The other day I asked my six year old what he wanted to be when he grew up. Parents love asking their kids this question because kids are fucking morons and when you ask them this question, they’ll invariably say something stupid like “I want to be Darth Vader!” and then you don’t feel so bad about your job which may be demeaning and doesn’t pay you nearly enough, but at least your boss doesn’t choke you from across the room. “I want to be the guy that sells hot dogs at baseball games,” answered my son. See what I mean? Continue reading

Is there anything worse than having a bad back? Of course there is. A rabid doberman could latch onto your junk, the Yeti could kidnap you and drag you back to his ice cave to become his concubine, or you could be stuck in a room with nothing but a TV permanently tuned to the CW. But having a bad back sucks ass in a major way. It’s been three days since I fucked my back up, and I’m still in assloads of pain. The only break I get is when the pain downgrades itself from blinding to severe for a few minutes, and even that doesn’t happen tall that often. Am I being a big baby? Fuck yes, I am. But if I don’t whine about my misery, who will? Continue reading

Those of you who read my post yesterday know that this New Year I will have to play a rousing game of Find A Metal Ball In A Pile Of Shit. Yes, my six year old swallowed a metal ball, and to make sure that it passes harmlessly I need to gather, inspect, and more than likely perform a home biopsy on his excrement. Worse yet, Child Protective Services informs me that arranging to put your child up for adoption after the 24th trimester is highly unorthodox and not likely to succeed. I have resigned myself to my fate. Continue reading

I had planned to use the first post of the new year to crown a winner of the Dick Loggins Contest in which one lucky reader would be rewarded for illustrating a penis dressed up as Kenny Loggins with something from the Official Dogs On Drugs Giant Bookcase of Crazy Shit, but that plan was thwarted by my six year old who took it upon himself to ring in the new year by swallowing a ball bearing. (If you’re new to this site and find yourself wondering about that contest, yes, it is a real contest, and no, I haven’t taken my meds in quite a while.) Continue reading

When you’re a parent, you learn to ready yourself for those inevitable panicky moments. You see your child take an awkward fall off of a swingset, you get a call from your kid’s school out of the blue, or you find a pound and a half of heroin in your daughter’s closet. (Luckily, it turned out she was just holding it for a friend. Whew!) You catch your breath, your heart skips a beat, and that familiar sinking feeling in your stomach sets in. It’s a terrible, sickening feeling, but luckily it goes away by the time your child turns thirty. Continue reading

Frank cracks me up. Did you hear a click? “NOOOOO!”

I looked at the weather forecast at work today and damn near fell out of my chair (from surprise, not drunkenness). We’ve got a 70% chance of precipitation tonight with a low of 32 degrees Fahrenheit. For those of you with brain damage (or on the metric system) that means one thing: Snow! Of course some of you are no doubt sick and fucking tired of snow (I’m looking at you, Buffalo!), but down here in Phoenix snow is rare enough that we enjoy it, especially since we don’t have to shovel it, remove it from our rooftops before it crushes us, or dig through it to find the frozen carcasses of loved ones. Continue reading

My two sons, four and six, like to wake up early. And by early, I mean they wake up at hours that I haven’t experienced since I was in college, and even then I only saw them through the bottom of a bottle. It’s not unheard of for them to wake up at 2:15 AM and loudly begin having Maximum Fun before storming into my room to demand that I allow them to go outside to play. This is what is known in parenting circles as bullshit. After a brief showdown during which I may or may not threaten to have Santa’s hands and feet cut off, my boys will settle down for upwards of thirty minutes before starting the process all over again. I could club retarded baby seals for a living and still make Santa’s Nice List just based on the fact that I haven’t once put my sons in leg irons (although I have frequently considered it). Continue reading

I fixed a toilet today. And when I say “fixed” I don’t mean I jiggled the handle or any of that pussy toilet-fixing shit. I disassembled the toilet into individual toilet molecules and put it back together again because I am a man, and that is what a man does: Fixes toilets and celebrates with seventeen beers. For my next trick, I”m going to show off my knowledge of sports by discussing inscrutable statistics, ogle a passing woman’s breasts, and if there’s any time left over I may scratch my ass and belch. Continue reading