Bil Browning

WIN: I Love You Phillip Morris On DVD

Filed By Bil Browning | March 28, 2011 7:00 PM | comments

Filed in: Contests
Tags: Ewan McGregor, I love you Phillip Morris, Jim Carrey

Today's contest comes to us courtesy of Lionsgate Home Entertainment. You can win one of 5 copies of I Love You Phillip Morris before they land in stores.

Phillip-Morris-DVD-cover.jpgJim Carrey stars in a con artist story so unbelievable, it could only be true - as I Love You Phillip Morris debuts on DVD, Blu-ray Disc and Digital Download this April from Lionsgate. Hailed by the Village Voice as "the best performance of Carrey's career," this hysterically dark comedy spins the true story of Steven Russell (Carrey), a small town businessman who became one of the most wanted men in Texas for his brilliant con schemes and prison escapes - all to impress the handsome and incredibly naïve Phillip Morris (Ewan McGregor). I Love You Phillip Morris, containing a making-of featurette, deleted scenes and audio commentary with the writers/directors and producer, breaks out on April 5th.

Leave a comment on this post and tell us the craziest thing you've done for love. I'll pick five winners from all the comments submitted by midnight Pacific on March 30. Winners will be sent an e-mail on March 31; any prizes unclaimed by Monday, April 4 will be awarded to someone else. Contributors are not eligible to win.

I'll pick the five best stories. To enter you must leave your own crazy love story as a comment on this post. If you'd like to "vote" for someone's comment to win, you can reply to any submission with words of support, but that won't be considered an entry and will not be the sole determiner of who wins the contest. Good luck!

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I would say the craziest thing was moving across the country from a small town in Missouri to Washington DC, where I had never even visited, into an apartment only seen from pictures--far away from friends and family, with no job--just to be with my boyfriend. It's been three years, and I don't regret any of it.

I assume you mean crazy=funny stories, such as the time I drove 250 miles to profess my undying love in person to a friend with offers of lifetime fidelity, even though we had never even discussed having a romantic relationship, much less actually having one. As opposed to crazy=dangerous, like the time I professed my love to my best friend in high school... in 1973. Not an especially good year for same sex relationships for teenagers. Especially when you're pretty darn sure the other person is straight.

I started dating someone I'd been friends with, and less than six months into it, I suggested that he come with me on vacation to Antarctica. He didn't hesitate to say 'yes.' I figured, well, if he'll follow me to the ends of the earth...literally...this must be serious.

Drew_the_Great | March 28, 2011 10:54 PM

Lesse: I held off my graduating college for about a year so I could jump on a flight to Europe for a class and then meet up with a guy I had only ever talked with online, for 5 years - in a completely different country than where my class went, by myself, without knowing any other language other than English.

In 1988 I was living in Galveston TX when I met an intriguing woman in Maryland on Compu$erve. Online chatting quickly became phone chatting. and soon I was packing up my kid and my car and drove to Ocean City to meet her. Needless to say, I've not been back to Texas, and we will celebrate 23 years together this June.

Kirk Lammert | March 29, 2011 3:31 AM

I guess I would say it was driving from Florida to Washington state non-stop just to see a certain someone and see if the feelings between us were mutual. Sadly, they weren't. But that was then (mid-80's) and now I'm 13 yrs. happily partnered!

A couple of years ago, I had taken a mental health day off from work. It was mid-week and I wondered what I could get up to. Surprising my new boyfriend Luc suddenly became first on my agenda. Walking the short distance to Luc's apartment in a kind of erotic haze, I failed to keep my hands from between my legs, already chastening myself because my precum had soaked through my jeans, leaving a large stain that reminded me of Ohio.

I made short work of Luc's front door lock with a credit card and entered. I began dropping clothing as I headed toward the kitchen. I loaded up with carrot, cucumber and my best find: a Swiss Colony Summer Sausage log, pristine in its cellophane wrapper. "It won't be pristine for long!" I shrieked.

I dropped the rest of my clothes on the way to the bedroom. I unloaded my finds on Luc's bed and headed for his wicker hamper. I rooted, searching for the perfect pair of Fruit of the Looms. I pulled out my fantasy's reality: white cotton briefs, stained in just the right places, the front with a yellowish oval and the back with a skid mark the size of a finger, faded, but still possessed of a rich auburn hue.

