest reading thinkers like Camus and Sartre and Kierkegaard. Existentialism is definitely a way of thinking that is sexy for the young romantics out there who are frustrated, angsty, and searching. Also, they are great writers. Sartre’s plays are p-h-e-n-o-m-e-n-a-l.

I would also say that people should take a look at this book called “The Bible”. Take a gander at the thing for yourself instead of listening to what people tell you it says in there.

Is it cool if I write another guest post? About America?


Is a quarter keg the same thing as a pony keg?

Yes. Do you want some? It is still sitting in my apartment.

And I hope you all have a great weekend. I hope USA has given Sloven a swift taste of defeat by the time I post this. I’ll see you all next week.

Thank you for all the birthday wishes.

Editor’s note: A few days ago it was the 90th anniversary of Max Weber’s death. And this is how I choose to commemorate him. Makes sense, right?

I’m sure you are all intrigued by the title already. I’ll begin with my own introduction to Max Weber. When I was in high school, there was an elective sociology course and it was here that I was first introduced to Max Weber and his genius. Yes, GENIUS! In my opinion, Max Weber is one of the finest minds to have walked the planet. He is one of my favorite thinkers that I have studied and read through out my college tenure of philosophy, sociology and theology.


I have heard time and time again, that the ladies and other gendered commenters of this KSWI website really enjoy the educational posts. The problem is with those posts, I’m never sure what to write about for them. What topic should I take on next? Max Weber was a character I felt like discussing for a long time. I have mentioned him no doubt, but never dedicated a post to him. So I began thinking of how I would touch on the teachings of this great man. Of course, I had to have my own angle on Max Weber that one would never find on any other website or in any other book in arguably all of human history.

The first thing that came to mind: Max Weber would have been a great “dom”.

I will admit that I am not the most well versed in the relationship between a “dominant” and a “submissive”. I pictured Weber as a “dom” who would be comfortable withholding sex or any typical form of pleasure from the “sub”, which the “sub” would relish in. Weber’s writings are based in dense logic, rationalization and, with that, a pessimism about the future. Let’s take Karl Marx for example- he was an obscene optimist. He believed that people could revolt and reform their society and redistribute the wealth of that world to create a better world. To me that means Marx would have been a sloppy kisser. He would have sweaty drunk sex. Meanwhile, Weber did not believe masses would revolt and be able to create a new great society. That is seen to be more of a realist perspective, and, ultimately, it is pessimistic.

Anyway, I started to think about Weber as a “dom”. Generally, I was saying that Weber would simply not participate in sex and would be rigid and exact and downright depressing. What I was really saying is that I don’t think Weber wanted to have sex. He was sexless. This is when I decided to look up the man on Wikipedia. I have read many of his works, but I knew very little of his personal life. This is when my random assertion that Max Weber was sexless became concrete. I knew little about Kristen Stewart, but when I watched Twilight I thought to myself that this chick wants it – always. This premonition of mine about Weber was about to get realized.

The following sections in italics are from Wikipedia and my comments will be in the none italics.

Weber was born in 1864, in Erfurt in Thuringia, Germany, the eldest of seven children of Max Weber Sr., a wealthy and prominent politician in the National Liberal Party (Germany) and a civil servant, and Helene Fallenstein, a Protestant and a Calvinist, with strong moral absolutist ideas. Weber Sr.’s engagement with public life immersed the family home in politics, as his salon received many prominent scholars and public figures. Weber was strongly influenced by his mother’s views and approach to life, but he did not claim to be religious himself.

Right off the bat, Weber lived in an intellectual, political and religion based household. He is the oldest of 7 children, which means his parents, Weber Sr. and Helene, were making love, banging, fucking et cetera on the reg. They also sounded like they were throwing dinner parties on the reg as well. Dinner parties filled with long winded discourse about politics. Sexy.

The young Weber and his brother Alfred, who also became a sociologist and economist, thrived in this intellectual atmosphere. Weber’s 1876 Christmas presents to his parents, when he was thirteen years old, were two historical essays entitled “About the course of German history, with special reference to the positions of the emperor and the pope” and “About the Roman Imperial period from Constantine to the migration of nations”. At the age of fourteen, he wrote letters studded with references to Homer, Virgil, Cicero, and Livy, and he had an extended knowledge of Goethe, Spinoza, Kant, and Schopenhauer before he began university studies. It seemed clear that Weber would pursue advanced studies in the social sciences.

