When remembering the regrettable cultural cesspool that defined the 1980′s, two things typically come to mind: horribly bad synth-pop and Sylvester Stallone. Like a marriage made in 80′s Hell, the two combined created a unique genre of inspirational pussy-rock that bled all over American Pop Culture like a Rambo-induced, survival knife slash to the jugular.

I’m not the greatest-looking guy, and if I was even marginally talented in some capacity, I wouldn’t be a British Lit major. I am a dork who obsesses over comic books, playing Madden and downloading celebrity porn from Limewire. I’ve accepted my level of the inter-collegiate caste system.
But then Milo Ventimiglia came along.… Click to read more