Little Pee Wee: Big Celebrity.

Little Pee Wee wanted this website made to glorify his hollow name-- excuse me, hallowed name-- so that all the intarwebs would know of his big adventures.

However, Little Pee Wee, in his made gesticulating, as informed me he does not believe his audience buys into his micro-fame. And what better way to skool fools than with actual celebrity endorsements? Endorsements like, say... White Mr. T????


Little Pee Wee and his gang of sloppy sycophants recently made the trek down to Nashville Tennessee, where the fake A-team was participating in the Redbull Flugtag-- some bullshit about throwing flimsy things into the lake or something. Gay.

Little Pee Wee cares not for Flugtags or the Germans in general (long story short, he doesn't like the word "Volkswagon"); Little Pee Wee cares only for kittens, small children, fake breasts and faux celebrity.

The crew from Reno 911 was there and while Little Pee Wee really is all about plunging plasticine cleavage-- and as you can see, there was a whole crap load of that-- Little Pee Wee was like flies on Ethiopian kids' eyes when he got a gander of Lt. Dangle's ass....

He later said it smelled of Cheese Puffs and Gerbil. It was one of the most special experiences of his life-time.... Look those gams. Yum.

In case you think he spent all his time watching celebrities, he also took a moment to pray that one of the Flugtag skydivers would fall to their much publicized death in the hopes that the local news would want to interview the traumatized members of the audience-- see how he watches in breathless anticipation?



Little Pee Wee can't cry (his plastic face lacks tear ducts... and range of expression), but his pantomime of pain, fear and existential crisis would catapult him back into the limelight-- anything for another 15 minutes of fame. Alas, no one died.

However, Little Pee Wee DID get the most exciting celebrity endorsement of all:


That's right, bitches. The King Himself-- or one of them, anyway-- bows down and licks the undifferentiated crotch of Little Pee Wee. If that aint an endorsement, I don't know what is-- unless it's black Elvis.

But Black Elvis was a little busy, looking for his perm. That's okay, Black Elvis. Little Pee Wee knows its hard out there for a pimp....

Speaking of pimping-- it aint easy. And neither is writing advice columns (how's THAT for transitions?)

Dear Little Pee Wee,

I am a 29 year old, single female. I am about to leave my twenties, and enter the dirty thirties. My problem is, I can't decide how to best celebrate. I really need to know: "What would Little Pee Wee do?"

Thank you,

The Birthday Girl

WWLPWD? Why, he'd copyright and merchandise that phrase into a series of bracelets, t-shirts, thong-underwear and assless pajamas!

In case you aren't aware, plastic has a long shelf-life-- and Little Pee Wee fully expects to be on this planet, slowly degrading, for another thousand years. In other words, Little Pee Wee pisses on your dirty thirties-- he's waiting for his dirty three hundreds!

That said, Little Pee Wee thinks that the best thing to do, when celebrating great transition in life, is to somehow combine nudity and humiliation at another's experience- so Little Pee Wee recommends that you find the World's Oldest Stripper!!


World's Oldest Stripper - For the Ladies....

Little Pee Wee dares you to find a dirtier way to waltz into your thirties. He dares you! If you don't wake up in a pool of your own vomit, a smelly old-man G-string on your face, feeling as embarrassed as the divinely guided Security Guard who took credit for shooting air for Jesus is going to be, Little Pee Wee guarantee's double your money back for his advice.

Well, it's time to give Little Pee Wee his afternoon Whiskey Sour. If he doesn't get his drinky drink, he can become violently abusive and your friend Comp-Boy Curtis has enough broken ribs for a life time....

Oh, before I forget....

Be sure to send in your emails for Little Pee Wee's biiiig wisdom-- bigadventureslittlepeewee@gmail.com!

Where the Beaches?

Little Pee Wee's not feeling the winter time. All the cold makes his old plastic limbs stiff.

These days, Little Pee Wee's dreaming about the summer time-- beach, beer and bitches, in his, ahem, "words." Last summer, we took a little road strip through the Carolinas, ending up at Kitty Hawk-- the Outer Banks, or OBX to the locals, drinking up sun and mojitos.

As Little Pee Wee hasn't had steady work since the 80s, I was stuck buying. Thank God he's a "Keystone Light" man.


Here's Little Pee Wee with a few of his "ho's." And by ho's he means "lovely young lady friends who have only put out for him once" I'm sure. No one ever puts out for Comp-boy Curtis....

While we were down there, Little Pee Wee gambled with old men, flew kites, got drunk with the locals and nearly got into a knife fight with a crab. No, seriously....


That crab wasn't to be messed with- but, then, neither is Little Pee Wee.

All it takes is one Little Pee Wee glare and that crab broke down in crustacean tears... which are like crocodile tears, only more Emo.

On to today's very first "Ask Little Pee Wee" column!

Little Pee Wee,

I'm trying to work on this powerpoint presentation for a class and it's positively dull! How do I get motivated and stop getting distracted? I've been staring at the computer so long my vision is blurry.

Cross-eyed in Chicago

Little Pee Wee is gyrating madly, which could only mean one of three things:

A) you've said the secret word. And since the secret word has been "Jack Daniel's" for as long as I've known LPW, that can't be it.

B) Little Pee Wee is somehow turned on by your question and, perhaps, the words "Power" and "Point."

Or C) he's thinks you've done something dumb: namely, being here, reading this website.

No, it looks like it's the Power Point thing-- and the fact that you have crossed-eyes. Little Pee Wee is into some very freaky shit.

Little Pee Wee suggests that, after sending pictures of your crossed-eyes, highly cropped so as to reveal no other feature, preferably with extremely red veins from a long night of crying and/or studying, you should disconnect your internet, turn on some music (Little Pee Wee is into death-metal, so he prefers Nocturnus) and stare at the screen until you realize you're going to fail a class and get no where in life, end up working at Walmart but you'll fail the "Greeter" exam and be stuck sweeping aisle 90 for the next ten years until one day you'll abruptly realize you've pretty well fucked yourself over a power point project you probably could've completed in an hour and a half.

Unofficially, he also suggests coke. That is, coca cola. In powdered form. Little Pee Wee once wrote an autobiography in 3 days with no sleep thanks to that. Unfortunately, he could not find a publisher.

Hope that helps, CEIC!

This is Comp-boy Curtis for Little Pee Wee saying, "The Playhouse is always open."

Or something.

Hello World!

Hi, this is Comp-boy Curtis, official translator for Little Pee Wee.

Little Pee Wee's a world traveling card-sharp, a champion drinker and world-class womanizer-- and it's about time he had his own website.

Or so he tells me, in his unique full-body-sign-language.

So this is where you'll find pictures from his outings: in the future, expect shots of his party at Beerfest in Wisconsin, his epic battle against crabs on the Carolina Coast (OBX, bitches!) and his Coyote Ugly Antics in Nashville....

Stay tuned!

CC.