BOOM! Fucking BOOM! Do you now see what I see!?! I am a prophet! At the age of 13 he was writing historical essays steeped in European history for his parents’ Christmas presents. I would tend to bet those were not his only historical essays he had written by that time. He was also liberally quoting from ancient literature and philosophical text. This is a 13/14 year old male who at no point was inquisitive about the opposite sex. I remember when I was in 5th grade the only thing boys cared about was convincing a girl at recess to go with him into the woods next to the school and kiss. Needless to say we were not reading Goethe!


At 14!?! AT FOURTEEN!?! Oh my God! At fourteen, the fucking last thing on my mind or any other boy’s mind that I knew was the works of Livy or Schopenhauer. We were in the early years of puberty and going out of our minds just being around girls. And you do not just read Kant. You don’t just read it. You have to fucking live it! You have to live Kant to understand Kant. You have to eat, sleep, and … well… fuck Kant to understand German Idealistic thought to then later quote it and use it in letters. Max Weber was certainly not attracting or even trying to attract girls because he was too busy putting all of his energies into gout ridden Kant.

I’m not going to reprint everything that Wikipedia says, so I’ll just paraphrase. Needless to say, everything I’m about to write is purely in pursuit of intellectual endeavors and has not a hint of sexiness. Weber starts law school, takes up fencing like his father, he begins attending lectures in economics, medieval history and theology. Also, he starts serving on again and off again in the German army. How sexy is that!?! Oh man. Had Weber even heard of girls? They were there in Germany. Also, at this point I would like to say, sure – Weber could’ve been gay. I’m just guessing he was straight because he does eventually marry. Spoiler alert! Either way, I’m still sticking with the idea that Weber not for a second had a moment of thought for the worldly desire of sex and instead just read and read and became smarter and smarter like he was preparing to become a super villain at some point.

In the autumn of 1884, Weber returned to his parents’ home to study at the University of Berlin. For the next eight years of his life, interrupted only by a term at the University of Göttingen and short periods of further military training, Weber stayed at his parents’ house; first as a student, later as a junior barrister, and finally as a dozent/professor at the University of Berlin.

Ok, he was certainly not fucking during those EIGHT years. EIGHT YEARS! He spent EIGHT years living with his parents and pursuing law and military careers. After the EIGHT E-I-G-H-T years, Weber passes the equivalent of the German bar exam. He earns a law doctorate by “writing a doctoral dissertation on legal history entitled The History of Medieval Business Organisations”. Two years later, Weber writes another dense and exhausting research essay and now is qualified to be a German professor.

This is also around the time that Weber begins another healthy intellectual pursuit and this time it is into “contemporary social policy” in Germany. So, let’s just assume yet again this is another step away from vajeen and another step towards sexlessness. That is just the tip of the iceberg though. Weber joins a political group who believe in addressing all problems through heavy statistical analysis. SEXY! Weber is then put in charge of a study about why Germans are heading to the industrial cities of Germany and abandoning the farmland while foreigners are taking them over in droves. Oh my God! Is that getting you as sweaty as it is getting me? Oh man, doesn’t that sound so fucking hot!

And the paper was a big hit and “cemented Weber’s reputation as an expert in agrarian economics”. Fuck. What an amazing line that would be on OkCupid, am I right? Expert in agrarian economics. I’m sure that gets all the ladies wet. Oooh child, did you see this new guy on OkCupid? He is 28, he has had extensive education in nearly every intellectual topic anyone could possibly think of, he is in the military and he lives with parents. SEX BOMB! He’s a sex bomb! Fucking Tom Jones must’ve been writing that song about the Weber-meister!

In 1893 he married his distant cousin Marianne Schnitger, later a feminist and author in her own right, who was instrumental in collecting and publishing Weber’s journal articles as books after his death.



