I’m writing this on Wednesday, it will appear on Friday, and my excuse for the second mail-it-in post in a row is that I was too loaded on Thursday to post anything insightful. So instead… this:
(Note: Safe to watch at work, but use headphones.)
As my family and I get ready to spend 4 days and 3 nights out of town, I am reminded that once you have kids life as you know it is completely over. Done. Finito. For instance, when you were young did you ever take an impromptu road trip? How did you pack for that? Yeah, you jammed some clothes into a backpack and just took off. And that’s if you even bothered to do that. I’ve known people who would leave the country on a lark, and the only thing they took care to bring with them was a pack of smokes. That makes sense, actually, since a fresh set of underwear won’t get you far in Mexican prison, but a pack of smokes will keep others from forcibly removing the pair you have on. Continue reading
A week or two ago, Hall of Fame Commenter Tonya, of Going To Mensa fame, informed me of two things: She also writes for The Mouthy Housewives. She has lost her fucking mind.
I base that last one on the fact that Tonya asked me to be a guest on their site and answer a question submitted by a soon-to-be-former-reader because, let’s face it, what I don’t know about women, relationships, and healthy sex lives could fill the Grand Canyon and still leave plenty of room for what I don’t know about raising kids.
But head on over and check it out for yourself. Stay a while, read the archive, click on lots of advertising. I get a kickback. (Actually, I don’t, but I should! Tonya? What the fuck?)
My birthday is on Thursday, and to celebrate the 14th anniversary of my 29th birthday, we are going to head out of town and spend a long weekend up in the mountains north of Phoenix. This will give us an opportunity to get away from our normal day-to-day lives, spend some time with each other (and some good friends who are coming with us), and do something about the fact that in a recent study, the United States came in 56th in a poll of the drunkest countries in the world. Fifty-sixth! This, quite frankly, is pathetic. I don’t know who commissioned this poll (because I was too hammered to read it), but obviously the people compiling the data completely missed my house on New Year’s Eve, Arizona State University, and Boston. Continue reading
If you’ve been following my site for a while, get help. Really. Also, you might remember that someone approached me wanting to sully my precious web site with advertising. And what’s worse, secret advertising, designed to make me seem like the kind of guy that would all of a sudden turn into a giant tool and start hawking the wares of others in the middle of a perfectly good post about unicorns having herpes. The very thought sickens me. Continue reading
Ok, kids, extremely juvenile content ahead (so use headphones if you’re at the office). This made me laugh, not so much because of the content (which is really, really immature), but because of how much time went into something this brief and retarded. It’s dubbed well, the sound effects are good, and if you are a Gregory Peck fan (and I know some of you are), this is a real jolt to the system.
Anyway, foul, crude language ahead (which isn’t exactly new for this site) and the dreaded c-word checks in only five seconds in, so you’ve been forewarned.
Every once in a while you’ll read some study that claims that guys think about sex every six minutes or so. Whenever these studies come out, women always have the same reaction. First, they say, “No kidding!” Then, invariably, they ask, “How do guys get anything done?” First of all, if anything, those studies are too conservative. Thinking about sex is something guys are constantly doing with almost no breaks. Maybe you can go six whole minutes without thinking of sex when you’re ninety, but I still kind of doubt it even if sex at 90 is like shooting pool with a rope.* Continue reading
