Here in America, we do things big and lethal. Big Tobacco could have arisen only from North Carolina soil, the U. S. government's generous price-support programs, and Americans' mile-wide self-destructive streak. The development of the interstate highway system in the 1950s surely helped the Big Three automotive companies—GM, Ford, and Chrysler, which is now Stellantis—and our aversion to high-speed rail continues to work to their advantage. Massive government grants have allowed Big Pharma to become a trillion-dollar industry, though not a nimble enough one to have called dibs on "Stellantis" for the name of an erectile-dysfunction medication. But these are times of austerity in the wealthiest country the world has ever known, and we're cutting back. Not on defense contracts or presidential golf outings, of course; those are vital to national security. Instead, we're canceling scientific studies, research grants, university financial-aid programs, health care for the neediest, foreign aid, and more. At the same time, we're handing our institutions to people who have no idea what to do with them besides starve them to death. And we're taking a defensive posture against the world's smartest and most ambitious international students. The immediate result is that America's greatness is missing in action. |
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I've been married for twenty-seven years and, honestly, it's been a great ride. My wife and I don't fight much. We have three beautiful kids. And we've always had an active sex life, like multiple times a week at least. But things change over time, especially with women. Giving birth to three children is no joke. My wife had to have an episiotomy after our third daughter, who we always joke has the shoulders of a linebacker. Over the years, she became increasingly frustrated with how different everyday things like going to the bathroom had become since giving birth. One day I asked her if the changes impacted our sex life too, and she said yes, it wasn't the same as before. That led us to talking about what we could do to possibly improve the situation for her. I honestly didn't need things to be different. I'm batting a thousand every time we hop into bed together. But my wife's pleasure is really important to me. I want her to enjoy sex. So we started looking into potential procedures she could do to get her back to how she felt before children. |
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Let's be honest: The best thing to wear when it's hot as hell is as little as possible. We're talking tank top, shorts, sandals, and done. Maybe switch the shorts for swim trunks if you're heading to the beach. But don't overcomplicate it. You basically want to be as close to naked as you can be without inviting unwanted social (or legal) attention. The thing is, real life gets in the way. Unless you work as a lifeguard, you're not getting away with a five-inch inseam and a pair of flip-flops at the office. And your significant other probably won't appreciate seeing your armpit hair when you flag down the waiter at the restaurant where you had to wait two months for your reservation. So what's a guy to do when the mercury is punching through the top of the thermometer and he still has to get to the office, go on a date, or attend a sweltering summer wedding? |
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Last week, America was consumed by the Sydney Sweeney Story, which seemed to quiet down over the weekend until President Trump weighed in. But the thing is, the Sydney Sweeney Story is not the Story. The Story is what this whole affair reveals about us—and it's much more concerning than the copy for a denim ad. If you have somehow managed to miss this debacle, congratulations on a life well lived, but here is where your luck runs out: Two weeks ago, the apparel brand American Eagle posted a video to YouTube featuring the actor Sydney Sweeney, who tells us, "Genes are passed down from parents to offspring, often determining traits like hair color, personality, and even eye color." After a long pan up her American Eagle Canadian tuxedo-clad body, she says into the camera: "My jeans are blue." The tagline "Sydney Sweeney Has Great Genes" appears onscreen. |
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At our big-city New York office, no one really understands why you'd write about pocket knives or buy them on sale at Amazon. But I'm the resident redneck here at Esquire, the Hank Williams Jr. character from "A Country Boy Can Survive." I haven't known a world where guys don't have folding knives on them at all times. My dad has never left the house without one and has surrendered plenty to the TSA. Starting with both my grandfathers, as far back as we can trace, my family were farmers. Though they were not so adventurous as to be trappers, a knife was still an occupational tool, something a father gifts a son or a general gift for men to give each other. I do not live that life. I'm as far removed from it as you can get. Having a knife on the street in New York isn't illegal, but it's certainly frowned upon. I still have a Case Trapper on my desk, but the closest it's come to a harvest is opening a package with my Luccheses in it. I do, however, use it every day. Sometimes "use" is opening a package, cutting a thread, or fiddling with it while I think about quitting my job and getting serious about my garden. Point is, there's still a place for a pocketknife in modern life. I'm here to make the case for my Case Trapper. |
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James Talarico is everywhere now. He's on major television networks. He's on the front page of news websites. He's even been on the most popular podcast in America, The Joe Rogan Experience. But the one place he's not, is in the Texas Capitol building, where his Republican adversaries in the State House of Representatives aim to redraw electoral districts in their favor ahead of the 2026 midterms. The thirty-six-year-old middle-school teacher-turned-politician isn't in Texas at all, actually. He's in an Illinois hotel room no bigger than a college dorm, barely sleeping in a twin bed that faces a lonely sink, taking calls from the media and constituents back home. It's not that he and his fellow Democratic representatives don't want to be there. But without their presence in the state house, a vote can't occur—which is exactly the point. |
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