It’s easy to hate on Andy Dick. The guy doesn’t even tell jokes – he just kind of does random, weird, mildly shocking stuff that’s more annoying than truly inspired. Face licking? That’s as old as Martin and Lewis, and God knows they weren’t exactly cutting edge. That being said, you gotta love a guy who commits his entire life to living as far out on the edge as he possibly can. The Jackass guys are pussies compared to him – yeah, they might have a couple of bruises, but those go away. Andy Dick has to wake up each and every morning, look himself in the mirror, and come to terms with the fact that he was in Dude, Where’s My Car. That memory alone needs a quart of vodka before it fades into a dull haze. And then there’s that whole substance abuse / car crash / might’ve-assisted-a-friend’s-suicide thingy.

So you can imagine my pleasant surprise when I spotted Andy out jogging the other day. It was early morning, and Andy was completely soaked in sweat, to the point where his T-shirt was pretty much invisible. And he was running fast – practically sprinting. Almost like he was running away from something. And then he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, and kneeled down to help an injured puppy. Just kidding. But he was running really, really fast, and he was seriously, seriously sweaty – which was far grosser than licking Farrah Fawcett’s mummified face.

– Chris May