I have something very important to ask you, perhaps the most important question a man will ever be asked in his life.
Are you...Fantastic?
Are you the kind of man that longs, not just for the starlet on your arm, but the multifarious skin creams and products that bejewel her boudoir, like the stars in the sky? When she is gone, off jetsetting, do you gather all her clothes into the middle of the room and burrow into them, nuzzling the velvets and silks and suckling at the teats of her blouse buttons and ruby rings? Do you bathe in her many fragrances? Do you sometimes wonder if you even need the starlet to experience such pleasure?
Why then, you are a Fantastic Man.
Mr. Koolhaas is a fantastic man. He has a cool house. Mr. Koolhaas has such a cool house, he changed his name to it. In German. What if he really is German? Well, that's fantastic. 
Do you struggle with being stylish outdoors, in the woods? Do you shop at REI or Hudson Outfitters, or even an Army Surplus Store? Well, then, you are not Fantastic. Not at all. Not like Andre here. Follow him into the dark forest...who knows what stylish sprites and hobgoblins you might encounter? 
What about your hair? Is it fantastic? How would you know to even begin cultivating a proper hair to scruffy beard ratio? And look at that intense longing in his eyes? What is he seeking out? Yes, I know. 
He longs to back right into that corner of soft spoken elegance.
I bet that you are so, how do you say in English, UN-fantastic, that you would probably wrap a silk scarf around your head, to be mysterious in a Phantom of the Opera kind of way that also raises important questions about your gender, and end up strangling yourself. Maybe Mr. Murphy, the Bauhaus Prince of Darkness (is there any other kind?) can give you a few tips.
Fantastic Man. By and for the Fantastic Man. Buy it now. Only 2 issues per year, for $41 American dollars. 
Buy it before you make Mr. Matadin pout.
3.05.2008
Are You a Fantastic Man?
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5 comments:
OH. MY. GOD.
Aaron.
How did you find this? Good god, how? I'm actually speechless. This is me we're talking about. Me. Without words enough, inarticulate or otherwise, to adequately reply to this.
This is the best thing I've ever seen in my entire life.
I may actually be a fantastic man. (Except my elegance, as we all know, is far from soft-spoken. But otherwise.)
Dude.
Best. Post. Ever.
You just made me spit bourbon.
P.S. You owe me $3
http://youtube.com/watch?v=oXIGwiVg8s0
for a patriotic Fantastic Man . . .
Oh my god. This is, well, FANTASTIC.
Fantastic Man has the highest unintentional comedy ratio since Paradise Hotel, and an even higher unintentionally gay comedy ratio than Paradise Hotel 2. I would guess that if Fantastic Man could somehow come to life, like the way certain attractive mannequins can if you long after them hard and wistfully enough, it would say the word "bro" almost as much as the contestants on Paradise Hotel 2.
There is no second place, because Fantastic Man deserves places 1 through a billion. That's just how fantastic fantastic man is.
Wow.
Bro.
I can't deal. I'm on my way out to meet friends for icy cold martinis and dancing, yet I still felt the need to give this a quick re-read before I embark upon my own fantastic evening. It's addictive. Perhaps I just need to remind myself that, being a single girl in the city, I have sometimes lowered my standards to a slightly sub-fantastic level, and that I was very, very wrong. Or, even more likely, perhaps it shames me that I fear I cannot live up to the level of fantasticness myself.
Sigh. I'll just have to try. Wish me luck. If, indeed, the fantastic even need it...
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