Have you ever used Siri, the iPhone assistant, to give you travel directions? I usually don’t have to because I live in Phoenix, which is laid out in a giant grid, making it almost impossible to get lost. If you lose your bearings, you just pick a direction and drive until you find a road you recognize or an Alzheimer’s patient driving a giant Cadillac runs you off the road and into a Taco Bell, which is pretty much going where you’re going to wind up anyway if you’re stupid enough to drive in Phoenix. Continue reading

I have a love affair with local commercials. That’s not to say that this love affair has been consummated, of course. That would be perverted, and wrong, and would likely result in my junk becoming mangled inside a DVD player which hurts like a motherfucker. Or so I’ve heard. Ahem. Continue reading

As I’ve mentioned in the not too distant past, my body has been acting weird on me lately. This has caused me to be exposed to Health Care, which has been noticeably deficient in caring for my health in that they have no fucking clue what is wrong with me. And because they have no clue what is wrong with me, they’re afraid that I won’t pay the bill unless they come up with something, and so the doctor came in to the examination room recently and told me that I have high cholesterol. (And yes, I’m fully aware that any pretense that I am “young” and “with it” flies directly out the window once I start writing about my cholesterol level. After I get done writing this, I’m going to move to Boca Raton.) Continue reading

If God has a plan for each and every creature on this green planet, then He must have put pigeons here for me to throw buckets of flaming gasoline on, because that’s where things are headed right about now. I have had it with fucking pigeons. Continue reading

Women, for some strange reason, have this thing about fucking rock stars. It baffles, me, but it is undoubtedly true. The fact that Billy Joel has ever been laid proves my point. Billy Joel is so ugly that if he was a car wash attendant women wouldn’t let him pet their dog. But put him behind a piano with a large wad of cash in his wallet, and the panties hit the floor. Un-fucking-believable. Continue reading

No doubt you’ve all read about the recent excommunication of LA Clippers owner Donald Sterling, who went from being a respected NBA owner to worse than Hitler faster than you can say fried chicken and watermelon. That he was unmasked by his younger, minority girlfriend, who loved him enough to take his money, but not quite enough to keep his loonball racist rants out of the press only serves to prove that the entire incident was shady and awkward from beginning to end, and the only real winner was ESPN, who got to convert their corporate moral outrage into ratings so that they can increase the amount of money they set aside to send dick pics to female interns. Continue reading

I haven’t been posting a lot lately since my medical issues began taking a turn for the weird. What started off as garden variety back pain suddenly morphed into a bunch of weird symptoms that had me running back and forth to the doctor’s office, I suspect because “take these and see me in two weeks” is medical jargon for “I don’t know what the fuck that is, and hopefully if I send you away you’ll die before coming back and I won’t have to deal with this.” You think I’m being paranoid, but I’m pretty sure that health care providers aren’t supposed to yell “Dead man walking!” when you leave the examination room. Continue reading

Living as I do, in Arizona, I all too frequently run across people who are prejudiced against Mexicans, specifically illegal immigrants. Their most common complaint is that “they come over here and take all of our jobs!” I don’t think that’s accurate, actually. They’re not taking all the jobs. I mean, I don’t see a lot of Mexican brain surgeons hanging out outside of hospitals or anything. It’s not like some guy with a pickup truck and a brain tumor is going to drive by and begin haggling for discount brain surgery. But I can understand how if your job was to hang out in front of Home Depot for money that you’d feel threatened because, yeah, the Mexicans have got that angle motherfucking covered. Continue reading

Usually when things go missing in your home, there’s a simple and prosaic explanation: Socks coming out of the dryer cling to larger articles of clothing, car keys get pushed or fall behind larger objects, and the television remote becomes wedged between couch cushions, or if you happen to live in Milwaukee, rolls of fat. Even if it might take a while to locate these missing items, you don’t exactly need Sherlock Holmes to figure out why they disappeared in the first place. But from time to time some things go missing for which there is no rational explanation. For instance, I had a case of beer in my fridge last Friday, and I woke up at noon the next day, they were gone. I asked my neighbors if they might know where they had gone, but they were mad at me for some unknown reason, or maybe they were just preoccupied trying to paint over the giant “Led Zeppelin Rules!” someone had spray painted on the side of their house in 15 foot letters. The point I’m trying to make is that my neighbors need to lighten the fuck up. If I find any of those beers, maybe I’ll offer them a couple. Continue reading

It used to be that when you had a medical issue that needed immediate attention, you headed down to your local Urgent Care facility where they placed you in the Patient Aging Area, and you were left there for five or six hours. This was done so that, on the off chance that you didn’t have anything wrong with you in the first place, prolonged exposure to your fellow patients would ensure that by the time you got to see a doctor, you at least had something wrong with you, and you weren’t wasting the doctor’s valuable time. The doctor would then tell you that there was “something going around”, give you some antibiotics, and send you home, tremendously relieved that you weren’t terribly sick unless, of course, you went to Urgent Care with an arrow sticking out of your neck, in which case they maybe gave you some Tylenol with Codeine to keep you happy enough not to sue. Continue reading