I’m busy tonight because I’m making chili, which is our traditional meal for Halloween. Yeah, who am I fucking kidding, the traditional meal in our household is six pounds of semi-melted candy. But we make the chili anyway, and my wife and I eat it, even if the kids don’t. My killer chili recipe calls for 7 weird ass peppers, beer, coffee (really), 8 pounds of chuck roast, three million other ingredients and is so complicated that you need to have a PhD in physics to do it correctly. Plus, it takes 8 hours to cook. Think I’m going to do that the night before? If you said, “Fuck and No!” then you win a prize: A bowl of turkey chili, which only takes about 90 minutes. Continue reading

Anyone who knows me knows that I’ve got a thing for fucking with people semi-anonymously. Whether it’s over the phone, via email, or via offensive skywriting, if I feel that someone needs to be fucked with you can rest assured that I will do it. One time, in high school, a friend and I spent an entire afternoon getting baked and writing Dear Abby letters that were serious enough to be published, but silly enough that they provided our friends entertainment in the Chicago Tribune for months. That’s how I roll. Continue reading

My wife and I took our kids to some shitty pumpkin patch today. It’s in the middle of a major metropolitan area, and it is billed as a “farm”, although from what I could tell the only thing that it farms is money: Admission for adults is $3.00. Kids will run you $10.00. This is a pricing strategy known in the business as price-gouging bullshit. Here’s what you got for your admission: A hay-ride (a tractor pulling a trailer), a small pumpkin (kids only), access to a bouncy castle (again, kids only, which is a bunch of crap), and for a dollar you could buy a bag of carrots which you could then feed to goats. “Why are we paying to feed their animals?” my wife asked. The answer, of course, is that we’re parents. Continue reading

I noticed today that I had an awful lot of internet traffic the last couple of days. Five times as much, in fact, which was baffling because usually I have to violate some pretty major laws in order to get that much attention, and as far as I know I haven’t done anything like that in over a week. So I headed over to my Google Analytics site to see what’s what, and discovered that over 73% of my traffic the last couple of days was generated from a Google search on the phrase “God of the internet”. Really. All I can say is that it is about fucking time I got some goddamn recognition around here. You may now all bow before me. Go ahead, I’ll wait. Continue reading

I was driving to Home Depot the other day because I’m a guy, and that’s what guys do: We drive to Home Depot. We look around, find manly shit like auger bits and spackle, buy it, bring it home, then put it in the garage and have a beer. At least that’s what I do. My attitude towards home improvement products is that they should improve my home merely by coming in contact with it. If that doesn’t do the trick, clearly it’s because the home improvement products are defective. Fucking defective home improvement products. Piss me off so bad that I need another beer… Continue reading

When I was in college, some foolish company thought that they were really clever and decided to give me a credit card with a $500 limit. I immediately maxed it out on booze and rounds on a local par-3 golf course (where my friends and I often drank the booze). It was terrific fun, almost as fun as fucking with the credit card company when they began calling and demanding that I actually pay them. I would tell them that Greg was dead, he died in a tragic blimp accident, no he didn’t have any relatives, he was an orphan, etc. Sometimes my roommates would just hold the phone up and laugh at the poor bastard on the other end. “Hahaha, you stupid fucks! You give a credit card to a college student with outrageous rates and you expect him to pay you back? Morons! Hahahaha!!!” Continue reading

Do you remember the TV show Alice? Of course you don’t. That show is fucking ancient, and so it is only remembered by crusty old fucks like me who also remember doing the Lindy Hop and what it was like to get fellated by Amelia Earhart (the woman knew how to give a hummer, I’ll give her that). So let me give you a rundown: Some bitch with a kid decides to move to LA to become a singer because she’s a fucking idiot, but her car breaks down in Phoenix and she winds up working for 9 fucking years in a shit-hole diner with a cook who has more back hair then Ed Asner. Continue reading

I’m not a big fan of energy drinks, normally. I think they’re merely caffeine dressed up with whatever trendy chemicals some Madison Avenue assholes think will appeal to the average consumer. Trust me, if ground placenta became trendy, you’d be seeing cans of Rock Star for sale complete with umbilical cord. So for the most part I just drink coffee. It’s a hell of a lot cheaper, and I can be pretty sure that Chinese dissidents were not drowned in the vat it came out of. Continue reading

I often take a walk around the building at work after lunch. I’m one of those types of people that likes to walk while I think even though it’s the kind of thing that evolution is sure to stamp out pretty soon. One minute you’re deep in thought and think you’ve finally figured out the cure for ass cancer, the next minute you’re plastered to the grill of a Cadillac driven by an eighty year old who is late for bingo. Mental acuity and cardiovascular fitness don’t mean shit if you’re too stupid to watch where you’re going. Continue reading

I vividly remember asking my mom about death when I was a child. She told me the usual things parents say in that situation: Death is natural, everyone dies, that’s the way nature works, etc. Parents say these things to reassure their children because they know that if they’re honest with them, their kids would probably hurl themselves under the next school bus they see. “Holy shit, death is fucking scary! I knew this guy who was just walking down the street when, WHAM! A pit bull ran up and tore his nuts off. Bled out before anyone could even call 911.” You shouldn’t say this to your children. I know this now. (Sorry, honey! Daddy loves you!) Continue reading