This is the kind of shit that makes me feel that, hey, forest fires aren’t so bad after all! Especially if these retards are in the forest at the time.

If you’ve never read the excellent blog, A Beer For The Shower, the name alone is enough to tell you why I like it: Simply put, drinking before noon kicks ass. It puts a smile on your face, a wobble in your walk, and gives you the courage to face the day, to say nothing of the angry neighbors who will demand to know why you drop kicked their Yorkie down the block. Oh fuck, I just read the tag line to the blog, which reads, “After a long hard day, sometimes it’s just nice to step into the shower, sip a beer, and let the water wash away the shame and regret.” So that doesn’t make it sound like it’s about secret morning drinking at all. I am fucking disillusioned. Continue reading

I was at Toys R Us just now, and the strangest fucking thing happened. First of all, the place was PACKED. There were no unused carts in the store, and when you walked in and realized it, you had to turn around and go into the parking lot in search of one. So when you pulled up and started approaching the store, it looked like the fucking place was on fire: People streaming out of the building from both sets of doors, some with purchases, some without. And of course there were kids crying, which just added to the effect. And as I walked up to see what the problem was, I had a strange thrill. What if some guy had finally snapped in a Toys R Us and totally lost it? I mean, braining people with baseball bats and stabbing employees with Tinkertoys kind of losing it. Wow! And then I got in there and realized it was just a lack of carts, and I felt kind of bummed. Continue reading

Christmas used to be so easy at my house. My wife and I are always happy to get anything (or even nothing) on Christmas, and the kids used to be more interested in the wrapping paper than they were in the things the wrapping paper surrounded. This was awesome because we could use the opportunity to get the kids things they needed in addition to to things they wanted: They needed pajamas, they wanted to chew on packing peanuts, and a good time was had by all. Continue reading

Anyone who read this week’s Weekly Hypothetical will be glad to know that I haven’t dropped the subject. Research is ongoing, and if there is a change in my choice of potential animal-kingdom-friends-with-benefits-selected-under-duress I will let you know immediately. You will be glad to know that the hippo has really, really, really been scratched off of my list. Jesus, they’re almost as bad as my daughter.

You know how in horror flicks the protagonist will walk into, say, a dark and deserted castle with his vacuous dimwit of a barely dressed blonde girlfriend, and then he’ll pause and say, “It’s quiet in here… Too quiet” and then out come the flying blades of death, reducing everyone to a quivering hunks of meat? Well, you don’t really appreciate that line until you have kids. Kids ALWAYS make noise. Even when they’re sleeping. “I can’t sleep!” “I had an accident!” “I need water!” “Daddy, let me out of the attic!” And when my daughter actually decides to get her annual five minutes of sleep, she snores louder than a fucking leaf blower. So when your spouse turns to you and says, “It’s quiet in here… Too quiet” your child is doing one thing, and one thing only: Fucking your shit up. Continue reading

I am going to have to ask our SoCal correspondents Vesta and Juice to weigh in here. Really? REALLY?

Incidentally, Vesta and the Juice would make an excellent title for a terrible buddy cop drama on TNT. You ladies get cracking on that.

I saw a wonderful example of Christmas spirit today, and thought I’d share it with everyone. As I was driving home from work, I passed a hotel parking lot and in this parking lot was a woman holding a bunch of bags, trying to get into her car. On the other side of the car was a young girl, approximately 12 or 13 years old. I could tell, as I was driving by, that the woman was agitated about something. Finally, I guess she’d had enough: She slammed the bags down onto the wet pavement while shouting “GODDAMMIT ASHLEY!” at the top of her lungs. Then she got in the driver’s seat and put her head against the wheel and started sobbing. And I thought to myself, “That little girl is a fucking bitch, making her mother flip out in public like that!” Continue reading

Corporate holiday parties. Holy shit, do those things fucking blow. I’m not talking about the small company get together at someone’s house. Those can be fun, provided the host is an easy going sort and likes to drink. (But have one of those hosted by a strict non-drinker or someone who sells Amway on the side and you may as well slit your wrists with one of the plastic, serrated knives by the appetizers because if your life isn’t over now, you’ll wish it was by the time the party is done.) No, I’m talking about the Corporate holiday party that was scheduled when the bi-quarterly employee satisfaction survey indicated a 0.3% drop in employee morale, and the committee that was formed in response decided to punish everyone who lowered the corporate morale score by forcing them to attend the lamest fucking party of all time. Continue reading

Two raver cats, post medication, post surgery.