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....