I was in the grocery store today when I noticed the guy in front of me was buying two things: A fifth of whiskey and a pack of gum. It’s admirable, in a strange way. Here’s a guy who fucking owns his secret drinking. “Sure, I get whore-walloping drunk by 2:00 PM, but I don’t need to hide that fact from you.” I’m surprised he wasn’t buying a lampshade too. Continue reading

As I’ve mentioned before, there are advantages to having your kids get a little older. When you first see them they’re adorable, tiny little miracles of nature, and you treasure them, and love them, and thank your lucky stars for them every day of your life until they have a massive Stage V diaper blowout at the DMV, and then it occurs to you that it’d be nice when they outgrew the stage of life that requires you to carry a fucking Hazmat bag with you wherever you go. Continue reading

I once spent a night in Oklahoma. A friend and I were moving from Chicago to Tucson, and on the drive down we chose to spend the night in a small motel outside of Tulsa. The “town” was called Wagon Wheel, and it consisted of the motel, a gas station, and a house where the owner of the motel and the owner of the gas station lived together. Wagon Wheel is no longer on the map, probably because the two inhabitants divorced and Wagon Wheel was divided into two new towns, “Fuck You, Earl”, and “You’re a Money Grubbing Whore, Janice!” Continue reading

I’ve got a weird week in front of me: I’m working tonight, I’ve got my son’s baseball game to attend tomorrow night, Halloween is Thursday night, daughter’s choir concert on Friday night, cooking, cleaning, blah, blah, blah, nobody cares, Greg. But it does mean that I have less time to think about what I write on this gigantic collection of dick jokes that I call a blog. So instead of a well-thought out post with a point and other niceties (such as sentences with word order correct), you’re more likely to get a strange, stream-of-consciousness post with little or no socially redeeming qualities. Kind of like MTV. Continue reading

I read an article over the weekend about how the ratings for the World Series this year are low, and I thought to myself, “Well of course they’re low. It’s baseball in October.” I mean, I like baseball, but it’s essentially a reason to drink beer outdoors. Once the warm weather passes, sitting in the stands shirtless and drunk isn’t quite as much fun anymore, so savvy sports drunkards lose interest in baseball and begin attending NBA games sans pants. Or so I imagine. I’m still recovering from an entire summer of drinking beer in the sun, and sometimes my thinking sports grab finest petticoat. Continue reading

Sunday morning, 10:00 AM, and we were waiting in line at a tool booth on I-90, As we approached the toll booth, Octopus’s Garden came on the stereo. That was not the first time we’d heard the song that weekend. Just two days prior, the song had come on and we agreed that it was a stupid, throw-away song, pretty much like any song Ringo had anything to do with. Now, however, tripping in an old Dodge Colt on the interstate, the ripply background vocals and special effects made Octopus’s Garden undeniably the Best Song of All Time, a title we bestowed upon many more songs before we reached home that afternoon. Squatch pulled a dollar bill out of his pocket to pay the toll. “Hey,” I laughed, “I dare you to stick that dollar in your crack and hand it to that bitch ass first.” We had a volcanic giggle-fit in front of the unimpressed tool booth attendant. Continue reading

My daughter came home with a case of strep throat last week, which of course meant that she soon passed it on to her brother, and then me. This is because children are Keds-wearing bags of contagion. Syria missed a real opportunity: They didn’t have to attack anyone with sarin. They could’ve just sent my kids in there and within a week the war would’ve been called on account of sore throats. Continue reading

I was at work today, calmly minding my own business when an alert on my news feed interrupted me in the rudest way possible: “Hall & Oates nominated for Rock and Roll Hall of Fame”. What a kick in the fucking teeth. I mean, why don’t you just break all the bad news at once, why don’t you? “Planet Doomed: Last Days of Earth to Feature Million Degree Temperatures, Glee Marathon”. Fuck. Continue reading

One day in the distant future, my grandchildren will ask me, “Grandpa, where were you when you heard the news?” And I will, of course, ignore them because I will be too busy watching three-way insertion porn on Fox. Yes, that’s the future of Fox. Don’t act surprised. (But because it is Fox, it will be conservative insertion porn, with no migrant workers or welfare mothers involved.) Continue reading

If, despite all the therapy and post-traumatic stress medication, you still remember a post that I wrote in January, you’ll no doubt remember that I pronounced Olathe, Kansas the murder capital of the United States. This shocking fact is 100% true and well documented, which is doubly surprising considering the fact that I made it up. Still, that wasn’t going to prevent me from trying to make a buck or two, and so I offered the Olathe Bureau of Tourism a deal: Pay me a lot of money, and I’ll stop fucking up your tourism by saying things like, “7 out of every 10 hotel beds in Olathe, Kansas are infested with HIV-positive bedbugs.” Continue reading