I don’t know about you, but if this summer were over today, it wouldn’t be a moment too soon. As if the worst environmental disaster, a crappy economy, and one of the hottest Julys on record weren’t enough to endure, we also had the World Cup.

And it wasn’t just any World Cup, but a World Cup replete with the incessant, insidious droning of vuvuzelas. Seriously, those things make waterboarding seem like a spa treatment.

Honestly, this summer sucked royally. Thanks to BP, I’ve had to stay on the serious tip far too long without a break for silliness. So now that the oil is no longer gushing into the gulf and a permanent plug via relief well appears imminent, I’m taking this opportunity to indulge in a little overdue summer frivolity.

Let’s start with this issue’s cover. Yeah, I know: finally, one about something other than the oil catastrophe.

In case you haven’t heard, Reggie Bush may have to give back his Heisman Trophy because of NCAA rules violations that occurred at USC during his senior year as a Trojan. The school has preemptively given back its copy of the most coveted individual award in collegiate athletics. Ergo, the missing Heisman on his mantelpiece.

I also figured most folks are like me and starved for some football, so I decided to give them a cover to whet their appetite. Yes, there’s Arena Football to watch during the NFL offseason, and the Canadian Football League kicked off its regular season early last month, but those brands of football are like methadone. Sure, they might ease a football addict’s pain a little bit, but they simply can’t give us that feeling of gridiron euphoria like the real thing.

The cover is also designed to whet the appetite of guys who, like the Saints Pro Bowl running back, are fans of Kim Kardashian and her larger-than-life rear end. While we haven’t necessarily had any trouble moving copies of Red Shtick as of late, having her epic posterior on the cover certainly can’t hurt our circulation. It has powers that can be described as nothing short of hypnotic.

For instance, before the Saints won the Super Bowl, I, along with almost every other Saints fan, would get so aggravated with Bush whenever he ran laterally, like he did in college, before being tackled for yet another three-yard loss. We were stupefied that, after several years in the league, he still hadn’t figured out that he couldn’t outrun defenders on Sunday like he did back at Southern Cal.

I kept waiting for the team to put giant posters of Kardashian on the walls of the Superdome behind each end zone. If that wouldn’t get him to start running north-south, nothing would.

It could have also been an awesome marketing opportunity for Kardashian, as well. She could have started licensing her image for life-size posters that stick to the wall, just like the ones Fathead sells. She could have sold millions! I even had a brand name for the company: Phatass.

Alas, Reggie and Kim broke up after the Saints won the Super Bowl. She’s apparently hoping she can bring the same Kim K. badonkadonk luck to her current boyfriend, Austin Miles, and his much-despised Dallas Cowboys.

Now, while we’re poking fun at her for merely being a trophy, an object to be coveted by millions and flaunted by one, in all honesty, she’s much more than that. She’s a source of inspiration for countless young women, even for those who need no inspiration at all, like children of wealthy, famous, and talented Hollywood stars.

Case in point: Montana Fishburne, the 19-year-old daughter of Laurence Fishburne. Instead of submitting acting reels, attending auditions, or even leeching off her dad’s success, young Montana (aka “Chippy D”) will use a sex tape to break into showbiz. Her role model? You guessed it.

“I’ve watched how successful Kim Kardashian became and I think a lot of it was due to the release of her sex tape,” Fishburne explained.

She’s even using the same adult film company that distributed Kardashian’s tape, Vivid Entertainment, to handle the release of her self-titled video, which is due out August 18.

While Kardashian did rocket to fame virtually overnight after her sex tape went public, unlike Kardashian, Fishburne is not vehemently arguing that her tape was stolen or illegally obtained. Also, Kardashian shot her tape with rapper Ray J, her boyfriend at the time. Fishburne, on the other hand, was filmed having sex with veteran porn actor Brian Pumper. That’s right, I said “Pumper.”

Now, keep in mind that this girl is the daughter of one of the most successful actors of our time. Her dad is Morpheus, for Neo’s sake!

Laurence Fishburne is like the James Earl Jones of this generation. CBS even saw fit to have him fill the void left by the most popular actor on their most popular TV show, CSI.

What on earth could compel her to essentially become a porn star?

Like I said: Kim’s ass is spellbinding … even for women.

Whatever her motivation, Fishburne’s foray into adult entertainment just further proves my assertion that the best way to guarantee that your daughter becomes a porn star is to give her a geographically based name. Whether it’s Montana, Cheyenne, Sierra, or China, such a moniker will significantly increase the likelihood that your daughter will eventually be seen doing less-than-savory acts by thousands of people.

Speaking of obscenity and whores, I can’t pass on commenting on the circus that is the Mel Gibson tapes. It’s been one of the few bright spots in this otherwise gloomy summer.

Gibson’s romantic interest, and the mother of his youngest daughter, Russian-born musician Oksana Grigorieva, recorded several phone calls with him. She claims she did so out of fear of Gibson. By what we’ve heard on the tapes released by Radaronline.com, she seems to have had good reason to be afraid.

I won’t go into detail about the various tapes. If you haven’t heard the profanity-laced, misogynistic recordings yet, you can listen to them on the internet. Be forewarned, though: Gibson’s rants would make Andrew “Dice” Clay red with embarrassment and Sam Kinison green with envy.

Probably my favorite part is the nine seconds of repeated heavy panting in the middle of the second tape. (Yes, there are several of them, and they’re numbered.) The almost exaggerated breathing reminded me of whenever Marvin the Martian became “very angry indeed” with Bugs Bunny on Saturday morning cartoons.

Of course, Marvin’s anger was hilarious because, no matter how many times he threatened to blow up the Earth (because it was blocking his view of Venus), we all knew he’d never follow through on his threat. Warner Brothers knew that would be bad for business.

With Gibson, however, he seems like the kind of guy you should take at face value when he says “You need a f—king bat in the side of the head” and “I’ll put you in a f—king rose garden.” He may not be a cartoon character, but he’s definitely “Looney Tunes.”

In the wake of the release of the recordings, many have said they’ll never see another Mel Gibson movie ever again. While I pretty much fall in that category, there is one movie I’d like to see made: Passion of the Christ 2010.

It wouldn’t take much to make it. All they’d need to do is dub the audio of the original with clips from Grigorieva’s recordings of the Christlike Gibson.

For instance, when the woman caught in the act of adultery is brought before Jesus by the Pharisees in a lame attempt to ensnare Him in a catch-22, instead of saying, “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” the Son of God could say, “You know how to f—king push my buttons.”

Afterward, when everyone else leaves in shame and she crawls to Jesus’ feet, instead of instructing the woman to “Go and sin no more,” He’d tell her, “If you get raped by a pack of n—ggers, it’ll be your fault.”

Later, instead of Pontius Pilate symbolically washing his hands before reluctantly authorizing Jesus’ crucifixion, he would lustfully exclaim, “I want Jew blood on my hands!”