Those of you who have been reading this blog for a while will know that I live in the Phoenix, AZ area renowned for our 350 days of sunshine a year, blistering summertime temperatures, and our annual influx of retirees cruising happily along at 35 miles per hour below the posted speed limit in the left hand lane, all the way to the grocery store where they will take one of the handicapped spots, of which there are seven million, forcing non-handicapped people to walk eight fucking miles to the store, so they can get to the meat section where they will park their cart and stand, staring at ground beef for approximately six hours. Yes, it’s happening again, seniors are inexplicably trying to prevent me from buying beef. Continue reading

As I’m busy celebrating the holidays with my family, I’ve turned over today’s post to my cousin Charlie who has been going through a rough patch lately. He has assured me, however, that he has turned a corner and is trying to do something positive with his life. And even though it terrifies me as a human being, I am his cousin and I will stand behind him and his decision to dedicate his life… to kids? Oh, good God, this can’t end well. – Greg Continue reading

I stopped by one of those quickie oil change places for lunch today, one whose name rhymes with “Iffy Lube”. I generally don’t do that, preferring to change my own oil. I do this not because I’m one of those studly kind of guys that can, say, replace a starter. Far from it. I’m not even sure where the starter is or what it looks like, just that, oddly enough, it’s not the part of the car you use when you actually start your car. No, I change my own oil because it’s one of the few things I know how to do with a car besides drive it, change the tire, and get laid in the back of it. So I do it myself because it’ll save me a few bucks and I’m fairly unlikely to rip myself off. I’m talking about changing the oil, not the getting laid part. Continue reading

I’m going to cut right to the chase with this week’s installment of Weekly Hypothetical. I just don’t have the energy to ramble on about random shit for several paragraphs before diving into some asinine question about something mondo-bizarro like fecal transplants. Yes, you read that right: Fecal transplants. There is a medical procedure where someone donates shit, and you put it in your pooper. I am not lying. 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

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 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

In Phoenix, you spend a huge chunk of the year wearing as little clothing as possible because it’s a mind-scorching 116 degrees out. If this sounds like a benefit to you, than you haven’t seen what raging obesity looks like in hot pants. Not a pretty sight. But everyone pretty much gets a pass because your wardrobe is limited to shorts, t-shirts, and (if you’ve been hitting the sauce) roller-disco outfits. Continue reading

For those of you who follow this blog and have somehow managed to avoid forcible incarceration in a room with rubber walls, it will come as no surprise to you that I am asking bands to make me sandwiches. That’s normal and expected behavior for me, and unless I am subject to forcible incarceration myself it will probably continue. One day I’m petitioning Congress to declare February 16th National Avocado In Your Pants Day, and the next day I’m asking all blind people to wear sombreros. That’s just how it goes. Sunrise, sunset. Continue reading

Hello, I’d like a moment of your time to discuss your job performance if that’s possible. I know, I know, it must seem that everyone wants to discuss your job performance sometimes. But that’s kind of why I want to discuss it with you. I understand that you’re working a job that you’re not all that crazy about, and you’re only doing it because you knocked up your ex-girlfriend and the judge said that you have to give her money or he’ll put you in jail so you can learn what it’s like to be the mommy for a change. I get that. But if you ever want to improve your situation in life, you need to hear this: A brain damaged chimpanzee on mescaline would do a better job than you’re doing right now, even if I were to smash its kneecaps with a sledge hammer. You suck donkey balls, dude. Continue reading