Namely, I regret Mr. Savage's taste in men. I have an affinity for the three B's--big, burly, and bearded--while Mr. Savage operates under an "if there's grass on the field" frame of mind (i.e., he likes teenagers). This may not seem like a real problem, but it is. It explains why The Stranger's special issues--our Strangercrombie issue, our Valentine's Day issue--are always littered with hairless girly-boy waifs instead of thick-furred truckstop daddies. If Mr. Savage had better taste, every page of The Stranger would be a celebration of the hirsute beefcake. We would throw our holiday parties at The Cuff. We would make slanderous comments about Ashton Kutcher's skinny little arms, and not George Nethercutt's flapping man-boobs.