Weber marries his “distant cousin”. That is sexy, right? But what makes this marriage even more sexy: “feminist”. Brilliant! I know some of you ladies are like “what is that supposed to be mean!?!” or whatever. Listen, the difference between Marianne Schnitger being a feminist in the late 1800’s of GERMANY is a grave difference than anyone being a feminist in today’s world. Marianne must’ve been the toughest chick. The TOUGHEST! If there was an amateur boxing tournament and she entered it, I would bet on Marianne. She’d knock out those guys with her ovaries! A feminist author in the 1880’s and 90’s of Germany, I bet she could rip a quarter in half with her bare hands. Either way, none of this is sexy.

The couple moved to Freiburg in 1894, where Weber was appointed professor of economics at Freiburg University, before accepting the same position at the University of Heidelberg in 1896. Next year, Max Weber Sr. died, two months after a severe quarrel with his son that was never resolved. After this, Weber became increasingly prone to nervousness and insomnia, making it difficult for him to fulfill his duties as a professor. His condition forced him to reduce his teaching, and leave his last course in the fall of 1899 unfinished. After spending months in a sanatorium during the summer and fall of 1900…

BOOM-SHOCK-A-LOCKA! FUCKING BOOM! Junior and Senior get into a fight that is so bad it goes unresolved and 2 months later Senior kicks the bucket. After this, Weber can’t sleep and is nervous. He quits his job and then spends half of the year in a sanatorium. I’m saying there were no boners during any of what just was mentioned. None. Zero. Sexless! Nothing is sexier for a newly wed cousin couple than for the husband to become increasingly nervous, doesn’t sleep, and ends up in a sanatorium for 6 months.

Weber doesn’t write for awhile and leaves the teaching job altogether. He eventually gets a job working for a paper. This is where Weber as the writer I knew him as picks up.

In 1904, Weber began to publish some of his most seminal papers in this journal, notably his essay The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. It became his most famous work, and laid the foundations for his later research on the impact of cultures and religions on the development of economic systems. This essay was the only one of his works that was published as a book during his lifetime.

Now, Weber begins to write a lot. Not only write a lot, but study a lot. As one can assume from the title of the essay, it is about Protestants – even more so Calvinists. Weber is now consolidating his knowledge of economics, religion, law, and sociology to put forth his own observations on why capitalism thrives in areas of Protestants and not Catholics. He champions the Protestants who do their work and do it well as a testament to God, which then correlates with them making money because they are doing good and diligent work. A worker working for God will continue working and continue working well, where as a worker who is working just to make ends meet will not try as hard and will make compromises. There are no compromises with your work if you are working for the Almighty. Businesses thrive because of this. So, now Weber is championing a group of people who do not believe in temporal satisfaction (read: sex) and who work and evolve solely to express their love and devotion to the Lord. Sexy.

Also that year, he visited the United States and participated in the Congress of Arts and Sciences held in connection with the World’s Fair (Louisiana Purchase Exposition) at St. Louis.

And as you can see, he is now busier than ever. Now Weber is a celebrity. He is a celebrity for how brilliant he is and people want him places to be brilliant at.

During the First World War, Weber served for a time as director of the army hospitals in Heidelberg. In 1915 and 1916 he sat on commissions that tried to retain German supremacy in Belgium and Poland after the war. Weber’s views on war, as well as on expansion of the German empire, changed throughout the war. He became a member of the worker and soldier council of Heidelberg in 1918. In the same year, Weber became a consultant to the German Armistice Commission at the Treaty of Versailles and to the commission charged with drafting the Weimar Constitution. He argued in favor of inserting Article 48 into the Weimar Constitution. This article was later used by Adolf Hitler to institute rule by decree, thereby allowing his government to suppress opposition and obtain dictatorial powers. Weber’s contributions to German politics remain a controversial subject to this day.

