More bullshit today: Work, the dentist, picking up groceries, cooking dinner, and moving my daughter’s furniture into her new room. At the rate I’m burning out, when it comes time to paint my sons’ room this weekend, fuck it, this is how I’m going to approach it:
Sorry, I’ll see if I can’t save a little energy to post tomorrow.
I have had a hell of a busy weekend, so no Sunday night rambling for me. I’m going to get straight to the point. Remember when my daughter smeared shit all over the walls in my house? Well, we’re giving her a chance to do it in a different room. We’re moving her into my six year old’s room, and my six year old will then move into my daughter’s room which he will share with his three year old brother. They may very well never go to sleep again. And although my daughter is twelve, and one would think unlikely to begin smearing shit on things again, parenthood has taught me its core axiom: If it’s going to fuck you up and make your life miserable, kids will do it. But what the fuck, we hadn’t huffed paint fumes in a few years, so we went ahead and started the move. Continue reading
What better way to celebrate the independence of our country* than to listen to some country music? What’s more American than country music? Nothing, that’s what. So kick back and enjoy… Hey! What the fuck? What the fucking fuck?
This video, incidentally, was brought to my attention by long time friend and sporadic commenter B’Homey. One time (in college, naturally), him & I hopped into a dumpster and smoked a one hitter, just to say we had done it. That was how we rolled. (And how funny would it have been if a garbage truck had rolled up right then and we had to scramble out of there in order to avoid a trip to the dump? Three million. It would have been three million funny.)
We also once propped up a large amplifier in a window and pumped out the civil alert siren noise at top volume at 3:00 AM, scaring the shit out of an apartment building full of people who must have thought that the apocalypse was at hand. I still laugh at that one.
*If you happen to be un-American, the CIA will be with you shortly for assimilation/extermination. Sorry. Nothing personal.
Every four years we are treated to the Olympic games, and by “treated” I mean forced to watch 187 hours of people walking into a stadium wearing moronic clothing followed by fifteen straight days of women’s gymnastics coverage. This is because gymnastics is an event that is watched by women, and if there’s one thing that gives programming executives multiple, shuddering orgasms, it’s the idea of women getting really, really into sports. So they’ll do anything to keep women interested, running gymnastics non-stop and creating a stirringly emotional and entirely fictional backstory for everyone even remotely associated with the Olympics, including the guy who sells tickets to the loser events like the trampoline event. Continue reading
Ok, I know I’ve already spent some time railing against horrible intercom music being forced down my throat, but at the risk of sounding like a broken record I have to tell you about going grocery shopping today. Normally, I don’t even notice the music at the grocery store. In fact, my wife will sometimes say to me, “Hey! Listen! Do you hear what they’re playing?” and I can’t hear a damn thing. But today I could hear the music loud and clear, and as a result, I have a new rule: If your commercial establishment plays We Built This City loud enough for anyone to hear it, I am legally obligated to burn your store to the fucking ground. Continue reading
I spent some time today discussing hamburgers and other fast food abominations with a group of self-appointed experts in the field, when the topic of foreign McDonald’s menu items came up. I knew that the McDonald’s experience varied from country to country somewhat, and you could get a beer at McDonald’s in Germany, rice in Japan, or intestinal bleeding in Mexico, but I had no idea the wide range of oddball fucking products they have to offer. So come with me, if you will, on an educational, international, gastronomical journey that I like to call McWhatTheFuck? Continue reading
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’ve lost what few marbles I had to begin with. Well, let’s recount the facts here: First of all, my mail is missing. That much is true. In fact, my entire mailbox is missing. I woke up this morning to find my car parked where my mailbox used to be, keys in the ignition, floorboards littered with empty beer cans. For the life of me, I can’t remember when I went to bed last night, but I can’t imagine that it was later than 10:00, what with it being a weeknight and all. Since I woke up at noon, that means that anyone within twelve hours of Phoenix could have done this, but who? Ok, let’s get to work. It’s time to get all Sherlock Holmes on this motherfucker. Continue reading
What are doing here? It’s Friday! Shouldn’t you be out drinking shots of tequila from a stripper’s belly-button or something? Don’t tell me you’re… You’re at the office, aren’t you? I knew it! Why in the name of all that is holy are you at fucking work? Because of the money? The respect? The admiration? Well let me tell you something: The money’s not that great, the respect is of the begrudging variety, and you aren’t admired by coworkers for showing up, you’re admired for blowing off work and partying your ass off like you’re 23 again! Sigh. Continue reading
