For instance, I know that somebody in my old office was reading it earlier today. On the other hand, I have no idea who was reading it in Marietta, Georgia, today, although it does tempt me to start randomly insulting Marietta, Georgia, to see what kind of offended comments I get. My hatred for Mike Love is exceeded only by my hatred for Murry Wilson, who I always think partially deafened his son Brian by holding his ear against a red-hot stove until I remember that the stove thing actually happened to Teddy Duchamp in Stand by Me. However, Murry may have partially deafened Brian by hitting him in the head with a two-by-four, which is hardly better.
M ike Love bounds up the stairs inside his massive Lake Tahoe home 10 bedrooms in all, 12 bathrooms, two elevators, not to be believed and into a large walk-in closet stuffed to overflowing with garish, multicolored shirts and a gazillion baseball caps, many of them emblazoned with the name of his band, the Beach Boys. A suitcase rests on the floor. Love nods at it, prods it with his foot. And why should he unpack?
Skip to main content. Fuck You Mike Love. October 31,
He claims his is John Stamos. Now watch the litigious asshole sue me. Next comes Dennis because he was the coolest by far, emerged as a late-blooming significant talent in his own right, and once beat the living shit out of Charles Manson and reduced him to a blubbering mess in front of the Family.