The cliff notes of that paragraph: ran some hospitals in World War I in Germany and was used to help write political charter after the war. I’m sure you are wondering where in this does Max Weber have children? Well he doesn’t. Where in this is Max Weber even seeing his wife? Who the fuck knows. Weber’s brain is being used by everyone. He is working for the military, he is working for the government, he is still researching and writing his own books that are now about other religions from different parts of the world (China, India, Judaism) and how they relate to his previous work concerning the Protestant ethic. If a person’s brain grew like a muscle from using it then Weber’s brain would’ve been so huge the masses could have used it to cross the Atlantic Ocean. Supposedly, your brain gets wrinklier the more it is used then Weber’s brain was wrinklier than Abe Vigoda’s ballsack.


Weber resumed teaching during this time, first at the University of Vienna, then in 1919 at the University of Munich. In Munich, he headed the first German university institute of sociology, but ultimately never held a personal sociology appointment. Weber left politics due to right-wing agitation in 1919 and 1920. Many colleagues and students in Munich argued against him for his speeches and left-wing attitude during the German Revolution of 1918 and 1919, with some right-wing students holding protests in front of his home. Max Weber contracted the Spanish flu and died of pneumonia in Munich on June 14, 1920.


Weber becomes a lightning rod at the University of Vienna for being not only famous, but being a liberal in what was most definitely a very angry conservative time in German history. Students being protesting outside his fucking house. And then not long after that the man dies from pneumonia. For fuck’s sake! Get that man to a strip club or a brothel on June 13th!

Truly, Max Weber spent his entire 56 years on this planet learning. He studied relentlessly and he tried to help make this world a better place I believe with the knowledge he gained. He had a somewhat cynical view of the world in terms of our abilities to better ourselves in a grand gesture like Marx believed we could, but clearly Weber did believe that it was possible for people to make the world a better place than how they first entered it. Max Weber wanted IT, and we know for a fact that “IT” was not sex.

Max Weber: genius. Max Weber: sexless.

Questions for Friday. Thank you.

Une note du rédacteur en chef: Thank you to Dawgz aka Kyle aka the Bulgarian Badger aka Domino aka il Falco Veloce aka Jersey’s Own aka the Orator from Tom’s River aka the Bumblebee for today’s post. If you too want to guest post for KSWI, please do not be shy about it. Send an email to jordankswi@gmail.com . We can talk it over. I am fully willing to coerce you in whichever way possible to write a guest post. Flattering usually happens. If you require “sexting” I can be made available for that. I have a good deal of free time. Anyway, enjoy today’s post from Dawgz aka the Idealistic Impala aka Hydra aka Dr. Tokyo aka …

I don’t want to be, but I am:

Reflections on getting old with rock and roll.

Hello followers of Kristen Stewart Wants It.   It is with great pleasure that I have been asked to guest blog today.  I must first admit to you all that I know little of your collective heroine, Kristen Stewart, outside of the fact that she is in a ton of movies and she seems to have an unquenchable desire to want, as evidenced by every photograph ever taken of her.  Outside of these self-evident platitudes, I can offer little else, so with my limitations in mind, I have decided to regale you with theories about the greatest  inheritance left to us by the baby boomers, and it is not George W. Bush or The Big Chill, it is simply rock and roll.  More specifically, I am going to discuss how my taste in the medium of musical rebellion has changed as I have begun to gray.

I have learned that it takes time to realize you are changing.  It doesn’t happen immediately.  You don’t wake up one day and say to yourself that “Today is the day I am going to start eating swiss cheese.  I have always hated it up until this point, but today, yes today, is going to be the day I start to enjoy swiss cheese.  Move over muenster, swiss is taking over this sandwich!”


Life tends to have a way of changing you through less drastic means.  It usually happens when you are not looking.  The change advances stealthily,  in those countless lost moments when you are neither focused or vigilant against the onslaught of time.

Maybe it’s part of evolution.  As you age your tastes gradually mature, opening you up to  more diverse thoughts and influences that you were once deaf to because you didn’t yet have the ability to comprehend.   Only over time can you start to gain a well rounded perspective and see the value of things you once dismissed.   And simultaneously as this wealth of experience expands, people tend to start to realize who they really are.  You embrace yourself, lose of some of that adolescent insecurity, and continue to grow more comfortable in embracing your own individuality.

This phenomenon manifests itself through a lot of subtle ways.  One may engage in new habits or hobbies, liking developing a subtle understanding of wines, or a new found appreciation for foreign language movies.

