When I used to live in Tucson, I had a friend who was the gullible sort. With a little bit of effort and a nonchalant manner, you could convince him of almost anything. Like the time I convinced him that I fucked Kylie Minogue. That sounds incredibly laughable, I know, but the fact of the matter is that she’s just slightly older than me. So when her name came up in a conversation and I casually mentioned I had slept with her, I was able to provide some realistic details that explained such a seemingly oddball coupling: I met her at a bar early on in her career while she was on tour, she hadn’t hit it big in the States yet, I had no idea who she was, she thought that was cute, etc. By the time I was done explaining everything, he not only believed that I’d slept with Kylie Minogue, but he bought the added details as well, including a totally made up (I think) foot fetish that had Kylie falling asleep, half drunk, while sucking on my toes. Continue reading

Whether you like the man or not, President Barack Obama is suffering from an approval rating so low that a recent poll concluded that he is “more popular than herpes, but trailing significantly behind anal polyps.” In fact, at this point in the presidential election cycle it is hard to imagine a Republican challenger who could not defeat him in an election. (The Republican Party being what it is, however, is sure to find one.)

And so it was during a lull in my daily activities (working, parenting, huffing paint thinner) that I began to mentally run down the odds fictional characters would have against the incumbent President. And of course, whenever I start thinking about fictional characters, I start thinking of the Brady Bunch. Continue reading

I was stretching my legs at work today when I walked past a grey SUV in the parking lot that had its engine running. And strangely enough, when I glanced over at it, I saw no one in the driver’s seat. Then I looked a little to the left and saw a reclined bucket seat, a back, and a pair of legs in the air. People are fucking in the parking lot now. In broad daylight.

Now, I don’t really care if people are fucking in the parking lot, even if they’re hideously ugly. I couldn’t see much in the second and a half it took me to do a classic comedy double-take as I was walking by. And there are no kids in that area, so it’s not like they’re traumatizing anyone. In fact, once I inadvertently got someone in trouble for getting laid and I still feel bad about it. Continue reading

You want to know how to enrage a Rush fan? Read them the list of the current year’s Rock & Roll Hall of Fame nominees. That’ll set ’em off. “What the fuck? Rush sells 50 million albums, 24 gold records, 14 platinum records, has been selling out arenas for 35 fucking years, and they’re not even nominated? And the goddamn Turtles are in the hall of fame?” Then they’ll launch into the merits of the band members themselves before finally saying, “Neil fucking Peart, man…” And then they shake their heads and shamble off to masturbate onto a slide rule or something, because Rush fans are a geeky bunch.

Hahaha, just kidding Rush fans! I myself like Rush, and saw them on their last tour with a friend of mine. That evening was three and a half hours of balls to the wall rock and roll punctuated by seven hours of blackout drinking. Good times. I think. But the point is this: The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame consistently overlooks a fantastic band like Rush, only to let bands like the Turtles in. The fucking Turtles. If you know one of their songs, it’s this one: “I can’t see me loving nobody but you, for all my life!” And that’s the only one you know. They’re in. Rush is not. Continue reading

Let’s say you decided to start a trendy and chic meth habit. And let’s say that you had just spent the better part of three days working on that habit. And furthermore, let’s say that you were bored and decided you needed something to do. What would you do? Would you watch TV? Crank some tunes and dance around a lot? Vacuum the carpet obsessively for the next ten hours? If you said that you’d jump in a white minivan, do donuts by the side of a busy road outside my subdivision, pull out a four foot long fucking sword and swing it menacingly at me as I drove by, then haul ass down the street dragging the sword out the window while leaving behind a trail of sparks and a neighborhood full of scared kids, then congratulations! You’re the shitbag, asshole, waste of sperm tweaker I called the cops on last Saturday. Fuck you. Continue reading

We’ve all heard stories of corrupt police. Whether they’re trading in illicit narcotics or using Rodney King as their own personal piñata, these criminals bring shame upon their profession by mocking the very laws they are sworn to uphold. Plus, they’re never corrupt in my favor. I mean, sure, 110 mph in a school zone is excessive. But is it too much to ask that you take the three bucks I offered to look the other way? Assholes. Continue reading

My favorite rock band of all time is Led Zeppelin. I could go into the reasons why, but the last time I did that I got so wound up that I was arrested for playing air guitar in the nude in front of my house. While intoxicated. And removing the label from my mattress without the express written consent of Major League Baseball. Again.

Anyway, as I’m a huge, slavering Led Zeppelin fan, I get alerts sent to me whenever there is some related breaking news. Yes, they broke up 31 years ago, but you never know what the future holds. I may wake up tomorrow to find that it’s 1975! (This has happened before.) And so it was while reading through the “breaking news” that consists of old people like me going on and on about how awesome Led Zeppelin was that I ran across the guy that legally changed his name to Led Zeppelin II. Continue reading

My two year old son is great for many reasons, not the least of which is that you can take him into a toy store and walk out without buying anything, and not only will he not lose his shit, he will thank you for taking him in there. No kidding. He thanks you for everything, including changing his shitty diapers. That, my friends, is way, way overdue.

Because I didn’t get thanked for doing that by my five year old son. If I recall correctly, he laughed at me. He also will cry and sometimes throw a Force 10 tantrum if I walk out of a toy store without buying him something. Given his age, it’s expected, but it gets tiresome, as do the comments by random passersby. “Is he having a seizure?” “Yeah, probably.” Continue reading

Let’s say you’re a 16 year old moron who just got his license.  Or a thoughtless senior citizen needing to brush up on the rules for a driver’s license test.  Maybe you’re new to this country and don’t know the rules of the road.  Or maybe you’re just a knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing, waste of genetic material with a vicious body odor problem and an IQ of 14.  Whatever the reason, you’ll need to become familiar with traffic laws and to judge by my morning commute, there’s one law in particular you’ll need to know about.  So it is in the spirit of public service that we proudly present the Official Dogs On Drugs Guide To Rubbernecking.

My eleven year old daughter came home from a day at the mall with friends this weekend, and she told me that her school bus driver drives the little mall choo-choo on weekends.  I guess she must really enjoy driving kids around, which puts her in a minority of one.  Because, let’s face it, kids are a fucking nightmare on the road.  My kids, when they’re not pissing, shitting, or puking in the back seat, will either be grinding food into the upholstery or punching each other in the teeth.  Sometimes all of these at the same time.