Yesterday, my colleague Tara (and bestweekever.tv writer Dan Hopper) blasphemously questioned the importance of the annual Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. They seem to think that now that you can get pictures and videos of ladies doing just about anything on the Internet, for free, adolescent males can get their "heh heh boobs" fix whenever they want. As a (basically) adolescent male, allow me to not only refute their comments, but wipe the floor with them, light them on fire, and then blast them into space. Here are four reasons those haters don't get it:

- The swimsuit issue isn't only about seeing women in swimsuits. It's about seeing the hottest women in the world in swimsuits. There's a big difference between Marisa Miller and girls at the local pool.

- "Guaranteed non-nudity" is not an important consideration. As I've mentioned above, we can see hundreds of naked girls with tramp stamps and implants whenever we want. Therefore, quality is unique, even if it's not the full monty. Porn stars aren't actresses for a reason, and there's a huge difference between Scores and the strip club by the truck stop.

- February is sports hell. The Super Bowl is over, March Madness has yet to start, and we're left with regular season games and steroids scandals. Sports fans need the swimsuit issue, as well as fantasy sports, to tide us over. Hot girls in bikinis on the beach suffice until the good stuff starts up again.

- It is not awkward when the swimsuit issue arrives addressed to your Dad. In fact, for many kids (like me), the swimsuit issue is the one "near-porn" magazine that they can read in full view of parents and siblings, hiding behind the "what, it's sports!" justification.

Dan and Tara, consider yourselves served. If I've left out any reasons, or there are still haters who doubt the importance of the swimsuit issue, let's hear it in the comments. I'll take silence as a sign that I am completely and totally right, like always.

High school girls have a terrible reputation. According to movies, TV, and just about every media outlet, they are spiteful meanies who do terrible things like engineer en masse underage pregnancies (see video above).

The appeal of the teen-girl dustup is the surprise factor -- they seem so sweet and innocent, and then, whoa! I can't believe she would write that on Stacey/Anna/Rachel's Facebook wall! Also, it's so fluffily scandalous that when the feathers settle, no one's really hurt and we can all go home (or call our parents to come pick us up).

Maybe that's why people are making such a huge deal out of this girl getting kicked out of Miss Porter's, an all-girls boarding school in Connecticut (which, incidentally, I happen to have attended). In case you missed it: the girl's parents are suing the school for expelling their daughter, who was allegedly "bullied" by other students to the point where she racked up unexcused absences and cheated on a test. While I could go on and on about how factually wrong the media's portrayal is (the AP reporter really crapped the bed on the Oprichniki part), I'll keep it short and sweet: teen girls are people too, and going to Miss Porter's made me a better person then and now. So let's focus on some real problems instead, like teenage boys.

I’ve been divorced five times, so I like to think I know a little bit about not knowing anything about love or women. That’s why the book “How to Talk to Girls” has been such a blessing in my life.

The author, Alec Greven, is a genius. Fo sho. Here’s some wisdom from the book:

“Use caution when you see a pretty girl. Don’t let her tractor beam pull you in.”

My first and third wives had tractor beams. Boy, did they ever.  In this video, Greven explains the tractor beam effect: “Well, what kind of happens is when you get caught in a tractor beam, your brain turns to mush and you can’t really resist it.”

Mush. Yes. Total mush. (It’s still mush.)

Greven said he wrote the book because he “saw a lot of boys having trouble around the playground with girls, so I wanted to help them with it."

He’s 9 years old.

Adolescent girl rage would be a wonderful alternative energy source. Nobel Prize to the first person who figures out how to harness it.

This week "How I Met Your Mother" continued its groundbreaking examination of life's mysteries by profiling girls in bars who scream "wooo."  As anyone who's been to Spring Break knows, it's not just whistles that go "wooo." Girls, typically found in bars playfully (and loudly) insulting each other between sips of bay breezes - woo, too. What could possibly possess otherwise intelligent women to shriek like banshees when placed in groups?

Personally, I think the recently deceased "TRL" is to blame, but this episode offered another theory: According to Robin and Lily's scientific inquiry, the culprit is desperation. The women cling together to hide their frustrations with not having husbands, children, or direction in their lives, and a cathartic "wooo" drowns out inner screams of lonliness. A sound theory, perphaps. But the fruity cocktails they've been gulping all night also probably factor into hollering like an idiot, too.