As I stumble toward 30, I have undergone an evolution in my musical tastes.
I now appreciate a lot of musical acts that I could not have when I was full of ignorant youth and misunderstood opinions of art.  Although I have come to love all types of music from reggae to jazz, two artists that I once dismissed as lightweights or “pop musicians” have, gradually and unexpectedly, become standouts on the soundtrack of my life.

Some context might be in order.  You see, fair readers, I grew up with rock and roll. There was no other option.  One of my formative memories was attending The Who’s 25th Anniversary Tour at Giant Stadium, The Meadowlands, Jersey with my dad at the tender age of 6.  My family roots stem from Asbury Park, NJ the same place that spawned American rock music’s poet laureate, Bruce Springsteen.  I have seen The Boss play several times in venues that seat less than 1,000 people.  Some of the earliest songs I knew how to sing were “Light my Fire” and “Sympathy for the Devil.”  Punk and grunge played a critical roll in the development of my ethics and identity.  In college, I spent hours listening to The Pixies, Radiohead and The Clash.   I like to read a lot books about rock music and then quote bands, usually about their artistic integrity or their disregard for convenience of convention.  I have always been arrogant about my rock and roll taste and, depending on the company, I have been known to eloquently speak of David Bowie and The Allman Brothers, Dire Straits or Lou Reed.  All of this is an elaborate way of saying that I love rock music, I consider myself a casual authority on the subject and I feel that my taste in tunes is beyond reproach.

Which brings us to the two artists that I have unexpectedly become enamored with. So what group and songwriter did I once disdain, but now have come to love?   Well, as I have continued expand my taste, overtime, I have had to realize that, when I really being honest with myself, I was rapidly becoming … maybe the only “straight male born after 1980” who is diehard fan of the music of Fleetwood Mac and Carole King.   What?  How could a man who claims to love rock and roll possibly fall for the pathetic pop trappings of The Mac and Ms. King?  Lets just say that I have had “the Earth move under my feet” and now I understand that “players only love you when their playing.”

Fleetwood Mac – “I have no fear, I have only love.”


My journey to full blown Fleetwood Mac fan, like most things worth any value, took time.  I was always aware of the pop music super group.  Their songs were omnipresent, but I never really stopped and listened.  It was background music from a bygone era, a moment of pop bliss that I could never truly understand.

This opinion began to change while I worked in an office, during college, with a bunch of middle-aged women who refused to allow me to touch the sole radio we had in our dreary place of business.    These ladies, who could care less about what was being played over the airwaves as long as it was inoffensive and constant, kept the radio tuned to one of those awful local stations that promoted themselves with catchy slogans like, “Easy listening 101.7, we play the best of the ’70’s, 80’s, 90’s and today!”

As I was forced to endure the endless hours of Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston and Journey, I noticed myself eagerly hoping that a Fleetwood Mac song would be played next.  At least they had guitars and their songs were better than the rest of the stations stagnant playlist, I reasoned to myself.  These would be the seeds from which my Mac love affair would spring eternal.

About a year or two later I was celebrating my birthday when one of my best friends, and a musician, gave me a copy of “Rumors” as a present.  For the next week, as we drank beers and partied, “Rumors” was a constant.  Its hooks were undeniable, the song-writing was so crisp, and the emotions were so real.  I became a fan, but more than just a passive fan, I became an Fleetwood Mac fanatic.

“Rumors” was released in 1977 and it is a nearly perfect album.  The songs are fraught with real human emotion because they were created during a time of extreme stress, both professionally and personally, for the band’s members.  During the recording of “Rumors,” Lindsay Buckingham and Stevie Nicks’ multi-year long love affair was ending,  Christine McVie and Peter Green’s marriage was falling apart and Mic Fleetwood was wading further into the wilderness of addiction.  Instead of trying to gloss over the series of cascading crises besieging the band they embraced it and channelled them into some of the more dynamic pop songs ever recorded.   It was a moment when they decided to be brave and honest when many others would have succumbed to mediocrity.


