A Conversation

I'm going to have to write you up for toys all over the floor, dad.

This morning, my sons (six and eight) woke up early, as always, and went downstairs to fix themselves breakfast. Sometimes I go downstairs and join them, drowsing lazily on the couch for an hour or two, and other times I lie awake in bed and listen to them, which is fun because they don’t know I’m listening and I get to hear the things they talk about when they think they are alone, things such as, “Farts are hilarious!” They are six and eight, after all. Read more »

Phil Collins Can Eat An Economy Size Bucket Of Dicks

Satan, Satan don't you lose my number!

I was sitting at work today doing, you know, the usual: Dropping a quarter million hits of LSD into the office water cooler. Normal Thursday afternoon kind of stuff, right? When all of a sudden I became aware of the fact that dear friend, fellow blogger, and the winner of the 2003 Nobel Prize for Chemistry, the very Reverend Back It On Up 13 was under attack. And not a fun attack, either, like when your body is being attacked by the Rockin’ Pneumonia, the Boogie Woogie Flu, or even Reggae AIDS. No, this was a concerted attack by that most terrifying of enemies: Phil Collins fans. Well fuck all of you male-pattern baldness loving motherfuckers, because I am not going to just sit around while a friend is under attack. Read more »

Another Round Of Random Bullshit

Must... send... bees

As a professional writer, it is very important that I have a system to help me remember all of the wonderful and creative ideas that I have. For instance, the other day I had an idea to refer to myself as a professional writer and pretend that I have wonderful and creative ideas. Hahahaha, I know, hilarious, right? The fact of the matter is that I do not get paid for what I write, and as has been explained to me by law enforcement personnel, mailing a box of enraged hornets to Scott Baio is neither a wonderful, nor a creative idea. (Yeah, whatever Homeland Security guys. You’re just jealous because your best idea involved landing a job which entails looking for weapons in terrorist buttholes.) Read more »

Papua Don’t Preach

But I made up my mind, I'm eating my baby...

I got involved in a conversation today about how people like to spend their vacations. Some people like to spend them at home, some people like to go to a resort, and people like me like to spend them drunk in a ditch, apparently. I mean, what the fuck? One minute I’m leaving the office, looking forward to a four day weekend, the next minute I’m waking up on top of a pile of Shriners in a ditch. Again. Read more »

Dogs On Drugs: Revealed!


A few years ago, I contributed a post to another web site which I can no longer find, probably because my foul ramblings rendered the entire site unfit for human consumption. It happens. Anyway, in the intro to my post, the editor referred to me as “mysterious”, I guess because I maintain a certain level of anonymity in my online dealings. This, as it turns out, pisses people off. They’d greatly prefer that I provide the public with detailed and specific directions to my house so that when I print something they don’t like, such as “Oprah Winfrey uses live geese for tampons”, they can come over to my house and Do Something About It. Read more »

Caller ID

Yes, blue streaks in your hair totally makes you look 70 years younger, Cher.

I was sitting in a long and boring meeting this afternoon, the kind of meeting in which people compulsively pull out their phones to look at the time even though this only makes it worse. A watched pot never boils, and neither does a cell phone. Still, the cell phone does serve as a fun distraction. You can say, “Hmmm, let me look that up real quick,” and then play Stick Hero for ten minutes, and no one cares, probably because they’re playing Stick Hero too. Why we don’t all just stay home and play Stick hero and save everyone the bother of driving to work is beyond me. Read more »

Danger: Wet Cement

There. Now it's on the internet, so it has to be true.

I ran across some old fashioned finger-in-the-wet-cement artwork today, and I had to step back and admire it because it has been a while since I’ve seen that kind of thing. It used to be that if there was wet cement, there was a kid lurking nearby to quickly defile it. These days those same kids are posting nude celebrity pics, defacing corporate web sites, or hacking into Indian government servers and starting a regional thermonuclear conflict by making it appear as if the Indian Prime Minister just said that “Pakistan blows goats”. And so when I read the unknown artist’s words of wisdom, “Gosnell SUCKS” I immediately agreed. Yes! Fuck that guy! Or girl! Or whatever the fuck Gosnell is! The evidence is clearly in, Gosnell, and I am afraid that you suck. Case closed. Read more »

A Particularly Wholesome Circle Of Hell

The infamous city of Dis, which is vastly preferable to watching anything on ABC in the 1970's.

I often comment on the fact that during the 1970’s, when network television had a veritable monopoly on home entertainment, quality was… Well, how should I put this? Lacking. Quality was lacking, by which I mean I could, and sometimes do, take actual shits that are more entertaining than anything you would see during any random 4 hour span of programming. To this day, I’m puzzled by this fact. With valuable air time such a scarce commodity, surely only the finest entertainment would make the cut. But TV was so awful that (and I just looked this up) Hee-Haw was ranked as the 18th most popular TV show of that decade. Fucking Hee-Haw, where shirts and teeth were optional, but sister-diddling wasn’t. Read more »

An Important Message From The Reagans

Wow, I must’ve been high as fuck in the 80’s, because this isn’t how I remember things at all…

Of Mice & Men

Tongue-blackening taste!

I read an interesting scientific paper the other day because that is that is the type of thing that I do with my free time; I read scientific papers. Or at least that’s what I tell people, because people are narrow-minded and judgmental and if I tell them that I actually spend all of my free time drinking shoe polish and lurking in the plus size lingerie department at Walmart, they act as if they’re better than me, which is clearly bullshit because… Well, to be honest, I can’t think of a good way to end that sentence. But my point is, fuck those high-horse motherfuckers. They don’t bother me! Not as long as I’ve got another Kiwi and Coke at the ready. Read more »

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