I hobbled to the bed, underpants affixed to my head like a ski mask. Reaching up with one hand, I ground the cotton into my face, opening my mouth to stuff it inside, where I could suck, imagining the potent cocktail my own saliva and evidence of Luc's excretions would make. With my other hand, I found the carrot and grasping it, shoved it inside myself so deep that all that showed was its leafy green top. I groped for the cucumber then abandoned it when my hand came to rest on the Summer Sausage log. Not caring that I would be pushing the carrot in so far that only medical intervention could remove it, I began savagely frigging myself with the seasoned meat.
I almost didn't hear the front door opening.
Moving the underpants to one side of my face I cried, "Honey! I'm in here!" I pushed the Sausage Log in deeper, thinking how I couldn't wait to feel its man-sized replacement. "Get in here, big boy, and fuck your baby...fuck him hard!" I couldn't believe I was being so crude, but I was in a frenzy, blind with lust, crazed, and in my fever had become nothing more than a vessel, a receptacle, an opening, a hole, a dike in need of plugging.

It was in the midst of writhing on the bed, sweat dripping from every pore, the roll of tasty snack meat going in and out of my man pussy so fast it was a blur, that I realized someone else was in the room with me. "Luc?" I panted. It was then I pulled the underpants aside.

I gasped. I pulled the beef log from my ass with a loud farting noise.

A woman stood trembling in the doorway. She was older, with a stiff upsweep of gunmetal gray hair. Dressed in a cardigan sweater and camel colored wool skirt, she clung to a pair of pince nez glasses. Her mouth was open.

"Who are you?" I asked, tongue thick. I realized Luc's Fruit of the Looms were still perched obscenely atop my head and flung them to the floor. Suddenly the carrot popped out as if it had been shot from a cannon. It landed at the foot of the bed, causing the woman to back from the door, gibbering in horror. I grinned sheepishly.

The woman said, "I'm Luc's mother, Mable Carter. And you are?"

I didn't know what to say, wondering if getting arrested would be preferable to facing the music. I decided the truth would eventually come out. I gulped and said, "I'm Rick Reed...Luc's, um, friend." I had turned white, and gave a sickly smile. "I've been dying to meet you."

For real or for laughs? I certainly laughed. :)

Don't know if you'll win a DVD, Rick ... but this would make a great scene in a Tyler Perry movie, with Medea playing the walk-in mama.

What I did for love: when I met my partner we spent one weekend together here before he had to go home. We knew there was a lot of chemistry but he lived three hours away. So, I spent nine years of commuting back and forth on weekends from Indianapolis to South Bend so that my partner up there and I could see each other in a long distance relationship. He also did the same. So it was a shared thing. Several circumstances prevented us from being able to be in the same city for that time period. But it was so worth it! However a lot of time was spent on the road and a lot of gasoline! Seems crazy but it kept us as a couple and in February 2008 he was finally able to move here! We are in the same city and the same house together and now celebrate twelve years in April. Many have called it crazy to do that so long but it was love. I would do it over if I had to for us to be together. Love you Mike!

The craziest thing I have done for love was deciding to cook for my boyfriend when I knew I couldn't cook. He loved fried chicken so I decided to make it for him so he can eat after he got home from work. My boyfriend came and I surprised I him when I told him I had dinner ready for him already. He looked pleased. As my boyfriend took his first bite into my chicken, I was thinking that he was gonna love it and want me to make some more, but that was not the case. As he bite into it, he looked at me funny, then pulled the chicken from his mouth and I could see blood running down his grin. The chicken was not cooked all the way like I thought it was. He wasn't a happy camper because all of the pieces were like that even though I thought they were done. So he had to put them back in the fryer so they could cook longer. At least he loved my sides even though they were! HOT MESS I know, but it was worth it. I loved him. : )

P.S. Oh! and after that incident, he either fried chicken or we hit of KFC. It just made life easier....TRUST! ; )

When I first saw Bob he was judging the International Mr. Leather competition. I had just discovered leather and kink. Spotting him across the crowded, leather-packed room at the Palmer House hotel, I thought he was one of the most compelling men I'd ever seen, and I despaired of ever having such an awesome daddy. I was just a 20-something kid living in Topeka, Kansas. I had to travel hours by car or plane to spend time with even a few people who shared my sexuality. He lived in NYC and had no idea I existed. I assumed my relationship with him would always be confined to daydreams. I was stuck.

I have no idea from whence the gumption came, but less than a year later, when I heard Bob was going to be in a nearby city judging a leather contest, I approached him online and basically begged to serve him for the weekend. I'd drive him around to events, take care of all the logistics, not to mention providing whatever he wanted sexually. He assented mostly because as a New Yorker he didn't know how to drive and needed to get around.

When I picked him up at the airport, we got into my car and he locked a collar on me. It was a remote controlled training shock collar for dogs, the guts of which he'd had installed in a custom leather collar that locked securely--no chance of escaping the metal shock spikes pressed into my neck. When he'd hit the little button on the remote, I'd get hit with volts of incredible electrical pain.

I was definitely in lust, if not love.

I did my best that weekend to inspire the same kind of affection from him. I'd break out in a sweat every time I saw that damn remote, but I didn't ask for it to stop, even when he gave it to a waitress at a nice restaurant and told her to tap the button. I was determined. I could probably write a decent erotic novel based on everything we did that weekend.