As one listens to more and more of the band certain characteristics begin to stand out.  They had three amazing song-writers, each with their own unique style.  Lindsay Buckingham’s elegant guitar playing always seemed to advance the larger narrative of the song, a true feat because he played in an era when being the lead guitar often meant excessive soloing.  Christine McVie is probably the best complimentary song-writer any band has ever had.  And although Stevie Nicks’ career devolved into caricature, she is simultaneously, the Gypsy, the Gold Dust Woman, Rhiannon, and Sara, without even mentioning her narration of Landslide which deserves its own post.  (Also, Ms. Nicks and Ms. McVie are both in the consideration for the long-rumored, “Women you would bang over 60” list, which of course doesn’t hurt).

Today Fleetwood Mac’s legacy, battling male-female vocals that serve to create palpable tension, can been heard in a variety of contemporary rock bands- like The New Pornographers, The Arcade Fire, or Broken Social Scene.  All these bands are ultimately trying to write something that can stand-up to “The Chain” no matter how much distortion they create through their guitars.  Just listen to Broken Social Scene’s “Chase Scene” and one can just imagine Lindsay and Stevie trading lyrics and suppressing their mutual feelings of love and mistrust.

Of course, I understand why typical rock and roll aficionados don’t give Fleetwood Mac the time of day.  Hell if I lived through the height of their fame I would have probably grown sick of them as well.  Lindsay with his sloppy afro and Stevie with her faux-magic act would have annoyed my sensibilities to no end.  But fortunately, I don’t have any of that baggage, I just have the songs and the songs stand on their own merit.

Suggested Fleetwood Mac Playlist from The Dawgz:

The Chain
Second Hand News
Little Lies
Don’t Stop (thinking about tomorrow)
Go Your Own Way
Think About Me

The other artist that I have come to love over time is a little more difficult to explain.  At least Fleetwood Mac is a band.  At least Buckingham is an elegant guitar player along the same lines of Mark Knopfler.  At least Stevie Nicks wrote “Landslide” and Christine McVie is good looking. But this next artist is none of those things, yet she is so much more.  The artist I am speaking about is the one, the only, Ms. Carole King of New York City, NY.

Carole King – “Why doesn’t anybody stay in one place anymore?”


When you collect records you end of acquiring a lot of music that you would never consider buying.  People will just give you boxes of records that they no longer have use for and it is up to you to wade through the LP’s and see if there is anything you might like but might have never considered.

So when my dad told me to take all his records I was excited because I knew he had a ton of Neil Young, The Rolling Stones, and The Who, but I was also excited because he had a lot of other albums that I had never really listened to before.  After spending hours listening to the musical failings of The J. Geils Band and Mott the Hoople, I came upon an album called “Fantasy.”  Throwing it the record player I was immediately absorbed into “Why are we at war with each other?”  Checking the record I realized that the beautifully melodious voice coming through my speakers was Carole King.  From that moment on I was hooked.  I was fan of King, even if it meant that some of my friends would consider such a proclamation as, well how can I say this …  a bit homosexual.

Ms. King, now 68, began writing and producing music at the ridiculously young age of 17.  Before her first album was released she had spent a decade writing music for other artists.  The following songs are just some of her more notable works from this era:

Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow
Some Kind of Wonderful
The Loco-Motion
One Fine Day
(you make me fell like) A Natural Woman


A pretty damn impressive resume. But by 1969 Carole King’s first marriage to her musical partner, Gerry Goffin, was ending, (she would eventually leave him for Charles Larkey) and writing songs for other people was no longer proving to be fulfilling.  So King stepped out and recorded her first album, “Writer,” which promptly failed miserably.

Undaunted Carole King released “Tapestry” in 1971.  It would go onto be the #1 selling solo-record until a little thing called “Thriller” was released 11 years later.  Tapestry spent 4 months at the top of the billboard charts and spawned hit after hit, like “It’s Too Late” and “I Feel the Earth Move.”  Listening to “Tapestry” now leaves one amazed.  It is an example of a song-writer at their creative apex.  When Rolling Stone magazine named it the #36 greatest album ever made, before Led Zeppelin “Zoso” or Bob Marley’s “Legends,” I, shockingly, agreed, wholeheartedly.

