When I was young, I spent a lot of time in the woods. I lived in semi-rural Illinois, and so there were a lot of woods to be had. It wasn’t like Siberia or anything, with 5,000 miles of trees separating every couple of vodka-swilling drunks, but pretty much everywhere you looked, there was at least a small grove of trees, and as kids who lived in an era that didn’t have video games, they served as the backdrop for a large portion of our youth. We explored the woods, built tree-houses in them, and later on, in our teenage years, we used them as cover to get higher than Jesus. Man, did we like getting high in the woods. Continue reading

It’s no secret that I’m a fan of bad local commercials, and I’ve often posted some of the more memorable ones, such as the 80’s shitfest that is the Moo & Oink commercial, or the gloriously unhinged commercial for a foundation repair company that features a third rate Elvis impersonator on mescaline. But nothing short of a full frontal lobotomy could have prepared me for the awesomeness that is the 70’s Carpeteria Guy. Continue reading

I was discussing the movie Cast Away at work the other day, because that’s what I do at work: Discuss fifteen year old movies. Oh sure, I’m paid to do other things, but who has time to do boring shit like perform brain surgery when you urgently need to find out what was in the FedEx package that Tom Hanks never opened? (Just kidding about the brain surgery thing. I’m not a surgeon, and in fact have several prank-related restraining orders in place to prevent me from coming within 1,000 yards of an ongoing medical procedure.) Continue reading

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. Continue reading

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. Continue reading

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.) Continue reading