I succeeded in getting his attention. A couple years and many adventures later, I had finished my college degree, sold most of my stuff (including my car, the only thing for which I cried), and was boarding a plane with a one-way ticket to NYC.

Of course NYC kicked my ass. Bob and I aren't together anymore. I've battled addiction and a little virus I picked up along the way. The city is a forge--molten and unforgiving.

Somehow I came through it all stronger and happier than I've ever been. And now, looking back at what I didn't realize were my final years in Kansas, it seems to me that the person with whom I really fell in love was myself. The prize I won for beating that shock collar (and a hundred other physical/sexual challenges) was far more subtle and critical than I knew. I thought I needed a daddy, but what I acquired was respect for myself, confidence in my ability to persevere and succeed, and vision of what my life could be if I just set my mind to it, if I just believed in my daydreams.

Romantic relationships come and go; some are good for us, others not so much. Loving and improving one's self, on the other hand, is always a smart investment.

Picture it: Sicily, 1913...

By which I mean Marquette, Michigan, 2010. (Every so often I go into Golden Girls storytelling mode.)

One week before the Fourth of July, my girlfriend currently attended Advanced Individual Training for the National Guard at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, informed me she would be getting a four-day weekend for the holiday. I hadn't seen her since the last day of March, so I quickly put in a time-off request at my McJob (literally, as I worked at a McDonalds at the time) for the weekend and got a coworker to cover my shift for that Friday.

Marquette is in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Fort Jackson, South Carolina is a long ways away. A roughly 20-hour drive, in fact. Something close to 1,700 miles.

None of that stopped me from calling and reserving a hotel room on-post (risky business what with DADT and all, especially since I wasn't coming for a graduation or anything), buying two bottles of No-Doz, taking 300 dollars out of my checking account for gas and toll money, and taking my 11-year-old Jeep with 150,000+ miles on it down to South Carolina for the weekend.

While I was there a hotel maid walked in on my girlfriend and I having sex, and after the weekend was over I missed two separate exits and got lost in West Virginia and Ohio, respectively, for about a half-hour at a time.

It was totally worth it.

Years ago I was dating a very closeted guy who was an accountant for a national consortium of Protestant churches. He lived two hours away from me. Under my tutelage, he came to enjoy playing with a dildo. One night he called me in a panic because the dildo had disappeared up his butt and he couldn't get it out. It was one of those hard plastic vibrating dildos. I drove 130 miles to help him get it out. I arrived about 1:30 am only to be informed that his elderly mother was in town for a visit and asleep in another bedroom so we had to be 'very quiet'. I tried for about 2 hours to get that dildo out of him. I had a can of Crisco, several lubes and a couple bottles of lotion. I used my fingers, pliers, spaghetti tongs, and about half the implements in his utility drawer - but it would not budge! And yes, occasionally in all my manipulating, the dildo started vibrating, though I was easily able to turn it off. Understandably, he was getting very sore, inflamed, swollen and panicky. I told him (whispering, of course) that we needed to go to the emergency room and he refused, feeling certain that he would be exposed and fired when his employer found out the the cause of his E.R. visit. Finally, I told him he could use my name, I.D., and medical insurance card (FRAUD!). He at last agreed, and we arrived at the E.R. about 4 am.. He sat side-saddle on the car seat, putting most his weight one butt cheek. Once there, the doctor tried to extract it for only a few minutes before announcing that he would need surgery to remove it. My boyfriend freaked (!), put on his clothes and fled out of the emergency room. He thanked me profusely and insisted that I go home as he had a very important business meeting to attend that morning. He decided he would wait it out and 'pray about it'. It was about 8 am when I finally got home. Well, apparently God listened because about 8 hrs later he called to tell me that he had passed the dildo during a very painful bowel movement. Weeks later I got a bill from the hospital for a $50 co-pay, which he happily re-imbursed me for. Due to the long distance, we eventually drifted apart as time went on, but not before he had secured for himself a softer dildo that had a rope pull extending from the bottom of it :) This all happened about 10 yrs ago and I've gotten a lot of mileage out of that story, telling and re-telling it at most every cocktail party or gay gathering I show up to.

That is indeed a crazy for love story. I think you should win one...just my opnion though!

I started seeing someone two weeks before I moved overseas. I thought it would just be a fun two weeks and then that would be that. Well, that wasn't just that. Three weeks after getting to Europe I bought a last-minute super expensive plane ticket back home and begged for my old job back and tried to figure out how to get back the stuff I had shipped.

Okay, well, not exactly. I did buy a last-minute super expensive plane ticket back home after only a couple weeks but I only stayed a week. My job moved me overseas and it wasn't something I could just quit. The week was amazing, though, and we're still together except for the ocean between us. We're still working on that one.