The brilliance of Caroline King is that she was always frank,  musically progressive, but also disciplined, which kept her from deviating into self-indulgence.  Her voice wasn’t the best, the notes she hit not the most sonically breathtaking, but her songs and verse were always compelling and real.

Ms. King’s songs are about the people that you meet through life, the distances that emerge over time and space and the quiet desperation that begins to appear when you begin to question the faith you placed in your own heedless confidence.  It is the music that is made for the reflective moments when you remember the person that moved “so far away”, or the opportunity you passed up, or the bravado driven decisions you made during a capricious youth that you now regret as wisdom settles in.


Carole King’s major accomplishment was penning a different type of love song.  She lamented about failed human relationships, but without necessarily talking about physical love.  These love songs aren’t driven by sex, but  by the deeper failings of the human experience.  It is in these songs that Carole King demonstrates her multi-leveled and nuanced song-writing ability; an ability that has largely been lost on this modern era of female pop star, who today too often rely on the crass and over-sexualized dynamic of our current moment to make a quick buck.

Carole King will never be mistaken for being the most rocking performer, but  if you respect song writing, you have to respect Carole King.   She is better than any of her female contemporaries especially Joan Baez and Joni Michtell, which is one of the reasons that her new world tour with James Taylor is electrifying the baby-boomers more than anything else besides Viagra.

Suggested Carole King playlist from The Dawgz:

I Feel the Earth Move
Sweet Season
You Light Up My World
It’s Too Late
Brother, Brother

“Well I’ve been afraid of changing, because I built my life around you.”

Ultimately, I have learned that it is sometimes inappropriate to just listen to Led Zeppelin or Eric Burton and The Animals.   Sometimes the mode dictates another style of music.  If you are preparing a meal and enjoying some white wine do you really want to listen to an Eric Clapton jam?  I say no, at least not always.  In certain moments, the stylings of Ms. King are a better fit.  The love strained lyrics of The Mac could more accurately color your particular mood.

Through all of this I have learned, you can’t limit yourself when it comes to the music you enjoy.  You must continue to expand the styles of art that you appreciate. Carole King is the best representative of an entire genre of music: the female singer songwriter.  Fleetwood Mac’s musical brilliance has inherently influenced modern musicians. If one refuses to recognize these facts because of their own conceit or prejudice, it is a profound display of ignorance and naivety.

So, now, as I get older, I can freely admit and proudly say that I have the record covers of “Fantasy” and “Rumors” hanging on my wall and I feel no shame because I know those that criticize just don’t yet comprehend.  So in the end, I don’t want to be, but I have to be … a champion of Fleetwood Mac and Carole King.


KSWI Jordan (J): Hello, Kristen. You appear to want it, but are pensive about wanting it.

Kristen Stewart (KS): I do want it, but today is such a boring day. All I’m doing is sitting in front of this red backdrop and answering questions about Taylor and Rob and what it was like kissing Dakota Fanning. I wish something great would happen.

J: Well, I have something to tell you. It might change your thoughts concerning June 15th forever.

KS: What’s that?

J: It’s my birthday.


KS: Your birthday?

J: Yes.

KS: Your birth-day? Your berff-day?

J: Yes. Did you say berff-

KS: Your ber-ber-ber-b-b-b-b-buuuuuuhhhhhh-

J: What is happening?

KS: Ber-ber-ber-ber-bbbbbbbbbb-b-b-b-b-ber-ber-berfff-ffffffffffff-

J: Does someone need to reset her?



KS: How did I not know this?

J: You have not responded to any of my friend requests on Facebook. My many friend requests.

KS: Well, for good reason I have not responded. You remember what transpired in Guadalajara last year. That can never be mentioned of the Eff-Book.


KS: This is just great news! I need to do something for your birthday. A token, a gesture of my appreciation for all that you’ve done for my career and existence on this crazy spinning rock in space.

J: Well, I don’t think you-

KS: But… I WANT to.


KS: Shhhhh… Jordan. I have something to show you. Something to show you on your birthday. Hold on. It takes a second to get ready.







KS: I fucking want IT.


Happy Birthday Everyone!

%d bloggers like this: