If you’ve ever bellied up to the bar and really tied one on, you know that one of the most terrifying things you can ever do is pass out in front of your friends. This is because your friends are drunken reprobates, and also because the urge to fuck with someone who has passed out is almost overwhelming, especially when that person was acting like a total jackhole just fifteen minutes earlier. Oh, you say you have the world’s biggest cock? All right, then let’s just burn your pants in the street so everyone at the bar can confirm your claim. What’s that? You’re not objecting? Ok, then, here we go! Continue reading

A couple of months ago, I mentioned that once a month I pay another woman to give me physical pleasure. And my wife is ok with it, because the same woman physically pleasures my wife too. Alas, while this may have been the opening for an awesome letter to Penthouse Forum (“I never thought it would happen to me, but…”), it is actually a description of the massage situation in our house. I decided that since we have to lug the fucking kids around while they are in the throes of sugar seizures and whatnot, we should have some way of working out the kinks, relieving the stress, and being away from them in a sound-proof room for an hour, and so we splurged and signed up for monthly massages. Continue reading

It’s funny how my kids are familiar with the entire Santa Claus mythology, yet they could give a flying fuck about where the Easter Bunny comes from. They know all about the North Pole, Mrs. Claus, their sex slaves elves, the reindeer, and any of a million details related to Christmas, but nothing about the Easter Bunny. I asked my three year old, “Where does the Easter Bunny come from?” He looked at me as if I was a mental patient, threw up his arms and said, “I don’t know!” exactly the same way you would say it if I asked you how many purses Lindsay Lohan has. They really don’t give a rat’s ass about the Easter Bunny, just as long as that fucker makes with the candy. Continue reading

Ok, giggle all you want about the incongruous name of the “diet candy” in this commercial. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. For instance, guys, if you ever feel the urge to take a picture of your wife while uttering the words, “Gotta get a shot of this! You’re eating less!” you are about to experience a pole lamp to the groin. The more you know!

I remember the first time I ever watched Jerry Springer. My brains rolled out of my ears and made a break for the door. That show was fucking ultra-stoopid and catered to the worst and basest aspects of humanity. You felt like a horrible person for watching it, and then hated yourself even more for watching it again the next day. I did this for a week before I reached my limit, and in that week I was introduced to husbands with secret boyfriends, sex addicted thirteen year olds, people scared by socks, and all kinds of other wacky shit. At least the week I can never get back had a bit of color, that’s about all I can say for it.

But there was an almost zen-like appeal to the show in its simplicity. A simple genius. You may not be interested by a kindergarten teacher, and you may not be interested in a whore (if you’re not employing her), but a kindergarten teacher that whores on the side is undeniably interesting, and Jerry Springer knew it. He’d set the stage, play the straight man, and let the tranny chips fall where they may.

It’s April, so in most of the United States, snow is done for the winter. Not Chicago, though. I grew up in Chicago, and April is the month when Mother Nature likes to fuck with your head. “It’s 80 out! Isn’t it beautiful? Go ahead, take the snow tires off of your car! Start getting your lawn ready! Spring is here and Summer is on the way! … … … MUWAHAHAHA!!! 18 inches of snow, TAKE THAT YOU STUPID FUCKING HUMANS!” Every fucking year. Continue reading

Ugh, super weird day today, and it has wiped me out. Rather than regale you with reheated dick jokes, let’s continue on with our theme from yesterday, the police.

My parents raised me to respect police officers, to recognize that they are dedicated to protecting the rest of us, often at the risk of their health and very lives. That lesson has stuck with me to this day. I honor those who serve, especially my neighbor who is a detective and came in handy on the evening of my thirty-second birthday when the two of us, along with 7 1/2 drunken friends got pulled over coming out of the desert in a pickup truck with an M16 assault rifle and two open cases of beer. Protect and serve, indeed. He protected my ass from going to jail, and then served me a beer when all was said and done. God bless the men and women in blue! Continue reading

When I was in college, I once found myself trapped in an attic with a roommate while an enraged lesbian tried to break in so she could kick our asses. I alluded to this story once before, but to recap, I leased a room in a house along with ten other complete strangers. As I was having a cigarette in the living room, I struck up a conversation with an attractive young woman in her early twenties, one of my roommates. She introduced herself as Mary Pat, and after exchanging pleasantries, I noticed that she wrinkled her nose at my cigarette smoke. “I’m sorry, is my smoke bothering you?” I asked. She assured me that it was not, as long as I didn’t blow it directly at her. Now I am nothing if not polite, so I put out the cigarette entirely and we had a nice chat lasting at least fifteen minutes. Continue reading