Work is still a stress factory combined with mind-numbing meetings, so I’m going the video route again. No post today, I’m too wiped to think straight. Feel free to ask for your money back. I will honor all requests, and by “honor” I mean “send you a large box filled with dog feces”, so maybe you shouldn’t ask for anything at all. I mean, unless you’re into dog feces. You fucking weirdo. Continue reading

I was thinking about my job benefits today, when I remembered that I have long term disability insurance. For those of you who don’t know, this is a gamble your employer takes on your behalf: “Greg is a very valuable and skilled employee. But let’s be honest here, he’s kind of nuts. So let’s pay a company some money so that when he chops his hands off mowing the lawn on ether, they can pay his salary and we won’t have to feel guilty for firing his handless ass.” Continue reading

I know this is going to come as quite a shock to you, but I’m kind of an unorthodox dude, and I’ve got some rather wacky ideas. Unfortunately, society tends to frown upon some of my more outlandish ideas. “Greg,” they’ll say, “a topless car wash isn’t legal under any circumstances. Having one to raise money for your day care bill doesn’t change that.” Fucking whiners. There are all kinds of things like that that I can’t do. I can’t push a baby stroller full of steaks through the zoo, I can’t hang out near the bank dressed as the Hamburglar, and I can’t even go grocery shopping without pants. This is bullshit. Continue reading

I’ve got a challenge for you. I’m going to to give you a fifth of bourbon, a bunch of mescaline, and a big bag of high quality skunk-weed. After you’re done fucking around with all of that, I’m going to put you in a room with thirty fifth graders and your goal will be to teach them one thing over the course of seven hours. Sure, it’ll be tough at first, what with all the bats in the room and the floor turning into blood. But if you had to teach a bunch of fifth graders one single thing over the course of a whole day, you’d be able to do it, even under those conditions, wouldn’t you? Well, if you did, you’d have accomplished more in one day than my fifth grade teacher did in an entire year. Continue reading

I’ve been on a Journey kick for the last few days, not because I particularly like their music, but because I’m a huge, slobbering fan of their videos. And I do mean slobbering, because watching Journey videos has been shown to cause massive, traumatic, brain damage, the kind where you find yourself rubbing shit in your hair and voluntarily watching C-SPAN. It’s that bad. Continue reading

I was pulling into a shopping mall today, and the road that you turn in on has no stop sign, while the roundabout road that circles the mall does. This usually causes some confusion for people used to having a three-way stop there, and so some guy laid on his horn when I did what I was supposed to do: Keep driving. If we were speaking, this is how the conversation would’ve gone: “Hey, nice stop, asshole!” “I don’t have a stop sign, you blind fuck.” “Oh. Shit. Well, fuck you anyway.” Instead, our conversation went like this: “HOOONK!” “HOOOOOOONK!” “HOOOOOOOOOONK!” In this day and age, that’s the lowest level of discourse you can get outside of Facebook. We can do better. Continue reading

I’ve got three kids, so it goes without saying that large portions of my house are dedicated to toys: We’ve got bins for everyday use toys, boxes for toys that get used semi-regularly, a large toy box that exists to hold toys that are rarely used, and strategic places around the house where we store toys that are so fucking shitty that they never get used, but we can’t throw them away because the kids would lose their little minds if we did. We could have an HIV-infected hypodermic needle play set, and if one of the kids saw us trying to toss it out, they’d instantly feign interest in it. “Don’t throw that away! I love that toy!” “What? You never play with it. The last time anyone played with it, it was your brother Ben.” “I don’t have a brother Ben!” “Not anymore you don’t.” “PLEASE DON’T THROW IT AWAY!” Continue reading

Whenever I hear the song Mother’s Little Helper by the Rolling Stones, I’m whisked away into a world of pure idiocy, a world in which I am immortal and immune to the laws of both nature and man. I’m sitting in the passenger seat of a car, and in the reality that I am detached from I am either going home, to jail, to the hospital, or to the morgue. But I don’t know this, or if I do, I simply don’t care. Mother’s Little Helper is blaring from the speakers and we are singing along, laughing maniacally, even though merely being seen by a police officer at this point is enough to ensure our arrest. I am 18 years old. Continue reading

I remember sitting in the back seat of a car in the parking lot of a liquor store when I was eighteen, glumly watching as my friend got shot down again. As he settled back into the car where we were waiting, I said to no one in particular, “Man, when I turn twenty-one and some kid asks me to buy him beer, I’ll totally do it. I’ll buy him a fucking keg if he wants me to!” My statement was met with a chorus of “Yeah’s” and “No kidding”, and we hunkered down to wait for someone “cool” enough to break the law for a bunch of moron teenagers that they didn’t know. I remember that well. And so when I was approached by a gangly-looking teen the other day and asked to buy him some beer, it was with a pang of regret that I said, “Sorry, pal.” As I walked away, I swear the kid’s eyes said to me, “What happened, man? You used to be cool!” Continue reading

Well, it’s that time of year again: The time when I make up children, donate non-existent funds to fictional charities, and declare myself a blind, Nicaraguan orphan. This is done for “tax purposes”, which is another way of saying that I plan to defraud the IRS out of at least $72,000. Continue reading