The years I spent in Junior High were the worst of my childhood. That’s relative, of course. I had a happy home life, friends, I wasn’t bullied, and I don’t have any real reason to complain. But those three years were at the bottom of the list for me. The reason is simple: Going through puberty with a couple of hundred other kids is fucking horrible. No one knows where they fit in. The unpopular kids hate the popular kids for being popular. The popular kids don’t think they’re terribly popular and hate the unpopular kids for hating them. You have to conform to current fashion (as seen by tweeners, no less) or be ostracized, yet you have to stand out in order to be recognized. In short, it’s three years of insanity with pubes. Continue reading

If you’ve ever bellied up to the bar and really tied one on, you know that one of the most terrifying things you can ever do is pass out in front of your friends. This is because your friends are drunken reprobates, and also because the urge to fuck with someone who has passed out is almost overwhelming, especially when that person was acting like a total jackhole just fifteen minutes earlier. Oh, you say you have the world’s biggest cock? All right, then let’s just burn your pants in the street so everyone at the bar can confirm your claim. What’s that? You’re not objecting? Ok, then, here we go! Continue reading

A couple of months ago, I mentioned that once a month I pay another woman to give me physical pleasure. And my wife is ok with it, because the same woman physically pleasures my wife too. Alas, while this may have been the opening for an awesome letter to Penthouse Forum (“I never thought it would happen to me, but…”), it is actually a description of the massage situation in our house. I decided that since we have to lug the fucking kids around while they are in the throes of sugar seizures and whatnot, we should have some way of working out the kinks, relieving the stress, and being away from them in a sound-proof room for an hour, and so we splurged and signed up for monthly massages. Continue reading

It’s April, so in most of the United States, snow is done for the winter. Not Chicago, though. I grew up in Chicago, and April is the month when Mother Nature likes to fuck with your head. “It’s 80 out! Isn’t it beautiful? Go ahead, take the snow tires off of your car! Start getting your lawn ready! Spring is here and Summer is on the way! … … … MUWAHAHAHA!!! 18 inches of snow, TAKE THAT YOU STUPID FUCKING HUMANS!” Every fucking year. Continue reading

My parents raised me to respect police officers, to recognize that they are dedicated to protecting the rest of us, often at the risk of their health and very lives. That lesson has stuck with me to this day. I honor those who serve, especially my neighbor who is a detective and came in handy on the evening of my thirty-second birthday when the two of us, along with 7 1/2 drunken friends got pulled over coming out of the desert in a pickup truck with an M16 assault rifle and two open cases of beer. Protect and serve, indeed. He protected my ass from going to jail, and then served me a beer when all was said and done. God bless the men and women in blue! Continue reading

For those of you who happened upon this site because you were searching for good health care advice on Google, well then you are in luck. Dogs on Drugs has long been known as a source of vital medical information such as how you shouldn’t let trannies put things in your butt. As a pillar of the medical community, we look forward to providing you quality health care-related information until such time as you send us an angrily worded email containing the phrase, “And the doctor says that you should NEVER put super glue in there!” at which point we will pretty much fall over laughing, because we do that a lot over here. Continue reading

The first couple of years I attended college, I lived in the dorms. This made for some interesting times, especially since I lived in what was considered an “engineering” dorm, or more simply put, it’s where they stored the dorks on campus. But my friends and I didn’t exactly fit into this mold. A perfect example: In a physics lab, we were supposed to determine the resistance of a component in a black box by conducting some experiments. Several of the people that lived in my floor were in this lab, and they’d been going at it since 1:00 PM and it was now approaching 3:00 when my friend and I rolled in, two hours late and fresh from happy hour, unscrewed the black box and looked inside. “Hey, lookit that! 6 ohms! Let’s write that down and get back to drinking!” Continue reading

Tsutomu Yamaguchi is a lucky man. His employer, Mitsubishi Heavy Industries, sent him on a business trip on August 6th, 1945, to a city that had been little affected by the war raging all across the globe: Hiroshima. Normally, you wouldn’t be considered lucky if your business trip included a weather forecast of “Windy and hot, with a high of 45,000 degrees”, but Mr. Yamaguchi actually survived the blast, suffering “only” ruptured eardrums, temporary blindness, and severe burns to 25% of his body. He spent the night in an air raid shelter and left the next day to return home. To Nagasaki. Once again, Mr. Yamaguchi survived getting nuked, this time with no further injury, but the city’s decimation meant he couldn’t get medical supplies for the first atomic bomb blast he survived in the last three days, and he spent over a week with a dangerously high fever. He recovered, and lived to the age of 93 years old, finally dying in 2010. Continue reading

My well documented fondness for alcohol, especially beer, goes back to when I was two and my father got up from his seat while watching a Cubs game to answer the front door. He came back a couple of minutes later to see me standing there, feet spread wide as if to brace myself for what was to come, a can of Hamm’s in my hand, the bottom pointing straight at the ceiling. I was chugging it. My mom wanted to call poison control immediately. My dad assured her that there wasn’t that much left, and besides, it was only beer. After watching me for an hour, my parents gladly came to the decision that they did not have to take me to the hospital where any future plans of winning Parents of the Year would have been forever dashed: “Our two year old is drunk.” Continue reading

I read this morning that Lindsay Lohan hit a man with her car and drove away. The headline made me laugh because it was literally the least surprising headline about Lindsay Lohan anyone could possibly come up with. Frankly, I wouldn’t be too surprised if tomorrow morning I read the headline, “Lindsay Lohan Visits Vatican, Fingers Pope, Huffs Gas With Snooki”. What would surprise me would be the headline, “Lindsay Lohan Gets Bachelor’s Degree”, or “Lindsay Lohan Discovers Higgs Boson”, or even “Lindsay Lohan Counts To Ten”. That bitch is a fucking train wreck. Continue reading