When I was young I lived in a small town in northern lower Michigan. If you hold out your left hand as though you were Diana Ross singing “Stop! In the name of love”, my hometown is about an inch down from the tip of your middle finger (Unless you have prodigious hands, in which case I envy your lover). My point is that there weren’t many gay people that I was aware of in the late seventies who were boyfriend material in such a small town. There were two florists, Quelle surprise, who were in their forties who were gay, but again, not exactly boyfriend material. And before anyone dare call me ageist, I did “sleep” with both of them. More than once. (I have always relied upon the kindness of…older gentlemen.)

So upon an early graduation from high school, I fled Dogpatch and flew to Los Angeles. I knew San Fran was a gay mecca, but that seemed like too much peer pressure for one backwoods boy from God’s Handprint. And yes, within a month I found the love of my life. About four years older, a California native, witty, great sense of style and good taste in music.

And then we were in a very serious car accident. He broke his pelvis and I smashed my skull. My parents flew in from Michigan and brought me home to recuperate. It took more than a year to recover.

We wrote each other, gooey, saccharin laden, stomach turning proclamations of undying love. Not long after, he paid for my return ticket to LA. After a week of wonderful dates and heartfelt talks, he had a process server hand me legal documents in order that he could sue my insurance company for money. Even though he admitted driving the night of the accident, he later recanted upon learning that I had no memory due to scrambled brains. It wasn’t me, it was him, he said. He wanted more money.

So much for true love in the land of palm trees and wild fires.

After that second trip to LA, (needless to say that my skin burns easily in the California “son”) I fell in love with a raven haired beauty in Detroit. A six pack abdomen (back in the day before they became a dating prerequisite), witty, and could he could tear up the dance floor when It’s Raining Men hit the speakers. I was past smitten. He played Angels Bofill’s Tonight I Give In in his candlelit apartment a week later, telling me “This is our song”, then we screwed like bunnies. It was love, I tell you! LOVE! Until I found out I was one of seven pretties who were also giving in tonight. It may have been raining men, but I wasn’t going to wallow in a mud puddle.

The motor city is not all its revved up to be after all.

Feeling more jaded than a Shanghai Buddha, I moved to Lansing. It was one of those, “…Try Dubrovnik dear, before you go home…” moments. In the upper floor of the apartment I rented I discovered a lovely gay couple. Well, lovely by all accounts. Their relationship was a tad rocky. So being the good little boy with Midwestern values, I became a home wrecker and took the better of the two. Clearly not one of my finer moments. But I was in love with Dan, who was witty (which of them weren’t?), who taught me the finer aspects of opera, theatre, and how to smoke weed out of a ten inch black ceramic bong that held ice water in its balls. Who could ask for more? Not me. But then he had the infamous, “I’m so happy to have met a good friend like you” speech and moved to Denver. I wasn’t just crushed, I was steamrolled.

Defeated, I moved back to Dogpatch.

I got a job waiting table in the local Pizza Hut (I figured I had little self respect left in the tank to play with). On my twenty first birthday (November 13th, 1963 for all you nosy parkers) a dear friend of mine invited me out to the Holiday Inn bar to celebrate. (I told you, small town, not classy.) Unbeknownst to me she invited a new acquaintance of hers whom she suspected was gay, but wasn’t sure. I flirted a little, occasionally bumping my foot with his (Oh for God’s sake, YES!, I was playing footsies with him). He drove me home. I wasn’t sure he was gay. My under the table two step had been largely one sided. Having been thrice burned, I wasn’t exactly feeling brave. We sat in the driveway not saying much (He was scared, I was shy, he was nervous, So was I). I suddenly lost my nerve, said goodnight and ran into the house. I was upset with myself, but better upset than make a fool of myself.

Then he started showing up at the restaurant, just for coffee and to smoke a couple of cigarettes. Four or five times before New Year’s Eve. Really? Who goes to Pizza Hut for the coffee and sparking repartee?

He did, apparently. I found out that he was the son of a preacher (Bonus! You know how those boys are don’t ya!), and that he lived a few houses down from my family home. On New Year’s Eve the ball dropped, in so many more ways that one. In my small apartment bedroom we made love, and yes I had the romantic sense to light candles and not burp or fart. I loved him. And he loved me. Sitting afterward in bed, as corny as it sounds, I sang him one of my all time Judy favorites, The Boy Next Door.

I literally went to Los Angeles, Detroit and Lansing only to find that I loved the boy next door. Sure, I could have sung Ring Them Bells, but how unromantic and anticlimactic.

It has been more than 26 years now. He’s not the boy next door anymore. He’s the man next to me in bed. And I still love him. And he still loves me. Warts and all.

The contest is now closed. Look for the winners later today.