Can I get a fuck yeah? Just as the horrible turn in American politics, the encroaching winter, and post-marathon blues have conspired to sink me into a deep depression, Dave Peckar and Sylvester Stallone come riding to the rescue with their err--, long awaited glossy, Sly. "Shut up!" you say, "too good to be true." Why not just call it Best Ever mag? you know that's what it is. This thing's going to sell 100,000 copies in one week, because Joe six-pack needs a version of Men's Health that speaks to them. The latter's just way too highbrow, with its preoccupation with printed words.
Anyhow, the gaily-bedecked fashionistas at the Daily have badgered some big cheeses at the major men's monthlies to gauge the reaction of the mediatocracy to Sly. And they're obviously as exhilarated as they are terrified.
“Thanks for thinking of me, but I don’t have too much to say about the impending launch of Sly." -- Dan Peres, Details
"My advice to Sly? I wouldn’t want to say anything that would put a frown on his face. Oh, wait—that’s no longer possible!” -- Dave Zinczenko, Men's Health
Nice, Zinczenko: Referring jokingly to an accident a man suffered at birth when a facial nerve was severed by a pair of forceps, thereby paralyzing half his mouth permanently is always a collegial greeting; especially when his publication is the mutant, retarded offspring of your own. Sly should kick your fucking ass, wiseguy. (Stallonezone) (the Daily)