Private Parts

Bomb Rating: 

The very presumption that I might be interested in learning more about Stern is uniquely insulting. Frankly, I'd rather have epileptic longshoremen pull the hairs off my testicles with an Epilady.

I already know everything about Howard Stern that I need to know. I know that his whole radio act is based on the premise that one can get a finger on the pulse of America by sticking it up the ass of some drunk fat guy and asking him to explain humanism. The very presumption that I might be interested in learning more about Stern is uniquely insulting. Frankly, I'd rather have epileptic longshoremen pull the hairs off my testicles with an Epilady.

This glimpse into Howard's rise to fame and fortune begins with his "troubled" childhood, which consists of his father calling him a moron all the time. This definition of "troubled" is a lot more troubling than anything Howard's father did to him. Many an adult walks the earth today referring to his father's belt-whippings as "sound discipline," and we're supposed to be awed by Howard's ability to overcome trauma.

Burdened with the everlasting echo of his father's voice, a horribly awkward physical appearance and, as he likes to remind his national audience, a small penis, Stern goes to college, meets his future wife, Alison (Mary McCormack), learns how to be irreverent and becomes the most popular disc jockey in America.

In addition to being the self-proclaimed "king of all media," Howard also wants you to know that he's a loving husband and a loyal friend. Basically, Howard Stern wants everybody to know that he's the greatest human being on the face of the earth. Just remember to bring a warm, wet cloth with you to the theater so that after Stern is done spewing his self-promotion, you can wipe yourself clean.

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