Every time you think that contemporary music has hit a new low (Steven Tyler recording a country album, for instance) remember, there have been worse ideas. Not much worse, but still…

It probably won’t surprise you when I say that a staggering amount of research goes into a typical Dogs on Drugs post. And by staggering, I mean almost none. Not quite none, of course. Sometimes I have to drink a lot of beer and spend inordinate amounts of time on YouTube. Sure, that sounds like fun but believe me, it’s really hard to pull this off at work. The last time I got caught, I was told in no uncertain terms that my job as a school bus driver requires that I remain sober and watch the road. At the same time! Jesus, I didn’t get a philosophy degree to put up with this bullshit. Continue reading

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

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. Continue reading

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. Continue reading